#rip Cin

[dallieart]

A fullbody I did for a fellow player's character from 2019.

[juergenklopp]

3 for 4, 3 HR (2 solo, grand slam), 6 RBI

BRYCE HARPER caps off a three-home run game with a grand slam in the bottom of the seventh inning to help the Philadelphia Phillies win 9–4 against the Cincinnati Reds, with the second home run of the game being his 1000th career run scored (April 2, 2024)

[kcciny]

This gotta be the most disappointing anniversary every, Im sorry.

[merchantofwhispers]

cinead: how empathetic is your muse? how compassionate are they? is this something people expect from them, or are people surprised when they find out how compassionate or empathetic they actually are?

[ I would argue that people are shocked to find out how empathetic and compassionate Cinead truly is. On the surface he seems a fairly aloof, if not an entirely heartless man. He rarely makes it obvious what sits beneath his callous humor or feral aggression.

It does make it all the more impactful when he does show it, however. Such is in the instance when he first Mina at a portside inn -- realizing that she was running away from something and immediately agreeing to help get her home safe. Another example is how he refused to harm women and children, often providing these women with new belongings and money to start their lives at whatever port he ferried them too after taking over whatever ship they'd previously been on. (Yes, it can be argued he still did irreparable damage, but he has SOME morals).

People don't realize that Cinead didn't start out as a calloused, horrible man. He was a man who had taken to sailing and the mercantile business to help provide for his family over a thousand years ago. Even after contracting vampirism from a cruel, cruel master and murdering said master in the decades to come -- Cinead remained gentle and compassionate as he bounced around the northern countries doing odd jobs for whoever would lend him a place to stay.

The Cinead we see today didn't actually begin to come to be until the Black Death. Just before it truly struck he'd finally settled down, marrying a widowed woman who already had three kids of her own. He fished for a living, feeding his vampirism on the less savory or on livestock his wife's family asked him to butcher. In just a few years time, however, he took on a different task; ferrying the dead who fell to the Black Death to isolated islands or dumping their bodies into the sea.

Cinead watched his entire world become infected around him, heard the screams of the dying and those mourning the dead. The final straw was returning home to find the boils on his own family agreeing to end their suffering early.

He was never the same after that. Cruelty came far easier to him, surrendering to his fury and his base instincts. He abandoned his faith, his community, and took purely to the sea where he has remained since. His compassion and empathy still exist, but they are dim and quiet actions. ]

[luneariann]

DTIYS RESULTS!

Honestly this was super hard to decide 😭😭 I ended up adding more honorable mentions slots and I’m still tempted to add more cuz you all did rly rly amazing! I wanna thank all of you for participating this was a super fun experience, now, with that said...

In first place we have @carrotkicks with their absolutely stunning piece! :)

I fell head over heels for the composition its really really unique and it works wonderfully! Their colors were gorgeous and very well balanced, they rly took the prompt and made it their own and it worked wonders :)!

In second place we have @j11nko with this absolute banger of an art piece!

OOO where do i even start, the lighting i think takes the cake here, completely made it look like they were bathed in gold, made the ambiance of it rly rly stand out, Cins coloring style has a way to make things rly look more vibrant and it showed especially clearly here :)!

In third place we have @afraid-of-the-deep-sea with this piece that had me staring for a solid ten minutes straight

His use of texture and the symbolism was SPECTACULAR are you SEEING THIS IM SICKKK, once again a VERY unique piece that rly took ownership of the prompt, absolutely stunning, the colors were wonderfully vibrant and the whole thing has a way of sticking to you, amazing job

In fourth place we have @maractius with this beautiful piece right here

ARE YOU SEEING THAT USE OF COLORS OUGHH, the coloring and rendering is insanely good, and their expressions are soso strong, literally obsessed w this, the way theres not a single stretch of canvas that isn't occupied in some way without making it look cluttered is rly rly interesting and well done, and the subtle shift in perspective is just the final detail that makes this an insanely good piece

And finally in fifth place we have @candiedfright ! With this absolutely lovely piece

Ouuu this is so pretty 😭😭 the way they arranged the piece gave it a rly strong sense of depth, which in turn makes this piece feel like something ripped straight out of a movie, the way they handled shading only adding to it, SUCH a gorgeous job they did amazing

Now! Onto Honorable Mentions! :)

In honorable mentions we have @tedlebred s stunning piece

Are you seeing that RENDERING OMIFHE obsessed, i love the way they implemented the flower details in their hair and their decision on the change of the setting, turning the prompt into a photograph and making the text into part of that new setting was a super clever choice that rly made their piece stand out :)

We also have @spiderbends with this rly wonderfully soft piece!

The change in pose was so fun and so well done, that coupled with the change in expressions to ones much softer completely changes the vibe of the prompt and turns into something you could almost call playful! Taking the text from something confrontational to something teasing, rly rly lovely job!

Up next we have @seukorei with this lovely piece!

Once again we have a change in pose that works beautifully to change the tone of the prompt, the shading and the colors chosen give this piece an almost melancholic atmosphere that manages to also be incredibly soft, truly wonderful job once again :)

And for our final honorable mention we have @lotus-pear ! With this pretty number

THE POSEE, ouuu you guys r killing me w these pose changes! The new closeness of the two characters gives it a much more intimate vibe, coupled w their expressions it does a lovely job at emitting a sense of trust and comfortability between them thats just rly beautiful to see! Rly love job

Aaaand that abt wraps things up! I wanted to add more honorable mentions but i already added more than i was intending to 💔💔 choosing at all was rly rly hard

I wanna thank everyone once again for participating this was truly a rly nice experience and you guys did an amazing job! :)!!

[mandiemegatron]

Eee!! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

I'm excited ur taking requests!! Would you be able to do a cute n fluffy little killer x reader? Say... A soft intimate moment alone; maybe something about how big his hands are, and the way they would so perfectly wrap around the one he loves so safely, so securely. 🫣 You know, hands that can kill yet choose so be so gentle. 💕

HI CIN BABBYYY !!! Thank you SO much for asking for something Killer, I've been wanting to write something for him for ages and now you've given me a reason to 😭😭😭🤲🤲🤲

I hope this is okay !! Thank you for everything, love you and hope you enjoy !! 🤭🤭💖💖

『 𝙸𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 』

𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙶/𝙽 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍: 𝚃 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝.

No beta, we die like men 💪

It never ceased to amaze you how gentle Killer was with you.

Hands that could rip a man's head clean from his body held you with the utmost tenderness, the power in his grip never more than what you could handle.

Watching him crush pirates left and right with a cheerful cackle always sent shivers over your skin, sometimes distracting you from your own fight as you sliced men down.

It was the moments at night that reminded you just how gentle this giant could be, cradling your body to his as if you were made of porcelain. You weren't small or dainty; you were hardy and fit in your own way, your skin scarred and full of stretch marks, but every time, Killer would trace your flesh with the softest touch.

You'd had to beg him many times while being intimate for him to let loose, to let his inhibitions run wild as he devoured you whole, but he never gave in, always clenching his teeth and hissing through them as he made love to you. He would bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and murmuring promises of protecting you and loving you for the rest of his life.

Tonight was no different.

Breathing heavily, you laid half on his body, your face smushed into his chest as he held you to him almost too tight, one of his hands wrapped around your back and arms, keeping you to him while the other ran thick fingers through your hair. You traced idle shapes over his massive chest with a tired hand, watching with half lidded eyes as he moved his hand from your hair to lift your hand to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Kil…”

There's a soft hum from the man, his mind still wandering as he continues to kiss your hand.

“... Killer.”

Finally, he gives you a side-eyed glance for less than a moment before letting his eyes close again.

“Yes, my love?”

You frown slightly, shifting your body so you're resting over top of him, your face hovering over his as you stare him down. His arm moves from your shoulder to your waist as he tries to fight the slow grin that rises but is unable to, giving a dramatic sigh as he snaps his eyes open to give you a mocking look in return.

"Yes?” He presses again, raising an eyebrow at the expression on your face. You continue to stare down at him for a few moments before finally asking,

“Why are you so afraid to get rough with me?”

Killer freezes under you, his eyes slowly reopening to stare up at you as his thoughts begin to race. His mouth opens to respond, but nothing comes out, just a mildly choked sound that barely escapes his throat.

You tilt your head slightly, brows furrowing as you continue,

“Do you think you'll hurt me or something?”

“Of course I do.”

His response nearly cuts you off, worry and anxiety laced in his words as you stare at each other. You felt your heart sink slowly as you murmur sadly,

“... do you think I'm weak?”

Killer sits up so fast that he almost flings you off him, if not for his grip around your waist. You give a sound of surprise, clinging to his shoulders as he sits you in his naked lap.

“Never in a million years would I think so lowly of you,” he barely gets out, holding your hips tightly in his massive hands, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your flesh. “Never would I think that you're weak. I just…”

You wait patiently for him to keep going, your hands slowly rubbing up and down his forearms tenderly.

“... I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

You hummed softly at his words, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his as you asked,

“Not even if I wanted you to hurt me?”

He pulled away to gawk at you, horrified conviction across his face as he snapped,

"Are you insane? What kind of person would want that?"

You shrugged, glancing to the side before murmuring,

“I would, if it's you. I trust you,” You looked back to him as you continued, “I love you, but you act like I'm made of glass, as if you'd shatter me into a million pieces if you fucked me too hard.”

Killer simply stares, blinking a few times as he mulled over your words. You took his silence as rejection, giving a soft sigh as you tried to reason with him.

“I love you, regardless. I just… I don't know, sometimes I just… want more. I love being with you, and being intimate with you is something I'll never take for granted, I just wish you trusted yourself the way I trust you.”

Killer remains silent, his hands still caressing your hips as he takes in your plea. He gives a heavy sigh before leaning in and capturing your lips in his, only pulling away to murmur,

“I love you.”

You gave him a warm smile in return, kissing him back and clinging to him as he wraps you in his arms, your bare front pressing into his.

“... maybe one day,” he murmurs into your throat, pressing a few kisses to your neck as his hands run up and down your back lovingly.

You grin into his shoulder, humming in agreement as you comment softly,

“Maybe one day.”

[spahhzy]

Ruby: Give up Cinder, it's over...

Team RWBY currently had chased down an injured Cinder, who has made her escape through the sandy streets of Vacuo

Cinder when she heard that just began to laugh.

Team RWBY looked at each other before suddenly a door could be heard, and boots echoed loudly against the chapel floor as a mop of blonde hair and narrow blue eyes stalked toward Cinder.

Weiss: Jaune....

Jaune paid her no heed, just marched at Cinder with a purpose.

Cinder, holding her injured human arm, continued laughing as Jaune.

Cinder: Oh Jaune~

Jaune said nothing continued his pace and finally met Cinder at the altar.

Cinder: What a night~

Jaune just grabbed Cinder with both hands and lifted her up by the hems of her shirt. She was dangling in the air.

Cinder: Fresh off a kill, and back for more, eh?

Jaune: Penny still alive.

Ruby felt relief wash over her as Cinder looked on in disbelief.

Cinder: Now that's not funny...

Cinder used her grim hand to suddenly rip away from Jaune's grip before manifesting a glass blade and swipe at him only for Jaune to block it with his own.

Team RWBY looked to want to help, but Jaune's glare at them said to 'stay out of this'.

Cinder: All this-all this rage! All directed at me, and for what!? You know, if you actually let me finish a sentence, you might learn something! You might learn that we're not so different... you might learn something about yourself!

Jaune: You need to learn to shut up.

Cinder: You know it's sad, really...it's like you don't care to see the good side in me... I mean, you did it for Neo... maybe I should try to kill her next, hmm?~

Enraged even further, Jaune quickly swiped at Cinders glass blade before raising a foot, which connected roughly against Cinders chest, sending her crashing into the pews as Team RWBY looked on in worry.

Cinder just laughed, slowly getting up.

Cinder: Is all this for you or for me? You must know that I'm a lost cause. Oh, but Jauney, I have hopes for you~yes, I got great hopes for you...

Cinder wagging a finger at him.

Cinder: Come on, Arc, don't stop now, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?

Jaune just grabbed Cinder again and tossed her into one of the stain glass windows, shattering it as her body fell to the floor, but still Cinder wasn't down for the count even as her aura shimmered.

Cinder grabbed two shards of glass as she saw Jaune make her way to her.

Cinder: You just can't get it through your thick skull!

Jaune stopped walking as he looked at the broken Crocea Mors before deciding to ultimately sheath it and looking at his gloved hands... before he removed his gloves, too, giving them a nice pop before resuming his walk towards Cinder, who had just risen up holding the two shards of glass tightly in her head.

Cinder: WE BOTH EXIST BECAUSE OF THEM!

Jaune: Give up! You've lost!

Cinder attempted to swipe at with one of the shards of glass, but he was able to easily grab her hand and delivered a shot to the bottom right side of her body, causing her to drop one of the shards of glass.

Cinder just giggled maniacally through the pain as she attempted to swipe at him with the other hand, but Jaune side stepped it and delivered a quick jab to her face, causing her to drop the remaining shard as her aura flickered.

Jaune just delivered three more body strikes to Cinder, who just took it before Jaune landed a thunderous haymaker to Cinder chin, sending her atop the altar.

Team RWBY still looked unsure of how this was going to go, as they wanted to incapacitate and lock down Cinder to get her maiden powers transferred from Ozpin old machine...but if Jaune was going to kill her than...she could very well give the powers to whoever she thinks of...

Cinder: Aww, Jauney, your time away from me has been so worth it~

Jaune says nothing as he struck Cinder across the face again.

Cinder: ooooh~ that's why you do it. You did the same with Tyrian... you like the way it feels...it's what you need!

Jaune just delivered another strike to Cinder face before grabbing her midsection and lifting her up with his strength, Cinder just dangled helplessly, all with a smile on her face as Jaune threw her to the ground hard.

The force of the slam cause Cinders aura to finally shatter, but Cinder didn't care as she scrambled to sit up.

Cinder: Come on, baby~ beat me till your knuckles bleed, but why stop their? You know theirs only one way to stop me! Come on Jaune Come on ki-

Before she could get a word out, a mechanicle hand punched her in the face, effectively knocking her out.

Jaune just huffed in and out as his anger began to simmer down.

Yang: I think she's talked enough.

Jaune just said nothing as he looked at Cinders unconscious body.

Ruby slowly walked up to her friend.

Ruby: Jaune... did you mean it? Did you mean it when you said Penny was okay?

Jaune slowly looked at Ruby before nodding as he suddenly felt Ruby hug him tightly.

Ruby: Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank!

Jaune was able to gently pry away from Ruby's grip as Yang hoisted up the fall maiden on her shoulders, Blake walked up to him.

Blake: Are you going to be okay?

Jaune just nodded, and Blake gave him a look over, not entirely convinced after seeing that display.

Jaune: I'll be fine, Blake...I promise. go your leader is just about to burst joy.

Blake said nothing but nodded as she followed her team leader and partner.

Jaune took one more glance at Cinder before leaving without a word.

Weiss watched briefly as he disappeared into a gathering crowd.

[watchmegetobsessed]

❄️LEFT ON READ❄️

A/N: fanficmas has come to its end! i hope you uys enjoyed these little festive fics, thank you for reading and thank you to those who also participated in it!!

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SUMMARY: Following a drunk night you realize you sent some voice messages to your childhood best friend about having feelings for him. Panic sets in when he leaves you on read with no reply.

This fic is part of ❄️ FANFICmas 2022 ❄️ Read more about fanficmas here!

“Oh my God, his car is on Anne’s driveway!”

You burst through the front door like the house is on fire, ripping your coat and scarf off of you while kicking your boots off. Your mom didn’t understand what you said, she just heard you act like there’s an emergency, so she runs out of the kitchen, her hands covered in flour, looking at you with wide eyes.

“What happened? Is the Christmas tree on fire?” she asks and you shake your head.

“Worse. Harry is home!” you groan before running upstairs, her laughter echoing behind you.

“I’m sure it will be alright, Honey!”

“Nothing will be alright mom!” you shout back before shutting the door of your childhood room behind you.

This is not how you imagined returning for the holidays, you ruined it all with one drunk night when you couldn’t control yourself and sent the absolute worst voice messages to your childhood best friend, Harry. The Harry Styles, the guy half the world is in love with.

And you’re part of that half, have been since you were about twelve.

ONE WEEK EARLIER

“Oh my God, I really shouldn’t drink another one,” you snort out a laugh, but take the tequila shot from Nara anyway.

“Come on, it’s our Friendmas, we all agreed to get smashed!” Cindy shrieks, clearly drunk, because her blonde hair has stray strands that escaped her always neat bun and she never allows her hair to be anything but perfect.

“Alright, alright, cheers!” you snort out a laugh as you clink your glasses together for the fifth time before chugging down the shots.

You can’t help but grimace as the liquid slips down your throat, burning your inside. Deep down you know you’ll regret all this alcohol in the morning when you’ll feel like dying, but tonight, you’re letting loose.

Your phone lights up on the table and you snatch it with a groan, trying to focus on the screen to see who just texted you.

HARRY: Alright, just text me when you get home so I know you didn’t die. Xx

You snort out a laugh, because you can actually hear him say it in your head.

“Oh, I’m guessing the rockstar has texted Y/N!” Nara laughs and you pull your shoulders up to your ears giggling.

“Stop!”

“When are you guys gonna have toe curling sex?” Cindy bluntly asks, grabbing her mojito from the table, trying to wrap her plump lips around the straw, but she misses several times before succeeding.

“Shut up, never!” you gasp, but warmth instantly crawls up your neck to your cheeks.

“Oh, come on!” Nara rolls her eyes. “You’re clearly in love with him and I’m sure he feels the same way. What’s stopping you?”

“It’s complicated, he doesn’t… He doesn’t love me that way,” you mumble, typing a reply to him that’s full of typos probably.

“You’re missing out, babe,” Cindy points at you, attempting to wink.

“You’ve definitely imagined what you’d say to him,” Nara grins at you. “Let us hear it!”

“No!” you protest.

“Yes! Let’s hear how you’d beg him to dick you down on the stage of Maddison Square Garden!” Cindy laughs like hyena and you gape at how unhinged she has become.

“Jesus,” you sigh, knowing they won’t leave you alone until you comply. “Okay, so I always imagined sending him voice messages, because he says he loves them, because he can listen to them anytime he wants.”

You look at your friends, pretending to hold your phone to your mouth, as if you were actually recording.

“Spicy,” Cindy giggles.

“What would you tell him?” Nara grins with glassy eyes.

“Something like… Hey, it’s Y/N.”

“Why would you say it’s you, he would literally be in his text messages with you,” Cindy cocks her head to the side.

“Shut up, Cindy!” Nara pokes her, making you laugh. “Go on!”

“Okay, so… There’s something I really want to tell you and I don’t think I can keep it a secret anymore. I’ve been madly in love with you since seventh grade, Harry. None of the guys I dated ever compared to you and I’m convinced I might die alone if we don’t get together.”

You let out a laugh, gesturing around with your phone in hand. You even almost drop it, Cindy shrieking and attempting to catch it, but you manage to keep it in your hand.

“Where’s the dirty part?” Nara asks.

“Yeah, you should tell him you want to suck his dick dry,” Cindy nods, taking another sip from her drink.

“I could never tell him about the things I’ve fantasized about in the past decade,” you laugh with your head falling back.

“But you can tell us!” Nara nods enthusiastically.

“No! I’m not… I want to keep that to myself, but let’s just say everything his fans thought of… I thought of those too.”

All three of you laugh before you venture to other topics and Harry gets forgotten. The night stretches long, it’s past three in the morning by the time you get back to your apartment. Even drunk, you remember Harry asked you to text him when you get home, so falling into bed you muster up some energy to open up his messages. Your fingers linger over the screen as you try to put together your thoughts, but all of them vanish when you see the last things you sent him.

Voice messages.

There are several of them after your last text to him. Blood rushes out of your head instantly as you sit up, suddenly wide awake. You tap on the first one and your voice flows out of your phone with the background noises of the bar.

“---and I don’t think I can keep it a secret anymore. I’ve been madly in love with you since seventh grade, Harry.”

“Oh no,” you gasp as you go to the next one.

“---convinced I might die alone if we don’t get together.”

Frantically you go over all of them, wishing the ground would open and it would swallow you forever.

“You should tell him you want to suck his dick dry.” Cindy’s voice is heard in the next one.

“---keep that to myself, but let’s just say everything his fans thought of… I thought of those too.”

The last message cuts off after your laughter. You’re staring at your phone in utter disbelief, part of you hoping the voice messages would just disappear from the thread and you’d realize you’re just too drunk and made up the whole thing.

But they remain there, and when your eyes wander lower you see the word that almost sends you into a coma.

Read 2:34 am

TODAY

Christmas was your favorite time, because both you and Harry returned to where you met when you were kids, but this year, your little trick ruined it all.

Harry hasn’t replied to your voice messages, not even to the text you sent him in the morning, trying your best to put out the fire you just lit.

Y/N: I can explain this, Harry. I got drunk, I didn’t know what I was talking, it was all just an accident! Can we pretend I didn’t send those messages? Please???

You guess his silence is a reply too, not the one you wanted though.

Now you’re locked up in your old room as you hear your mom greeting her friends for her usual Christmas party she holds every year. Normally you’d be down there, sipping on some wine, mingling, but this year, you might not even show your face.

Not when you know Harry could be already down there.

Maybe he is not coming. Maybe he was so traumatized by your voice messages that he will never ever want to see or talk to you. If that’s the case, you’ll probably die, because he is your best friend, but facing him right now also makes you want to vanish from this world.

You fucked yourself over. Big time.

“Y/N?” you hear a knock on the door from your mom as you’re anxiously pacing the floor. She opens the door and stands with her hands on her hips. “Stop acting like a baby and come down, will you?”

“Is he here?”

“No, Anne came alone,” she sighs.

At first you’re relieved. But then you realize that he might actually never want to talk to you again because of those stupid messages and that feels way worse.

Unwillingly, you join the party downstairs, but you try to avoid Anne. She is so close to Harry, there’s a chance he told her what happened and there’s no way you can look into her eyes after that.

It’s probably not the best idea, but you have some wine that makes you dizzy and you get into a spiral about Harry.

Why didn’t he reply to your messages? He could have at least reacted or told you it’s better if you never talk. You’ve known him for so long, it’s the least you deserve. Is he home alone now? He would rather stay back than to face you? Is this really the end of your friendship?

“Oh fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you decide it’s time to slow down on the alcohol, since it’s what got you in trouble in the first place, so put your glass into the dishwasher.

“Everything alright?”

Anne’s voice makes you jump and you’re met with her warm smile when you turn around.

“Yeah!” you squeak. “Everything is… perfect!”

She’s come to get a refill and you watch her as if she was a ticking bomb. But she is her usual self, there’s no sign of pity towards you, so there’s a chance she doesn’t know what happened between you and Harry.

“Where… Where’s Harry?” you ask, trying your best not to sound like an obsessed psycho.

“Oh, he had a meeting or whatever. He said he’ll come right over when he’s done, but maybe he got stuck in front of his laptop,” she chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, don’t worry,” she pats your hand before walking out of the kitchen.

From that moment, your stomach drops every time you hear the front door opening, thinking it’s Harry, but as two hours pass by you start to think that he won’t come. You keep checking your phone, hoping for a message, but only seeing your pathetic last text every time you open the thread is like a slap across your face.

You really messed up because you were drunk and you outed yourself in such a ridiculous way. Now your best friend doesn’t even want to see you.

The party comes to its end, the house empties out and you get into a lethargic mood as you help your mom clean up.

“Why don’t you just go over and talk to him, hm?” she asks seeing your bitter face.

“It’s pretty obvious he doesn’t want to talk,” is all you say.

You lock yourself up in your room for the rest of the night, acting like a heartbroken teenager. You can’t believe this is how you lose Harry, your best friend, the boy you grew up with and the only man you ever truly loved.

It’s sometime past ten when you hear knocking. On your window.

“What the—“

As you sit up and walk over to the window you almost get a heart attack when you see Harry squatting in front of your window that’s right above the garage. Growing up it gave you the perfect opportunity to sneak out, because you could easily climb out without your mom noticing and Harry also used it as his entrance quite a few times. But now as you see the grown version of him there, your mind goes blank as you open the window.

“What… Harry, what are you doing?” you ask as he gestures at you to step back so he can climb in.

“God, this went easier when I was fifteen,” he chuckles when he is finally standing in your room.

“Harry, would you mind explaining why you didn’t use the front door?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest.

“Because your mum is probably asleep and I didn’t want to wake her.”

“Why didn’t you come in the morning then?”

“Because I wanted to talk,” he replies with a smug grin.

It’s odd to see grown Harry in your old room, you have tons of memories with him from when you were kids, but he is a man now, a tall, ridiculously good-looking man in your room that still has your old posters on the yellow walls.

“Talk?” you squeak, anxiety creeping up its way on your spine again.

“Mhm, about your messages. Remember them?” he asks and while you’re debating whether you should jump out the window or play dead, he is smirking at you as if it was all just a joke to him.

“I do,” you nod shortly.

“Anything to add to them?”

“Nope,” you say, but then change your mind. “Actually, I do have something to add.”

“Okay, go on, I’m listening,” he nods, still grinning as he leans against your dresser.

“Leaving me on read was rude. I might have sent you some unhinged, unexpected messages, but I apologized in the morning and you left me on read! And then you didn’t show up at the party, you made me think you never want to talk to me again. That was very rude.”

He stares back at you, his head tilted to the side and you feel the urge to hit him if he doesn’t wipe that smirk off of his face.

“I know. And I’m sorry for that,” he finally says. “But I felt like it’s not a conversation I want to have over text messages.

“Um, okay…”

Pushing himself away from the dresser he starts to approach you slowly while you’re backing at the same time, but the room is not too spacious, your back quickly hits the wall.

“The messages were unexpected,” he points out the obvious. “I have to say, when I listened to them in the middle of the night, I didn’t know what to think.”

“It was an accident, we got drunk and we were just messing around.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “So then… did you mean it?”

“What?”

“The things you said. That you’re madly in love with me and that you might end up dying alone if we don’t get together.”

Hearing the words from his mouth makes your head spin as you stare back at him on the verge of the biggest turning point of your friendship. For a moment you hesitate, consider saying it was just a joke, but you’re also too tired to keep it a secret any longer.

“Yes,” you finally say, your heart drumming in your ears.

He stares at you for what feels like forever, the corners of his mouth curling up and you see a little nod from him before he backs away from you so he’s not cornering you anymore.

“Good,” he then says and you wait for more, because that one word can’t be his reaction alone, he has to have more to say. But he remains silent, the smirk still plastered across his face and you finally lose your patience with him.

“Good? That’s really all you have to say? You know what? You’re an asshole! I might have sent you the most awkward and unhinged messages, but you left me on fuckin read and now all you say is good, but nothing is good! If this is just a joke to you, then maybe we—“

The words die on your tongue when his lips smash against yours, his hands locking your face in his palms as he kisses all your worries, fears and anxiety away. He pushes you against the wall again, his hips pressing against yours and you can’t hold a moan back when his tongue meets yours. Your head bumps against the light switch over and over again and it takes some time to realize that you keep turning the lights on and off in the room.

You grin against his lips and he keeps kissing them as you let out a laugh, your hands holding onto his slim waist.

“If you think…” he keeps kissing you, “That I’m done scolding you…” more kisses, “For leaving me on read… you’re wrong.”

“Scold me, punish me,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Do whatever you want.”

“Naughty,” you giggle.

He kisses you some more before pulls back, a more serious look on his face.

“I’m sorry for leaving you on read, but I really wanted to see your pretty face when I tell you that I’ve been madly in love with you too.”

Your heart is about to burst out of your chest at his words, the pain you felt in the past week already long forgotten when you see how he is looking at you.

“You’re not just pulling my leg? It’s not just a Christmas prank, right?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I just can’t believe this is how it happened.”

“I’m never drinking again,” you groan, but he just kisses your cheek.

“It’s fine, you can always send me dirty voice messages,” he smirks playfully.

“You’ll never let me live it down, right?” you sigh and he shakes his head grinning.

“Nope.”

“Alright, then I will tease you about leaving me on read.”

“Tease me all you want, as long as I get to kiss you afterwards,” he mumbles as he leans closer, brushing his lips against yours teasingly before finally kissing you.

ONE YEAR LATER

There is not one finger Harry has free as he pushes his way into his home, dozens of shopping bags hanging from him everywhere. With a groan he kicks the front door closed behind him and drops everything to the floor, finally feeling his fingers again.

“Babe?” he calls you, a bit frustrated that you didn’t come out to the car to help him carry the bags in and he is way too proud to make two rounds, so he had to do it all at once, resulting in him becoming a Christmas tree himself.

He walks further into the home he’s been sharing with you this past six months, looking for your pretty face to ask what was so important that you couldn’t help him.

To be exact, you left him on read when he texted you that he’s arrived.

“Y/N?” he calls for you again and he finally hears your footsteps approaching from the bedroom. Moments later you appear in your silky robe, an oblivious smile on your face.

“Hey babe!” you greet him and he forces himself to ignore how deliciously cozy you look with your freshly washed hair, makeupless face and he can smell your lotion even from across the room.

“Why didn’t you come out to help me with the bags?” he huffs, pouting his lip as you approach him gracefully. “I texted you and you saw it!”

“Oh,” you breathe out furrowing your eyebrows. “You mean… I left you on read when I should have definitely replied? Hm, that sounds like something that happened before to us.” You tap on your chin, pretending to be thinking and he finally realizes what it’s about.

“Babe…” he groans, but a chuckle slips from his lips. “Am I still not forgiven for that?”

“Never,” you grin at him devilishly as you step closer, placing your hands to the base of his neck.

“This was rude, I had to carry all the stuff on my own!” he pouts his lips at you like a little kid, his hands finding your waist.

“Aw, I’m sorry. I was busy, actually, so I couldn’t help.”

“What was so important?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

You step back, his hands slipping off your hips and you gift him with an angelic smile as you untie your robe and let it slide off your shoulders, revealing the sparkly red lingerie set you’re wearing underneath. Harry’s mouth hangs open instantly, his eyes roaming your body relentlessly.

“Is this a good enough excuse?” you ask, batting your eyes at him.

“Yeah, you’re forgiven!” he nods eagerly as he steps closer just to pick you up bridal style and he carries you back to the bedroom as you laugh, pressing kisses to his jawline, the grocery bags long forgotten in the hallway.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"I feel lost without you." Jason Todd x F! Reader

Summary: Day One of my October Writing Challenge! The reader reflects on the first time she met Jason Todd and how much it hurts without him. But is he really gone? This story will have a part two later in the challenge.

Pairing: Jason Todd x F! Reader

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Teenage Jason Todd and Reader

Cross Posted on AO3

“My father used to take me here when I was a boy,” Bruce settles into the worn leather of the booth, the red starkly contrasting his all-black attire. His hand fingering a rip in the red leather, “and then Dick and I would come here after a tough night, it only seemed right to bring you here now.” Bruce raises his eyes to look at the fourteen-year-old before him, Jason giving him a warm smile back before gazing over the menu.

“What did he order?” Jason raises his eyes, “your dad. What would he have ordered?”

Bruce leans back with a small smile, “Well Mom would have wanted him to have the oatmeal with a cup of tea and fresh fruit on the side. But Dad would have ordered the cinnamon roll pancakes with a side of bacon and coffee.”

“Then that’s what I’m gonna order,” Jason closes his menu and sits up, “sounds delicious.”

“Hi there, have you decided what you’d like, I’ll be your server this evening,” you hold the pencil tightly in your hand, before looking up from your pad.

Jason stops fidgeting, his eyes widening as he takes in your uniform, the pale pink dress and white apron doing nothing to flatter under the fluorescents but from the look on his face, he’s seen an angel. You can feel the heat spread across your face but quickly look down at your pad, “if you need more time I can come back.”

“No,” the boy shouts, “please don’t go.” Your head snaps up to look at him, greenish blue eyes greet you and you can’t help but get lost looking at them.

Bruce looks between the two awkward teens, before clearing his throat, “I’ll have the cinnamon roll pancakes, with a side of bacon and black coffee.”

His words snap you out of the daze as you quickly jot down the order. “Got it, what about you?” you look up through the fake lashes you put on this afternoon in an attempt to look older, the glue still staining your fingertips.

“I’ll have the same,” he closes the menu, looking at your nametag before softly saying your name, “That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” you reach for the menu, dropping it when your hands graze and an electric shock runs up your arm. “Shit,” you drop to pick them up when you see the boy before you help pick them off the floor, “thank you,” you whisper taking them from his outstretched hands.

“Jason,” he holds out a hand to help you up, the same zing shooting up your arm when your hands meet, “Jason Todd.”

“Thank you, Jason,” you take a step back, holding the menus to your chest, “I’ll be back in a moment with your drinks.”

He nods, his eyes tinged pink as he slides back into the booth. “Girl!” the boss shouts making you jump, “get a move on!”

“Coming,” you shout, quickly moving around the restaurant and refilling drinks before grabbing the coffee pot and rushing back to the table, flipping the mugs and filling them with the sludge.

Jason takes a sip before grimacing, he quickly tries to cover with a smile, “That’s perfect.”

It makes you giggle and a smile spreads across his cheeks, “Try it with cream and sugar, it’s not perfect, but it’s much better.”

He nods, reaching for the cream and sugar and she notes how he makes it, two creams and four sugars, boy has a sweet tooth. “Ahh, that’s much better,” he closes his eyes leaning back in the booth, “thank you.”

“Happy to help, your food will be up soon,” you smile, turning back to the others before the bell rings signaling out an order for pickup. Hal’s Diner is surprisingly busy for a Wednesday morning at 2 AM and it keeps you on your toes. You can’t help glancing at the father-son duo in the corner, quietly chatting over their cups of coffee.

“Order up,” Cookie shouts from the kitchen, “double cinnamon roll pancakes with two sides of bacon!” You rush to pick up the order before one of the runners, grabbing it a second before Veronica does.

“Who lit your ass on fire tonight?” Veronica puts her hands on her hips, “you trying to show off for Bruce Wayne? Hoping he’ll adopt you like one of his other street rats?”

“What are you talking about?” you grab the food and put it on the tray.

“You really don’t know nothing, kid,” she shakes her head, “you’ve been serving a billionaire all night and had no idea.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you shake your head, “doesn’t change anything.” She laughs incredulously, and you move around her to the table putting down the food. “Two cinnamon roll pancakes with a side of bacon.”

“Wow,” Jason licks his lips, “this looks fantastic.” Without your knowledge, you lick your lips watching him before Bruce coughs gaining your attention.

“Thank you,” Bruce nods, “can I get some more coffee when you get a chance?”

“Absolutely,” you grab the pot off the warmer and refill their mugs before grabbing the extra cream and sugar from your pocket and putting them before Jason. “Enjoy your meal,” you write the total on the pad and turn it over on the table, “I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready, no rush.”

“Thanks,” Jason swallows hard, jolting slightly when Bruce gives him an easy kick to the leg, “before you go though, would you…maybe want to join me next time?”

You blink, before a soft smile crosses your face, “I would really like that,” you write your number on the pad, “text me?”

“I will,” he pulls out his phone, the latest model, and quickly punches in the number before shooting off a quick text, the phone buzzing in your pocket. “That’s me,” he grins, putting the phone face down on the table.

“Got it,” you pull the old flip phone out of your pocket, saving his contact, “see you around, Jason Todd.” You smile, turning back and pocketing the phone before your boss sees.

“See ya,” he puts his head in his hand and watches you walk away. Bruce gives him a nudge pointing down at the food before him and he takes bites in between watching you walk around the different tables.

“Time to get going,” Bruce pulls cash out of his wallet, far beyond what the bill says before standing, “we got to get back out to patrol.”

“One second,” Jason stands, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Bruce nods, going towards the door and out into the pouring rain of the early morning. Jason walks to the counter and hands over the check and payment quickly cutting you off when you begin to protest about the number of bills in your hands. “Trust me, he can afford it. But what I really wanted to say is...can you text me when you leave and get home?”

“It’s not going to be for another two hours,” you wrap your hands around your waist, “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You won’t,” he shakes his head, “I’ll be more concerned not knowing if you got home safe. Gotham isn’t safe, especially at night.”

“Okay,” you nod, “I’ll text you.”

“Thanks,” he looks left and right before quickly leaning across the counter and placing a kiss on your cheek, “see ya around Doll.”

Ten Years Later

You brush the tear sliding down your cheek and look at the plate full of cinnamon roll pancakes, a side of bacon off to your right. The phone before you is newer but far from the newest model, all the extra funds going into the Diner, an impulse buy when it came up for sale, two years ago. The last memory you have of him, is Jason kissing you against the walk-in freezer door before he left for a trip with his father.

You open the phone, glancing down at the text, the last one he ever sent,

I miss you, I’ll be home soon. I have something important to tell you when I get back. Wait for me, Doll. - J

You put the phone face down on the table, letting the tears splash onto the table. “It’s been eight years, and I’m waiting J, right where you left me,” you whisper, putting a hand to your aching chest, “and I still feel lost without you.”

[howlingday]

tragic backstory (tm) au) ozpin finally gets to show up merlin as the wizard mentor to a inspiring king who is also a symbol of hope. granted jaune has no real authority since the council does everything nor does he wish to take over but ozpin knows exactly what jaune needs.... no not actual training in the basics of combat to act a a foundation to his greater feats, that's rediculous! no he needs PHENOMENAL ACTING TALENT!!!!!!!

time for everyone's favorite cinnomin role to come back and help jaune decide on a persona and how to play it!

Original Cin-Cin

---------------------------------------------------

Ozpin: How was your mission, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: Uh, great! Really great! Definitely didn't say or do anything wrong.

Ozpin: I'm glad to hear it, since Springtime's current headmaster is a dear friend of mine.

Jaune: O-Oh, really?

Ozpin: Yes. In fact, I was just in contact with him recently, and he said-

Jaune: (On the floor) I'm sorry! I didn't know that the microphone was on!

Ozpin: ...You caved much faster than I thought. Is that really how a king should present himself?

Jaune: Again with the king stuff? (Stands up) Sooner or later, people are going to figure out I'm not a king.

Ozpin: Indeed. Just someone who got extremely lucky and famous.

Jaune: More unlucky...

Ozpin: And infamous. As I recall, that was how you referred to yourself when being introduced.

Jaune: Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess I did do that.

Ozpin: Indeed you did, and it was enough to get people talking. To get people thinking. Everyone now knows who you are, or has at least heard of you.

Jaune: Yeah. And now my family's getting harassed every day and I can't do a thing about it.

Ozpin: Sadly, no. It is one of the many flaws of being famous, and infamous. But the people need leadership, Mr. Arc. As the adage goes, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it.

Jaune: What about after I make it?

Ozpin: Then you'll be on your own, in a way. You'll be in a position where your faking no longer applies, and you'll have friends you can rely on to help you however they can.

Jaune: So I just have to keep pretending I'm someone I'm not? Just this... fake king guy?

Ozpin: Well, if you'd like, I can assign you a... shall we say "outsourced tutor" to help you build your confidence?

Jaune: An outsourced tutor? What do you mean?

---------------------------------------------------

Yang: You sure you don't want to come down and see Cin-Cin?

Blake: I'm sure. From what Jaune's told us, she's still nervous around Faunus, so I'd prefer to not do anything that would upset her while she's visiting.

Yang: Alright. I'll try to record as much as their sibling bonding as I can. Just for you.

Blake: (Smiles) Thank you.

Weiss: Ruby, what do you think? Blue earrings, yes or no?

Ruby: Wow... You're asking for my opinion?!

Weiss: Don't make me regret asking you.

Ruby: No, no! You can trust me! Um, uh, well, uh...

Nora: I dunno why you're so concerned about her. Doesn't she already not like you?

Weiss: Which is exactly why I'm trying to show her my better qualities!

Emerald: But wasn't one of the reasons she doesn't like you is how superficial you are?

Weiss: ...

Weiss: (Crouches in a corner) I just can't win, can I?

Ruby: Ah! B-Bestie!

Ren: Nora, are you upsetting Weiss again?

Nora: Maaaaaybe?

Mercury: Nice goin', Em. Brutal honesty wins again.

Emerald: Was it really that brutal? I was just asking a question.

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: So it's just the four of us, huh?

Yang: Almost like we're our own team, huh?

Ruby: What would we be called? R-Y-P-J? Rip J? Uh, R-P-Y-J, Rippage? R-J-Y... Uh, what was the other one?

Yang: P.

Pyrrha: ...Were you talking to me?

Yang: Nah, I was answering Ruby. Also, pretty bold of you to assume you'd be the leader, Rubes.

Ruby: Why not? I like being a team leader.

Jaune: That makes one of us. I was already barely scraping by as a team leader, and now I have an even bigger team to take care of.

Yang: He said, already months into his role as super leader of his own super harem team.

Ruby: Yang!

Yang: I'm kidding! ...Mostly.

Jaune: What are you- Oh! There she is! Cin-Cin! Over here!

Cin-Cin: ...Hi, Jaune.

Jaune: Hi.

Ruby: ...So, was the, uh, flight okay?

Cin-Cin: It was fine. Can we hurry up and go to the headmaster?

Jaune: Oh, uh, sure.

Cin-Cin: (Walks ahead)

Jaune: (Following behind)

Yang: Wow, she's...

Ruby: Kinda mean?

Pyrrha: Distant?

Yang: I was going to say, "she's not happy to be here," but I guess those work, too.

---------------------------------------------------

Velvet: (Reading)

Fox: Hey, Velvet?

Velvet: Hm? What's up, Fox?

Fox: Uh, just wondering, but are you and Cardin... y'know?

Velvet: (Blushing) W-What do you mean?

Fox: Well, it's just, you and him are getting along and actually talking to each other, so I was wondering...

Velvet: We're just friends, Fox.

Fox: Oh, okay. Just friends. That's good. Good, good, good.

Velvet: ...Is there something wrong with us being friends?

Fox: No, no, it's great, but, uh...

Velvet: ...Did Yatsuhashi put you up to this?

Fox: ...No?

Velvet: Coco?

Coco: He did, Bun-Bun.

Velvet: (Sighs) Why is he so against me and Cardin being friends?

Coco: You mean besides the obvious?

Velvet: He's changed since his first year!

Coco: Which ended a few months ago.

Velvet: (Pouts)

Coco: (Sighs) Fox, could you give us the room, please? And tell Yats I wanna talk to him, too.

Fox: Sure. (Walks out)

Coco: Velvet, listen, I know you like the guy- And before you start, yes, I know it's more than just being friends, but you can't expect your closest friends, us, forget about all the crap him and his cronies put you through. The teasing, the ear-pulling, (Lowers glasses) the comments?

Velvet: I... I didn't forget, but...

Coco: We're all just worried about you, okay, Bun-Bun?

Velvet: ...Okay. But can I please stop having you all mother hen me?

Coco: Only if you stop making us worry. Oh, and don't forget our trip to the mall coming up this weekend.

Velvet: I won't.

Coco: Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got me a gentle giant to talk to.

---------------------------------------------------

Cin-Cin: Again. Who are you?

Jaune: My name is Jaune Arc.

Cin-Cin: Who are you?

Jaune: My name is Jaune Arc. I am the new king of Vale.

Cin-Cin: Who?

Jaune: My name is Jaune Arc. I am the King of Vale. I am the hero of Mallet.

Cin-Cin: I don't know who you are, but you're not convincing anyone. Who are you?

Jaune: My name- Cin-Cin, do we have to-

Cin-Cin: Stop! If you want people to believe you, you have to believe it yourself. And if you want to believe it yourself, then you have to know what you're talking about. So who are you?

Jaune: Who am I? I'm Jaune Arc, the only son of the Arc family and the older brother of Cinnamon Arc. That's who I am.

Cin-Cin: (Turns away, Facepalms) I can't believe you said that with a straight face.

Jaune: (Thinking) Ugh, I probably sounded lame to her.

Cin-Cin: (Covering her cherry face, Thinking) He sounded so cool and confident!.

Pyrrha: Do you think it's going well?

Weiss: Hard to tell... Then again, this is Jaune we're talking about.

Pyrrha: What do you mean?

Weiss: Ever since we learned about his past, he's been adamant about denying it, and yet everything he does contradicts what he says. And that's not including the specifics on what he does.

Weiss: One evening, he's embarrassing the Schnee Dust Company, and the next day, he's besting the leader of the White Fang, only to then go on to lead an amalgamation of two huntsmen teams with no confidence, and emerge from the first joint mission with a massive internationally observed Grimm kill near single-handedly! Nothing about him makes any sense!

Pyrrha: Well, for as long as I've known Jaune, I've found the easiest answer is the most simple one.

Weiss: And that is?

Pyrrha: He's just Jaune being Jaune.

Weiss: Hm... (Looks to Ruby)

Ruby: You can do it, Jaune! Here, try this! (Pulls out paper crown) It's not real, but it'll get you in the right mind thing!

Weiss: I think... I know what you mean.

[madstronaut]

tis christmas in july aka the season for feasting year-round 

much like the 3-in-1 monstrosity of shampoo/condish/bodywash that the COD men probably use (not gaz, though he would n e v e r) I am tossing in my ramblimmentaries three of cin’s lovely fics together here 🥰

aaanyway not even ashamed to say I’ve been re-reading their holiday keegan fic SEVERAL TIMES a month since I first saw it last december cos it’s so cute and fluffy

ok I need to get this out of the way laughing my ass off rn because autocorrect changed cumikering to cucumber several times throughout here and i was howling when I went to edit this and I was like why are there cucumbers everywhere??? LMAO

Reading: Neighbour Keegan Russ x reader by @cumikering

ah meet cute at the laundry room; I love it alr (as you can see i am easily pleased/amused/moved)

also it’s already on sight with reader’s cuz, i have unfortunately met ppl like this IRL (haven’t we all) and well talk about telling on themselves about how unhappy they are :/

“Well, if you need company…” he said, trying to not sound too hopeful. I’d love to spend some time with you. You turned to him, brow raised. “Wait, you mean, you want to come with? Be my plus one?” “That wasn’t- well, yeah. I can do that.” He shrugged. “If you want.” This wasn’t the direction he was heading for. He was going to offer to spend Christmas together, maybe exchange gifts, but he surely wasn’t going to take that back. Anything for a chance with you.

AAAA OBSESSED WITH HOW CUTE AND AWKWARD THIS WHOLE EXCHANGE IS

He always enjoyed seeing your face brighten like that, despite never getting the chance to see it enough…But between deployments, he was lucky to even catch a glimpse of you once a week, leaving any possible advances towards you simply a fantasy to him. He was out of practice, but was he that out of practice that he came on too strong and scared you? He certainly didn’t mean to make it suggestive. This was going to end before it even started. He grimaced to himself.

we love some good ole mutual pining🥺🥰🥺🥰🥺🥰

That time you saw Keegan on a run shirtless out your window you had to sit down.

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA crying laughing at this…also reminded me of a time I hung out with a friend in LA who went to pick up a friend after he ran a marathon and drop him off before we went to dinner - didn’t realize the runner was an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a while since he was a senior when I was a freshman in college but I fucking remembered him alright when he came running up ripped af, shirtless, sweaty, saw me and went “MADSTRONAAUUTTTT OMG” and picked me up and spun me while in his giant hulking sweaty arms and I briefly bluescreened…anyway cough sorry back to keegan what was I saying, yes shirtless sweaty keegan yes yes 

He didn’t speak much (you wished he did though because his voice was divine)

my fellow voicekink brian bloom fans where you at

ah wooing by fake dating, is there a better trope (tbh the ones I’ve read are hit or miss but this one is 10/10)

Keegan sat on his bed as you went through his wardrobe. How cheesy would it be if he were to pull out his guitar and serenade you? He, too, was told the ladies liked men who played the guitar. Why do you think he picked it up in high school?

*thousand eyed stare thinking of how many times I've heard wonderwall as a millenial*

He’d made it his mission to make sure taking him to your family was worth your while.

ah yes a true soldier through and throughhhhh~

You were a steady stream of glee that didn’t drain him and he couldn’t get enough.

AAWWWWWWW fucking loved this line!!!!!!!

also the cousin’s name as Bella now has me picturing her as twilight kristen stewart

It only made it hard to dilute your hopefulness that this meant the slightest bit more than nothing.

“dilute your hopefulness” GAAHHH LOVE THIS PHRASE CIN MWAH MWAH

now how to put this lightly but everything about bella just filled me with pure rage lol first off I WOULD ALSO KILL FOR A DYSON AIR WRAP GIFTED TO ME (can I buy one? yes. can I justify buying one? hell no) and I hate to use this term but textbook definition of a ‘pick-me girl’ right here but seeing casual cruelty like this would make me hear those kill bill sirens and have me swabbing some vaseline on my face and taking my earrings off and spitting some razorblades out my mouth and- cough anyway that’s from my younger fanciful days, I don’t carry razorblades in my mouth this isn’t late 90s/early 2000s new york ha cough anyway moving on smh throwing my hands at bella up in air

but I loved the contrast with keegan and let me just say everything about bella’s ‘gift’ goes against the pure nature of giftgiving and I am thrilled that she left the card there but got to take Keegan home 🥰

this whole fic reminded me of a lovely quote I read on a tear-off daily calendar lol

“The wise one knows. The giver of the gift IS the gift. And the gift is just the giver’s heart in the shape of something to make you smile.  The gift decays. The giver stays. And so the real gift remains.”

I will make an exception for celebrating Christmas in July for any of cin's holiday fics 🥰🥰🥰

-----------------------------------------

aaaaand also reading: by Ghost x plus-sized reader by cinny

omfg fucking tearing up my pillows to shreds at how much I love this lil fic!!!

You scoffed, looking past him at the other ladies in the room. “Are you serious? There are plenty who weigh far less.” His brow rose. “Are you calling me weak?”

fucking love reading about a suave smooth-ass ghost

His eyes softened a touch. “May I? Please?”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 WHO CAN RESIST PUPPY EYED GHOST??? TELL ME WHO

 Across the pub, the table of three men grinned at the massive stranger. The one with the mohawk was very much entertained as he gave him thumbs up.

yes yes we love wingman!141

You laughed, your breath warm against his ear. “Are you going to set me down or am I having my drink on your back?” “Don’t give me ideas.” He chuckled as he lowered you to your feet.

HOW CUTE IS SIMON CARRYING READER TO THE BAR? AAAAAAA

“Okay. Well, thanks for he drink. You could get back to your mates if you want.” “I’m Simon,” he mustered instead.

“he mustered” AAAH I LOVE BIG NERVOUS MEN STUMBLING OVER THEIR WORDS

When he turned to them, they immediately busied themselves with their drinks, averting their gazes.

LMAO

So that was why you were alone. You were waiting for someone. Disappointment anchored at the bottom of his chest. “Right. Okay.” You smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Simon. I’ll see you around, yeah?” He grunted and you headed to the end of the bar. He stood umoving for another second before retreating to his table like a kicked puppy.

ummm omg I literally keeled over and slumped out of my chair in sympathy for simon for a good minute before I could read on OMG CIN HOW COULD YOU (lmao jk I loved this sm)

You flagged down some other blond man who walked over to you with a smile.

LMAO yes yes simon you are clearly superior

“I know she’s with someone, but I can tell she likes you more,” Price said, and Simon finally tore his gaze away from you. “Ye should fight ‘im, L.T. He dinnae stand a fuckin’ chance.” “You can knock him out with a slap,” Gaz quipped.

fucking love this, cin has 141 characterisation down to a T with each of their responses!!!! 

also men of the world if you can please take notes on stepping up from 141 here, please start doing so yesterday tyvm

so busy mopping up my heart from melting at how adorable this meet-cute is and I also got halal two days in a row from the halal guys cart by work thanks to reading about the kebabs in this fic

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and finally reading: Ghost x asmr artist reader by cinny

"Simon had a pepper problem and a pasta dilemma"

🥺🥺🥺🥺 I am dying at the cuteness here alr🥺🥺🥺🥺

You turned to him. He noticed the little startle before you shoved your phone back in your pocket.

men who are self-aware of their size and presence and the effect it has on ppl around them and act accordingly, I love you

Your quiet cooking videos were one of the only things left that offered him calmness, especially on those nights away on missions, giving him tingles in all the right places, and shamefully, the wrong ones too sometimes.

sir, sir, there is no room for shame in love~

“Ah- I’m sorry,“ he managed, flustered by your sudden exit. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but you make those videos, don’t you? I recognised your voice.” You grinned, turning to him. “I just wanted to thank you,” he said. “Your videos comfort me a lot.” “I’m happy to hear. Thank you for watching.” Simon wanted to tug his beanie over his face because as you walked away, he was unmoving with a racing heart and a blush over his pale cheeks.

omfg WANTED TO TUG HIS BEANIE DOWN??? I AM IN LOVE I LOVE STRONG YET VULNERABLE GIANT MEN SM (this is a fluff fic so I am keeping with the fluffy vibes nd restraining my horny ass from choking out some absolutely thirsty comments here)

Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, your quiet yet crisp voice always sent him into a restful slumber.

yes shoutout to my favorite YT vids and comfort fics for putting me to sleep without fail

The chance encounter only fuelled his attraction. Knowing the kind smile behind the sweetest voice felt like an intimate secret, one you shared with him and only him - not with the rest of your few thousand subscribers.

i love how sweet simon is here with his lil parasocial crush and OMG WHEN READER APPROACHES HIM FIRST IN THE PASTA AISLE I also blushed IRL GOD I LOve FLUFF FICS SM

“Someone sent in a recipe for a video, and it’s absolutely delicious. I’ve been making it at least once a month ever since.”

SIMON’S COMFORT YOUTUBER’S COMFORT RECIPE IS SIMON'S??? WHAT IS THIS GLORIOUS OUROBOROS OF A COINKYDINK

He combed his hair back with his fingers, hoping his hat hair wasn’t terrible. He caught the double take you did at his tattooed arm.

🥰hehehe i love these little tidbits and morsels of vulnerability (hmm good band name, writing that down)

The rich scent of caramelised meat drifting in the room wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

Between sips of tea, you enjoyed your own halves of the chocolate wordlessly, the music melting into the background.

The savoury aroma glided past the thin gaps of the oven, swirling and dancing between you and him.

mmmmmm this has to be one of the coziest fics ive ever read

“I was an apprentice butcher before I enlisted.” He pressed down on the ricer with ease.

so much said in two sentences!!! ugh mwah mwah so many chef’s kisses for your writing style cinny

also loved how both are very self-aware and how reader picks up on simon talking about his mom in past tense and the whole fic emerging to fit around this bit of simon’s story is so wonderful to me… He waited until you took a bite before taking his own, and his breath caught. His brows furrowed as lump formed in his throat. Had the ground cracked and plunged him into a glitched universe? He was once more in Manchester, 10 years younger, finally home after a long day at the butcher, his mum and brother waiting at the table with the piping hot dish in the middle of it.

literally picturing that critic eating ratatouille flashback end scene from the eponymous movie 😂🥰

The last thing he wanted to do in front of you was shed a tear, but there he was, some hulking stranger sobbing on your shoulder as nostalgia held him in a death grip. It was humiliating to be seen like this – he didn’t remember the last time he cried from feelings, yet the tears wouldn’t cease despite his efforts. But you held him close, and his thick arms wrapped around you. He told himself if he pulled you close enough, it would hurt less.

i love how simon’s comfort streamer becomes an IRL comfort place for him to safely break down 🥹🥹 did I cry from reading this? IDK MAYBE WHO KNOWS? (looks at the ruined kleenex piled in my wastebin)

I hope all readers know and have a person and place like this (and may we host such places and become such people as well) 💛✨🌿

and of course I will pause my rambles here with a big-ass hug 🫂 and thank you to cinny for being a wonderful comfort fic writer for meeee 🫶🫶🫶😘👌😘👌😘👌

[cinamun]

Talking of antagonists and whatnot, I'm still over here wondering who Eva's baby daddy is and if he's gonna be a problem, because I'm suspicious 👀 Emalee called Jayce dada in the coffee house, and I think the only thing Eva's ever really said about him so far is that he isn't around, and I just have a feeling you're going to pull something wild on us. If it's Kenji I'm giving up and going home. How long has old mate Elliot been dead for at this point? (rip to the homie) We know he cheated, could he have pulled a Jackson and fathered a kid? My spidey senses are tingling Cin!! Also, you deserve all the flowers for the last post, you're out here making magic from these pixels friend!!! 👏

Oof friend!!! Okay!

I think Emalee doesn't see her dad often at all, so Eva saying this is probably out of frustration; Emalee has definitely called a random Black man "dada" before and her momma is tiredt lmfao

It just so happens to be that Eva's daddy (and Jay's) would be the subject of some shit later on.... was this foreshadowing?

Maybe..... 💅🏾

Also let us please let the homie E rest in peace lol I promise he is not coming back (unless Hope has another vision but ig stay tuned?).

Emalee's daddy might just be a random townie or some other insignificant set of pixels roaming the worlds. You'll have to stay tuned to find out if he's even relevant or not. I will happily accept your flowers while you do that. THANK YOU!

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

You get what you give

Note: We're leaving dmc3 era folks. I should probably state this at the beginning but the reader is a bit ooc. You have creative background, you're welcome. Dante and reader learn more about each other as they try to work as a team.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So…these are your accounts.” You spoke more to yourself than Dante as you turned page after page filled with various scribblings, none of which even closely resembled accounts. You spotted one with tic-tac-toe, on the other Dante just tried how many circles he can fit on one page, and on another two were very fifth-grader drawings of male and female anatomy.

“Yeah.” you heard from the opposite side of the office.

Jesus.

“There seems to be a gap here.”

“Is there?”

“Yeah. There’s a gap where should be accounts. I can see a big account-free gap between page one and page two hundred and ten.”

Dante fished a magazine out of the cushions of the worn couch and headed toward the toilet. To your horror, you heard the sound of the zipper opening, and when you lifted your head, your sight was greeted with a piece of pale buttcheek hanging out of oversized cargo pants. When you heard the sound of water running, you burrowed your face in your hands.

“Could you close the door next time?!”

“Don’t have ‘em.”

“What??”

“Don’t have the door,” Dante answered calmly, holding a magazine in one hand as he went about his business.

You decided to change the topic and occupy your mind so you won’t freak out about Dante's complete lack of decorum.

“This place is a mess! Not just its finances the building looks like it's about to crumble, I can’t barely walk for all the debris and pizza boxes littering the floor, and electricity falls out every two hours!”

You throw Dante an exasperated glare as he stepped from the bathroom, this time with his pants up.

“It’s not my fault that a bunch of…gangsters decided to wreck my shop, and if you didn’t notice the electricity gets jammed all around the city, thanks to the massive tower that spurted from the ground a week ago.”

“Please tell me you have insurance on this place.”

“I just moved here.”

“Argh! Where’s a phone?”

Dante walked over to a pile of debris, put his hand in there, and pulled out the dusty red rotary phone. To his credit, he wiped off some of the dust before handing it to you.

“All right, so thankfully, I have written some important numbers in my diary, including the insurance company. They should at least give us some advice on how to handle this.

“And the desk?”

Dante nodded his head to one piece of what used to be a wooden office desk cleaved right in the middle. Right.

You sighed. Sitting on the floor did not seem like the best idea, lest you wanted to throw away your pants as soon as you came home. So you just stood there, balancing the rotary on your hand while holding the earpiece with your shoulder to your ear. You handed Dante your diary opened at the contact list, so he is of some use. As you started putting in the numbers, the phone started ringing.

“Yes? Hello? Mr. Sparda’s office.” you used honorifics despite Dante telling you otherwise. Old habits die hard.

“Help! They swarming the entire area! The dem-” You didn’t get the chance of listening to the rest of the story as Dante ripped the headphone out of your hand.

He listened to them for a minute before giving you back the phone with the person still talking on the other line.

“Ah! Yes…Mr. Sparda will arrive soon. Goodbye.” You finished talking to them while you watched Dante stomping around the office, gathering his gear.

“Take care of the place will ya? And if you hear weird sounds from outside, don’t worry it’s normal here.”

As he headed towards the door, you called after him. “Hey! You still have to give me-” The click of the door closing was your only answer. “The employment contract, and CIN, and testimony about the accident in the shop…” you finished the sentence to yourself.

You stood there in the middle of decimated building, surrounded by garbage and unpaid bills, and reminders from the tax office. Wordlessly, you walked to your bag, pulled out two pills of aspirin, and swallowed them in one go. This’ll be a long day.

-

By the time Dante returned, you managed to get the office area into a somewhat manageable space. The trash you collected was enough to fill three large bags and you had a feeling that if you properly decluttered the entire building, you would fill thrice as much. With the desk missing, you created a small working area in a place where the desk should be and answered endless calls that gave you an idea of what sort of business is Dante running, or not.

You moved to Redgrave recently for your now ex-job. You had marveled at how cheap the housing expenses were here, despite Redgrave being one of the larger cities. Soon you found out why. Living here is…dangerous. Frequent disappearances, lots of crime, and natural disasters. Well, natural, recently Redgrave city experienced an earthquake, which caused some ancient monuments to rise from underground. The newspaper explained this phenomenon as an earthquake revealing old ruins hidden under the city. You didn’t question it. Neither did you question Morrison when he told you Dante Sparda does mostly pest removal. You assumed that the guy is an exterminator, and he is…in a way. The issue is in what exactly he is exterminating.

As you answered calls and booked him appointments, you learned that there is a side to the world that was unknown to you. There’s a group of what appeared to be grim reapers with massive scissors at 99 Greenview Lane. Then some gentleman was hiding in his car from two multi-limbed living statues between Rock St. and Lancaster Aven. And the last call you picked up was just screaming and inhuman hissing… Needless to say, you were more than a little worried, and you had to make an order in all of it. So when the door swung open you jumped up in shock and almost peed yourself at the sight of blood-covered Dante, hunching over like a predator ready to pounce and with his bangs covering his face in a way it made his eyes almost glow from underneath them. As he began walking, no, stalking in your direction you felt the same chill as the night you met.

“G-good evening mister-”

He shot you a look.

“Dante.”

You slowly rose from your seating position as if any quick movements would make him act up.

“The accounts are done. It took me twice as long because I’ve been answering calls between the accounts. You’re booked for two weeks.” You gave a nervous chuckle.

“Somethings different.”

“Huh?” you looked around in confusion. “Oh, I guess I cleaned the place a little.”

“You cleaned??” Dante’s eyes peered at you from the white curtain.

“Well, I have to make a working space. You gestured awkwardly to the calendar, notebook, lamp, phone, and few writing supplies in an empty can you found, all neatly lined up in rectangular shapes.

Dante put his sword against the wall and walked to you while fishing for something in his pocket. He pulled out a thick wad of banknotes, quickly thumbed through them, and gave you some.

“Thanks for today. You did a lot of work today. See you tomorrow.”

When you said your goodbyes, you were already pushed out of the shop. Only when the door closed behind you, you inspected your paycheck and almost choked. Now you are sure Dante has no idea how money works, considering the children’s coloring book he made out of his accounts and that he gave you during your first day what you normally earned in a month.

-

The next day you came a little late. It doesn’t matter, because, from the silence that greeted you, no one else was up and about in this establishment. You looked around the ground floor with Dante nowhere to be found, so you headed upstairs. You were a little uncomfortable entering his private space, but he had several appointments in the morning and you need to keep this business going if you wanted your next paycheck.

You opened several rooms, finding a small kitchen, storage, a room filled with…things, and a bathroom. As you were going through rooms, you realized something. The place was jarringly, surprisingly, miserably bare. Not personal in the slightest. The only sign that someone live there was empty pizza boxes and beer bottles, and dirty laundry. No photos, or posters on the wall. Dante said he moved to this place month ago. Surely he has to have boxes of stuff. Clothes, dishes, something…

You opened the last door and there he was, sprawled on the bed in deep slumber. A blanket wrapped around his hips and muscular torso was full on display.

“Dante! It’s time to wake up.” You put your hands on the edge of the bed. No reaction.

With a huff, you walked over to the curtain and pulled them open, then headed to the foot of the bed and gripped the blanket.

“I said, wake up Dante!” you raised your voice and pulled away the blanket. Only to screech in horror. Is this guy allergic to clothes?!

At your harpy screech, Dante finally woke up.

“Huh? What’s the time?”

“It’s almost eight!”

“In the evening?”

“No moron! it’s morning.” You gestured towards the window. Dante blinked once, twice, then flopped on the bed. “Too early.”

You felt your eyebrow twitch. You just called your boss a moron and you were in danger of kicking him in the butt he flashed your way. Without another word, you walked out of the room. Dante secretly grinned in victory and felt himself dozing back to sleep…only to have water poured on him a few minutes later.

“Hey-What the-”

“Good morning mister Sparda!” you singsonged, face dangerously close to his, smiling aggressively. “I hope you slept well, and now it’s time to wake up.” You gave two claps right in his face and Dante jerked away in shock. As you walked out of Dante’s bedroom, you could hear his silent grumbling, but also rustling of the sheets as he got up. Good.

When Dante walked down to the office dressed (?) and somewhat clean you handed him a piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

“Your appointments. I wrote the time and the address and number of…pests. However, I can’t tell you which kind it was. The customers were often…disoriented. You’re already running late for the first one, by the way.” You stated as you peered at the digital clock at your…table?

You noticed that only now. The improvised sitting area is made out of concrete blocks, planks of wood, and a car seat he found god knows where. It was a poor excuse for office space, but it’s more than what you left yesterday. You turned back to Dante who was still studying your writings and started to gently push him towards the door.

“I’m sure they’ll forgive a little tardiness. After all, they need you.”

“Right, I swing by once I buy some breakfast and…”

“No breakfast. You’re late, remember?”

“But I’m hungry!”

“You should’ve thought about that before sleeping in.” you sing-songed once more and pushed him out of the door.

“Happy hunting!” you called after him before closing the door in his face.

-

With the accounts taken care of, you mostly picked up phones and cleaned the office…again. That seemed to be like a neverending task. With Dante having no cleaning supplies, not even a bucket or a broom, you have to bring these things from home. You filled another pack of trash bags and the place didn’t look so sad anymore.

As you were sweeping around the couch, something crinkled under your shoe. You looked down and noticed you stepped onto a picture frame. As you bend down to pick it up, you noticed the glass front broke and several pieces fell on the floor. Once you carefully removed all glass and threw away the broken frame, you had a chance to inspect the photo. A woman, probably in her thirties, with long, platinum blonde hair and a smile that seemed to hold many secrets. She was wearing a red shawl and when you inspected her face closely, a yellow paling paper gave away two pale blue eyes.

This must be Dante's mother, you were sure of it. What happened to her? Surely, she would call into the office and check up on him by now. Are they not in contact? Why would he have her photo on his desk though? And what about the rest of his family? Does Dante have any family? The more pieces of a puzzle you had about the life of Dante Sparda, the more questions you had. You could have just put the photo away and mind your own business. However, you couldn’t look away from the shining red dot on the otherwise grey canvas that was your life. It was the reason why you’re still working here, after all. That and fat bills still resting in your wallet.

You were ripped out of your musings by the loud growling of your stomach. It’s been two hours after your lunchtime. When you prepared for leaving, you realized that you don't have the keys to the shop or any way to contact Dante. You have to get him a pager or something. Hopefully a sign on the front door with the message ‘Be right back’ will suffice.

-

When you came back, you found Dante laying on the couch with a magazine covering his face. Silently to not wake him up, you tiptoed to your improvised desk. Your efforts to be quiet showed pointless when Dante greeted you from under the magazine.

“The insurance lady called.”

You jumped a little in surprise, “Really? What did she say?”

“The government is sending funds to small businesses to help them after the earthquake.”

“That’s great!” you beamed. Finally, something is working out.

“Dante?”

“Hm?”

“You are enlisted in the tradesman…right?”

Your only answer was a low grumble.

“Dante?!” You felt your blood pressure rising.

“Listen,” Dante grabbed the magazine and threw it on the couch as he got up, “it’s your job to take care of these things! You’re the accountant!”

“I’m secretary!” you interrupted him, “my job is to pick up phones not be your maid. I’m doing everything in here, and I don’t even have a contract. Working in a place that’s on the verge of bankruptcy for a man who doesn’t even know what CIN is??”

“And you think I spend all these hours outside of the office scavenge hunting?! And for your information, I know very well who the CIA is, worked rather closely with them in the past.”

“What?!?”

“Is this a bad time?”

You both whipped your heads towards the entrance and notice Lady standing there.

“Great. You were the only thing missing here.” Dante snarled sarcastically.

“Don’t drag me into your shit.” she hissed angrily.

You still weren’t done with Dante. “I worked here tirelessly for three days now. Doing everything from chores to administrative work, to finance. Despite the working conditions” you threw your arm around the office to emphasize your point, “I was rather amicable-”

“You were a pain in the ass,” he snapped at you. “I was doing fine before you came. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.” He whispered the last bit, but you heard all the same.

You were completely speechless, only letting out a single gasp. Your patience finally snapped. Without another word, you grabbed your things and walked out of the office, but then you remembered something and put your head inside the office once more.

“I bought you lunch, by the way.” Then you left for good.

Dante and Lady simultaneously turned to the steaming, plastic container on the table.

-

Your nails nervously danced on the plastic table in what was probably the only standing McDonald’s in the city. You were supposed to wait for the head of the staff and discuss the contract details. As you watched a middle-aged man with a beer belly stuff his face with Bic Mac while his two gremlins (ahem children) smeared ketchup on the surrounding tables as one of the staff, a high school girl with blue hair in braids ran after them with a wet cloth and distressed look on her face.

You can’t wait for the shift to start.

You were so preoccupied with watching the scene in front of you that you haven’t noticed someone quietly slipping into the opposite seat.

“You need to go back.”

“Gah!” you jumped at the familiar voice in front of you.

“Seriously?! Do you and Dante enjoy freaking me out?” You saw Lady’s deadpan expression and realized how loud you were. Without commenting on it, she continued.

“You need to return to the Devil May Cry. Dante needs you.”

“Devil-what??”

“Devil May Cry. That’s how Dante wants to name the shop after he scrapes enough money to repair it, that is.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

Lady narrowed her eyes at you, then sighed.

“Listen, I understand that you’re angry and that the job is…difficult at times. But there’s plenty of cash in demon hunting. Especially now with the Temen-”

“Hold on, did you say demon hunting??”

“Well yeah. What else did you think Dante was doing?”

“Pest…control?”

Lady cackled. “That he does. Just different types of ‘pests’.”

You let that information sink in.

“So…you and Dante…hunt demons.”

Lady nodded, “And the bastard is pretty good at it, too. The best there is.” She admitted begrudgingly. “But the things like taxes and running a business? He’s hopeless. I don’t think he had anyone to show him the ropes.”

“In enterprise?”

“In…life.”

You remembered the bareness of Dante’s apartment, the single photo of a woman with the same eyes as Dante’s, the haunted look in Dante’s eyes the night you first met him, and the rumors.

“Lady…what kind of guy is Dante.”

She seemed to be taken aback by that question, but then she looked at the table with a frown. The events from a month ago came back to the forefront of her mind. The tower. The blood. The ritual. The man in red. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

“He’s…a guy who saved my life, for the start.” It wasn’t in her nature to depend on anyone and she hated owning someone, but Lady was not petty enough to deny this fact. She told you about the events of the Temen-Mi-Gru incident. At least the ones she was sure of, and left out gory details, leaving only relevant and important.

Just when she was describing them crawling out of a decaying tower, another voice chimed in.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m interviewing this person.” It was a storm managed, and she was giving Lady disapproving glare. Bold from someone who let you sit there for half an hour.

Lady clicked her tongue and answered, “Right, it’ll be just a minute.”

The manager put their hands on their hips, “But I have time now.”

Without looking at them, Lady pulled out a gun, and with its barrel pointing right in their face she growled, “And you’ll have it five minutes later.”

You’ve never seen a person disappearing that quickly before.

Lady spoke again.

“The thing is, he may appear like a cocky jerk at first, but once you get to know him as I did, well, he’s still a cocky jerk.” Lady chuckled. “Who puts his skin at the front line for people he barely knows and heads straight into places other people are running from, guns blazing.” She paused for a moment, twiddling with her gun. “So please, help him.”

You remembered how tired Dante looked every time he stepped into the shop, exhausted, bitter, and covered in grime. The surprise and gratefulness he displayed by simply you cleaning his office.

You let out a sigh. I’m too soft.

-

There was a bit of awkward air in the Devil May Cry office that day. Perhaps it was because there was an ex-employer who declared their departure with a slamming of a door and an ex-boss who kept looking at the floor with hands deeply wedged into his pockets, with an impatient angry woman with a rocket launcher on her back tapping her foot standing in between.

Lady jabbed Dante in the shoulder, trying to snap him out of it.

“C’mon!” she hissed through her gritted teeth. “Say it already!!”

With eyes still trained on the floor, Dante shuffled closer to you. He had the decency to lift his head for a split second to grumble with a visible pout.

“Do you wanna work at my shop.”

You bite your lip.

“Alright.”

His head whipped towards Lady, “See! I said it.”

“Don’t push it.” she pointed her finger at him threateningly. Then, she turned to you with something you dared to call a sweet smile and said, “I hope you’ll make the best of it!”

She strutted off after that, leaving you both in silence once more.

You took a good look at Dante. He looked more…ruffled than usual, and you could’ve guessed why, based on his reluctance and Lady’s pestering.

“Thanks for the lunch.” Dante ripped you away from your train of thought, making you jump a little. That made him frown.

“And you don’t have to be so skittish around me either. I…” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I know I can be a little…too much to handle, but I don’t want you to be scared to tell me off if you feel like it. She does it all the time.” He motioned towards the now-closed door with a snark.

You looked into his eyes. He was truly looking at you for once and you couldn’t help but get a little lost in those baby blues.

“I don’t like that you’re afraid of me,” Dante said softly.

Your first instinct was to deny what he said, but you paused and went about your feelings regarding Dante Sparda.

“I’m not afraid. I’m…confused.” You shrugged.

“Confused?” Dante raised his eyebrows.

“You’re…strange.” You motioned with your hands awkwardly, looking for proper words.

Dante seemed to think about that comment and you were worried that you may offend him.

“Whaddya wanna know?”

-

“So, her name is Eva.” You spoke mostly to yourself, as you held the picture of who was - surprise, surprise - Dante’s mother.

“Was Eva.”

You lifted your head from the photo to him. Dante was sitting at the new desk, cleaning his guns. After that simple question, you and Dante talked away as he helped you get the office together. You talked about your lives and your families, you told him about how you attended art school, but then had to drop out due to not being able to pay the tuition and started working as an account, which you hated, as you described to him in vivid detail. Dante, told you bits and pieces from his past, albeit you could see that he was still uncomfortable with disclosing some details. By the time you were done, you sat Dante down and with his help made a few phone calls. You managed to wrangle some money out of the insurance company, and order repair work on the front facade, and Dante even agreed on buying new furniture and office gear together. By the time you were done with him, the poor boy was so wrangled out and out of his depth that you took pity on him and ordered a pizza. While you waited for the pizza to arrive, you gently probed him about the smiling woman in the picture.

“Has she…?” you left the sentence open.

Dante shifted in his chair, not once lifting his gaze from the firearm.

“It happened when I was a little kid. There was a fire..”

“I’m sorry.” And you were. You can’t imagine what would you do if you lost your dad. Sure, you didn’t have mom but as far as you can remember, she was never in the picture. Can’t miss something you never had. But Dad…he was your whole world, and every day you hoped he still has enough time. That once rehabilitation was over, he’ll be back on his feet again.

“It’s ok,” Dante said quietly. It seems he wasn’t comfortable talking about her.

Once more, silence settle over the office, and you desperately looked for things to say. You got up from the couch and walked over to him. Dante peered at you from behind his bangs.

“I doubt you can see anything with your hair like that.” You put the photo on his desk again and pulled out a hair band. Dante twitched a little when he felt your fingers carefully card through his hair. When you were done, a little tuft of white hair stuck out right above his forehead. He looked a little ridiculous.

“There, now you can see what you’re doing.” you smiled.

He looked up at you from his chair, a little taken aback and unsure what to say, he looked so sweet and boyish it made your heart twitch. You felt yourself being pulled into those blue shades once more. You noticed those whispy white lashes framing them and the petulant scrunch of his brow.

“You have really pretty eyes.” You have breathed out, feeling a little flustered by saying the compliment.

Year heard Dante swallow. Is his face getting closer, and yours warmer??

You were interrupted by knocking on the door.

“That’d be the pizza.” Dante finally spoke. “I…uh…I get it.”

You watched dumbly as he grabbed bills wedged in the demon's skull that served as a morbid decoration of sorts and headed to the door.

You completely forget to ask him about the whole demon-hunting thingy.

[beauzos]

The Shadow Over Beau Rudolph | Chapter 1

As promised, here is the first chapter of my novel for you all to read! I'm going to post chapter 2 in a separate reblog for easier reading.

As always, thanks for reading.

Word Count: 5,092

Beau Rudolph had been down on his luck for a year and a half. Perhaps longer if he chose to view the different unfor­tunate moments of his life as being broken up by only brief interludes of happiness or stability. But prefer­ring to look more on the bright side of life, he only dealt with his bad luck in bursts, never worrying much about the past beyond that. So, it had been a year and a half since he’d had his last stable job, the last of his money, and the last of his freedom. He was freer now than he was before in other ways, if only because he was rarely beholden to anything but his own ever-changing desires. At most he was reined in by Abraham’s stern voice, the same voice that boomed over Brittlebone Creek’s congre­gation each Sunday, though it never impressed him much. That sound was something he’d grown too used to.

           Still, that deep voice always wormed its way into his head sooner or later. The old reverend had that effect upon people, even when they knew he was full of it. Per­haps the old Christian shame was just a more powerful spell upon people than Beau ever gave it credit for. What­ever it was, it was enough to rattle Beau from his lazier ways and scour around for work to do again. He, of course, did want to work, it was merely a matter of finding anyone who would have him. In a town as small as this, word traveled quicker than Beau could catch it, let alone speak his own version of the truth. Though he cared little for mentioning it himself, few others forgot that he was Beau Rudolph, Coward of the Creek. In truth, he was a cow­ard, though he didn’t care to see it that way. His cow-punching days were long, long gone, practically before he’d even started, and he considered himself better off for it.

           That wasn’t the only thing good old boys did out in Tex­as anyhow, not that he was particularly good at sticking to anything. Beau didn’t mind drifting from profession to profes­sion, but he knew it didn’t invoke a sense of trust in any potential employers. Best he could do was aid Abra­ham in tending to their little church and to any extraneous church duties, anything an idiot could do, just like the reverend said. Didn’t mean he didn’t want more, though, or couldn’t want more. Something was out there for him. Of that he was certain.

           Beau leaned over Vincent’s shoulder, put­ting all his weight upon those two narrow juts, then moved his hands up and squeezed both sides. “I’d be a good teller, I tell ya,” he remarked, snatching a pen from his friend's hand to remove any potential distractions. “I cin count 'n' figure, I cin follaw directions—”

           Abraham’s bitter sputter of a laugh rang out as he turned, sheet music in hand. “Beau, you’re dumber’n a bag of rocks. The bank would have to worry more about you than anyone gettin’ ideas. And you’re stubborner than a mule.” Under his breath, he added, “Been dealin’ with that for twenny years…”

           “Eighteen,” Beau corrected, resentful, “an’ no, I ain’t.”

           Vincent chuckled. He didn’t laugh much, and typically reserved his sincere smiles and laughter for Beau or some­thing particularly special. “Beau, I don’t think you’re mak­ing a good case for yourself.” He turned his head, quietly eyeing the pen, and ripped it from Beau’s hands just as quickly as Beau had done the same to him. “Anyhow, you know I would like to help you out. I don’t like to see you out of a job. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, isn’t that right, Rev­erend?”

           Abraham nodded sagely, yet Beau detected the smug­ness that lay underneath. It was usually there, but few else man­aged to notice it. That voice was enough to hypnotize any­body into not noticing all the flaws that sat comfortably underneath that veneer of holiness. Abraham often accused him of simply being bitter. Bitter for this, for that, for marrying his late mother, whatever. But Beau wasn’t resentful of that. The smug bastard could think whatever he wanted, though. It was a free country, and Beau was never good at convincing anybody of anything. That much was clear.

           “But I couldn’t just give you a job,” Vincent contin­ued. “We have a word for that kind of thing back in New York. You know what it is?”

           “No…?” Beau wracked his brain, but he couldn’t think of anything. He knew where this was going, though, and that was enough.

           Vincent raised a finger like he was reciting something from memory. “Nepotism. People tend to look down on giving your friends and family jobs just on the merit of your per­sonal connection. If you were qualified, though—”

           “Which I am,” Beau insisted.

           “—then I would be happy to put in a good word for you. But we have Kevin as the teller already, there’s old Jim to manage things, and I’m the acting president, so there isn’t any room for you.”

           Beau pouted, letting his hands slip from Vincent’s shoul­ders as he stepped around towards the loveseat near­by. He threw himself upon it, which Vincent barely regard­ed beyond a quick glance, then back to his desk. “Surely there’s more jobs’n that at a bank. That ain’t much at all t’ be handlin’ all that money.”

           “If this was a bigger town, then sure. But Brittlebone isn’t like New York City, or Albany, or… anywhere in New York, really. It’s quite the elaborate system when you live in civilization. But out here, we can’t spare much more. You know that.”

           He did, but he didn’t truly think about it until now, though Beau was used to that kind of thing. Growing up in Runt, Louisiana was quite the same as this, save for the cli­mate. He’d only been to New Orleans once or twice, and the bustle had been too much. Beau couldn’t imagine spending his entire life rushing. In a place like that, of course they’d need a whole lot more people, all ready to rush around for their impatient customer base. New York was probably even worse than that based on the way Vin­cent had described it to him. He wondered how a man like that fared out in the West. Vincent always appeared to be in a rush even now. He’d been here for at least a year, but his energy still matched his home state. Maybe a slow town like Brittlebone needed it, though, otherwise they’d only be left with people like Beau who drag their feet and get into more trouble than they’re worth.

           No wonder nobody trusted him, honestly. Beau didn’t suppose that he’d trust himself either, and if he did, he’d probably wind up disappointed like everybody else.

           “…S’pose someone come ‘n’ rob it, though!” Beau sud­denly added, energy renewed with his new argument. “I know y’all don’t carry guns.”

           “We have a rifle hidden underneath the teller’s booth.”

           “Ol’ Kevin an’ Jim dunno know how ta use a gun! What the hell!” Beau ignored the dirty look Abraham shot him. “You need a feller who knows how ta use it.”

           He removed his revolver from its hip holster and spun it, then snapped it into his hand, barrel pointed up. The shiny silver gleamed in the dying light of the evening, his ivory white grips complimenting the gleam. It was the clean­est gun anybody had ever seen. Beau took damn good care of it, and he’d only ever fired it once in the two years that he’d had it. He had no plans of telling Vincent that, not that it mattered. Beau had been hunting since he was a little boy. He knew his way around a gun no matter how many times he’d fired his current one.

           Vincent cracked a smile and shook his head. “Beau, when’s the last time you heard about any banks out here getting robbed? Sure, Jesse James did, but he’s been dead for two years.” Beau frowned. “I do ap­preciate your offer. If any opportunities come up, you’ll be the first to know, I promise you.”

           “You shouldn’t humor him so much,” Abraham com­plained. “That’s how he gets himself into these messes. He’s been spared the rod far too much in his life.” Beau rolled his eyes.

           “Well, surely you’re not suggesting I take the rod to him,” Vincent replied dryly. “I don’t know what my neigh­bors would think.”

           Abraham shook his head, unamused entirely. He rarely found humor in anything aside from mockery of Beau. His mouth was tightly closed together in a frown, looking almost like an angry frog in the way it indented his bushy grey beard. “There’s no use in it now. He ain’t a child, though he cer­tainly acts like one.”

           “I learnt from the best,” Beau shot back.

           “Oh, please. By the time I married your mother, you were already too far gone. She was a good, God-fearin’ woman, but much too soft on you, clearly.”

           “You’ve spent more years with me than she did at this point.”

           “And clearly I hadn’t managed to impart any sense o’ duty or responsibility in you. I’d rather not waste my time on one lost sheep if I have the rest o’ the flock to tend to.”

           “Gentlemen, please,” Vincent cut in. He fished a pocket watch out of his waistcoat and checked the time. “We play in less than half an hour. We’d better get ready.”

           Beau could sit and argue with Abraham all night if the fancy struck him, but Vincent was right to stop them then. Putting everyone in a sour mood right before a perfor­mance always wound up ruining the whole thing. This was one of the only things he was good at, and was one of the only things he particularly enjoyed doing. Beau would be damned if he allowed himself to be in a bad mood on a night like this. Every night they played, Beau forgot about the world for a moment, melting into the sound of their music until all that was left was a little ringing in his ears.

           “Mrs. Dowd would probably appreciate it if we quit bickerin’ in her parlor anyways,” Abraham agreed.

           “You haven’t made me very popular with her, certainly.”

           “Sorry ‘bout that, Vince,” Beau said as he stood up from the couch, patting his friend’s shoulder.

           It was so easy to slip into an argument with his step­father that Beau didn’t even think twice about it, regardless of where he was. He found himself arguing with Abraham in front of his flock quite a few times already. That didn’t do him many favors in terms of his already diminished reputation. Not only was he a coward, but he was disrespect­ful to boot.

           You’d be disrespectful if you lived with the bastard, too, Beau always thought, though he’d never been brave enough to say it aloud.

           Abraham was the first one out of the house, tipping his hat politely to the elderly Mrs. Dowd, who smiled wide at him, a smile that dropped the instant she laid her eyes upon Beau. Beau imitated Abraham and tipped his white cowboy hat and smiled, but there was no smile waiting for him in return. She didn’t acknowledge him beyond that, instead turning to Vincent as he came up behind Beau. She pointed a gnarled finger at him.

           “You’d be wise to choose your friends better,” she told him.

           “Oh, don’t be so hard on Beau, Patricia,” Vincent re­plied, voice smooth and unconcerned. “Really, he’s harm­less.”

           “That’s usually their prob’m with me,” Beau said as he swung his arm around Vincent’s shoulder. His smile was strained, though his eyes remained bright. “Gotta watch out fer the gentle types ‘round here.”

           Mrs. Dowd clucked her tongue, hands on her hips, and shook her head. Women, especially older ones, always had that way of making their disapproval as clear as possi­ble. Men, on the other hand, always spent their time laugh­ing behind the back of any man on the wrong side of things. Beau preferred the honesty of old women, though his prefer­ence for them ended there. “You’re so crooked, you’d swal­low nails and spit out corkscrews, Beau Rudolph.”

           Beau couldn’t help but laugh. That was a new one. Vin­cent ushered him outside with a gentle but firm push on the small of his back, which Beau put up no resistance to. He knew when he wasn’t wanted, and he wouldn’t haunt this old widow’s foyer any longer, nor ruin Vincent’s already tenuous relationship with her. Vincent could prob­ably afford a better place than this, but he was a man used to living within modest means, far from his nature to flaunt his wealth, which all knew or at least suspected he had as a banker from the East. He was probably used to having a nagging woman around anyways. From what little Beau saw of her letters, Mimi seemed like the fretful type.

           Outside, he could make out the sound of a few more vague words exchanged between Vincent and Mrs. Dowd. Vincent stepped outside moments later, shaking his head, but he said nothing more of the whole thing. Together, they strolled down the main lane of town, a town bigger than it was when Beau and Abraham had first arrived, but still so much smaller than even their hometown of Runt was. For all the people who complained that Texas was getting full, Beau hadn’t seen hide nor hair of that yet. At the intersection in the center of Brittlebone was the saloon, a bar only referred to as Jack’s, its real name not remem­bered. The old sign above the building was faded already, sun-bleached and covered in a thick layer of dust so that no one could read it any longer.

           It was one of the only buildings still lit brightly at this time of night, just after sundown. While everyone else had locked up their businesses or begun to turn in for the night, Jack’s would rage on into the middle hours of late night. Beau never stuck around that long, leaving whenever Vincent deigned to in order to be well-rested for his job the next day. It’d probably be a dangerous thing, sticking around without Abraham and Vincent to act as buffers between himself and the rest of town. He wasn’t good at talking his way out of things, never was, never would be, and so relied on the goodwill doled out to his companions to slide by without too much trouble.

           People were willing to put up with him for a bit of music at night, at least. That was all he could really ask, all he really even cared about in the first place. They breezed past the front doors, with hardly a head turning their way. Patrons knew to expect them a couple of times a week, and so the amusement had worn off. The most attention they got were from the few who weren’t as familiar with Beau’s outfit, bright like a cow­boy in a Wild West show more than some­one who truly lived out here. Jack still chuckled every time he caught a glimpse of that sky blue and white Western shirt and blinding white Stetson hat, the juvenile, amateur stars embroidered onto his jeans, and yellow and blue cowboy boots that depicted a cowboy fish­ing from the crescent moon. Then, he wasn’t Beau Rudolph, just the Sky Cowboy. Sometimes, Beau preferred that.

           Yawning, Beau approached the bar, resting his arms on the counter. Jack wordlessly set a glass of whiskey in front of him. “Aw, for me?” Beau smiled. “Well, if you insist.”

           As he lifted the glass to his lips, Jack spoke up. “You got money this time?”

           Beau paused. He gestured to Jack with a nod. “Smart man ta ask. How much is it again?”

           “Twenty-five cents.”

           “No entertainer’s discount? After all, we make money fer—”

           “Save it, Sky Cowboy.”

           He sighed and dug into his pockets and fished out a fistful of change. Even looking at it, he knew he didn’t have enough, but he still counted it out. Just shy, seventeen cents. Beau shut his mouth and stuffed the coins back into his pocket. With a solemn nod, he set the glass back onto the counter. “Smart man,” he reiterated, breaking out into an easy smile again. He pointed at Jack. “I’ll be back later once I made some tips, awright?”

           Jack eyed him from the side. “Dunno why I even bother at this point.”

           “Don’t kick a guy while he’s down, Jack.”

           “Beau, you been down your whole fucking life. Like this makes any difference.”

           Beau laughed, rolled his eyes, and meandered away from the bar. All he could ever do was laugh. He stepped up onto the small stage where Vincent, Abraham, and Simon, the usual piano player for Jack’s, awaited him. Vincent handed off Beau’s guitar to him, one that was a dime a dozen in places like this. Every cowboy worth their grit played to pass the time, and it was one of the only things Beau had actually learned during his cowpunching days. The guitar was painted black, the only other color being the pure white crescent painted around the left side of the sound hole. Beau pulled the strap over his shoulder and tuned it, fidgeting with the keys.

           “I’m surprised you chose not to get drunk this time,” Abraham remarked. Though it sounded casual, Beau could feel the hidden barbs. “Changin’ our wicked ways, are we? The prodigal son has learnt his lesson?”

           “Yessir,” Beau affirmed. “Figured I’d save my money ‘n’ start investin’ it real smart-like. Vincent cin help me set up a savin’s account an’ everything.”

           Abraham shook his head. “You’d never save a dime. You would rather spend it all on vices.”

           “Clearly I didn’t this time, Abe.”

           “You ain’t got no money, that’s why.”

           Beau touched his chest in mock offense. “Me? Nah, I’m jus’ savin’ my money fer once.”

           Abraham approached the piano player, Simon, and clasped his shoulder. “You ought to rest, Simon. I’ll take over here. Get yerself a glass of whiskey on Beau, since he’s turned over a new leaf.”

           Simon didn’t hesitate once he heard that. Quick for an old man, he pushed himself up to his feet and made haste towards the bar. Looks like Beau’s drink wound up being used either way, though he sure wished it was him who’d gotten to enjoy it. He really needed a tip now… not that these cheap bastards ever did, though some may take a little pity on him on occasion and toss a dime his way, if only to get him to quit his whining about all the work he did. It was a wonder that he hadn’t been shot yet, but Brit­tlebone was relatively quiet, at least compared to the horror stories of Tombstone or Deadwood.

           “Ee-yup… on me,” Beau murmured.

           When Beau looked over to Vincent, quiet as ever, he had his violin resting on his shoulder casually. Abraham seated himself at Simon’s piano, setting aside the previous music sheets and replacing them with his own. There was never any fanfare in their beginnings. Addressing the crowd only ever elicited laughter or silence when Beau spoke as if he thought he really was somebody, and so he had gotten used to starting their songs without any warn­ing. There was no better intro­duction than his deep, thick, warbling voice ringing out through the bar, clinging to who­ever would listen like honey.

           Not all of their songs had singing, or singing from him, at least. Men quickly tired of his voice, or perhaps tired, more specifically, of him, and so he tried not to over­stay his wel­come, although Beau loved to sing. Sometimes Abraham or Vincent would take over on the vocals, each voice deep and richer in tone than his own, an amateur, but not neces­sarily unpleasant sound, he felt. Vincent’s was best of all, though, as he was the only one with any sem­blance of vocal training and experience in singing, albeit primarily within the choir at his Catholic church back home. Beau admired it and had tried to imitate it on his own, but could never figure out what was missing. Perhaps it was because it was Vincent’s and not his own that he admired it so much. There was plenty to admire about Vincent, and little to about Beau.

           Beau’s mind wandered towards Vincent as he sang and strummed. The more he thought, the more he always won­dered what the hell Vincent was doing associating with two people like Beau Rudolph and Abraham Bell. At least Abra­ham had a respectable profession as a reverend, and although the two were ideologically at odds—of course, old Abe had no respect for Catholics or their ilk—they at least had a mutual understanding as men of more honest means. Beau was by no means a criminal, nor did he consider himself dishonest, but he was a street rat. A bum, if not for Abe. Vin­cent was the only person who ever put up with him for this long, and Beau had yet to discover what inspired him to continue on this way. It wasn’t a lack of popularity, that was certain. People loved Vincent for the honesty and stability he brought to Brittlebone. The last bank that rolled through here had closed up shop within a year, all the farmers, business owners, and families losing what little they had entrusted to the bank entirely.

           Perhaps it was just because Vincent was an over­whelm­ingly patient man that he did. He was not easily irri­tated, save for what he felt truly deserved it, and so Beau’s idiosyn­crasies, his failures, and his attitude did not deter him from friend­ship. Whatever it was, Beau did feel touched by that persis­tence. Vincent was the only person still alive on this Earth that Beau loved. He certainly did not love Abraham, and this would never change, no matter how many years they’d spent together. Beau hoped to shake him loose even­tually, but he needed money for that. His luck had not yet turned, but he remained hopeful of finding something better soon. Beau just had to be patient.

           Beau’s eyes glazed over the crowd of men, some huddled at tables with cards, some leaned back in chairs chatting, some clinging to the bar or their tables for dear life. He did not notice Jerome Horn sauntering in with his posse, and at first, nobody else did, either. It was not until Jerome crept up behind a patron flirting with a barmaid that anybody knew what was happening. He grabbed hold of the man by his collar and the bottom hem of his shirt and threw him to the floor. Beau snapped out of his thoughtful trance, swung his guitar over his back, and placed a hand on his ivory pistol, sweating palm clinging to the grip. The man on the floor screamed and howled like an angry beast caught in a trap, but Jerome had put all his weight onto his back, immobilizing him as Jerome handily tied his arms together, then his ankles. His posse kept an eye out for anyone thinking to interfere with the scene, but none stepped forward.

           “This lowly sunuvabitch’s wanted fer murder in the next town,” Jerome announced loudly as he stood up, akimbo. “Let it be a lesson that if you’re fixin’ to do some­thin’ ya might regret, know it’ll catch up ta ya.” Lowering his voice to a more normal level, he continued to his two men, “Get ‘im outta here. We gotta get this jackass to Greysville in the mornin’.”

           The two men nodded, and silently hauled the man out of the bar, still squirming and screeching. The second he was gone, he was out of the minds of the patrons, who slowly resumed their usual routines. Beau stayed stock-still there, however, still recovering from the shock. No matter how long he lived here, he’d never get used to scenes like that. Call him soft, but it was true.

           Jerome quickly took notice of Beau standing up there, and he saw the wry grin grow crooked in the sheriff’s mouth, pushing the edge of his bushy horseshoe mustache upwards. “Now, I know that ain’t Beau Rudolph with his hand on his gun. At ease, soldier!” Embarrassed, Beau slid his hand off of his gun, and brought the guitar back around to his front once more. He fiddled with the tuning keys again as if it wasn’t in tune already. “Don’t worry, Beau, if I need help watchin’ somebody get away next time, you’ll be the first I come to!”

           The patrons erupted into laughter. Beau felt himself turn red, and he lowered his head to avoid eye contact with Jerome. He forced himself to look back up again, straining to grin back at the sheriff. “That’s a good one, Jerome. Force o’ habit, I guess.”

           “Maybe you should get in the habit o’ actually firin’ the thing when there’s danger,” Jerome called back, “‘stead’a just standin’ there ‘n’ watchin’.”

           “Hadn’t thought o’ that, Sheriff. I’ll do just that.”

           “Good on ya. We’ll make a real man outta you yet.”

           Beau bristled, but he said nothing. He felt Vincent’s gen­tle hand touch his shoulder, and he relaxed the moment it touched him. No use taking offense. Beau always did his best to take these jabs on the chin. Being defensive just made it worse in his experience, and his easygoing nature made it simple for him to slide by with nothing more than the occa­sional insult. He knew Jerome liked him, or at least didn’t hate him. He’d rather be on the side of someone who mocks him than someone who truly loathed him. At least Jerome was upfront about the fact he had no respect for him. He couldn’t stand the thought of people laughing at him behind his back.

           Removing his hat, Beau ran a hand over his ash brown hair, then put it back on and dove into the music once more. The crowd’s laughter, long gone, was still ringing in his ears, scratchy, harsh, and obnoxious. He could barely hear himself above the phantom.

           It was around midnight when Beau, Vincent, and Abra­ham stepped out of Jack’s. Abraham made straight for home, a tiny house just behind the church on the northern end of town. Vincent and Beau strolled at a slower pace in the oppo­site direction towards Vincent’s home. With any luck, by the time Beau got home, Abraham would already be in bed. As the two came up to Mrs. Dowd’s doorstep, Vincent took Beau’s arm before he could turn away.

           “Beau, if you need money, I’m perfectly happy to lend you whatever you need,” he whispered, as if anyone was awake to hear. “I have savings set aside for—”

           “Vince, I could never.” Vincent stopped then, his mouth still partially agape until it slowly shut. “C’mon now, I ain’t no beggar. I’d never ask fer money from you. It’s why I wanted the job, ‘cause at least I earned it, then.” His friend frowned, but Beau wouldn’t let him speak just yet. “An’ I know you can’t git me that, so don’t worry. I got things under control. I have some ideas o’ what I cin do.”

           The way Vincent looked at Beau told him that he didn’t believe it. He was right not to, but Beau never wanted Vin­cent to worry. Beau was a grown man, nearly 33. If he couldn’t handle himself at this point, then he didn’t deserve help. “I hope you do. I’m sure you’ve already thought of it, but maybe you could take on an apprenticeship somewhere and learn a trade.”

           Beau tilted his head. “Yeah, awready thought of that, but I ought to look into it an’ see what I can do. I know I cin learn. I’m a fast learner when I wanna be.”

           “You are! You just need to apply yourself more, Beau, I…” Vincent sighed. “I know you can be so much more than you allow yourself to be. I don’t know why you’re always holding yourself back.”

           “I don’t do that.” Beau’s voice sounded more irritated and defensive than he had intended, but it was too late to stop himself by the time he even noticed it. “I’m jus’ no good at bein’ satisfied, I s’pose. I haven’t found nothin’ I like ta do ‘cept music.”

           Vincent frowned. “We can’t always do things we enjoy. I’m not a banker because I enjoy it necessarily, but because I’m good at it, and because it provides a good life for my family. I know that they deserve that life, so I do it for them. Find something you’re good at, and that should be enough for you. Life won’t stop just because you have to do something you don’t like. You will still have music, you’ll still have your friends, and anything else you like.”

           “…yeah. I know.”

           There was no reason to argue about it. Vincent was right, whether Beau wanted him to be or not. God, it was pathetic that he even had to be told this. It was the same thing Abraham told him every time he quit a job or flaked out on an opportunity. Somehow, it felt a little easier to swallow when it was coming from Vincent. He really had to do something. Beau didn’t want Vincent to offer him money ever again. He was the only person who ever believed in Beau, and to hear that made Beau feel like he was starting to give up, too.

           Solemn, Beau looks out into the street, away from Vincent. “I’ll figure it out. I always do. I better not catch you worryin’ about me anymore.”

           When he glanced back, he saw the faint outline of a smile. “I try not to. I know I shouldn’t fret about you, but sometimes… you make choices that make me want to wring your neck.”

           Beau grinned. “Trust me. I feel the same way.” He pulled Vincent into a side hug, squeezing him, then let go. “You have a good night, Vince.”

           “You too, Beau.”

           With his hands in his pockets, Beau walked off towards home, eyes trained on nothing but the dusty road beneath him. He needed to figure this out, and fast.

NEXT CHAPTER >>>

[zetathelata]

SLW&SH Characters ( 106 - 125 )

Fact about my characters:

( Spoilers for Sunheart8 ) Capri used to be Zircon's love partner, but after defeating them in a battle with some of the non star people. She had enough of their plans to k!ll the light star's people. Also the star necklace prevents star weapons from killing or do critical damage to star people like him. But the only thing star weapons cannot kill is the miracle star shards and a god.

Ava works for spiderbee in the clothes shop at light star Islandia, and also Ava is also obsessed with jota along with Sparky and Spiderbee 2.0!

Hollyflower helped jota train both her waters powers and the eye tentacles. Hollyflower is also best friends with blackmoon, they both really like jewelry very much.

Arctic used to be a Mexican human, but turned into a arctic fox furry.Arctic has a boyfriend named sky.

Medoh is a weapon owner in light star Islandia. And is one of the simps of jota. Medoh used to be an Italian human, but he begged the light star to turn him into a star person. So the light star did the wish. And now he's in love with the new warrior of the naori.

Blacky is the last guardian. ( Salice and Thorn is blacky's siblings )

Chu, Flare, Feather, Bubble, and Leafclaw are an inspirations from the movie elemental.

If you call patty slow, then she'll run at a human like speed. She also does live both in her shell and a house.

Roxy is Cin's boyfriend. Also he has two modes on his body, light mode and dark mode. He was created by humans.

Clay was created by humans until she turned into a bomb and blew up the whole place. She is best friends with Slimy. Whatever you encounter her, she first looks around her surroundings and transforms into whoever you're with or you. But don't worry, you can tell it's her because Clay's bow sticks out. But she will try hide it in any part of her body. She may be one of the smallest characters I have, but she is very menacing.

Slimy is best friends with Clay and Mia. Slimy was also created by humans, when she saw the humans. She ate them all because she's a slime. Slimy spends most of her time with Mia, Slimy also hangs out with Clay. If you put your hand in inside her, she'll accidentally digest it.

Scar, Snowclaw, and Whispy are one of Jota's girlfriends.

I just call Source she/her, but you can use any gender pronouns you want to call them. Ever since Source was saved by jota, she decided to hack into jota's dreamboat, and jota never knew that she found out that Source was the one keeping the boat up. So yeah..

May is lithromantic. They are ( mother ) Source's assistant, when their mind is in the dreamboat, may looks after the body that Source left. The diamond on their forehead is a camera.

Arrow is lithromantic. Arrow is Saturn's assistant, they both work in a small building in light star Islandia.

Snowclaw is also Mistletoe's ex-girlfriend.

Willow is Pangender. They would have been their old design but it was hard to draw because my brain was fuzzy and forgetting a lot.So I tried a second attempt by changing up a few things of them. First I added a mushroom hat and two horns to them, it was a really good design to work with, but the problem happened again. So now we have a orca....

Sona is one of the main queen bees in light star Islandia that make honey.

Rain used to be an human too ( idk what type of human race he used to be ). Rain did an experiment with a robot, he wanted to share minds with the robot, but that failed. So he instead of sharing both bodies, his mind become one with the robot body. He has an girlfriend named Della ( she comes after leza ). Also he used to be able to fly, but IIuvia ripped out most of his feathers and some parts of his arm. His arm feels better, but rain can't fly anymore.

SLW&SH got some gay furries here man....

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:Spice trader Cinnamon’s quiet life is turned upside down when she ends up on a quest with a fiery demon, in this irreverently quirky rom-com fantasy that is sweet, steamy, and funny as hell.   All she wanted to do was live her life in peace—maybe get a cat, expand the family spice farm. Really, anything that didn’t involve going on an adventure where an orc might rip her face off. But they say the goddess has favorites, and if so, Cin is clearly not one of them.   After Cin saves the demon Fallon in a wine-drunk stupor, Fallon reveals that all he really wants to do is kill an evil witch enslaving his people. And who can blame him? But now he’s dragging Cinnamon along for the ride whether she like it or not. On the bright side, at least he keeps burning off his shirt.…

Review:

A spice trader's life is turned upside down when she accidentally rescues a demon... who now needs her help to go on a quest and kill a fake goddess, just another day in the life. Cinnamon dreams about having a nice quiet life, yet all of that is chucked out the window when she accidentally saves a demon who then request her help in stopping an evil lich pretending to be a goddess. Cinnamon soon finds herself going on a quest, saving demons, fighting monsters, and dealing with the scariest quest of all, falling in love. Fallon is a charming handsome demon who is determined to win Cinnamon's heart. Together they make a really cute couple and this book was just a feel good fun read.

*Thanks Netgalley and Orbit Books, Orbit for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*