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maximoff-pan · 4 years

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Realizations | Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: The four times you realize you’re in love with Steve Harrington, and the one time you actually tell him...

Character: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff (it starts off pretty fluffy and ends that way too....don’t worry y’all, I’m not that cruel), and there’s definitely some good ole angsty angst....because I’m an angsty bitch ;)

Word Count: 4.5 k (Holy moly...I think this is the longest thing I’ve written)

A/n: Okay, so, this wasn’t requested and I’m not sure anyone even wants this, but here we are. I kind of just felt like writing something for Steve again, so I went with the urge...Also, quick side note...but look at this gif. This is kind of (sort of) what I imagine Steve would look like if you told him you were in love with him, just utter shock, but definitely minus the fear...because bby boy doesn’t deserve to be afraid...And then he’d break out into a huge goofy smile, because he loves you back...

It was no secret to anyone that you had a rocky history with Steve Harrington. He was, amongst the teens of Hawkins, the proclaimed ‘King of Hawkins High.’ The King Shit of all King Shits....And you weren’t one to bow down to his monarchy. Truthfully it wasn’t that you hated him, you’re not entirely sure you ever could. Because beneath all the hype, Steve Harrington was just lonely, and slightly broken. Despite the numbers of people that claimed to be his friend, who claimed to dream to be like him, not one of them actually wanted to be with him...the real him anyway. And you could see that better than anyone.

So when all shit broke loose, (quite literally) and you’d been reunited with the Steve Harrington that you’d once been friends with, you accepted him. It was a shock to your system to find your brother asking Steve Harrington of all people for help with the Demogorgons, and even more of a shock when he said yes. But most of all, it surprised you to see how genuinely him he was being with you. No bullshit. No facade. He was just Steve, a guy you happened to go to school with. You will admit, in the beginning he’d been a bit sheepish, apologizing for the way he had treated you in high school, how he’d ditched you for the crown, but then something in him shifted. You saw him smile, watched him laugh. Your little brother was breaking Steve out of his shell, and you were there to help him. And it was entirely breathtaking.

You remember that day clearly, the day you went searching for Dart. Dustin up ahead, bucket of meat in one hand, a walkie talkie in the other, as he curses himself for not paying enough attention to the presumably extra terrestrial creature that had eaten your cat. You lag behind, dragging your feet across the dry dirt floor, littered with leaves, Steve Harrington by your side. It’s a day you’d never forget.

“I know I’ve got a lot of making up to do.” Steve’s voice breaks the silence.

You let out a puff of air in agreement. “Oh?” You implore sarcastically. “What makes you think that?”

“A lot of things.” He replies truthfully, a shame in his tone. “I’ve been-uh...I’ve been an asshole, of royal proportions.” He continues. “And I’m more than ready to give up my crown.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat. Of course he’d refer to his King like status. “Ready to become a mere peasant like the rest of us?”

He nods his head, humming lightly. “I think so.” His voice is quiet...soft. Just like you remember it being.

“You really think you can handle it?” You jest, playfully elbowing him in the arm.

“Oh of course I can.” He replies. “Haven’t you heard? Steve Harrington can handle anything.”

“Anything?” You’re eyes widen jokingly, as a smirk slowly falls upon your features. “I mean, sign me up...This Steve Harrington character sounds hot.”

A laugh breaks through his lips, overtly noticeable. He knows you’re joking, but he can’t help but wish you weren’t. “Anything.” He confirms with a wink.

That had been the first day you’d noticed your affinity for Steve Harrington. It was like a magnet had been placed between the two of you, and even if the attraction on his side, wasn’t entirely there, yours was....and it constantly pulled you towards him, with a smile on your face and a flutter in your stomach. It was at first, very subtle and very slow, but soon, your heart would yearn for him, more than it had yearned for anything or anyone else before.

Nearly everything about Steve seemed to click with you that day. He was just like he once had been...happy. It was something almost unfamiliar to you, something you hadn’t seen in quite some time, but it certainly made you feel things. And that’s something that hadn’t necessarily clicked: those feelings. You didn’t know what they were, or how you should react to them. Because maybe they were nothing, but then again, maybe they weren’t and you were getting yourself into more trouble than you could handle. Maybe they were real...and maybe, just maybe you felt something for Steve Harrington, more than a friend should.

Oh dear, what had you gotten yourself into?

ii.

“Listen up shit heads!” Steve’s stance is so chaotically mom-like it makes you laugh.

Your living room is covered in pillows, blankets, couch cushions, and popcorn. Six young teens loudly shout begrudgingly at Steve, who’s holding the tv remote just out of reach. They’re watching Star Wars: A New Hope, (Mike’s choice), or at least they were before Steve snatched the remote from Dustin’s hand.

“What the fuck Steve?” Dustin snaps at the older teen, and sends him a murderous gaze.

“Language Dusin.” Your voice interrupts Steve’s train of thought.

“As if you fucking care.” Dustin shoots. “You’re just enforcing that rule ‘cause Steve’s here.” He’s right, the little bastard...(and you hate to admit it) but you swear a decent amount yourself, and as long as Dustin isn’t using foul language in school or calling anyone harshly directed names, you don’t particularly enforce the no swearing rule that Steve does.

You shrug your shoulders, shifting your body towards Steve. “He’s got a point.”

“(Y/n).” Steve whines. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“And I am.”

“No you’re not.” He swings the remote jovially in the air, a mock pout breaking onto his face.

There’s that flutter again. You can feel it in your chest, your eyes trained on Steve’s face softly. It’s something that you just can’t seem to help, and it’s always sudden. Sometimes it’s not there. You can be around Steve for hours, and you’re cool with it...with him. But then out of nowhere this light headed feeling over takes you. Your heartbeat quickens, and you feel nothing but pure happiness and oddly comfort in his presence.

“I promise.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “I am always on your side.” It’s said as a joke, but you know better than anyone that it’s not.

There’s something behind your tone that Steve picks up on. Whether you intended upon it, it comes through loud and clear. I care about you. I am always going to be here for you. And it makes Steve smile. Whether the kids notice this too, he doesn’t know, nor does he care, but suddenly, and out of nowhere, he feels this pull to you like he’s never felt before.

What is this feeling? What does it mean?

iii.

Right off the bat you knew Steve Harrington would be trouble. Being friends with him again would inevitably hurt you...hurt him too. But you found yourself far too often, pushing that aside because of how much you cared for him. You worked well with each other, but you also knew that when the two of you were together, you were two fires, beautifully glowing together, until someone went too far and got burned.

You knew this, you knew it better than anything...and yet it wasn’t until the day Steve hurt Dustin, that he upset Dustin more than you’d ever seen him before, that you couldn’t unsee it. Dustin was your everything, and you’d be damned if Steve Harrington hurt your little brother.

That afternoon, he’d yelled...oh god had he yelled. Steve had just gotten back from seeing his parents, and he was completely on edge. They’d cursed him out, told him he had no future. Told him that he was a disappointment, a failure. And for the first time in his life, his father had hit him. It was quick, one harsh punch to the face and Steve was out of there faster than he’d ever raced out of his house. It was always a house...never a home, like yours was. You and Dustin had each other, you were each other’s homes, and Steve was alone. (You wouldn’t find out about what happened until much later, but by then, you’d already jumped fiercely to protect your little brother)....

It’s all quiet at the Henderson household until Dustin comes bounding out your front door, seeing Steve’s car parked out in front of your house, and starts asking if he wants to go to Mike’s and play some DnD with the Party. Steve tries to remain calm. He really does.

But Dustin keeps asking and asking, pulling Steve out of his car, and Steve just....snaps. “Dustin, do you ever think maybe I don’t want to hang out with you?”

Dustin’s eyes are wide open now, shock evident in his features. “Steve-” He recoils.

“No seriously Dustin.” Steve gestures, slightly aggressive, posture stiff and clearly frustrated. “Do you ever think that I’m just friends with you,” he moves his fingers, signalling air quotes around the word friends, “because your mother asked me to be? Because your sister wants me to be?”

He doesn’t mean it...more than anything he doesn’t mean it, but he can’t help the words from falling from his lips. It’s as if he needs to find someone to blame for his failures, and that person right now, in this moment, is Dustin Henderson: his best friend. He loves Dustin, it’s a love he’s never felt before, brotherly and wholesome...but Steve Harrington is nothing if not the King of destroying good, solid relationships.

You’re standing at your front door, listening to the exchange, and it’s certainly not what you expected from Steve. Even from a distance, you can see the tears threatening to leave your brother’s eyes as he fights to hold them back. Steve is now another person on the long list of people that have betrayed Dustin, that clearly don’t want him around. He’d already experienced having a father leave him...you don’t know if he could take losing a brother too.

“Dustin.” You storm down your front steps and out towards Steve and your brother. “Go inside.”

“But (Y/n)-” He tries.

“Just go inside.” You point at him gently, showing him that you’re not mad at him. The only person you’re angry with, is Steve. “I’ll be in in a few.”

Dustin nods his head solemnly, agreeing almost silently, before giving you a quiet, “okay.”

“You,” you point at Steve, venom in your tone. “In the car. Now.”

Steve obeys, watching as you open the car door and jump in the passenger seat. “Henderson.” He starts, using your last name. He only does that to tease you, or when he’s uncomfortable, and clearly in this circumstance, it’s the latter.

“Just drive.”

“Where?” He asks timidly.

“Somewhere quiet.” You reply.

And Steve knows exactly where to go. Just off the edge of Hawkins, and a couple minutes of a walk into the woods, there’s a wide clearing that he goes to when he needs to clear his mind. He knows that you’ve been to it many times....you were actually the one to bring Steve there once, and he can’t help the fear that creeps up in his chest.

The car ride is only around fifteen minutes, but it’s the longest fifteen minutes of Steve’s life. You haven’t said anything, and neither has he, not wanting to cause a scene out in public. But when you get there, car parked, having found your way into the clearing, Steve feels the adrenaline rush of fear shoot through him, and he’s sure he can feel the anger radiating off you.

“What the fuck Harrington?” Your eyes shoot daggers at him.

He stutters his way through a response. “I-I do-don’t know.”

This is how it starts: you’re angry and he’s terrified. And you have every right to be angry, but soon enough, Steve’s fear will morph into his own anger, and he doesn’t want that to happen. So he tries to remain afraid...but how long that will last, he doesn’t know.

“What’s gotten into you Steve?” You ask, seething at him.

“I’m sorry.” He replies, feeling his own anger starting to rise.

You wave off his apology with a scoff. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. I mean, how could you do that to Dustin?” You ask, genuine curiosity in your voice. “Do you know how much he loves you? And after everything he’s been through...I-I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get him to trust another man like he trusts you.”

“Well it shouldn’t be my responsibility to take care of him.” You’ve struck a nerve he didn’t know you could hit, and now Steve’s tone is ice cold, removed from himself.

“Take care of him?” You shout incredulously. “Holy shit, who do you think you are?”

Steve takes a step toward you menacingly. “Well I’m just his goddamn babysitter aren’t I? Because your mother’s too busy to do it herself.”

That’s a low blow and he knows it, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s already said it. You can hear his breathing, ragged and rushed, surely it matches your own. And you’re fuming. All you can see is red.

“You haven’t changed at all Harrington.” You snarl darkly. “You’re the same asshat, same arrogant, pompous King of Hawkins that you once were, that you always were. And I hated you then Steve! I hated you!”

You’re saying the one thing that he knows can break him: You haven’t changed. You’re still the same. Your parents are right about you. You’ll never amount to anything. And it feels like you’re giving up on him, just like his parent did. Just like everyone else does.

“And if you haven’t changed now, then I guess I still hate you.”

That’s all it takes for Steve to choke out a sob. He’s fallen to his knees, breathing erratic and panicked.

Fighting with Steve isn’t rational. You know you should’ve figured out why he lashed out at Dustin before you lashed out at him. It’s a vicious cycle of rage that could’ve been avoided, despite your anger being warranted. You’re a firm believer that there’s always a reason for things, and right now you just wished you had have waited to find out that reason, because maybe you wouldn’t be in this position right now.

You’re in a state of shock and denial at the man before you. He looks broken, like a little boy beaten down by his parents (unknowingly, this is exactly how Steve feels...exactly why he’s acting the way he’s acting). Your breathing softens and your gaze lowers to him. Why did you say those things? You didn’t think they could hurt him that much. If you’re being honest, you’ve never seen Steve this distraught, and it’s something you’re sure you never want to see again.

“My parents.” He manages to choke out, as you kneel beside him. “I saw my parents.” He says louder. And you’re now just noticing the deep purple bruise forming around his left eye. How could you not have noticed? Did your anger truly blind you to his pain?

“Steve.” You place you’re hand gently on his shoulder. “Did your father do this to you?”

He nods, wiping away the tears before saying, “He’s never done it before. But he was just so angry. I’ve never seen him like that.”

You notice how he avoids directly confirming that his father had hit him. He doesn’t want to believe it happened, and you can understand why...because admitting it directly, makes it more real. “Oh.” You mumble in response, not quite sure what to say.

“He said I’d never be worth anything. That’d I’d always be the son they never wanted.” He pulls his face into his hands, sucking a long breath in. “And I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it hurts. It just hurts so much.”

“Oh Steve.” You pull him into your touch, embracing him softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“And I didn’t mean to hurt Dustin.” He says, a wave of hurt rushing through him. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I just, I snapped.”

You bring your fingers to his chin, tilted his head towards your face. “I know.” You whisper. “I’ll tell him that. And you know he’ll always forgive you. He loves you too much to let you go.”

Your heart races as you wrap him in your embrace, trying gently to calm him down, to reassure him of his place in your family. It’s in that moment that you realize just how much you love him. Like the day you’d searched for Dart, it’s sudden and gradual, but now that you’ve truly realized it, things are surely about to change. And hopefully for the better.

Holy fuck...you’re in love with Steve Harrington.

iv.

It’s been nearly a year since your spat with Steve (and since you realized you were in love with Steve, but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves...) and a lot of shit has happened since. One major addition to your make shift family of misfits and losers (as you like to call it) is Robin Buckley. Oh how Robin had changed your life...

She’d come into it at just the right time. Steve had gotten a summer job at Scoop’s Ahoy, while you had gotten a job at the Gap. It was the only one available, and you weren’t entirely picky as long as the job paid. The bright side of said job though, was using your breaks to come and visit Steve (and vice versa), get some free ice cream (Steve always insisted that you never pay), and most importantly, you got to meet Robin Buckley.

It’s something that must be said: Robin Buckley is no fool. She knows that, you know that, everybody in the entirety of Hawkins knows that. It’s clear as day how in love with each other you and Steve are...and when she continuously tells you that, you never believe her. (She tells Steve the same thing, multiple times a day, and he never seems to believe her either). Since your fight, and specifically since you made up, you and Steve have never been closer. (All the more reason for Robin to pester you about being in love with each other...). You guess you can also blame the whole battle of star court mall shit (included with crazy secret Russians and everything)....it had made you a lot closer. Shared trauma will do that to you...

But now, you, Steve, and Robin work at the video store, and your love for Steve certainly hasn’t gone away. You’re getting pretty terrible at hiding it, or at least you think so, (and Robin does too).

“If you keep staring at him like that, your jaw’s going to fall off.” She grins cheekily at you. You’re watching Steve as he intently listens to Dustin and Mike animatedly talk about some movie they’re desperate to watch.

“Shut up Robin.” You shoot back at her, folding your arms across your chest. “I’m not staring.”

She dismisses you with the wave of her hand. “You know, if you really like him, there’s this thing you could try.” She pauses as you gesture for her to continue. “It’s called asking him out dingus.”

Usually Robin reserves the ‘dingus title’ for Steve only, but today the honour is yours. “I know.” You sigh. “But I can’t do that. It’ll only make things weird.”

“Even if you really want to kiss him?” She asks, placing the emphasis on really.

“Even if I really want to kiss him.” You reply, letting out a wanting sigh.

“Even if he really wants to kiss you?” She pushes with a smirk on her face.

“Even if he.....What?” You squeak in surprise, having not expected her question.

At your exclamation, Steve quickly glances over to you and Robin. He tilts his head with a confused expression on his face, before giving you both a cheery smile. When Robin turns her head after waving him off, and flipping him the bird, he sends you a devilish wink. It sends shivers down your spine, and you try desperately to send him back a semi-composed smile of your own. God, you really do want to kiss him...

It’s officially a fact. You’re in love with Steve Harrington, and there’s no getting out of it.

You and Steve are sitting on the front steps to your house, waiting for Dustin to bike his way home from Mike’s. The sun is setting, it’s quiet and peaceful. Something you haven’t experienced much since Dustin brought Steve back into your life. Despite the lack of normalcy in the past couple of years, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. You’ve gained a best friend, someone you can trust more than anyone in the world (besides your brother of course)....And you’ve fallen in love. Not that Steve knows. But you’re grateful to him all the same, for showing you what falling in love can feel like.

“You ever think about us?” Steve asks suddenly. It’s a question you’re not sure how to interpret.

“Us?” You lift your head from his shoulder curiously.

“Yeah, like-“ He sits up, facing you now, hands gesturing widely. “Like us, us. Together us.” He says. “Like what would’ve happened if you hadn’t forgiven me...if Dustin hadn’t forgiven me. Would we still be close?”

“Oh.” You trail off. That’s what he meant. You, Dustin, and Steve ‘us’. For a second you thought he actually might love you too. “I don’t know.” You admit.

He ponders your response for a second. “I’m glad you forgave me. That you both forgave me.”

You’re glad you forgave him too. After what his parents had said to him, you couldn’t imagine letting him go back to them that night. All alone, and terrified. You’re even more glad that Dustin had taken to forgiving him so quickly. All Steve had to do was apologize, briefly explaining that he wasn’t in the right mind set, and Dustin ran straight to Steve, engulfing him in the largest hug. Dustin had told Steve that he loved him that day. Steve had said it back. Something you’re not sure you’ll ever have the courage to do. But it warmed your heart to see Dustin open his heart to someone else.

“You’re a good person.” You state.

You say it with so much meaning, but it’s a sentence Steve doubts about himself everyday. He loves Dustin, he loves you, (he’s in love with you really), and he’d do anything for the two of, but he doesn’t feel like a good person. More or less, he’s often afraid that he’ll turn back into who he used to be, the Steve that had all the girls, and all the friends in the world, but still felt lonelier than he’d ever felt.

“I don’t-” He starts. “What if I’m not? I mean, what if what you said a year ago is true?” You can hear the insecurity, the anxiety in his tone. “What if I haven’t changed?”

“You have.” You reassure him. “You,” You point to him seriously, trying desperately to convince him, as you bring your hand gently to his cheek, “You are a good person Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips. He wants to kiss you....more than anything in the world he wants to kiss you, but is that what you want too?

“I meant it when I asked if you ever thought about us.” He says as you remove your hand from his cheek. “I think about it all the time.” He reveals. “What it would be like if you loved me like I love you. If you loved me the way I love you.”

Your eyebrows raise at his words. “I have.” You state, before realizing the tense you’re speaking in. Have means past tense...you’ve certainly been thinking about it in the present. “I do.” You clarify.

“And.” Steve implores hopefully.

“I guess I was just scared to say anything because if you didn’t feel the same way...” you trail off. “I just couldn’t risk it.”

Steve’s voice is soft, like silk and honey. “But I do feel the same way.”

Your eyes search his for any sign of doubt. When you don’t find any, a beaming smile breaks out onto your face. “You do?”

“I always have.” He confirms, placing a hand on your cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

It’s a question you never thought Steve would ask you, one you dreamed about so often, wishing that maybe he could feel the same way. That familiar flutter that you’d become so accustomed to when you’re around Steve is back. And this time, it’s much stronger. Because it’s filled with hope, knowing that this is actually going to happen. He does feel the same way.

You nod your head in response before Steve leans down to meet your lips. His kiss is sweet and gentle, and while you’re not sure if it’s perfect to him, it is perfect to you. You’re putting all your love into this kiss, hoping that he understands just what you’re trying to say through it.

You take a quick breath before his lips are back on yours, this time more comfortably. Steve is confident about his actions, a hand resting on your waist, and the other still gracing your cheek. He can feel you smiling into the kiss as you begin to pull away once again, a joyful laugh bubbling in your throat.

“I love you (Y/n) Henderson.” He breathes. And you know it’s true. You can see it in the way he looks at you, so much so that you’re sure he can see just how much you love him through your gaze as well. “I’m in love with you.”

“I love you.” You respond, heart full of freedom and joy. “And just so you know...” you trail off, remembering the words you said to him nearly two years ago, “this Steve Harrington character, he really is hot....and a pretty damn good kisser.”

You let out a sigh, resting your head back on Steve’s shoulder. You’re both very content, breathing steady and calm. And it’s honestly quite fitting, the way your relationship is to begin, sitting on the front steps to your house, waiting for Dustin. Dustin had reintroduced you to each other, after all those years, bringing your friendship back to a blossom. He’s the reason you allowed yourself to fall for Steve in the first place, so it’s entirely convenient that you’ll spend your first moments as a couple in love, waiting to reintroduce your relationship to Dustin. He had made it possible after all....

And if there’s one thing you and Steve both know for sure, it’s that Dustin will approve. He’s been waiting for this for two years, watching you dance around each other and fall in love, (you also know that Robin will be overjoyed too...). And the most important thing of all: Steve had found a true home, and that home was with you and Dustin.

Steve Harrington will always be a Henderson (if not by birth or blood, then certainly by love), no matter what. And you’d always love him for it.

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General Taglist:

@voidnarnia @galaxy-mindsxx @lookalivesunshine-x @lanatheawesome @mileven-reddie @my-remical-chomance

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

Text

Let Her Go {Emma Frost x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3294 Summary: After getting rejected by someone you thought you loved, you do eventually find all you’re looking for. Song inspiration: Rhapsody in Blue - Gershwin (x)

The music coming from your room did not have a source that most people expected. You had no radio, no record player, and definitely no tape cassette. Nor did you have a television that might have produced the sound. Rather, it was coming from your very pores, the emotions that you were feeling. Manifesting sounds and music was your power, though it was not a very useful one unless the disco was growing dull or you needed to get someone’s attention quickly. Rhapsody in Blue was loud, expressing your emotion to the other ladies in the boarding house that you were living in temporarily. You had your window open, the curtain was fluttering outside of it, having been drawn out by the breeze, and you sat next to it, enjoying the sunshine on your face. It was the first time that you had enjoyed anything in the last month. Since you left your teaching position at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

You sighed as you saw a redhead walking down the street with her dog. Even the flash of that hair color was enough to bring you back to your slump, the song skipping to one of the piano solos to match her steps. You had gotten away from the school so you wouldn’t think of Jean Grey anymore, but everything brought back memories. Damn, how you missed the excitement of the school, and the missions that you were brought on.

You turned away from the window, having seen enough people for the day. Your eyes went towards the empty bottle of vodka that sat near your door, ready to act as a doorstop since the glass was heavy enough. You had promised yourself only one bottle during this hard time. Rejection was tough to deal with, especially from someone you thought perhaps would be your soulmate. Just one bottle, any more would be excessive. Just merely one bottle.

The jazz surrounded you like a hug. If you were in a better mood, you might even dance to it. Instead, you sat alone, traumatized at the idea of being close to another human. It was nearly enough to make you cry.

The air around you grew heavy, like something big was about to happen. You resisted the shudder that went up your spine, and the shiver that threatened to overtake you. You think you’d be used to this by now. There was a knock at the door, and a beautiful, tall and leggy blonde walked in, closing the door behind her. It was her that brought the feeling with her everywhere that she went.

“I don’t need to read your mind to tell how miserable you are,” She said, tossing her bag onto the flowery comforter that covered your bed. She was a vision in white; nearly blindingly so. “Why is it so hot in here all the time? I feel like I’m going to melt.”

Emma Frost, everybody. The person who has been keeping you sane since the whole fiasco. Since you foolishly thought that Jean Grey might be your soulmate and you confessed your love to her, only to be rejected. The only person who didn’t whisper about you behind your back. Or, at least, you haven’t caught her doing it anyway.

“Because I don’t pay enough for air conditioning,” You said, pointing towards the open window, where the breeze was your only source of air. “I mean, if you want to go into my landlady’s mind and convince her to put some units in, I’d be highly grateful.”

“I might,” She said, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her one leg crossed over the other, as cool as a cucumber. “Or you can just come stay with me. I told you - I have the room.”

She had to talk a little bit higher as the music kept floating through you. You kept your mind focused on the clarinet, the piano, the grooves of the song. Because if you didn’t, there was a chance that it might go to something inappropriate.

“And have to deal with this all the time?” You said, meaning the music coming off of you. “You can barely handle it when I’m in a mediocre mood. And don’t even get me started on what I actually sound like in the shower.”

Emma chuckled, going through her purse for her frosty-pink lipgloss and applied it slowly without a mirror. How she made everything look so effortless, you could not understand. “Honey, I always make sure I know what I’m getting into before I make an offer. Especially one that breaks my rule of not getting too close to people. But you need a place with privacy. Your neighbors are sick of your crying at night.”

“Did they tell you that, or are they just thinking it?”

Emma just gave me a knowing look with her big baby blues. You sighed, figuring that it was the latter since they were all too polite to actually complain.

“I can afford this place, you know? Being independent, it feels nice,” You said, wishing you were even able of convincing yourself of that fact. Of course, Emma didn’t buy it.

“You quit your job, and you’re living off of your very meagre savings. And all you do is stare out that tiny little window, trying to see if you can spot her when she comes to town. Y/N, you can do better than that. If you’re really that bothered, you can pay rent at my place. I know how good it feels to be able to give yourself a second chance, and I want to help you with yours. Come on, don’t make me pressure you.”

You knew that she could be in your head and hating where you are within a second. You looked around the dreary room with it’s fake-cheery yellow wallpaper, the window that only opened halfway up, the gingham curtains, the flower bedspread. None of this was actually yours. The only things that were happened to be the clothes that were still in your suitcase. The fact that you haven’t unpacked spoke volumes.

“I hate when you make a point, you know that?”

You found a job close by to where Emma lived. It wasn’t as cushy a job as working at Xavier’s school, but you couldn’t claim that you were in love with any of your co-workers which was a nice change. And admittedly, living with Emma was the best decision that you had ever made.

When you came home after dark, Emma was there with take-out, since neither of you were really the cooking kinda people. She was much too busy and glamorous, while you - you were honestly just a bit lazy after working all day. The only downside was that sometimes her long, blonde hairs could be found on your clothing, since she shed like a damn sheepdog. You teased her about being able to make voodoo dolls of her, and there’s nothing her powers could do about it, which was just enough to get an actual emotion out of her, rather than her perfect expressionless face.

You started noticing more and more about your friend as you spent an increasing amount of time with her. She wore white as if it were going out of style; and it probably was because nobody rocked it as well as she did. You noticed how she shunned most human contact, but stayed close to you. Your pinkie fingers were side by side as you both rested on the couch, watching a movie on her television screen. You noticed that she didn’t use her telepathic ability on you, despite having ample opportunity. She actually took the time to ask your thoughts, or what you wanted. She didn’t invade.

“You look like you’re thinking about something,” Emma said, walking into the room, her white heeled boots clicking against the wooden floors. “It’s not that ginger again, is it?”

“No, actually, I’ve barely thought about her in days,” You admitted. Emma raised an eyebrow, then joined you on the couch, waiting for you to continue to speaking. “I think that what you said when I told you I was leaving the school was right. That it was just an infatuation from seeing her everyday. A crush that I blew out of proportion. So ... thank you. I might not have been able to see reason if it wasn’t for you.”

“Hmm-” The corner of Emma’s lips went up into a half-smile. “You’re welcome. Any other crushes that you want me to ruin for you while I’m at it? That one woman you work with is rather cute. Workplace cute, not model cute, obviously but-”

“No, no, I’m okay,” You said, laughing. It felt so good to laugh again. You were becoming yourself once more, but a stronger version. A more aware version. “How come it’s always about my crushes? You never tell me about yours. Come on, you worked with some pretty attractive people, even if some of them were villains.”

“You think so?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow. She reached past you to the table where your cup of tea was sitting on a saucer, and helped herself to a sip. “None of them were quite my type.”

“Oh,” You said, a little surprised. “Well, what is your type?”

You didn’t even mind that she was drinking your tea. You were just so curious about why she never opened up about her own love life, and intrigued that she was doing it now.

“Oh, I don’t know. There is one person but ... it would never happen so I’ve decided to stop entertaining the thought.”

“Are they married or something? Because believe me, anyone that would turn you down is a fool. I’ve been living with you for a while now and you haven’t annoyed me yet, that’s a very good sign.”

Emma stayed silent as she thought, and as you watched, she tapped her fingers against the teacup. For once, you wished that you were the telepath so you could figure out what was so hard for her to say aloud.

“Oh come on,” You said, nudging her with your elbow. “Whoever it is, you can tell me. I swear I won’t even tease you for it. Unless it’s Logan, because that man has so much body hair it’s disgusting.”

Emma started to laugh at that, and put the teacup back down on the saucer. “Oh, honey, no,” She shook her head between giggles. “Definitely not Logan.”

“Then it can’t be that bad. Come on....” You bothered and bothered until you knew that you would get her way.

“Fine!” She said, throwing her hands up into the air. “Do you really want to know that bad?” You nodded enthusiastically. You’ve never seen her so nervous about admitting something before. This was not the witty and calm Emma Frost that you knew well. “My type is you, exactly you,” She said, dryly, reaching for the tea cup again but you stopped her by grabbing onto her wrist gently.

“I’m not laughing, if you hadn’t noticed,” You said, turning even more to face her. You let go of her, but she didn’t reach for the tea again. She was just reaching for it as a distraction, something to keep her hands busy as you both processed what had just been said.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Emma said, putting her hands on the knees over her immaculate dress. “But you’re not doing much of anything at the moment, are you?”

“I’m thinking,” You said, crossing your arms in front of you. “What was it you said - infatuation because we see each other every day?”

“I would think that was it, if I hadn’t had feelings for you for about a year before you moved in.” She sighed, uncrossing her legs and just crossed them the other way. “It’s fine, y/n, you’ve been through a lot. That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything. I know you’re not unbreakable and made of diamond, like me.”

“Yeah, well,” You said, trying desperately to think of something to say. “Can your diamond skin do this?”

You focused on the song ‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’ in your head, and it flowed out of you just as easily as if it were a blink or a breath. Marilyn Monroe’s sweet and sultry voice filled the living room, tuning out the television program that was on Emma’s tv. She stared at you, not saying anything until the actual line of ‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’ was sung.

“No, I can’t do that,” She said, getting onto her feet. “But thank you for telling me through song how you feel.”

You realized the connotations of the song, and how Emma had taken it. She was your best friend, but you had essentially just showed her that it was all that she could be. “Can you just wait a second please?” You said, jumping up yourself. “I’m still not laughing, and I’m not ... not upset about it either.”

Emma stopped in her doorframe, leaning against it. How did she make every motion look so graceful? “Good to see you don’t hate me,” She stated.

“I could never, Em!” You protested at the very thought. “How could I ever hate you? You’ve given me everything - my life back, most importantly. I just ... I’m not good at the emotions thing as we both clearly just found out. And I don’t want anything to ever come between us...”

“So nothing is changing despite my big admission, pour the champagne,” Emma said, clearly dripping in sarcasm. “Goddamnit, let me think for a second, alright?” You said, collapsing back on the couch, running your fingers against your scalp in frustration. “This does change things. A lot of things. I just never thought that someone like you would ever like someone like me. You’re so... perfect.”

“But not perfect enough for you to consider,” Emma said, her voice loaded with lack of emotion, which was an emotion in itself. You knew what that tone had meant. That was how you spoke to Jean after she rejected you. How you spoke to everyone, actually. Hiding your emotions was a way to protect yourself.

“Don’t think that way, you know that I care about you,” You pleaded.

“I know,” Emma said, moving a blonde hair out of her face with a quick movement of her head. “I’m not letting it affect anything. If it changes how we are, that’s on you.”

You took a couple of days to think about things. Emma had gone off on a mission of some sort, and you laid around the penthouse apartment, doing next to nothing but worrying about her. Yes, she was made of diamonds when she wanted to be. And yes, she was a telepath and could anticipate any move against her. But that didn’t sooth your mind much. Becoming so close to her over the last couple of weeks and then having the threat of losing her - it put things into perspective.

You jumped up when you heard the door open, reaching for something that could be used as protection. You settled on a lamp, not realizing that it would probably cost you a month’s salary to replace it if you actually broke it.

The room was dark, and you could just see a form moving near the front door. The burglar was being bold, if that’s what it was. You held the lamp up and were about to bring it down on the burglar when the light turned on and revealed it to actually be the person you had been worrying about all this time.

“A lamp, really?” Emma asked, lightly taking the lamp from your hands as you paused to take the sight of her in. “A frying pan would probably be better.”

“I -” You started to stutter before realizing you weren’t even sure what it was you wanted to say. You dropped your arms to your sides, feeling like a sullen child. “I missed you.”

“Did you?” Her tone was cool and collected, as always. “You almost didn’t.” She set the lamp down on the closest table, letting the cord dangle off for now. Her last name suited her well. She felt chilly to the bone tonight.

“I would have kissed it better,” You said, feeling warm enough for the both of you as you admitted that. She arched an eyebrow in your direction, then walked towards the kitchen. You followed her, as silent as you could muster, though you were letting off some sounds without meaning to. Rhapsody in Blue. Always that song.

“And what changed while I was gone?” She asked, pouring herself a large glass of water, and swallowed it down. She looked tired, not as put together as usual. But her attitude didn’t differ from before.

“I had lots of time to think,” You muttered, with her barely able to hear you over the clarinet. “I did miss you. And I worried about you the whole time, even though I know that you had it under control. You always do.”

“That’s the grand conclusion that you came up with? That I’m clearly a badass?” She said, turning the cup around in her hands. You felt your mouth go dry.

“Well, not really - I’ve known that for a long time. The conclusion that I came to, in your words, is that I’d kind of like to change our friendship. Into something more than a friendship.” The song rose into a crescendo, your hopeful feelings taking on a musical charge. You could feel electricity in the air. The hairs on your arm were sticking up. “It took me a lot of time to let Jean go, and then even more for me to make sure that how I feel about you isn’t just ... a rebound. It’s not, I’m positive.”

“Took you long enough,” Emma said with a smirk. “I’ve been able to read you easier than a book, y/n. That’s why I confessed to you when I did. Because I knew that you felt the same way and needed a nudge to say it.” She put the glass into the sink, then approached you. She took your face between her hands, so you were forced to look into her beautiful, blue eyes. “Though I have to ask, why is it always this song?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, leaning more into her hands, craving the touch to be stronger.

“When you dream of me, you play this song. So what’s so special about it?” She questioned you, giving you what you needed by coming even closer, your face still at the mercy of her hands.

“I do?” You asked, suddenly concerned at what other music you might have exuded in your sleep. “I suppose it’s because it covers everything I feel about you. Happiness, hope, anxiety at times.”

“You’re an odd one,” Emma said, letting go of you. You felt colder without her, but she took your hand instead. “Come, sleep with me tonight, play it as my lullaby.”

“If that’s what you really want,” You said, going with her extremely willingly.

#Emma Frost #Emma Frost x reader #Emma Frost oneshot #XMen #XMen oneshot #Marvel #Marvel oneshot #oneshot #request #emmaf

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detectivedreameater · 3 years

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Margarita Monday || Camille and Marley

TIMING: Mid October PARTIES: @carrionxcamille and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Camille comes over to Marley’s for margaritas but ends up sharing a little more than drinks. CONTENT: Alcohol

Relaxing just...wasn’t something Marley really did. Ever. Sure, she took time off and had nights off, but just doing something to do it for, well, fun? Was strange. Having another woman over and not having intentions to sleep with her was also very strange for Marley. But, here she was, setting out ingredients to teach someone how to make margaritas the right way, just to...do it. No ulterior motive, no reason other than to just be normal. Readjusting herself, Marley set out the ingredients-- Dragones tequila, triple sec, cognac, lime juice, and a little bit of simple syrup. Oh, and ice. Marley had had to go to the store and actually buy a bag of ice, considering the only fridge she had was a small drink fridge, and it didn’t make ice. Was that weird or suspicious? Did she care? If this Camille was anything other than what she said she was, Marley could easily get away or fear gaze her. She was in no trouble here. Still, she jumped a little when there was a knock on the door. She looked over, straightened herself out, then went over. “Welcome to Casa Del Marley,” she said in a cheesy tone, even if she did know proper Spanish. “It’s Margarita Monday today, so please come in and make yourself at home.”

Right, this was good. Meeting people, getting out of the house, making connections. Camille was making progress, and it sure was better than spending another tuesday night parked in front of the tv barely focusing on trashy reality shows. She needed more friends, and margaritas certainly seemed like a good way to curb any first meeting awkwardness, even if it was a little college to get drunk on a weekday. Whatever, it’s not like running the park was hard. This would be good for her. This wasn’t her threadbare allyship with Regan, and she couldn’t rely solely on Cece for company either. The greeting at the door made her laugh a little as she stepped in, toeing her boots off by the door, “thanks for having me, I needed an excuse to get out the house.” And an excuse to have a drink a little stronger than a glass of wine, honestly. “You earn points already for the alliteration.” She grins, “teach me your ways, margarita master.”

Marley moved around to the kitchen quickly once Camille was inside, trying not to let the strange feeling in her stomach take too much hold on her. “Yeah, sure,” she said, setting out two glasses and the mixer. “Anything to have an excuse to make margaritas, honestly.” She gave an awkward smile. “Not that I need one, but, you know.” She cleared her throat, gesturing to the ingredients she’d laid out. “Well, first of all, you need the right ingredients. None of that cheap shit, okay?” she pointed at the tequila. “This is the best kind, hands down. People might try and tell you Cuervo or Patron is good enough, but they’re wrong,” she tapped on it, “plus, my girlfriend would gut me if I said anything otherwise.”

It was a long time since Camille had tried to make friends, honestly. With Jace the way he had been she didn’t want people around at the house and eventually being lonely was just easier than trying to make yet another excuse for why the girls couldn’t meet her husband or see her home. But Marley had offered to have her over, she wanted the company too. Of course, Camille couldn’t really afford high shelf tequila right now, but they’d- unsurprisingly- had a well stocked liquor cabinet at home, and she did one day plan to have a set up like it again. “Right.” She nods sagely, laughing a little, “honestly I can’t drink Cuervo anymore anyway, it just tastes too much like terrible college decisions.” She grins, “does your girlfriend work for the company or is she just a big believer in high shelf tequila?”

“As it should,” Marley said, scrunching her nose. “Cuervo is for college frat kids who want to get drunk fast. You need a nice fine tequila to truly appreciate the art of the margarita.” She cleared her throat, trying to move past the awkward feeling in her throat, even if she’d said the word first. “She’s a lady of fine taste, what can I say?” grinned before sweeping her hand to the next ingredient. “Now, some people might also try and tell you that you can use sweet and sour mix. It’s cheap, it’s faster-- blah, blah. But they’re wrong. You gotta do it yourself if you want the best flavor. I use lime juice, salt and simple syrup. 2 parts lime juice, half part syrup. Pinch of salt,” she explained, finding talking about alcohol was much easier than talking about Anita being her girlfriend and what she liked. “Lastly, my special secret ingredients,” she moved down the line again, “triple sec and cognac. Add to taste, of course, but I usually do a shot of each. Really brings out the other flavors. You can add a little orange juice as a spritz sometimes, too, if you’re feeling citrusy. But, yeah--” she nodded to herself as if to congratulate herself on a job well done. “That’s all there is to it. So, shall we try and make some?”

College frat kids who want to get drunk fast? Camille almost winces. That had sure been Jace. Perhaps this whole thing really was her own fault, in a roundabout way. How had she not seen the signs of it when they were younger? Sure everyone liked to get messed up at parties when they were kids, but Jace was always looking for another party to get messed up at. She’d thought- stupidly- it was the social aspect. Jace was a jovial guy, he loved to be around people, that was why he loved parties. Maybe even back then he’d loved drinking more. Uh oh, yeah, she was not going to admit it to Marley but Cam had definitely made a few sweet and sour mix margaritas in her time. It was easier. But then she hadn’t been sure how easy the real method was too-- and honestly it didn’t sound like rocket science. She liked listening to people talk about a passion of theirs, and Marley clearly had this down to a T, so seeing her in her comfort zone made Camille a little more relaxed too, and they weren’t even drinking yet. “So you go pretty sour then? That’s good. I make cosmos sometimes and I always add more lime juice than recipes say too, I just like them sour.” She nods, “doesn’t sound like I’d be able to fuck it up too badly,” Cam grins and picks up one of the glasses, “assuming you start with tequila?”

“Oh yeah,” Marley said, nodding, “the more sour, the better. What can I say? I’m a sour woman.” She stacked two glasses on the counter in front of them and motioned to the ingredients. “It really is hard to fuck up a margarita, it’s more about getting the right proportions so that you can enjoy all the flavors at once. And, of course, making sure you have good tequila,” tapped the bottle again, “yeah, sure. Start with that, I’ll uh-- supervise,” she said stepping back and letting Camille approach. This was still...strange and knew for her, but she was learning that it was nothing to be awkward about. Maybe this was just how normal people interacted. Maybe if she kept trying, she’d actually get used to it one day. She gave a smirk. “Go on, then,” she motioned, “don’t fuck it up.”

Camille laughed a little- actually, she’d been called a sourpuss once, by an older guy at a club trying to grind on her. The memory amused her to this day. Maybe they were both a little sour, but she didn’t think that was a bad thing. “I’m the same with wine, I never like it overly sweet.” She says, stepping up to the counter to start by pouring some tequila in one of the glasses- hey, she was still young enough at heart to know roughly how to pour out a shot. “I’ve known people to use triple sec before, but I’ve never come across cognac. Hey, I’ll trust the master though.” Cam shrugs, adding in plenty of lime juice and salt before pouring some syrup into a measure and adding that too. “I will admit to hating it when people put stuff on the rim of a glass though, salt or sugar or whatever. I’ve never gotten that.” She was sure that too was something about flavor, but the grains just irritated her mouth. Camille knew she liked triple sec, so after a full shot of that she measured out a little less cognac- she’d never been a huge fan- and added that too. “Looks like I managed to avoid total disaster… Or I didn’t make a mess at least.” Obsessively watching bartenders in college to make sure they didn’t mess with her drink had paid off, it seemed. She raised the glass, “cheers.” And took a sip. “Wow. Okay, you’re right. I’m adding cognac to every margarita I make from now on. Damn, that’s good. I don’t even like brandy.”

Marley watched Camille fill up her drink, talking herself through the process. “Cognac just gives it a little extra bite, you know?” she shrugged, “I’m not a big fan of the alcohol on its own, but the slightest touch really does spruce up the most basic cocktail.” Mostly, she didn’t like it because it wasn’t an alcohol she could consume copious amounts of in a small amount of time in order to get drunker quicker. But she didn’t need to say that outloud. “Ah, see! You’re amazing at it already,” she said, leaning back against the counter. From around the corner of the kitchen table came JD, sniffing the air and the new scent in the house. Marley observed him for a moment, before realizing that his horns really weren't anything that normal people would expect on a hare. Or, really even, expect a hare. She went forward to shoo him away, but he scampered under the table and around into the kitchen, right up to Camille. “Uhh, he’s got-- a mutation,” she said, staring wide eyed.

It was all going well and everything was very normal, which Camille was pretty pleased about because since waking up in town she kept getting hit across the face with weirdness. Killer mimes and vampire neighbors and an eyeball where the goddamn sun should be. It was nice to kick back with a new friend and have a drink, and talk about normal things like cognac. She’d been into cocktail making for a while when she was younger, but then Jace’s problem had gotten worse and keeping high percentage alcohol in the house just… Didn’t seem smart. She took another sip and tried not to think about that. “Well it helps to have a good teacher.” Camille laughed, only the slightest of a bitter edge to the sound, “I would know, I used to be a- ah!”

Camille startled when the creature scurried up to her, pressing her body back into the kitchen counter. “Holy hell.” It was, in essence, a big weird looking rabbit. Which would probably not have garnered much of a reaction if it were not for the horns. Horns! Every day something new and totally out of left field. Is it the weirdest thing she’s seen? Well… There were eyeballs coming out of her taps at one point, that was probably weirder. But this-- Camille didn’t quite see how a mutation could give a rabbit horns. Which meant this was the supernatural kind of weird, which meant Marley knew about the supernatural kind of weird. “...Right.” She takes another sip of her drink and sighs, weighing the pros and cons. Camille could pretend to believe her, but there would be an awkward air over the rest of the night. She had enough secrets already. “Y’know, you don’t have to… I- look, here’s the thing, I’m not an expert. Like, I don’t know a lot about it all but I do know that there’s stuff in this town that is…” She waves a hand vaguely in the air, trying to find a good word for it. “Let me put it this way, when I lived in the motel my neighbors were vampires. So, don’t bullshit me. That’s not a normal rabbit.”

Marley watched Camille closely, as she started down at JD. She could see the cogs turning in her head. Most people who wanted to remain ignorant would wave this away and be happy to accept the “mutation” explanation-- but when Camille didn’t, Marley felt herself slowly warming up to the idea that maybe she wasn’t half bad. She came over around the counter and picked up the large hare, hoisting him onto one arm and holding him so his legs dangled below her arm. He sniffed the air, wriggled once, then settled in. “You’re neighbors were vampires? Gross,” she muttered, scrunching her nose, “vampires are so broody and angsty. Oh, my life is so tragic,’ she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead, “I’m doomed to eternal life and I must feed on the blood of innocents! Or...whatever.” She remembered the last vampire she’d known, and how much his disposition to drink blood tortured him. Vampires, for all their monstrosity, could be so human sometimes. “Glad you got out of there, then,” she replied, feeling the awkwardness hang in the air a bit. She cleared her throat. “He uh--” glanced down at JD, “--he’s a Jackalope. Supernatural hare, basically. But I swear he’s nice! Usually.”

Camille wasn’t going to wander around the whole town with her eyes closed. She was in White Crest because she’d died. If she wanted answers about what the hell had happened to her and didn’t want those answers to totally freak her out it would probably be a good idea to embrace everything else weird and wacky going on in town. It was just so… Exhausting. Nothing was normal. She couldn’t even make a new friend and drink margaritas without some not rabbit thing becoming part of the evening. Maybe she just had to get used to it.

It was almost comical the way Marley handled the thing, and how quickly it settled into her arms like it’d been there a dozen times before. It probably had, she seemed to be keeping it like a domestic pet. That was almost… Sweet. And her vampire impression did make Cam laugh. “They were broody!” She agreed, “those walls were thin, I could hear them complaining. Didn’t stop the parade of pretty young girls always going in and out of their room though, so they can’t have felt too put out.” Once she’d found out what they were Cam had started watching for those girls- some of them went back again and again, but what mattered to her was making sure they walked back out. She nods, “yeah. Cece really did me a favor.” Oh how much she had come to rely on the kindness of strangers as of late, it was new. “He doesn’t seem not nice. He just startled me. I’m still getting used to all this stuff, and I don’t really feel like getting into why I’m here in the first place but it.. Yeah, it’s part of my life now, so.” Camille shrugs, staring at the jackalope… She’d heard of them, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they might really exist in this new world. “He’s almost cute. Does he have a name?”

“All vampires are,” Marley said with a little roll of her eyes. “They’re pretty dramatic.“ At least, all the vampire she’d met were like that-- she felt like it almost came with the territory, just like how most mara liked the strange and horrific. Most of them even shared Marley’s love for insects, because unlike most mammals, they didn’t run away scared. “Oh, you know Cece? Like Cece Bishop, Cece? I work with her sometimes.” And somehow knowing Camille knew Cece made Marley all the more relieved. At least she didn’t have to skirt around things anymore. “He’s very nice, usually. Just spooks easy, which is funny, considering--” she paused, frowned, “he’s pretty scary looking.” Marley rustled her arms, cinching her brows. “Almost cute? He’s extremely cute, actually. I mean, lookit his face!” she exclaimed, holding him up. JD responded by thumping his legs against her and leaping out of her arms and over to the couch. “Well...I think he’s cute,” she muttered, looking back over at Camille. “His name’s JD. Short for Jack Daniels.” A pause. “I swear I’m not an alcoholic, though.”

Sometimes Camille worried she was taking all of this too well. But then she remembered her first few months here, the icy cold that had settled over her the second she realized she was supposed to be dead, sitting in that motel room and staring at the wall for god knew how many days without being able to move. Trying to accept it all had practically rendered her catatonic, and she was still struggling, but Camille was no idiot. Even with all the additions the world was still the world and she was still a living thing that needed to make money and survive and carry on.

“I haven’t actually met any vampires, so I couldn’t speak for all of them.” Cam shrugs, and then her eyes widen, “at least… I don’t think I have. I suppose that’s rather the point.” Wow, maybe she had met vampires. Marley could be one for all she knew. It was probably rude to ask. “Yeah, it’s her I live with. We met out at Dell’s Tavern one night and when she found out I was staying at that creepy motel she insisted I stay with her.” She nods, “right, it makes sense that you’d know her too.” The morgue and the police department probably worked closely. They’d probably done that in Boston, when she’d died. Camille chuckled a little at the contradictions, how Marley thought something could look scary and cute at the same time. Though she managed not to flinch when it- JD- was brought closer to her face. He had regular rabbit eyes, all big and innocent and shiny. She did jump when the beast moved suddenly though, clutching one hand to her heart and laughing despite herself. “He can leap like a rabbit, huh? Is he- do you just keep him, like, as a pet?” Cam smiled, “I like JD. When I was in college my roommate had a hamster and we called it Khalua.”

“Count yourself lucky, then,” Marley said with a small chuckle. “Oh, trust me-- you’d know.” It was a strange thing, to find someone so...okay with all this weirdness. Even Erin had been a little freaked out by everything at first, but maybe Camille had just skipped past it all already. Or she just hadn’t seen the freak out and was getting the after effects. She shrugged. “Yeah, Cece’s like that.” She didn’t know Cece all that well, but from what she could gather, the woman liked to feel useful and help others. And was a bit nosey. “He’s a hare, actually. Common mistake. Hares are bigger than rabbits.” She scratched her chin. “I mean, yes? He’s pretty harmless. He mostly just follows me around and chews on things. Animals don’t normally like me, so it’s kinda nice to have one around that, you know, does.” A chuckle. “Khalua, ha. That’s a good name. I’m gonna steal that if I ever get another pet. I was considering getting another tarantula, they’re pretty low maintenance.” She gave a short pause, before prodding her next question. “So...how do you know about all this stuff?”

“Oh, would I? Well that’s… Reassuring, I suppose.” The only thing that’d tipped Camille off about her neighbors at the motel was how loudly they talked about it. Perhaps they’d been trying to scare her. Honestly at the time they’d been the least of her worries, and she’d even briefly wondered if any attempts to kill her would actually work. Jury was still kind of out on that one, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t going to ask anyone to try it and find out.

Camille nodded, “right, a hare.” The difference wasn’t enough to bother her, but she’d try and remember it. “Ah, I hear most animals are a little bit destructive like that.” She chuckled, it was one of the things that had stopped her from getting a dog with Jace, being too precious about her house. “He was a real hit whenever we had dorm parties, that’s for sure. Even the dean thought he was too cute to tell us off.” The idea of a spider as a pet was… Really not Camille’s cup of tea, but if Marley already had a weird supernatural hare it probably wouldn’t seem so odd to her.

Right. How did she know about all this? Marley was a cop, it probably wasn’t smart to tell her too much about how she didn’t have a legal identity and there was a man in prison for her murder. But… Well, Marley was a cop with a jackalope, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to have as many useful people helping her figure this out as possible? If Marley had a strong enough link to the supernatural stuff, maybe she’d have some information no one else did yet. “Well…” Camille sipped her drink, tapping her fingers against the side of the glass. “How do you know about this stuff?”

.Marley ruffled her nose. “Hey, I asked you first,” she pointed out, frowning. It was strange to not feel affronted by the question, however, and she had to take a minute to pause and decide if that really was one she wanted to answer. A few months ago it would have been a solid and definite no, but now that things had changed in Marley’s life, she wasn’t sure anymore. She waffled on it for a moment, confused by her own indecision. “I’m a cop in White Crest,” she finally answered with a shrug, “how could I not know about this stuff? I know most of the precinct will like to make you believe everyone around there has their head in the sand, but you can’t judge us all because of that.” Even if Marley did. She knew most of the other cops didn’t believe in any of this shit. “I also sort of grew up with this kinda stuff.”

She leaned back against the counter again. “Okay, so now that I played my cards, are you gonna tell me yours?” she asked, nodding at her. “You seem pretty normal, so what could’ve happened to you to clue you in to all this shit?”

Camille lounged back against the counter, tapping her nails against the almost empty glass in her hand and waiting. Whatever Marley had to say she was willing to bet the other woman had been around this kind of stuff a lot longer than she had. The reasoning of being a cop was sound enough, she was willing to bet they all saw some weird stuff. But Regan worked in the morgue and had wings and still managed to be disbelieving of the whole thing. Growing up around it, though, that made Camille relax just a little.

She set the glass down to pull back the sleeve of her shirt and show the sigil on the back of her hand. “I died a while ago.” Camille said, trying to sound more nonchalant about the whole thing then she felt. “Woke up in White Crest earlier this year. With this thing-” She tapped a finger against the mark- “which I did not have in my first life. A lady told me it means I was resurrected and the mark keeps my soul in my body, or something.” Camille tugged her sleeve back down. “So I am pretty normal. Or I was, but it’s kind of hard to deny all this stuff when you know there’s an autopsy report with your name on it.” She shrugged, twisting her hands together, “I figure for now this town is the best place for me, while I’m still trying to get it together.”

Had Marley been drinking something, she would have spit out her drink. Instead, it came up as a cough that felt as if it stuttered and stuck in her throat, and she turned to look at Camille with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say you died? And then-- came back?” That wasn’t really all that uncommon, but Marley had been sure Camille wasn’t a zombie or a vampire-- her tastebuds were too on par. But then she showed Marley the marking on her hand and it clicked-- someone had brought her back to life using necromancy. Marley didn’t know much about it, only that only very powerful spellcasters could do it, and that it was some sort of taboo-- Peter had informed her of this, and reminded her that they were not vessels of death while doing so-- and that Bea had likely also been resurrected. She’d told Marley she’d died after Marley had pestered her about not calling back.

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s fair,” she answered, scratching the back of her neck. “Normal is-- relative, I guess. Even though you’re, well, you know…” she motioned towards her, “you can still live a normal life.”

Marley’s reaction was… Almost comical. Especially in comparison to others. Nell had been matter of fact, Regan in denial. Marley was much closer to what Camille had expected of people. The tequila probably helped, but she actually didn’t feel all that exhausted by talking about it for once, which was a nice change. Perhaps because she hadn’t gotten into the details of her ex husband and the whole ordeal that had brought about her death. She didn’t want too, it wasn’t like she owed Marley anything. Part of normal was moving on. “It’s kind of a lot to process.” She said, nodding. “So I’m trying to take it easy. Just… Getting out into the world again, y’know? Steady job, making new friends.” Camille shrugged, “not perfect but better than nothing.”

She smiled,“actually, it makes me feel much safer knowing we actually have cops who understand exactly what is going on in this town, even if you can’t convince the entire squad.” She laughed softly, moving to set her glass down by the sink and pick up her bag. “It’s getting late. I shouldn’t keep you up all night. But we should hang out again, now that I know I don’t have to watch what I say with you.”

For a dead woman, Camille was pretty casual. Marley didn’t know what that experience was like, but she could understand wanting to make a normal life for yourself. “You really should quit the Cryptid Corner,” she said after a moment, but it was with a sly grin and not a judging one. “I heard that place is haunted.” Marley gave a sheepish shrug. “Well, glad I can help out, then. I’ll certainly do my best to keep this place clean, but White Crest is certainly a...dangerous place. Don’t um-- do anything to get yourself killed again, alright?” She started heading over towards the door with Camille. She wanted to quip about how the night was her time, but she kept her mouth shut for now. She’d already given away too much, and even if Camille had been more forthcoming with all this than she’d originally thought, she still felt exposed in some way. Even though Camille had spilled her entire story, Marley kept hers much closer to her chest. “Uh-- yeah,” she said, confused for a moment. People didn’t often ask to hang out with her again, let alone as just friends. Was this really how the world worked? She furrowed her brow. “Yeah, let’s do this again. Maybe with snacks next time, too.” That’s what people offered, right? She brushed the thought away. “And uh-- thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. You don’t have to worry, either. Your secret’s safe with me.” And if Camille turned on her somehow, it would make for some good blackmail. Not that she wanted that to happen. But old habits die hard.

Camille snorted out a laugh and shook her head, “the closest thing that place has ever gotten to haunted was the one time we had a possessed toilet. A nightmare to deal with but we’ve had nothing since. It’s too lame to haunt.” She nods, “yeah… Yeah I know this place can be a bit wild. Hell, when I woke up here people were being attacked by mimes, so.” It was almost scary how quickly she’d gotten used to it all, but maybe waking up dead could numb you to experiences like that a bit. “Trust me, I don’t have any plans to put myself in harm's way.”

It was true, she certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. She’d even stopped walking around the forest at night, so things were looking up. Another friend who knew her secret, someone else to trust. Camille was sick of being lonely, see, she’d decided this life was going to have friends. “Right. I appreciate it. Enjoy the rest of your night, I’ll see ya.” She gave a cheery little wave before heading out the door, to return to her own home feeling a little more optimistic than the day before.

#chatzy #chatzy: camille #wickedswriting #margarita monday #camille

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yelena-bellova · 5 years

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The Measurements That Matter - Steve x plus sized reader

Summary: You’ve got a crush on your Captain, but you’re convinced that he could never feel the same way because you aren’t as thin as most girls. You push yourself too hard in the gym day in and day out, till one day things take a turn and Steve’s there to reassure you that you’re perfect, just the way you are…

Requested by @lilacprincessofrecovery : can you please make me a steve and plus size reader where he finds out shes exercising too much to try to get his attention and he tells her it doesnt matter how she looks if she keeps working out so much shell pass out? idk something like that? thank you!

Warnings: body image issues

Word Count: 2,070 Note: I’ve struggled with eating disorders and body dysmorphia + thought losing weight would make me for attractive to a guy I liked so this request was very close to my heart. Never forget that whatever size you are, you are absolutely beautiful ❤️

Just one more…

This was the mantra you were living by.

Just one more mile, just one more set, just one more rep…

In your free time between missions, you were always to be found in the gym. All of the Avengers put an emphasis on training and physical fitness, obviously, but not even Thor and all his muscles frequented the gym as much as you did. But rarely ever were you there for the right reasons…You were well aware of the fact that your body wasn’t built like your teammates. You certainly weren’t as thin as Wanda or as perfectly proportioned as Natasha…The world may have used terms like “plus-sized” but the only word you could ever use to describe yourself was fat. You hated your body and spent countless nights lying awake, wishing that you could look like other women.

Because if you looked like other women, maybe Steve would finally look at you the way you looked at him…

Your lengthy workout sessions weren’t just for you. You had had a crush on Steve pretty much since the minute you joined the team a year ago. You and the captain were close friends, spending quite a bit of time together and you quickly becoming his go-to girl on missions. While your infatuation only grew for him, you never saw or got any signal from him that he might possibly feel the same way. Your insecurities took over and convinced you that the reason he wasn’t interested in you was that you didn’t look like other women. Steve Rogers, America’s Golden Boy, could never possibly go for someone like you…

So you ran miles on the treadmill, you did countless sets of crunches, you never stopped. And in the rare moments that you weren’t exercising, you were on your phone researching the best routines for losing weight. You hoped that with every pound shed, you were one step closing to winning the attention you craved from Steve.

One early morning, you hadn’t eaten much breakfast but decided it was a good idea to still go to the gym. During your second mile on the treadmill, you were starting to feel lightheaded. You knew your blood sugar was low and you should probably stop, but the minute you considered getting off, Steve walked into the gym. He was usually the first one to get in an early morning workout, but these days you were beating him to it. He gave you a smile and a wave, you did the same and removed your earbuds as he walked towards you.

“This is the third time this week you’ve beaten me here…I think you’re more dedicated than any of us.” Steve joked.

You let out a small chuckle, trying to keep your eyes focused on his face and not on him in his tight white tank top and track pants. Was it even legal for someone to look that good in workout gear?

“Then you better get on my level, Rogers.” you quipped as you continued to run. Your vision was starting to get a little blurry, but you blinked it away and wiped your eyes as if wiping some sweat from them. Steve smiled at you and you knew you must have been hallucinating because you could have sworn you saw a look of admiration in his eyes.

“Don’t strain yourself. Let me know if you want to switch it up and spar a little with me.” he offered as he walked over to the punching bags.

You popped your earbuds back in and watched as he wrapped his fists in tape, beginning his attack on the bag. His moves were carefully calculated and executed smoothly. You snapped yourself out of your trance and continue your own workout, but your thoughts were beginning to blur together. Dizziness began to set in, your breath started to get heavier and a vague sense of nausea hit you. Common sense told you to get off the treadmill and rest, but by now Steve was resting from his first round of punches and was watching you run. There was no chance in hell you were going to stop now. Your legs were beginning to feel wobbly, but you kept pushing yourself because you knew you had his attention.

Just one more…

The room started to spin and your steps began to get sloppy. You thought you could vaguely hear someone shouting your name over the music, but you couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, one of your feet slipped and you felt yourself falling, but didn’t have the energy to grab onto something to save yourself. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around you and caught you before you hit the belt of the treadmill, you hung limp. Steve carried you off of the machine and laid you down on the ground. He pulled out your earbuds,

“y/n! Can you hear me? y/n, are you okay?”

You blinked your eyes until your vision semi-cleared, Steve was leaning over you with fear in his eyes. Embarrassment was starting to set in as you pieced together what had just happened.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. I must have just overdone it.” you croaked out, realizing how dry your throat actually was.

“That’s an understatement, y/n. It seems like all you do these days is overdo it.” Steve said as he helped you sit up. You put your head in your hands, trying to hide the tears that were beginning to form in your eyes. You felt like you were about to break and you’d be damned if it was going to happen in front of Steve.

“You practically live in this gym, and if you keep up at the pace, you’re gonna pass out or worse.” he said worriedly.

All you could do was nod, knowing the dangerous toll your insecurities were going to take on you. Steve stuttered a bit before he finally asked the question you were praying he wouldn’t ask…

“y/n, is there something going on?” That was all you needed to let your tears flow, your shoulders shaking a little with each sob that escaped your mouth. Steve grabbed onto you and pulled you into his arms, rocking you every so slowly, as if too much movement might cause you to break. You sat there for a few moments, sobbing into your hands and Steve’s shoulder. Eventually, your cries quieted and you dried your eyes.

“I don’t look like everyone else, Steve. I know that. I just thought that maybe if I started really pushing myself, I could lose some weight and…” you let your sentence drift off because you couldn’t tell him the real reason why you were doing this to yourself. Your tears began to fall silently again and Steve lifted your face so your eyes could meet his.

“y/n, why would you think you need to change yourself?” he asked.

“Because I’m fat, Steve! I’m fat! And heroes aren’t supposed to be fat! Look at Natasha and Wanda, then look at me! I’m not even in the same league as them…” you shouted through your tears. But that wasn’t what broke Steve’s heart, it was the next thing you said…

“I don’t blame people for not thinking I’m beautiful because I don’t even think I’m beautiful.”

His jaw fell slack and he watched you dry your tears, staring down at your lap. He knew he had to choose his next words carefully, lest he mess up the situation further.

“You’re dead wrong about calling yourself fat…But you’re right, you don’t look like Nat or Wanda. You’re built differently than they are,” your head snapped up and looked at him, more tears filling your eyes. Steve quickly drew another breath to finish his explanation. “And that’s okay. Having a certain type of body doesn’t make you any more or less of a hero. Those aren’t the measurements that matter. Your heart, your dedication, your passion is what makes a hero. And you’ve got more of that than anyone I know.”

He took your face into his hand, forcing you to look at him as he continued. “y/n, you are the most beautiful women I’ve ever gotten to lay my eyes on. Inside and out, you are stunning. I’m not saying that out of pity or humoring you, it’s the damn truth. I just wish I would have reassured you of that sooner because then maybe you wouldn’t have put yourself through this.” “That’s the thing, Steve. I was always going to put myself through this because I didn’t think you-” you caught yourself one word too late. Steve’s brow furrowed, you looked away quickly and attempted to pull yourself away from his arms. “No, wait!” he exclaimed, grabbing your wrist and pulling your back down. Your eyes met and tension suddenly filled the air.

“Am I one of the reasons you were doing this to yourself?” he asked hesitantly.

You looked down, not able to bear the expression on his face, slowly nodding your head. “I thought that maybe if I looked a certain way, maybe you’d look at me…” you finally admitted.

Steve was floored, no pun intended, sitting on the floor of the gym with your wrist in his hand and your feelings finally out in the open. He had never thought for a second that you might feel this way about him, even though he had silently hoped you had. But never in his wildest thoughts had he ever thought you’d put yourself through this hell in the hopes that you could catch his eye. A breathless smile fell on his lips which only confused you… “Look, I know it’s stupid but I’m begging you, please don’t laugh at me…” you pleaded.

He let out a small chuckle and put his hand on your cheek, taking a second to admire you. You were sweaty with puffy eyes and no makeup on your face, but you were still the most beautiful sight to Steve.

“y/n, I’ve never stopped looking at you. Not for a minute since the first day we met have I stopped looking at you. You never needed to change a thing about yourself to catch my eye.” Now it was your turn to look confused and shocked, how could you have missed it?! Were you so blinded by your insecurities that you didn’t notice Steve returning your affections? Your mind was racing, trying to gather your thoughts and words but you were drawing a blank. You couldn’t believe what Steve had just confessed to you...

“I never thought that…I never thought that you….” you stammered.

Steve simply smiled at you, brushed a wisp of hair from your face, and met your eyes. The look of pure affection on both your faces said more than any words could have said in the moment. Steve’s eyes flickered to your lips then back to you, silently asking for permission. You leaned in slowly, granting his request, and your lips met in a sweet kiss full of relief and reassurance. A year’s worth of longing released into one perfect moment. You broke apart and rested your forehead against his, your heart so full at the moment you thought you might burst.

“You know the only thing that could make this moment more perfect?” he whispered.

“If it weren’t happening on the floor of the gym?” you joked. He laughed, cradling your cheek in his hand. “That, and getting some food in you. You did just have a blood sugar episode, y’know…” Leave it to Steve Rogers to ruin a perfect moment by worrying about your wellbeing…You smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek, “You’re probably right. Believe it or not, I’m starving. Why don’t we go make breakfast together?” He helped you up to your feet, only to pick you up in his arms. You began to protest, but he gave you a coy smile, “I think you’re too weak to walk right now and in the complete and total interest of your health, I think you need to be carried around all day. Captain’s orders.”

Letting out a small chuckle, you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Well, who am I to disobey my Captain?” After that, your gym time was almost always spent with Steve and not a day went by where he didn’t make sure you knew just how beautiful you were.

#marvel #avengers #endgame #mcu #avengers endgame #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers and reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #captain america imagine

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khadorek · 4 years

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Hallow’s End Heat: Part 1

This has been written for the third week of the Weekly Writing Challenge! It has been a while since I tried a longform post like this, so excuse my rustiness.

Warning: Contains sexual innuendo, viewer’s discretion is advised.

It had been a little over a month since the duel that saw the end of the Fourth War, and despite the ominous storm clouds that loomed on the horizon, the concept of a lasting peace finally coming to the Alliance and Horde was the cause for many a great celebration; families were at long last reunited, soldiers returned to their waiting lover’s arms, and many military and paramilitary organizations celebrated a job well done, and the Brotherhood of Valor was no exception. The early evening was fairly tame; a few adults in costume strewn about the common room chatting, relaxing, having a few drinks, and all around enjoying the evening they had off while those with children had left for the major cities to take them Trick or Treating. Things only got rowdier as the evening went on, as parties with alcohol involved so often do, not helped by the return of the children not long after the sun had gone down, eager to enjoy their sugary bounty before being sent fruitlessly to bed. The adults, meanwhile, directed their attention to the makeshift stage that had been put up for the contest many of them had been waiting for; the costume contest.

Thursday, October 31st, 10:26 pm, The Hinterlands

“…and last, but certainly not least,” Sebastian announced, shifting in his Headless Horseman costume a bit, and squinting through the black fabric that covered his face as his “head” was running around and playing with the little Pandaren child with a ghostly sheet over her head. Once he got the names down, he looked back up and continued his announcement, “Khadorek Blackbyrne and Katharena Graeson!” On cue, they strode out onto the stage, waving to the crowd as they did so, much like those before them had done. To no one’s surprise, they had, of course, gotten matching costumes and both seem to have taken to it with gusto.

“They’re back from the high seas, it seems; I tried going there once, Hope and Jhulya stopped me, and now I’m not allowed to sing anymore.” Sebastian added, causing part of the audience to groan audibly. As for Katharena and Khadorek, they indeed cut quite the swashbuckling duo; Khadorek was dressed in tough deck hand attire, with heavy black boots over tight leather seaman’s trousers, paired with a loose swashbuckler’s top and a red bandanna covering the top of his head, causing his thick brown hair to fall almost entirely down over his back. His scars were highlighted to look more recent, making him look even more rugged than he naturally was, and with a black leather eye-patch to round out the look. Hefting the faux boarding axe over his shoulder, he cut quite the realistic pirate, if a bit simplistic compared to his counterpart. Katharena, meanwhile, went for a much more ornate, pirate admiral design for her costume; thigh high black boots with heels making her just that little bit more imposing in regards to her height, the tops of which were mostly hidden underneath a mid-thigh length skirt, the perfect mix of frilly and utilitarian. For a top she wore what could only be described as a mix between a low cut, button-down vest and a corset, made of brown leather and cinching her already tight waistline to even more waspish proportions, paired with a long navy blue coat to make her look even more like a captain; as if the fake parrot on her shoulder and tricorn hat upon her blazing curls didn’t already sell the look. The pair of them made sure to show off their costumes, and Kath, perhaps to seal the deal, discreetly snapped her fingers and caused a gust of sea breeze to come into being behind them, causing their last pose to look particularly dynamic. The audience applauds at the extra showmanship as they stepped down, and Sebastian carefully makes his way up on stage to close things off.

“Now those were some really great costumes, I think,” he begins, still wearing his face cover, “we’ll be giving out the prizes once the votes are counted, so be sure to get your votes in now!” He states, beginning to make his way back to his seat as the votes began to come in. Having submitted theirs before they went on ‘stage,’ Khadorek and Katharena made their way to their spot by the bar to get away from the small crowd near the stage.

“Well, that went pretty good!” Khadorek remarks, ordering his usual and easing back into his seat, “nice touch with the wind there; you have that planned?” He asks.

“Nope, spur of the moment.” Katharena replies, awkwardly hopping up into the seat next to him and letting out a heavy sigh of relief as she gets off of her feet. “Ah, damn these heels.”

“You alright?” Khadorek asks, taking his drink and offering to help her up into the stool, something he was used to doing by now, but was waved off; she did that a lot, her independent streak not fettered in the slightest even with him. He always liked that about her; that spunky, tough, farm girl competitive nature appealed to him in ways he never thought it would.

“I’m fine,” she assures him as she finally settles into the seat, crossing her legs and ordering herself a daquiri. “Just these damn boots, I know they’re supposed to be authentic, but I just can’t see a sailor, even a pirate wearing heels like these on duty.”

“Well, the one that was helping you seemed pretty insistent that her old captain wore something like that.” Khadorek retorts.

“These people kidnapped you, remember; new leaf or not, I’d be hesitant to be to trust them.” Katharena counters as she gets her drink, mixing the crush ice in the glass with the straw before taking a sip. “Also, I’m convinced that she was checking me out throughout that whole thing; I mean, look at my outfit,” she gestures to herself, “You don’t think it’s too showy, do you?”

“In hindsight, you do have a point,” Khadorek admits, “and yeah, she absolutely was, but you gotta admit, it gave her an edge; you look even more amazing than normal.” He purrs, doing his best to keep his eyes from lingering on her figure for too long.

“I know you like it, dirty boy,” she teases with an eye roll, seeing through his attempt at hiding his gaze almost immediately, pushing her biceps together on either side of her chest and subtly bouncing her ample bosom while fluttering her eyelashes, causing him to look away flustered and red cheeked, “don’t act like you haven’t been just as bad tonight. If you can think about it with the head on your shoulders for a moment, I want to know if this was too much for a company party.” She asks again, her soft lips curled into a teasing smirk. Khadorek shifts uncomfortably in his seat as his dirty mind is punished in a most ironic way, but he can’t help but smile at how playful she was being.

“You want me to be honest? If Keaye,” he begins, gesturing to the incredibly plush Pandaren woman who had since stumbled back to and began leaning heavily on the bar, skimpy ninja costume straining perhaps a bit more than it should as she downs yet another flaming shot of alcohol, “isn’t getting any trouble, you’re more than in the clear. And maybe so, but you’re hardly innocent either, nor as slick as you think, unless you have been making sure I haven’t sat in something.” He teases right back. “Besides, I’m fairly certain I’ve got more cleavage in this shirt than you do in yours.” He adds, pushing his pecs together in much the same way a woman would do with her chest. Katharena, in the process of going a touch red in the cheeks herself and taking a drink to steady herself, sees this and immediately snorts and nearly chokes as she begins laughing.

“Shut up, you!” She giggles, giving him a playful push and causing him to chuckle as he nearly falls off. “I think we both know who has the best tits here.” She quips right back as she goes back to her drink. Khad’s eyes widen into an expression of amused disbelief at what she just said.

“How many drinks have you had?” He asks her, setting his whiskey down as she sips away at her daiquiri, happily shifting side to side in her seat to the music playing throughout the bar. When she finally stops and turns to Khadorek, there is barely a splash left of liquid and flavored ice in her glass, and he doesn’t need to hear what she says next to know she’s pretty much hit her limit.

“I’ve gone drink for drink with you, handsome,” she states proudly, leaning forward with a coy grin on her face. Khadorek is floored; it was rare she ever drank like this at all, let alone match him. Thankfully, it had been a short evening, but regardless, she was not known for her constitution; he had to step in.

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” He affirms, going to put the drink out of reach before his hand was pushed aside.

“Oh, come on now, I was pacing myself!” She complains, turning more towards him, “I was only drinking these things,” she gestures to the daquiri, “they’re no where near the stuff you drink. Besides, I feel fine.”

“You say that now, but come the morning…” Khadorek tells her, knowing all too well what it was like the morning after. “You finish that drink, then your cut off, okay? Don’t want you to ruin your morning tomorrow.” He states. Katharena pouts, but capitulates. Khad smiles and was about to thank her, when he felt something tugging at his leg. Looking down, he sees a little Draenei girl dressed as a Jack-o-lantern; it was little Hope, Sebastian’s daughter.

“Daddy wanted me to bring this to hyoo.” She says in her Draenei accent, holding up a basket of assorted teas and various edible sundries, all of which bore the mark of Loshu. “Congratulations on weening cutest couple, he says!” Naturally, the couple smile and graciously accept their prize.

“Thank you Hope, and you look adorable in your costume.” Katharena says sweetly, mostly managing to feign sobriety in front of the little one, who giggles and does a cute little courtesy before running back to play with Zhaemia and the others. Katharena leaned back into the chair with a sigh, and Khadorek lets out a soft chuckle.

“The children sure are having a good time tonight, don’t you think?” Khadorek remarks, watching the little ones play their game of tag; darting between the tables, chairs and patrons with ease. Katharena, however, does not remark on this. “Kath? Did you hear me?” He asks again, and again no response. Khad turns to face her, and sees her going for his drink. “What are you doing?” He asks in obvious confusion, and she snaps her gaze to him and withdrew her hand. He was about to ask what had gotten into her, but then he saw the look on her face; that look, and his mood softened to one of pity. “C word, right?” He asks, and she nods sullenly; Khadorek raises his arm and almost immediately, she snuggles into his side, letting him rest his hand on her back. “I’m sorry honey, sometimes I forget how much that bothers you.” He consoles her, and she nuzzles her head into his shoulder with a sigh. He knew how much she wanted children of her own, and seeing others with thriving families always exacerbated those feelings; he couldn’t imagine how rough it felt with liquor bringing all those feeling and unhappy thoughts she normally kept hidden bubbling to the surface, aside from that it must hurt, a lot. “Don’t worry, love, we’ll get there eventually, I promise.”

“I know, I know…” she replies, nuzzling into his shoulder even more, “it’s just hard sometimes… they all have their families, and all I can think is that I came so close and then…”

“If that hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we? We would never have met.” Khadorek counters, hoping to stop the tears before they even started, “Kath, honey, I love you, and I am going to give you everything that you want; everything that was taken from you will be yours again, and I’m going to give it to you, just like you’ve done for me.” He says in the most assuring tone he can muster. Katharena is quiet for a while, and Khadorek was nervous he hadn’t calmed her enough. Eventually, a smile, albeit a sad one, comes to her face, and Khad lets out a gentle sigh as he begins to soothingly rub her back.

“Thank you, my love,” she replies softly, scooting her barstool towards him and moving to kiss his cheek. “I think I need to just get my mind off all of this for a while,” she adds, eyes locking with his, “and I know exactly what I need for that…”

“And what is…” Khadorek begins to say before he notices her smile becoming much more playful, AND where her hand was now resting; most anyone would have just figured she just had her hand on his thigh, but they both knew that was far from the case. “Honey, are you sure, you’re pretty drunk right now…”

“And we both know how I get when I’m drunk…” She purrs as she cuts him off, biting her lip as she felt the fruits of her earlier teasing. Khadorek swallowed and blushed a bit at how forward she was being; he DID know that she got affectionate when she drinks, and around him, affection very swiftly turned to her getting very, very amorous. She KNEW he loved it when she acted so brazen, and such a play to his desires was swiftly breaking down his resolve. She used her other hand to lift his free hand to her cheek, fluttering her eyes in such a way that made his stomach do backflips. “Khad, my love, I want you; I need you,” she purrs, lifting her head from his shoulder and getting right up to his face, “the night is still young; let’s go upstairs and have some fun.” That was all it took, and they both pulled each other into a deep, strawberry flavored kiss; Khad’s other arm pulled her yet closer to him, practically into his lap, and Katharena looped both her arms around him, taking hold of his broad, muscular back, though this did not prevent her from subtly teasing him, as sitting in his lap provided her a whole host of options in that regard. When the kiss finally broke, he had fully fallen under her metaphorical spell, and a devious grin spread across his face.

“Well, if that’s what Katharena wants, that’s what she’s gonna get.” He growls softly, and Katharena’s grinning cheeks redden to hear him so eager; such plays seemed to work on both of them in equal measure. “Lead the way, beautiful.” He added, and that was all that needed to be said before she was hopping down to the ground with a soft click of her heels, taking his hand and leading him towards the stairs.

To be continued...

@quipsbykath @weekly-writing-challenge @ogrimskar (for reference to his character Loshu)

#saucy!#Weekly Writing Challenge #week 3 #Ish

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franklyshipping · 5 years

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The Difference 10 Minutes Makes ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

SO I'VE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE A FIC WITH OUR FAVOURITE ARGUMENTATIVE TWINS DAMIEN AND CELINE, SO LET'S GET RIGHT ON IT!

When the body of Darkiplier sleeps, two souls take rest, not one. Two siblings in fact, both alike in dignity, and who keep a weather eye on the consciousness of the form they inhabit as they take their own rest. However tonight, there is conflict afoot. Nothing of the serious sort of course, it was nothing more than the pettiness of a sibling spat wherein love is at the root of it all; well, love and slight desire for smug influence over the other.

'You've attended 75% of the ego meetings Damien, you cannot deny the figures and you know that I have a right to having an equal proportion of involvement as you.'

Damien sighed through his nose as his body sunk into a squishy armchair, running a hand through his hair as the frustration of the discussion started to rise. That's the problem, when both people are suggesting things out of love.

'Yeah, that may be, but you attended 100% of everything when all this first started for god knows how long! I still don't think you've had enough rest Celine....'

Damien tried to implore to his sister, who was currently pacing in their little ''cabin''. I put that in italics since this is not actually a real place, but rather the design of where their souls resided inside Darkiplier when neither of them were in control of the body; aka, when Dark was sleeping. Celine sighed and shook her head, folding her arms as she fixed Damien with an insistent stare.

'It isn't as if that time drained me Damien, I'm not a feeble little girl who needs protection!'

'I know you're not!'

Damien replied in a slightly louder voice...and they both descended into a slightly awkward silence. They knew that the debate was idiotic, but they were both equally as stubborn as one another, which no-one and nothing would change. Damien picked lightly at the fabric of one of his chair's arms, and looked back up at Celine, still imploring. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he thought she was weak, because it was quite the opposite. Damien knew she was the strongest out of both of them, but in order to keep that way she had to engage in SOME degree of self-care.

'Celine, I know better than anyone how strong you are. It would be completely stupid not to see how your strength keeps our moralities and sanity going....you're the strongest out of the both of us. But that doesn't stop you from still getting tired, I see it Celine, you still need more rest....'

Celine sighed softly through her nose, pursing her lips as her brain whirred. She knew he was only looking out for her, her sweet, innocent soul of a little brother. Celine couldn't deny that so much of her ached for more rest every single day...but if she wasn't there in some form in an emergency, then what would happen? No. No she couldn't risk it. See? Stubborn.

'Damien....I hear you, I really do, but I still have a responsibility to you. As your older sister I cannot just simply let you shoulder everything-'

'Oh heeere we go, you'll never keep that measly 10 minutes between our births out of anything will you?'

Damien groaned and rolled his eyes, slumping in his chair with a huff; that old damned argument, she BARELY counted as an older sibling, they were born on the same day! She just HAPPENED to be the one who popped out first, Damien didn't see why that instantly put her in charge of him all the time. At his, somewhat childish complaint, Celine raised her eyebrows and gave him a warning stare.

'Damien.'

Damien took no heed of course, he was an adult dammit! No degree of scary eyes was going to make him concede. So he rambled on, not angrily though, it was just his repressed immaturity coming out; that thing that happens when words happen before you even think them through. That was what happened...right here....right now.

'You always dig out every childish excuse. Not that it's a surprise, I mean, we both know that you just want to be in the body more so you have more chances to drool over Wilford and his new look.'

There as another silence. This one wasn't an awkward though. This one was electric. Damien's brain had caught up with his mouth, and Celine's brain was still trying to convince itself that those words had ACTUALLY come out of Damien's mouth! What a fucking nerve he had, and what a completely bullshit accusation too! There was no truth to it....none....nope.

'.....if you have any regard for your own self-preservation, then you WILL take that back.'

Now, any sane person would apologise right away and say they didn't mean to make such a rude accusation. Not Damien though, oh no; the bastard was grinning, smugly. This reeeeally took him back to when they were younger, embarrassing Celine was one of the most fun things he did as a child, and it was just as fun now. Seeing Celine with gritted teeth, narrowed eyes, and dare he say it, pink cheeks, just made Damien forget any semblance of sense. He'd gotten to Celine, and that's all that mattered.

'I don't see why, it is the truth after all. Strange though, I always thought you preferred red over pink-'

'ENOUGH!'

Celine interrupted, exclaiming in a similar tone of a mother who has just called you by your first, middle AND last name, just to let you know that you fucked up. Damien realised he fucked up. Especially when Celine stalked over, grabbed him by shirt collar and hauled him from the chair; this was not intended to hurt though, this was simply a throwback to familial rough-housing. And, just like when they were younger, Damien was caught off guard. Pretty soon he was pinned down on his belly on the floor ,with Celine gripping and pinning his wrists at the small of his back. Oh yeah, he fucked up.

'C-Celine I was joking i-it was a joke!'

Celine merely scoffed, I mean, even for Damien that was pretty lame.

'Come now, that sort of excuse never worked when we were children....and it isn't going to work now. Do you remember what I used to do when you were getting too cheeky, little Damien?'

Celine cooed as she looked down at Damien, and smirked when she saw his face turn a wonderful pink. Despite them being twins, throughout much of their childhood she'd always had a good inch of height over him, which she'd always lorded over him, figuratively AND literally. Now, nickname aside, Celine's query also contributed to Damien's blush. He remembered all too well. Before he could formulate a reply however, it was like he'd gone back in time to being eight years old up past his bedtime...and being punished for it.

'A-AH! N-Nohohoho C-Ceheheline nohohohot thihihis!'

One of Celine's hands had initially snuck under his jumper and t-shirt to scratch at one of Damien's bare sides....ahh the nails, he certainly hadn't missed those. He'd started giggling instantly and wriggling about, so Celine decided not to waste time. Using her knees to keep Damien's wrists pinned at the small of his back, she now had both hands and ten nails free to scratch at her brother's exposed sides.

'Ahahahaw, still a ticklish little baby hmm? Why am I not surprised....'

Celine smirked as she teased....oh how she'd missed wrecking him like this. Damien tried to hide his face in the rug as embarrassment started overtaking his system, and his bouncy giggles were getting louder and louder too.

'IHIhihi ahaham nahat AHA BAHABYYY!'

Damien kicked his legs, as if subconsciously trying to emphasise his point, but Celine just kept on cooing and scratching.

'Awwww but you aaare! You were always a sweet baby with sweet tickly siiiides!'

Damien whined as he realised that Celine was bringing out her worst weapon in full force...the baby voice. Being talked to like a baby had always wrecked him in so many ways, simply because the embarrassment fricking consumed the poor guy. On top of that, with Celine deciding to up the intensity and dig into her brother's soft sides, poor Damien was well and truly cackling his head off.

'NOHOHO OHOHO CEHELIHINE DOHON'T TAHAHALK LIHIKE THAHAT!!'

Celine smiled fondly at the sound of her brother's tender, whiny begs; she just loved how adorable Damien could be, especially when he was laughing like this. She'd loved making him laugh for as long as she could remember, Damien had kept his babyish giggle right into when he was a toddler, and bringing it out when they were young had always warmed Celine right to the core. She let out a giggle of her own now, but it was a malicious one. She resumed gripping his wrists with one hand as he rolled him onto his side, and used her free hand to claw at his belly as she teased.

Don't talk like whaaaat? Don't talk about your wittle tickly sides? Okay Dami, how about your tickly wickly tumtum instead?'

Damien let out a humungous squeal as his cackles came out harder and at a deeper pitch, his diaphragm certainly had its work cut out for it. Needless to say, Damien had quite the ticklish tummy, and now it was the target it spurred Damien to crane his neck and look up at Celine desperately through his mirth.

'AAHHHAHAA NAHAHAT THEHERE! YOHOHOU'RE EHEHEVIHIL!!'

Now, Celine had to admit, that seeing Damien's sweet, pleading puppy eyes was VERY nearly enough to sway her into a merciful mind-set. Those sweet eyes had gotten Damien out of a lot of trouble over the years, they just enhanced his whole demeanour of innocence. Oh....but if only Damien had managed to stop himself from insulting Celine, he might have saved himself from the clawed hand digging into his belly. Alas, no such luck for sweet Damien.

'Evil? Why Damien, you and I both know this is what you deserve. In a way I'm doing you a service with my sisterly discipline....'

Damien's eyes widened....oh hell no. He let out the most indignant noise that was possible amidst his cackles as he exclaimed in defiance of Celine's....oh, what do you call it? Absolute bullshit.

'BUHUHUHULLSHIHIT!'

'Language!'

Celine exclaimed right back with raised brows as she now actually stopped her attack...but Damien knew it wasn't going to last long. As he caught his breath though, Damien couldn't help but giggle at Celine's feigned shock at his swearing....and then his giggling got nervous. Damien knew his sister, and he knew that she was going to use this as an excuse to absolutely destroy him.

'First you accuse me of chasing after Wilford, and now you swear at me too? Perhaps some hysteria will help wash your mouth out!'

Celine growled maliciously, and soon Damien was squeaking and squirming weakly as he was forced back onto his front...and he swore his heart nearly stopped when he felt Celine crawling down over his legs. Then there was an immovable weight on his shins. Then....his shoes and socks were being removed from the equation.

'N-NOHO NO WAIT C-CELINE IT JUST S-SLIPPED OUT!! D-DON'T GET MY FEET PLEASE CELINE PLEASE!'

Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but if it was me tickling Damien right now then I would just crumble at hearing such desperate cries. Celine would do no such thing though, but this was because she KNEW her brother; she knew his limits better than anyone on the planet, so she knew he still had some strength left to handle what she was going to give him. Besides, as the elder sibling, if it wasn't Celine's job to keep teaching her brother manners, then whose was it?

'Ohhhh but Damien....this is my duty, I really have no choice.'

Celine smirked with diabolical satisfaction....as Damien screamed. Now, there are nails, and then there are Celine's nails. With each one filed to a devilish point, as they scratched up and down Damien's desperately scrunched soles at the speed of light, it was no wonder that Damien sounded like he was literally being tortured.

'AAHAHAHAH NAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAAAILS!!!'

Damien's mouth was wide as hysterical laughter poured out of him, and Celine merely giggled at the sound of Damien thumping the floor with his fists insanely. She crooned as she focused her ferocious scratching at the balls of his feet.

'Aren't they so wonderfully sharp? Usually I'd have them a little shorter, and maybe rounded off at the ends....but I think I'll keep them like this for a while.'

All Damien could do was keep on scream-laughing as his face got redder and redder, practically reaching the hue of a beetroot. On top of that, tears were trickling from the corners of his eyes as sweat beaded at his forehead.

'NOHOHOHAHAHA NOHOHOHO CEHEHEHELIHINE!!!'

Celine kept on smirking, kept on scratching, and just kept on teasing.

'Awww, you don't like them? Well they like you....they like you and your tender, ticklish feet so very much....'

Damien wailed and started thrashing like his whole body was being shocked, and honestly it was in a way. Damien's feet were a death spot when it came to tickling anyway, but for them to be tickled by the one person who really KNEW how to tickle them? There was no other tickle sensation like it....especially when those skilled nails reached and scratched under his tender toes relentlessly.

'AAAHAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAHAAA!!!'

Celine hummed happily at Damien's incoherency and decided to keep up her current technique for a minute or two; you must remember of course thought that Celine was being most attentive to her brother's state, she knew that he could handle it. After those sweet moments of screeching, wailing, and squealing though, Celine decided to croon for the last time.

'Are you sorry for being so cheeky and rude to me?'

Damien let out a soft sob through his laughter as he nodded, reaching the end of his tether as the incoherency really hit him; he was definitely going to sleep well tonight after all this.

'YEEEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHA!!!'

Celine couldn't help but smile smugly as she finally stopped her onslaught, sliding off of her brother's legs, tilting her head down at him fondly as he panted and gasped. Celine's smile became kinder though as Damien sniffled and giggled residually, wiping his face as he weakly started trying to curl his body up. Celine shuffled close and immediately pulled him into her chest, and immediately felt warmth in her tummy when Damien started to cling to her.

'Shhhhh....shhh Dami I've got you....'

Celine whispered as she tenderly stroked Damien's hair, smiling at how his blush was not dying down, and how it probably wouldn't for about an hour. Damien meanwhile was starting to recover himself, but ended up whispering just because of how fricking exhausted he was from it all.

'....'L-Line....'

Celine felt even more warmth swirling in her stomach now, and smiled bashfully as she recalled all those time on the past. Damien was tired, clinging to her needily and slurring his words because of how tired he was....and he never had enough energy to say her full name....so he shortened it. Celine wiped away the last of Damien's tears as she whispered, constantly soothing him.

'I'm here Dami.....'Line is right here....'

Damien smiled at his sister's gentle voice, and he nestled closer with a light mumble as his eyes started drooping.

'.....m'tired 'Line....'

Celine smiled, still stroking his hair as she watched Damien's eyes flutter shut completely. She carefully maneuvered them both so they were laying on the rug next to the lightly warmth hearth, and Celine whispered more.

'I know....I know. You rest Dami, it's okay, you just rest....'

Damien never stopped smiling as he dropped off to sleep....and for a moment, Celine made a move to get up...but realised that Damien was still clinging to her. Not just cuddling, not just holding...he was honestly clinging to her like she was his lifeline. Celine sighed softly....but felt herself relaxing with Damien's warmth and the hearth's safe crackle surrounding her. Then, as Celine herself dropped off, she finally conceded that maybe.....just maybe....the best way to protect Damien, was to look after herself too.

WOOOOOO HOPE YOU LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

#markiplier #markiplier egos #damien #mayor damien #celine #celine the seer #siblings #sfw #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #luv this bro and sis

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their-destinys-writer · 5 years

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Misadventures in Reporting #3

About the series: Misadventures in Reporting is a series of short stories about the adventures of a normal reporter living in an abnormal world.

Rating: PG-13 for mild cursing and violence

Word count: 2,576

Also in: Wattpad

Support this series in Ko-fi or Patreon (Posted on early access in the latter)

#3 - Teleman’s Mark

“I don’t even know where to begin with you.”

Melinda gulped under the scrutiny of Mr. Sullivan. Boy, was she in so much trouble. But nobody told her doing the right thing would be cheap. The reporter took a deep breath, weighing her options. Apologize? Defend herself? Wait for the boss to say his piece? Perhaps the third option. She was in enough trouble as it was.

“How many times have I told you not to push the deadline?” Mr. Sullivan hissed, almost barring his yellowish teeth.

Wait, am I supposed to answer that?

“A million times I’ve told you,” he continued. With every word he spoke, the desk between them felt smaller and smaller. Had he always looked so large behind it? “And yet, you give me one of the most important reports, if not the most important report in months with and hour to spare for printing. We had to cut the last two paragraphs because we didn’t have time to look through the whole thing!”

The woman winced. She had hoped only one paragraph would have to be cut. But alas, most of it got through without major changes.

“And now,” Mr. Sullivan raised his voice, “now we got a Porsche in the redaction floor, thanks to your little stunt. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Melinda’s mouth opened, but it suddenly went dry, so she closed it back up. Was she willing to put next month’s rent at risk just for ‘doing the right thing’? Was it worth sacrificing several months of electricity or water for being right? Was she right?

“I didn’t think he’d take it so bad,” she managed to say at last.

“The guy held up a damn crane with his mind,” the aging man deadpanned. “What did you think he was going to do? Throw confetti?”

The woman’s gaze darted to the surface of the desk. It wasn’t until that moment that shame started to invade her. How could she be so thoughtless? Over three-hundred people worked in this newspaper. Her article would reflect on the company, and thus, her coworkers. Someone could have gotten hurt.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan,” she said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

The man snarled a sound of disgust, giving her an exasperated look.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you right now,” he hissed.

A loud thudding resounded from Melinda’s insides. Her heart was drumming hard against her chest. She could feel a drop of sweat trickling down the side of her face, despite the cold air conditioning.

The article broke my career, she concluded.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Tsk.” Mr. Sullivan shook his head. “You really are dense.”

Well that’s uncalled for, Melinda thought, rising her gaze to his once again. His expression still seemed exasperated, but now he was looking outside his office.

“Mr. Sullivan, I—”

“You can’t get fired because you proved your point,” he interrupted. Melinda frowned. “Three years here, and you still can’t put your deduction skills to use under pressure. So, let’s try this again: give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you this instant.”

It was like a light flicked on in Melinda’s brain. He wasn’t firing her, he was testing her. Why does he have to be so mean about it, though?

“Because,” she started, still hesitant to respond back, but determined to keep her job. “Because if our—my—allegations were false, the proper response would’ve been to call a press conference denying the claims. Throwing a car through our building dampers his own reputation, and it’s an attempt against freedom of press. It’s a threat against not only us, but anyone who dares talk ill of him.” The woman smirked. “Not very superheroic, if you ask me.”

“Exactly.” Mr. Sullivan slammed his fist against the desk, startling Melinda. “That piece of shit is trying to shut us up. This isn’t like that Cronus guy. That was self-defense. Teleman just made a declaration of war against us and the free press. We can’t back out now. So,” the man slammed his hands together and rose from his chair, “I’m gonna need everything you got from this story. Notes, sounds, transcriptions, anything you can share by today. The earlier the better. We need to write tomorrow’s editorial piece.”

“Yessir!” Melinda blurted, jumping to her feet.

“What are you, a soldier?” Mr. Sullivan chuckled. “Just get to it, Martínez. Go, get!”

“Y-yes, Mr. Sullivan.”

Without needing to be told again, she scampered out of the office and headed straight to her desk. As she approached it, she realized it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Where hers and several others had been there was yellow tape and half of the Porsche she saw from outside.

A shudder went up her spine, as she realized Teleman’s target had not been as random as she initially thought.

---

“It was horrible,” Melinda complained.

Thanks to a certain superhero, two thirds of employees had been relegated to simple tasks that day. For security reasons. This created one of those rare opportunities where the journalist’s group of friends from the Latest News Division got to eat lunch together. As they made the line to order their food, Melinda took the opportunity to answer the constant what-happened-with-Sullivan question.

“You’re blowing it waaay out of proportion,” Kevin, the photographer, muttered as he tinkered with his new phone.

“I thought I was gonna self-combust,” she whined, slumping her head back. “Why does he have to be so mean about it? I was already planning my life as a homeless bum living on storm drains.”

“You know how it is,” Will, another reporter like her, chuckled. “That old man would rather torture you to death than be direct.”

“Who cares, anyway,” Beatriz, a graphic designer, drawled. “You didn’t get fired. That’s what matters.”

“At the cost of my sanity!” Melinda argued. “I’ve never been so scared to lose a job in my life.”

“Eh, you would’ve gotten a new one in a week,” Kevin commented, without looking up from the screen.

“No way,” the reporter in question argued. “Nobody would’ve wanted to hire the woman who made a superhero angry enough to throw a car through a building. My career would’ve been finished.”

“Nah, you’d be fine. Hey, Will,” the photographer suddenly called, raising his phone. “Look pretty for me, will ya?”

“Man, you know I don’ like it when people take pictures of me,” the reporter complained.

“C’mon, I wanna test the resolution on this thing,” Kevin insisted.

“Why me?”

“Hm, you’re right, you can’t smile. Melinda, smile for me.”

“Dude, I’m having a mental breakdown,” the journalist huffed.

“Why?” Kevin whined. “You’re still working. You kept your job. Why are you so upset?”

“Have you been ignoring me this whole time?”

“Not…ignoring,” Kevin shrugged. “Just listened to half of what you said.”

Melinda groaned, but Beatriz waved her hand dismissively.

“Mija, you gotta chill about this whole thing,” she said. “But honestly, Kevin’s right. You’re worrying too much. You kept your job, that’s what matters. Who knows, you may actually get promoted for this.”

“If Teleman doesn’t kill one of us first.”

“Occupational hazard,” Will shrugged, joining the conversation again after ordering. “Who’s next?”

Melinda offered herself and stepped up to order her lunch.

“Will that be all?” the young woman asked, and the reporter agreed. “That will be twelve-fifteen.”

“Here,” she said, handing her credit card.

“You buy your morning coffee here too, don’t you?” the cashier suddenly said, as she made the transaction.

“Closest good coffee to work,” Melinda responded automatically, her mind still wandering back to that morning.

“You work nearby?” the young, blonde woman asked as she took her time ripping the receipt from the card reader.

“Yeah,” Melinda shrugged, taking the piece of paper. “Thank you!”

She turned around to her friends, who were all giving her a look of incredulity.

“What?”

The other three looked at each other, as if debating who would be the one to speak up.

“Imma look for a table,” Will pipped up, quickly deserting the group.

Melinda frowned, and stared at the other two, who now looked defeated. With a shrug, they turned to the cashier and made their orders, while the reporter rolled her eyes and waited for hers and Will’s food. After a few minutes, all four sat at a round table with their meals.

“Is anybody gonna say it?” Beatriz said.

“Say what?” Melinda frowned.

“For a journalist, you can be very unobservant,” Will muttered loud enough for the rest to hear.

“Not unobservant,” Kevin chimed in. “Just oblivious to the language of love.”

“Here we go again,” Melinda sighed. “You guys really think I’m thinking about romance when a Porsche destroyed my desk?”

At last, Kevin’s eyes were pried away from his phone. Will and Beatriz followed suit.

“I thought it was random,” Beatriz said. Kevin and Will exchanged stares, while Melinda shook her head.

“I don’t think it was,” Melinda said, as she started poking around her salad. “My desk wasn’t the only one next to a window, yet it was the only one made into pieces. If I had gotten to work earlier, who knows what would’ve happened to me.”

As she bit into a cherry tomato, she could feel the awkward silence shared between the other three people on the table. In all honesty, Melinda felt proud of finally getting through to them on the seriousness of the matter. Although she appreciated them trying to cheer her up and distract her, talking about it felt like the thing she truly needed at that moment.

“But he didn’t get you,” Will cut through the silence. “And that’s what matters. That you’re safe and alive. And I know the newspaper will work hard to keep it that way. Even tactless Sullivan. He doesn’t show it, but he cares about us.”

“He actually has a point,” Kevin said, eyes back on his phone. “Sullivan just sucks at showing other emotions other than uncaffeinated-angry.”

“Regardless,” Beatriz jumped in, “in any case, we’re here for you. And if you don’t feel safe in your apartment, you know abuela has no problem with you staying over.”

“Thanks, Bea,” Melinda said.

“So how’s this,” Kevin said, now raising his phone, “in case anyone of us gets fired, or murdered by a harassing superhero, we’ll take a selfie to remember the good times. Before everything turns to shit.”

“Oh yeah, that way we have a picture to mark exes on our faces as we die one by one” Will deadpanned.

“Psh, we’d all be dead in a horror movie,” Beatriz stated, waving a hand.

“Guys, I’m trynna make a cute moment, don’t ruin it for me.”

“Fine,” the reporter rolled his eyes good naturedly.

Without needing anymore prompting, the group moved their chairs and huddled together in the hopes of fitting in the frame. Kevin extended his arm, with the front camera of his phone activated for a selfie.

After taking the photo and replacing their seats, Kevin spoke up.

“By the way, the cashier’s name is Katie—”

“Oh my God, stop!”

---

The sun had almost completely set when Melinda walked by the sidewalk leading to her apartment building. It had been a long and exhausting day, despite spending most of it in the office. She hadn’t realized how emotionally draining being the targeted reporter could be.

But she chose this path. And she was sticking to it, as long as she had the support of her boss and the company.

She started going up the steps to the front door of the building, when she couldn’t help but feel watched. Melinda stopped mid-step. Her arms swung as she turned on her heels, hand holding tight to the pepper spray on her keychain. Her eyes shifted from side to side, looking for whatever was giving her that gut feeling.

Yet she saw nothing. Slowly, she lowered her arms back to the sides, and started back to the entrance of the building. She carefully started unlocking the door.

SMACK

Melinda’s face slammed against the iron door, and a hand pressed against the back of her neck kept her pressed to it. She tried pushing back, but whoever was attacking grabbed her flailing hands and held them tight.

“You’re Melinda Martínez, aren’t you?” a voice whispered into her ear, sending a chill down her spine.

“Who wants to know?” she dared quip.

There was a pause. Ever so slowly, Melinda’s feet started leaving the ground, yet she was not being pushed up from her neck. In fact, she felt more like she was…

Floating.

Teleman.

“I guess you could say I’m somewhat of a critic of your work.”

“H-Hey, listen man,” Melinda started desperately, “I was just doing my job.”

“Isn’t your job reporting on both sides?”

“You’re a hard source to find!” she pleaded. “I tried, really. But even with your version, I still had to write what was published. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to take you down or anything, it’s just my job.”

“Your job sounds very… convenient for me.”

Melinda frowned. Was he being sarcastic? Was he threatening her? Was he going to kill her? Or worse…

“I was wondering how long it would take for the information to get out,” he continued, the air of his breath threatening her neck. “It took, what, five months?”

“Victims of sexual assault are not usually very talkative when they know the other person has more power,” Melinda dared shoot back.

“You people have the strangest rules. Perhaps next time I should be a little more explicit.”

“We people?” Melinda breathed. “What the hell are you even talking about? You sound like…” she swallowed. “Like you wanted to get caught.”

“My business is none of yours,” Teleman hissed. “But I have to say, I’m starting to enjoy some of the perks of this job.”

“I thought you were a superhero. One of the good guys,” she said quietly.

“I am,” he whispered back. “Just like one of those who likes to prance around using names of old Greek gods.”

With those last words, Melinda was suddenly dropped to the ground. The jolt of it made her stumble to her side and collapse against the wall. She turned just in time to see a blur of blue shoot up into the sky.

With her heart still running at a hundred miles, Melinda unlocked the door and ran all the way up the stairs to the third floor. Once in front of her apartment, she hastened to unlock it, almost dropping her keys.

After opening it, Melinda jumped into her living room and closed both locks on her door. At last, she slammed her back to it, panting from the run.

Melinda clapped a hand on her mouth, just as tears started spilling out. She knew being a journalist had the potential to be dangerous. She had heard stories of reporters disappearing in Central America and seen videos of others being decapitated by terrorists on the other side of the world. But in a city, the job dangers were reduced to rude politicians and snobby CEOs.

This was not supposed to happen to her. Much less by someone who was supposed to protect them. Covering superheroes was supposed to be fun, every journalist’s dream.

And yet, as she slid to the ground silently sobbing, speaking the truth on superheroes was starting to feel more like a nightmare.

#Misadventures in Reporting #MiR #Melinda Martínez #original fiction #fantasy #sci-fi #short story #series

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surveyyyys · 5 years

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1. Do you believe in ghosts or evil spirits? Would you be willing to spend a night alone in a house that is supposedly haunted? LOL see, I don’t believe in ghosts or evil spirits even a little bit. But I’m not about to be one of those dumb white girls in the horror movies LOL I’m staying as far away from haunted houses as I possibly can

2. Do you prefer being around men or women? Are most of your closest friends male or female? What do you think makes male friends different from female friends? I definitely prefer being around women. A lot of my friends are girls, and I feel a lot safer around girls -- I think I can understand them a lot more, and girls just have their shit together, you know? I’ve never met a man who has as much of a focus on his future as most of the women I know do. I also really hate women who put down other women by saying that they’re “bitchy” or “complicated” or anything like that... it just makes it okay for men to say those things about us.

3. Describe the most enjoyable dream you can remember having. What made it so amazing? What about the worse nightmare you have ever had? What made it so terrible? Unfortunately I don’t remember the happiest dream I ever had LOL. Maybe it’ll come to me later. I did have a dream that I was drugged, and being raped/sexually assaulted though. That was definitely the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had.

4. How would you react if you found out, after marrying someone, that your mate had been involved in a relationship with someone of the same sex prior to meeting you? Would this change the way you felt about that person? Why or why not?

Definitely not! As long as they’re still attracted to women (ex. they’re bi, pan, etc.) and they still love me, I wouldn’t have a problem with it at all. I mean, I would be a little uncomfortable the way anyone is when it comes to talking about their husband’s ex... but I don’t think the gender/sexuality of the ex would have any effect on it.

5. How forgiving are you when one of your friends lets you down? Do you believe that everyone deserves a second chance? I am one of the least forgiving people, especially when someone does something to really hurt me. Honestly, I don’t even expect that much from my friends or from the people around me -- just don’t be blatantly rude, and don’t screw me over. I believe that if you can find it in you to be rude or to screw me over the first time, you can (and most likely will) definitely do it again.

6. Do you think that advice from an older person carries a special weight because of their greater experience? Do you, as a young person, feel that your comments and advice have much effect on others? LOL I don’t think so. I’ve met plenty of older people who don’t know shit about shit. I definitely think it’s a part of my culture to respect older people because of their age/experience, but you definitely don’t have to listen to their advice. In fact, the advice that I took from older people often led me down the wrong path instead of the right one.

7. How do you picture your funeral? Is it important for you to have people mourn your death, or would you rather them celebrate your life? What would you like said, and whom would you like to speak? How do you want to be remembered? Indian funerals are kind of structured so that people celebrate your life more than mourn your loss. It’s really loud and colorful and people’s spirits are kind of lifted even though it’s definitely still a really sad time for everyone. I don’t really like thinking about my own funeral and I don’t really see a point of thinking about it, since I’m never going to be there to see it. I don’t care how people remember me after I’m gone, actually, because it won’t have any effect on my life. I just hope that the people I care about are happy and that I’ve been a positive influence on them somehow.

8. When you make a big sacrifice, do you tell others about it or keep it to yourself? Do you feel annoyed when your sacrifices aren’t noticed by others?

Lmao I’d like to think that I don’t ever mention it. But I’d probably talk about it a lot (not to the person I made the sacrifice for, but to someone else who I can be shitty around and not feel bad about it... most likely my sister LOL). I think it is annoying when my sacrifices aren’t noticed by others, but I’m not about to go up to that person and be like “NOTICE MY SACRIFICE” you know what I mean?

9. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be? When you have children, is there anything you will try to do differently than your own parents did?

Oh man. LOL. Honestly, I don’t blame my parents for raising us the way they did. They both grew up really poor and they were the youngest of huge families. So they really didn’t have any money or any resources. So when they had kids, they made sure that we could have any materialistic good we wanted, and we would never feel poor. But sometimes they would replace other kinds of support with money. Like my dad will buy me all the textbooks in the world, but he never really sat down with me and helped me with my homework. I can buy all the clothes I want, but I can’t wear shorts or tank tops in my house. My parents paid for my college tuition (which is amazing of them), but they essentially squashed my dreams of becoming a journalist and continue to try to push me into generic corporate finance roles to this day. I think when I’m a parent, I’ll give my kids more room to develop socially and a little more freedom to make their own decisions. I also won’t let any racism/homophobia get in the way of their love lives the way my parents’ racism/homophobia gets in the way of mine.

10. Do you believe in any sort of God? If not, do you think you might still pray if you were in a life-threatening situation?

Nope. LOL most of the time I forget that religion is a thing. Honestly, life would be a lot easier to handle if I did believe in God.

11. If you became aware that, without a doubt, your mother was having an affair, what would you do? What if your father were to mention that he was going crazy thinking your mother was cheating? Would you tell him?

LOL this situation is so unrealistic I don’t even know how to respond to it. My mom, no matter how little she admits it, is ridiculously devoted to my dad. She would never cheat on him. I think that if she cheated on my dad she would have a damn good reason... I don’t think I would tell him? I don’t know...

12. When was the last time you had really mind-boggling, intensely satisfying sex?

LOL. Last summer. I had just gotten out of my first relationship and I was sleeping with this guy that I met on Tinder. We had really good chemistry in bed, and I think he was the best I ever had. But also, he was one of the first people I slept with while I was single. I don’t think the sex would’ve seemed that good if I had sex with him today (after I’ve been with other guys and I’ve understood sex a little more). But because I was so new to the concept of having sex with whoever I want whenever I want, the sex seemed amazing.

13. If you knew that your child was going to be born severely mentally handicapped and would die by the age of 5, would you have an abortion? Do you think that there is ever a situation in which aborting a child actually helps to avoid suffering? Absolutely. There is no way I’m putting myself or my child through an ordeal like that. I would not bring someone into this world if I knew that they would live a horrible and extremely short life. If I’m having a baby, they have to be a healthy baby or I’m getting an abortion and finding another way to have a child.

14. Would you rather be very much in love with one person and have no other friends, or have a large group of supportive and loving friends, but never find your “soulmate”? Large group of supporting friends! People blow “soulmates” and relationships out of proportion all the time, but it’s really only one small piece of your life. There are so many ways to be completely whole and live a fulfilled life without romantic love. There are actually so many other forms of love too: familial love, maternal love, self-love, love of life, the love that you have for your best friends... you don’t have to be in love with someone to be happy.

15. Is there anything that you find too personal to discuss with others? LOL a few different things.

16. How old were you when you first had sex? Was it what you imagined it would be? Is there anything anyone could have told you that would have made it better? Do you think you would be better off if you had waited longer to have sex?

I was 17 when I lost my virginity -- I think that was actually the perfect age. I think it was basically what I expected LOL. The first time was pretty unsuccessful, but then we tried again the next morning and it was pretty great. I don’t think I needed to know anything to make the experience any better... I was really comfortable with the person I lost my virginity to, and I knew a lot about the theory of sex from listening to my sister’s many hookup stories.

17. Are you good at taking compliments, or do you usually shrug it off and act like you didn’t deserve the compliment?

I think I’m good at taking compliments! I always say thank you and I try to pay a compliment back.

18. Are you someone who enjoys sleeping snuggled up with your significant other, or do you need space when you sleep? Nah I don’t need space when I sleep. I like cuddling.

19. Have you ever lucid dreamed? Would you like to, or does the thought of being able to control your dreams scare you? LOL I remember, back when my sister was in high school she was really interested in the concept of lucid dreaming. But whenever she would try to lucid dream, she would end up having sleep paralysis. It was a really scary experience for her, so she stopped trying to lucid dream. I think I would be more afraid of the sleep paralysis side effect rather than of actually lucid dreaming itself. I also just don’t find the experience enriching or interesting enough to put myself through sleep paralysis for it.

20. If you were guaranteed honest responses to 3 questions, who would you question, and what would you ask?

I think I would ask a future version of myself these 3 questions:

1. Where am I actually going to be in 10 years? (in terms of family, career, relationships, friendships, etc.)

2. Am I ever going to be happy/satisfied with who I am, and if so, when am I going to reach that level?

3. Was 2016 really the best year of my life, or is the best still yet to come? (I would not want to know when the best year of my life is going to be... I just want to know if it’s still in my future.)

#survey #deep survey

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