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sleepingdeath-light · 3 years

Note

reading the crossover headcanons for TOH was amazing!

i wanted to request a crossover with TOH and Steven Universe if possible! (also with Hunter x Reader) You can decide between reader being half-gem, like Steven, or fully gem! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay! Aand I really love your headcanons! You make them long and detailed! It's truly amazing.

Crossover Headcanons | SU x TOH [Hunter x Gem//Hybrid!Reader]

thank you for requesting, anon

These are written with a gender neutral reader in mind and have a general chronology from the reader’s last moments in little homeworld until they end up with Hunter, so apologies if this gets long!

Note : this is the first time I’ve written for the SU canon, so I’m not as experienced with that universe. Also my portrayal of these characters is still pretty rocky, so I may rework this in the future.

The first few months you spent in Little Homeworld had felt almost like a dream come to life; freedom to be yourself and explore a world full of organic life without the restrictions placed on you by the diamonds? It was fantastic! However, that feeling of unrestricted feeling soon started to grow stale as you realise that the growth of the small colony had already started to stagnate—and that not all humans were welcoming of intergalactic immigrants like your kind.

So to ease your mind you opted to take the warp to the next star system over—craving that same sense of excitement that you had during the gem war

Simply standing on the warp again was enough to get your blood pumping with a reignited vigour for exploration

A feeling so palpable that you failed to notice the array of spindly cracks that spanned the surface of the device, and the way that a sickly dull light pulsated beneath your feet (the sight accompanied by a warning hum far too low for you to notice)

Though you couldn’t ignore the way the warp didn’t immediately go off like usual, nor could you neglect the searing pain that spread through your veins and constricted your throat; leaving you in so much pain that you couldn’t even move or scream before your vision was engulfed in a glitching, sickeningly bright light

It must have been several hours later when you woke up, based on how high the sun was in the sky… was the sky that red before?

Your head was pounding and although your vision was blurry, yet you couldn’t ignore how different your surroundings were from the earth you were used to

The sky was a faint red and the ground beneath your feet was dusted with deep maroon grass—it was soft and warm under your fingertips but with how much organic matter there was you knew that this wasn’t a colony

Hell, you didn’t even arrive on a warp on this end, so either you had been transported to somewhere else because a malfunction (unusual, but likely) or someone had taken you from the receiving warp and dropped you off in the middle of a clearing (far less likely)

Suddenly struck with worry, you sat up and moved your clothes to get a good look at your gem, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw it undamaged (clearly you’d landed where you woke up as most organics would have tried to remove it from your body before dumping you)

Realising that you were mostly safe you slowly rose to your feet and decided to explore your new environment, hand hovering near your gem in case you needed to defend yourself from whatever creatures had made their home here—trying to make yourself appear as small, quiet and unnoticeable as possible as you went

However, your efforts seemed to be in vein as you were quickly greeted by an excitable and loud human girl who practically screamed her welcome to you

You were torn between fleeing and fighting her when she offered her hand and introduced herself as “Luz the human”, her demeanour quite closely mirroring what you’d heard about Steven when he was younger from his mothers—it was almost endearing how much she tried to hold in her joy at seeing another “human”. You almost didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth as she walked you back to her home.

You were accosted at the door by an organic tube with an owl’s face that quickly and gleefully introduced itself as Hooty—the creepy, but rather friendly, house demon

Luz made an effort to hastily brush him off and hurry you both inside where you met with the other two inhabitants of the home as well as Luz’s “awesome girlfriend”, Amity.

Eda, an older witch with grey hair that hardly suited her age, greeted you with muted suspicion, not even taking her eyes off of you as she addressed the human at your side—seemingly unsure of your motives but trusting herself to be stronger than you (if her grip on her staff was anything to go by)

King, however, was much more brazen and blatant in his distrust of you, stomping over and pointing an accusing claw up at you as he threatened you in every way he could muster (even if all that got him was a halfhearted coo from you that left the creature more frustrated and downtrodden than before)

The guest, Amity, meanwhile, looked over at you with disinterest before she caught a glimpse of your (colour) gem peeking out from your clothing—immediately pointing it out and questioning you about it, much to your chagrin

This inevitably led to a very long and semi-complicated conversation discussing the intricacies of your species and how, no, you’re technically not a human

No you weren’t trying to deceive Luz, either, you just felt too awkward to correct her

But when all was said and done (and you were all out of steam after a several hour session of intense questioning and frustration at miscommunications) they seemed much more relaxed around you—even willing to let you stay with them, at Luz’s request, so long as you pulled your weight around the house and helped to keep them safe

And, really, how hard could that be? You fought in an intergalactic war so taking out a few organics should be a piece of cake (as Steven would say)

After spending a few weeks in this strange new world you had come to realise one specific thing; it wasn’t easy. It was, in fact, the exact opposite.

If you had to bubble one more guard you were going to scream

What had they done to make this Emperor hate them so much?

It felt as though half of your time was spent bubbling, blocking or disabling people that had made their way to the Owl House—and the rest was spent painstakingly explaining your abilities and species to Amity, Lilith and Luz

Granted, that wasn’t the most stressful part of your stay

That was hands down the stresses that came with visits from Luz’s friends from Hexside: the endlessly kind and protective Willow and the ever-curious and annoyingly quick witted Gus

That being said, you did appreciate their enthusiasm to learn about and accommodate you—even if the look Willow gave you when you spoke about the empire’s treatment of organic life did leave you rather shaken

So what little free time you had was spent learning about the local culture and sharing your experiences with them

Training with Amity and Eda

Helping Willow with her plants in whatever way you can based on your gem

Creating gem clones to help Gus perfect his illusions even further

Teaching Lilith and Luz about your abilities as well as those of your fellow gems, even helping the latter learn to write using gem glyphs

It was heartwarming to see others so passionate about your home, even if their insistence on pushing you to your limits could be rather frustrating (especially early in the mornings when your patience ran thin)

However, the longer you spent there the more members of the Emperor’s Coven (amongst others) you ended up coming across. One particularly memorable instance occurred when you were escorting a fretting Amity through Bonesborough with the twins (who’s presence you had grown rather fond of as their visits became more frequent).

Ed had dragged Em back to the library a good few minutes ago, leaving you and Amity to your own decides as you weaved in and out of the foot traffic—only to stop completely when the youngest Blight suddenly froze before grabbing your hand and darting off to an adjacent alleyway

As you went to protest, she promptly clamped one hand over your mouth and gestured rather violently for you to stay quiet before nodding towards a figure just a bit away from you

From the golden mask and white cloak you knew they were a member of the Emperor’s Coven—but you’d seen them before, on the posters littered around the city, each exploring passersby to join their coven

Golden Guard

That was a definite threat

So you passed the girl a spare cloak and did what you could to mask your own appearance before carefully making your way back home, shopping be damned—one hand over your gem just in case he happened to notice you

Though thankfully he didn’t

Not that it stopped you from filing him away as someone to be wary of anyway; he was the emperor’s right hand man, after all, so there was no such thing as being “too cautious”

And for a while that’s exactly what it was, not that you saw much of him that is, but from what you’d been told about Luz and Amity’s run ins with him you were glad to have never seen him face-to-face. If you had, you were almost certain he wouldn’t come out unscathed—teenage protege or not.

So with all that in mind, the last that you were expecting to see on a relatively peaceful Saturday evening was the unmasked Golden Guard practically unconscious and leaning on Luz and Eda for support as they burst through the door

Completely ignoring Hooty as usual as they carefully laid him down on the seat beside you (after you’d hurriedly gotten up, that is)

He looked to be in an awful state, with his visible skin bloodied, bruised and scarred whilst his usually pristine uniform was tattered and caked in dirt and what seemed to be even more of his blood

Seeming to notice your distress, Eda briefly addressed you and her sister before sending you all off to gather supplies (or heal if your gem allowed it)

“The kid’s been through a lot, but he’s with us now. Trust me, I wouldn’t have carried him all this way if I had any doubts about it.”

And that was that

It took Hunter (as he introduced himself) over a week to even be able to get out of bed and walk around unassisted—and whilst he actively avoided speaking about what had happened to him, you had a feeling that Belos was somehow involved

Though things were still rather tense for a month or so after he arrived, no matter how hard Luz tried to integrate him (and no matter how polite and welcoming Willow and Gus tried to be)

And you didn’t even want to recall the shouting match that occurred when Amity saw him in the living room with Luz….

It seemed as though he was just more content to shut himself away with L’il Rascal and only interact with Luz and Eda; the former to learn from her and the latter because she wouldn’t let him get away with anything but

That wasn’t even mentioning the palpable tension between him and Lilith (she would only say that it was from their time in the coven—and Luz suspected he’d annoyed her a bit too much—but nothing else would come of it)

But the others were worried about him, so you were sent in as a neutral party to talk with him about… things. You weren’t really told what and you didn’t have the time to ask.

Initially he was incredibly closed off and would only address you briefly, barely even acknowledging your presence as he gave his full attention to the scattered papers on his desk, each depicting a different spell and each ever so slightly off

So, as gently as you could you took the quill from him and drew a simple glyph on a spare scalp of paper, carefully leading him through the motions before leaning back and activating the spell (and smiling at his much more openly interested expression)

That then sparked a deep conversation about different types of magic—specifically wild magic and glyphs—as you shared what you knew about the topic with one another, every so often breaking off into laughter or patient silence as he’d run across the room to show you his notes or books he’d found

Naturally this would lead to him asking you about where you came from and you discussing your origins with him

Homeworld

The Diamond Authority

The gem war

Colonies

Soldiers

Shattering

The Crystal Gems

Everything

He was incredibly easy to talk to as he listened with a genuine intensity to what you said, nodding along and even asking well thought out questions about your world where appropriate

Depending on how close you were, he may even ask to see your gem and ask about its purpose

If you let him touch it, he’d be so very gentle, almost treating you as though you were made of glass—maybe even sketching it down and noting down your abilities and weaknesses in his personal notebook and apologising if it was weird

This mutual interest in magic and your shared experiences of either having to conform to a specific role your whole life [full gem reader] or feeling out of place and weaker because of your shortcomings [half gem reader] would be the basis of your friendship turned relationship. The transition between the two would be so incredibly seamless and slow that you wouldn’t even notice it happening—one moment you two were best friends sparring and the next you were hiding your blushing face in his neck as he hugs you and apologises for hitting you a bit too hard with his magic.

Your relationship would be sweet and slow and genuine

Hunter is new to receiving any kind of affection, so you’d probably have to teach him a thing or two—but he’d learn quite quickly so don’t worry

He’d spend hours studying your culture and language just to write you notes or offer you affirmations in ways unique to your culture, even calling you “my (Y/n)” after a while

Likewise, the first time you called him “my Hunter” he was left red in the face for the rest of the day (he loved it, though, so don’t stop)

But the moment someone makes a teasing remark about how soft he’s gotten (usually one of the Blight siblings or his own younger sister figure, Luz), Hunter will partially revert to being cold in public (whilst still being affectionate and openly touch starved in private)

In short, your relationship with him would be built on a foundation of mutual trust, affection and understanding that sprouted from friendship and honest conversations about your passions and pasts

#reader insert #sleepingdeath hub #hcs #headcanons #steven universe #su #toh x su #the owl house #the owl house x reader #the owl house golden guard #the owl house hunter #toh #toh x reader #toh golden guard #toh hunter #hunter x reader #golden guard x reader

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screamingatanemptyroom · 3 years

Text

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I’m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“…”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I’m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

#writing #please fix the story #sci fi #world hopping #memory loss #giant robots #aliens #more memories #call back to the peeled apples from the zombie arc if anyone remembers that far back #so happy to post this part finally.#weight off my chest

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bitch-butter · 3 years

Note

hello! can i request "You didn't do anything wrong, there's nothing to apologize for" for any ship of your choosing? or any AU you want? i just really love how your writing flows, it's so cohesive-- don't take this the wrong way but like. i adore sitting down and actually analyzing your stuff structurally? seeing how it works and weaves together to make a whole just makes the shriveled up eng lit major inside me really happy.

w o o f this one ran away from me a little bit, it incorporates some Things I was thinking of re: forgiveness/webgott last month, and it's bit different than pure H/C but I hope you find something to like in it! Thank you for your lovely compliment~

Yes, it's webgott bc i am chained to The Rhythm

4. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

He cleared the drawer once more, eyes scanning into its dark corners for any sign of a missed sock, undershirt, some hidden treasure that he had many years ago deemed worthy of being put in the back of the underwear drawer. Raising his brows, Joe shook his head at himself as he closed it resolutely, tossing his bounty into his pack and stuffing the top with the sack that contained his bathroom shit.

Even remembering the days he used to be able to leave the house with just his keys made him want to sigh like a goddamn cow in the summertime. Now he needs the bag, the car, and Web just to go across the bay.

Speak of the devil, Web padded into the bedroom with his usual September expression: weary, exhilarated, slightly frustrated. Wordlessly, he crossed past Joe to the bed and slumped face-first onto it with a groan.

“Done?” Joe questioned, zipping up the bag.

Making a soft grunt of a sound, Web curled his arms around his head. “Done,” he said, face mashed against the bed.

“Well, get to it,” Joe said, stepping over to land a light smack against Web’s ass and grinning at the outraged whine he got in response. “Don’t want to be late,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stepped back out to the hall, making for the kitchen.

Even out here he can hear the sound Web makes, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No you didn’t!” Joe called back, grabbing the butter left on the counter and shoving it in the fridge, letting his eyes make one final sweep around the kitchen. “If you don’t show your reputation won’t ever recover.”

“Your mother loves me,” Web toned, and Joe couldn’t help a snicker as he moved through the hall back to the bedroom, where Web had at least moved to lay on his back, knees up. “She wouldn’t care, she’d probably let me move in with her if you ever kicked me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Joe stood at the food of the bed, arms folded. “Not with Yom Kippur, you’re not allowed to fuck around. She was happy you said you wanted to come, you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Heaving out a long breath, Web folded his hands behind his head, eyes lowered as he peered down at Joe. His knees tilted just so, his lips quirking, and Joe could see the fucking thought forming in his head before he had a chance to open his mouth.

“No.”

“We have time,” Web said, extending one leg to poke his toes into the left side of Joe’s stomach.

Clicking his tongue, he took hold of the other man’s ankle, giving it a soft pull and smiling in satisfaction as Web tried to pull it back to no avail. “If you think I’m going to miss my last fucking meal just to fuck you then you have another thing coming, alright?”

With a disgruntled twist of his lips Web pulled his leg in again, a little jerk that ushered Joe down onto the mattress as well. “You weren’t this dedicated last year,” he noted lightly, free of the reproach that might have accompanied the words if his family had said them.

Shaking his head, Joe decided to throw Web a bone and settled beside him, at least staying up on his elbows. “Different places,” he said simply.

Web looked up at him fondly, hand coming up to smooth over Joe’s hairline, sweeping it back and trailing behind his ear. “So, how will we spend tonight, then?” he asked quietly, eyes still following along where his hand moved. “If not in bed.”

Breath going slow with the contact, he tilted his head into the touch contentedly. “Well, tonight we’re going to eat like kings, Rach will probably be trying to get drunk in the pantry and hoping nobody notices, we’ll sleep in the attic, then tomorrow we spend a lot of fucking time at the synagogue.”

“And we don’t eat,” Web stated, assured.

“No eating, no drinking,” Joe nodded, brow furrowing at the sight of an eyelash on the other man’s cheek, reaching for it mindlessly.

Humming, Web closed his eyes to accommodate him. “Does this have a corresponding Catholic holiday I can retrofit in my mind?”

“I don’t know, you guys got a day where you feel really guilty about everything?” he asked, presenting the lash to Web balanced on the tip of his finger.

Blinking, Web frowned thoughtfully. “Birthdays.”

“Make your wish, you prick,” Joe grumbled, holding back his smile as Web grinned up at him, pausing momentarily before blowing the lash away into the room. Indulgently, he moved in closer, cupping the warmth of Web’s face in his palm and looking down on him with a feeling as close to serenity as he ever has here, in their bed, the sunlight coming in through their window.

Web returned his gaze, his own hand tracing along the back of Joe’s neck. “Do you confess?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“All together,” he corrected, absently rubbing at the spot on Web’s cheek where he had plucked the lash. “You recite it, while you do this,” he said, shifting gently to bring his hand down to Web’s chest, knocking gently against him, just above his heart, with a loose fist.

Web watched his fist, a bemused smile growing over his lips. “Why?”

Settling his hand over the spot, Joe rubbed gently at him. “To punish your heart.”

Smile stilling over his face, Web absorbed his words with quiet interest, eyes floating down along Joe’s neck to the dark burrow of his chest where it pressed against the bed. “Isn’t the sinning hurt enough?”

Trust Web to try to loop him into a conversation about semantics of all fucking things. He must be more anxious to start his classes than Joe thought. “I don’t know,” he half-shrugged, eyes on his own hand over Web’s heart. “If you’re the sort who doesn’t like hurting people, maybe.”

Web nodded, accepting, smile turning more wistful, thoughtful “That’s nice, to be able to get it all out of the way at once.”

“What, you turned in a paper late?” Joe teased.

Flicking behind Joe's ear, Web looked up at him balefully, just a touch of that familiar humor at the edge of his mouth, like a dimple made of light. “I’d apologize to you, obviously.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh, Joe looked discerningly down at him. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Web shook his head softly, hand curling around his neck once more and seeming to anchor him down even further, their faces close enough to see the earnest upset around the angles of the other man’s eyes. “You know.”

Web does this. Likes to see monsters where there are none, invent storm clouds heading for them, and it makes him behave like a child sometimes and a man others. He’s a contrarian, down even past his bones and into the dust of the universe that lived in his being, it is an unchangeable fact. Telling him that there’s nothing to worry about accomplished nothing at the best of times.

Not that it’s ever stopped him trying.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for a fucking thing,” Joe rebuked solidly, hand moving from Web’s heart to his head, fingers resting just north of the delicate point of his hairline. “Sincerely.”

“I do, I…” Web parried, eyes unyielding where they looked up into Joe’s, somehow free of the sort of conflict he contained when he started thinking he and Joe had different opinions. “I know that this isn’t easy, dealing with me. And you do,” he continued, and this close he can see the way his eyes are stuck on his lips, the thought filling him with affection. “And you’re amazing.”

Giving in, chest bowing in like the hull of a sinking ship, he caught Web’s lips with his own, a hot smack of a thing that stole his breath, gave it to Web, who in turn gave it back to him better, better. “You don’t have to apologize for living, doll,” he shook his head, their nose practically knocking. “That’s not the point.”

Web didn’t seem soothed by the kiss, still appearing occupied with some train of thought that sought to carry him off and away from Joe’s eyes. “I still think of it sometimes, you know.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“That day,” Web said, as though it should be evident.

He has to pause and think. They’ve lived a lot of days together, not just these ones that they’ve spent in this apartment, but the ones they spent as voices over the phone, words on a page, men in uniforms hiding from each other like chameleons. How is he meant to know which day Web means from the thousands they’ve had?

Looking down, the blue of Web’s eyes reminds him absently of Austrian skies. Mountains.

Yes. He knows.

“I think sometimes I should apologize to you and never stop,” Web said gently, managing to keep hold of Joe’s eyes as they blinked back and forth and back and forth into the memory.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Which isn’t to say he never does, but it’s been a time. If he concentrates he can still feel the sun on his neck, the unnatural sweatiness of his palms, how his face had somehow felt cold, waxy. Picturing the house, the dark guts of it with the man inside squirming like half-digested meat, still fills him with the primal sort of rage that only visits him in his dreams. All around the periphery of the memory is Web, that day he had decided that whoever David Webster was he wanted no part of it.

“It’s in the past,” he excused weakly.

Web pulled in a short breath, face carefully open. “I know it is.”

“So let it be.”

Frown deepening, Web’s brought his eyes back down, and even this small departure felt like shrapnel. Joe combed through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, jostling him enough to win his eyes back. Web opened his mouth, struggling, before settling into the intention. “Do you still think about it?”

“Of course,” he said dully, voice still caught somewhere in his memory.

“Do you ever think I owe you an apology?” Web asked, voice quiet and eyes steady.

The question drops through him like rain. He’s thought of that day hundreds of times, thousands. When he lets his mind walk back up that hill, shining in the sun like the cover of the storybooks his mother would read to him, it isn’t Web he’s thinking of. He thinks of a forest of trees, of the way that one can become millions, and those millions become legion. That day had been about a lot of things, he hadn’t ever intended for Web to be one of them.

Web has apologized to him in too many ways to count. But this memory is deeper than they are, the kind of wound that might close over but will still carry a piece of metal, even smaller than a sliver, nestled inside of them both.

Web gives him grief, for better and for worse. But he gives him peace, too. That’s all the apology he wants.

His silence has drifted over the room like fog, but Web looks at him with the sort of clarity that only a few years ago made him feel like a bug on a pin, but now simply makes him feel known.

“I’ll punish my heart for forgiveness tomorrow,” Web said softly, smile turning up his lips, hand against Joe’s neck.

Huffing, Joe shook his head, taking up Web’s mouth once more, briefly. “You have it,” he rasped, kissing just the corner of his lips, and then the soft heat of his cheek. “You’ve had it.”

Web smiled into the kiss, leaning up to press a matching one to Joe’s own cheek. “Good.”

Swallowing, he followed Web back down, their faces close. “Will you accept mine?”

A disbelieving laugh rumbled up Web’s throat, his head giving a dismissive shake as he gave Joe’s neck a hard rub. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he criticized, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

But they haven’t always been that lucky. This sort of luck isn’t a permanent state of being.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, before pausing momentarily. “Let’s say you forgive me for the first sin I haven’t committed yet.”

Laughing, Web took his hand from Joe’s skin, holding it up beside them in some offering. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Joe confirmed, taking his hand, giving it one firm shake, enough to gather up Web’s laugh, before bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across its back. “Now come on, let’s go.”

#technically ~rivers~#prompt #ask #webgott

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catxsnow · 4 years

Text

WHERE’S YOUR SUIT? J.T.

Request: Hello! I was wondering if you could write a titans Jason Todd prompt where Jay leaves the titans after they shout at him and he goes to you for comfort. And then at the end the reader suits up to go kick their butt's. Fluff and hurt/comfort please.

Warning: My lil Jay baby been all sad. Dick being a dick

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Requests are still open!

Word count: 1.6k

After dating Jason for a while, you learned that it was pretty rare for him every to show that he was upset. He kept his emotions to himself even when you told him that you were always there for him. Jason was the kind of person who thought that it was easier to keep his feelings bottled up rather than burden someone else with them.

You learned to accept it. When Jason was upset he was quiet, when he was angry he got frustrated with the tinniest things. You learned how to figure out how he was feeling without him even needing to say anything at all. While Jason appreciated that you could manage to cheer him up without making him talk, he wished that you didn't know him that well.

Being the new ward of Batman meant hiding his feelings even more than he did before. It was hard to do that with you around.

Somehow, you managed to bring out the light hidden within him. Jason couldn't hide anything from you, it was his weakness. That was how you found out that he was Robin. He couldn't keep that secret from you - not when you were so worried every time he showed up with a new bruise.

Jason was proud to be Robin. He was incredibly pleased with himself that he could say that he worked with the great Batman. They took down criminals night after night and the thrill of it never went away. You were glad to see him so happy after knowing about his terrible childhood. Jason deserved the world.

You thought that he would get that while going with the Titans in San Francisco. The day that he showed up to your house to tell you that he was leaving nearly broke you. You loved him, and having to be away from him killed you. However, the two of you made it work. Jason was would sneak off to see you as many times as he could and would sneak you in as well.

The times away from him were hard, but the short visits made it all worth it.

So, when he came knocking at your door, you were thrilled that he was back in town. A grin was plastered on your cheeks as you ran to the door to meet him. You weren't expecting him back so soon again but the surprise was welcomed. You jumped up into his arms, legs wrapped around his torso and a firm kiss against his lips.

"Jason!" You squealed. Just one look upon his face changed your mood instantly. Jason had cuts and bruises lacing his cheeks but that wasn't what concerned you. Tears were welled up in his eyes. You brought yourself back down to the ground and placed both hands on his cheeks. "Baby's what's wrong?"

Jason said no words but brought you back into a tight, bone crushing hug. His face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck and you swore you could hear him sniffling. You ran your fingers through his hair, hoping to comfort him in anyway possible. Without another word, you grabbed Jason's hand and led him to your room.

The two of you crawled onto your bed. While you laid flat on your back, Jason laid his head on your chest and held you close. You had never seen him like this before. Whatever happened at the Titans tower must have really gotten to him this time. As much as you wanted to ask, you knew he would only speak when he was ready.

For the next hour the two of you laid there. You would delicately trace your fingers along his skin, through his hair, anything just to try to make him comfortable. The odd times that he would shuffle around, you would accommodate. Whatever he needed, you were going to give it to him until he was himself again.

"Jay," you whispered. You couldn't stand this silence any longer. Jason was obviously upset about something and you couldn't help enough if you didn't know what was really wrong. Jason peered up at you. He stretched enough so that he was able to kiss you. "Please, I want to help. What's wrong."

Jason sat up on your bed. His knees were tucked up and he looked so much younger than he really was. Eyes tinged red, messy hair, a frown on his lips. This was the version of Jason that you never thought you could see.

"I don't belong anywhere," Jason finally muttered out. You furrowed your eyebrows at his words. He had a home - several homes. Living with Bruce was everything that he could have ever imagined. And getting the chance to live with the titans? Not only with his team, but his friends? That was something you dreamed for him.

He had your home. Always.

"Bruce sent me to San Francisco to get rid of me," Jason continued. It something that he could never bring himself to admit until just recently. "Dick doesn't want me at the tower, he thinks I'm not meant to be Robin. Rose... Fuck Rose! I thought we were friends and she was just using us for Slade.

"No one believes in me, no one thinks that I can be Robin. All they ever do is yell and get mad at me," Jason's jaw clenched. You were sure that it was to force his voice to stop wobbling. You reached over to grab his hand and intertwine your fingers. "Maybe they're right, maybe I'm not meant to be there, or here in Gotham."

"Jason if there's one thing that I learned about you, it's that you never give up," You began. "Did you give up when Uncle Ray died? Did you give up when Trigon over took your mind? Did you give up when Bruce pushed you to your limits so that you would be the best Robin? No, Jason you're meant to be Robin, you're meant to be on this team."

"No one else seems to think so," Jason muttered. You sighed, and then brought Jason's hand up to kiss the back of it.

"Bruce didn't send you to the Titans to get rid of you. He sent you there to learn what he could never teach - teamwork," you explained to him. "There's always going to be ups and downs to working with anyone - I mean fuck, how many arguments have we had? No team is ever perfect, no matter how much it seems."

Jason thought through your words. Somehow, you always seemed to be right about everything. Bruce did send him to learn more through a team, it just didn't feel that way for the longest time. Being away from you had taken a toll on him - more than he ever thought it could.

"I just wish that they would respect me more," Jason sighed. Ever since showing up, it was like he constantly had to prove his worth -especially to Dick. He just wanted everyone to be able to see that he was meant to be there just as much as everyone else.

"They do, Jay," you assured him. You pushed the loose hairs off his forehead and placed your palm against his cheek. The pad of your thumb grazed back and forth against his skin. Jason leaned into your touch. "Dick is still mad at Bruce for everything, he has nothing against you. Don't blame yourself for his hate. The others are just kids, they look up to you even if you don't realize it."

"I love you, (Y/N)," Jason finally hinted at a smile. He brought you in for a kiss, pulling you close once more. His home might not have been in the tower, or in the Wayne Manor, but he knew that he always had a home with you - no matter where that was.

"I love you, too, Jason," You pecked his lips once more. A devious look formed on your face and Jason instantly became suspicious of what you were thinking. You jumped off the bed and waited expectantly for him to follow. "Come on, where's your suit?"

"What the hell do you need my suit for?" Jason raised his eyebrows, you were glad to see a smile hint at the corner of his lips. Being back with you was just the comfort that he needed.

"I'm gonna go kick their asses for being assholes to you," you stated as if it was a fact. Your one hand was on your hip and the other extended out towards him as if you were waiting for him to just place the Robin suit in your hand.

This time, Jason laughed. He laughed so hard that his stomach hurt and that he couldn't keep his eyes open. He looked at you once more to see if you were serious or not and the fact that you hadn't moved confirmed it. This threw him into another fit of laughter. You couldn't keep the straight face any longer and joined him.

"Jay, come on!" you requested between giggles. Jason shook his head at your antics. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back onto your bed. You laid there facing each other, still giggling at your ridiculous idea - you weren't trained there was no way you even stood a chance against them. "Come on, I think I could take down Dick."

"Yes, babe, yes you could," Jason kissed your forehead. Though you would have fought them for him, you were just glad to see that he was able to smile again. "Let's start training, right here in your bed."

“I think that’s a great idea.”

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd oneshot #jason todd x reader #dc one shot #dc imagine #dc #fluff #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #dc titans #titans #titans imagine #titans one shot

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rachelbethhines · 3 years

Text

Tangled Salt Marathon - Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf

Ok, so I’ve tried and tried several times to get this posted, we’ll see if this is the time it goes through. Half the reason why this review series has slowed down is not just the multitude of real life stuff I have to deal with, but also Tumblr just refusing to work with me and deleting my posts. I also can’t save my work else where due to Tumblr messing up the formatting. It’s been a frustrating mess and so far no one @staff has come up with a tech solution or work around.

Summary: Rapunzel helps to rebuild Old Corona, (after its near destruction from the Black Rocks) which will become the permanent home of Red and Angry, who have returned to Corona to settle down. However, she begins to notice strange footprints around the area, as well as the livestock becoming more unruly and fearful. The group comes across a monster hunter named Creighton, who explains to the group that the area is being stalked by a werewolf, who possessed one of Corona's citizens. Aiming to save this person rather than kill them, Rapunzel sets out to find who it is.

When Was This Decided?

No seriously, when was this decided? It’s a pretty big leap go from ‘the rocks makes various towns inhabitable’ to ‘let’s rebuild!’ What’s changed here? Cause the rocks haven’t been removed and Rapunzel failed in her mission to nullify their power. In fact the rocks were not only reawaken in the second season finale but shown to be under the power of someone who’s intentions were made unclear to the heroes.

So I ask again; who thought this was safe thing to do now? What provisions have been made to accommodate the rocks? They blocked the well, remember, and destroyed the fields; how are the people getting food and water?

And most importantly why wasn’t the audience informed beforehand? When you change up the status quo in a story you need to provide just cause to the viewers. I legit thought I had accidently skipped an episode when I first watched because this plot point was not set up properly.

Why Were They Ever Left Alone to Begin With?

In a story where neglect is a central theme and motivating factor for all the main characters, it is super tone deaf to have those same characters perpetuating neglect themselves. The decision to live on their own should not be left up to Angry and Red because they are children. Children are not mature enough to provide for themselves neither emotionally nor physically and when placed in situations where they have to do so it psychologically damages them. Which the series already showcased with Varian so why is this suddenly deemed ok?

This Completely Undermines the Past Two Seasons

The entire conflict of the past two seasons was the rocks forcing people out of their homes. Eugene was made an orphan from them, Varian lost his entire support group because them, they drove out the Saporians from their encampment which prompted them to invade Corona, and Rapunzel and company spent an entire year on the road trying to find a way to stop them from spreading supposedly.

All of that has now been flushed down the drain with this decision. And its super insulting to watch because it’s the writers telling us that we’ve wasted our time caring about this plot for two years. You don’t resolve major conflicts off screen and without explanation; it’s lazy!

Also Where Is Varian and Quirin During All This?

This is not only their home and legal charge, but it’s also the ending to their ongoing story, and they’re not even here in a silent cameo.

Wouldn’t Quirin be overseeing the rebuilding of his town? Wouldn’t Varian be using his skills to find workable engineering solutions for them, fulling his season one goal of saving his home and making his village better with his inventions? Also wouldn’t Edmund want to catch up with his brother and help out now that he’s here?

In fact not a single person who actually lives in Old Corona is to be found in these opening shots.

Oh, But We Do Get Earl

Earl might be from Old Corona, or he might not be. We’ve literally never seen him before. The artists had to create a brand new character model for this character, the writers had to write new lines for him, and the casting director had to hire an actor and have him record these lines for only less than a minute of screen time, never to be seen again. Even though they legit had shepherd models already to go from season one that they could have used. It’s a waste of resources and a prime example of the mismanagement going on in this show.

It’s Too Late In the Series to Waste Time On a New One Off Villain

Speaking of a waste, Creighton might have more story reasons to appear in this episode than Earl does but her inclusion is still a poor decision. The show already has an overabundance of villains, so many in fact that they shipped the bulk of them off in season two, and this is the final season; the season where we should be wrapping up plots and minor characters stories not kicking off new ones.

Taken on her own Creighton isn’t a bad character presa, she works for the episode, but when we could have gotten a resolution to Caine’s, Hector’s, or the Disciples’ story arcs instead it highlights how misused the series assets are.

All This Lore Will Be Forgotten In Just a Few Episodes Time

We finally get like some magical rules and backstory only for future episodes to ignore it from here on afterwards. Red can turn into a werewolf whenever she pleases, night or day, with little explanation as for why.

Just Arrest Her Rapunzel

You’re the acting queen. You have the power and the right to arrest or even merely detain someone who is threating your citizens and refuses to leave. In fact it’s kind of your job. You don't even have to throw her in a dungeon if you thought that too cruel. Just lock her up in a nice room somewhere in the castle until you’ve sorted out the mess yourself.

The series wants to treat Rapunzel as the underdog when she isn’t, and her failure to wield her power effectively doesn’t make her look ‘nice’ it just makes her look stupid and grossly incompetent. This is a conflict that didn’t need to have happened and Rapunzel let it happen.

Oh, So Now Y'all Riot

You didn’t complain when the king orphaned children with his crack down on crime. You rolled over as he dolled out overly harsh punishments to poor people who committed minor offences. You gleefully went along with the royals as they scapegoated a child for their mistakes, even as they endangered your homes. And ya’ll sat on your asses while invaders pulled off a coup and enslaved you.

But this is what you get mad over? A rumor about a mythical creature existing that your princess has zero control over. Seriously?

Man, I hate the townspeople in this show.

Pointless Dream Sequence Is Pointless

This scene tells the audience nothing new and just wastes screen time.

This Is the Wrong Lesson to Focus On Rapunzel

We do not tell the 12 year old to unload their phycological issues onto their baby sister!

You’re telling me parents were involved in writing this show? What the hell!?

Rapunzel you are the adult here. At 20 now you should be more adept to handle listening to the deep seated emotional traumas of a little girl than a fucking 10 year old! And if you’re not, or don’t want to, then it’s your job to find another adult who will.

That’s the core problem with this entire episode. It treats Red’s and Angry’s problems as some eternal issue that they need to work out and not as the inherent failure of the adults around them that it is.

It is neither Red’s nor Angry’s decision on weather or not they get live on their own. Nor is it their responsibility to be each other’s therapist. Yes, a change in living arrangements is always stressful and for children with abandonment issues it can be hard to readjust, but that’s when you need to step it up and deal with the problem; not shove it off onto the kids themselves!

Monty Is Useless

Is this all Monty is good for? Being a red herring in ridiculously simple mysteries? Is this why we wasted a whole episode introducing him back in season one? Really?

Why Are We Still Treating Old Corona As Being Separate from Corona Itself?

Look, I get that it’s a joke, but it’s a joke that highlights how poorly thought out the worldbuilding is in the series. Is the Coronan government in charge of Old Corona or not? If so then you can just make those lease laws yourself as the acting regent Eugene. If not then Frederic shouldn’t have had any say in the matter of relocating Old Corona’s citizens nor putting a child outside of his jurisdiction under arrest.

But more importantly this is a just a repeat of that vague level of responsibility Rapunzel has for people who live off the island. She can’t order a whole village to be rebuilt while simultaneously claiming that she bares no accountability for Varian and Quirin’s problems in season one.

Replacing Guns with Crossbows Isn’t the Safe Option That the Censors Think It Is

I find it kind of amusing that censors will ban showing a 17th century blunderbuss but allow it to be replaced by a weapon that is still mass produced today and can be bought in any Walmart across the country. Like I’m a major advocate for gun regulation in real life, but even I have to find this to be a bit silly. Crossbows aren’t some fantasy weapon. People still own and use them. But it would be seriously hard to get ahold of a working antique firearm.

Seriously This Is How the Girls Have Been Living and the Adults Haven’t Done Anything About It Until Now?

I feel like I’m beating a dead horse by now, but it’s so engrained into the episode I have to keep bringing it up. The show itself is visually telling us that Red and Angry can’t keep living this way, but it never wants to call Rapunzel and the other adults out for not rescuing them from this life sooner.

So All This Tells Me Is That Rapunzel Could Have Easily Checked Up On Varian In Painter’s Block, But Didn’t.

Remember they’re right next to Old Corona; meaning that Janus Point is also right next to Old Corona. Meaning that Rapunzel could easily have checked up on Varian right after Painter’s Block and choose not to. With each passing episode Rapunzel has less and less excuse for her behavior in season one.

Yeah Remember that Plot Point That Wound Up Being Entirely Irrelevant to the Story?

In jokes don’t cover your ass when you make poor writing choices. Quite the opposite in fact as all you’ve done is remind the audience of all the various dangling plot threads that you will fail to follow up on. The disciples plot goes no where and serves no purpose, and it should not have been introduced as this big important thing if you weren’t going to do anything with it.

Nice Idea, Poor Execution

I’ve heard fans of this episode tell me that they enjoy it because of this scene with Red. If you’re a naturally introverted person or neurodivergent and have trouble communicating at times then Red’s speech here can strike a cord. Which is cool; I’ll never deny someone’s feelings and if a piece of media speaks to you on a personal level for whatever reason that is great. What I’m here to discuss though is story structure and whether or not the story’s themes are presented well in context of what it’s set up.

The conflict here does not work from a pure structural standpoint because it’s a surface level deflection of the real issues. Red’s problem isn’t that she is being ignored, it's that she’s been abandoned. Now communication issues can arise from that abandonment and feeling heard can be step forward in working those issues out, but Red’s central trauma isn’t going to be magically fixed by people ‘listening’ to her, i.e. being granted whatever she wants, but by providing her with a real home and with a real guardian to look after her.

Because what Red wants on a surface level is harmful to her, and the reasons why she wants what she wants needs to be addressed more so than then sedating her angry outbursts in the moment. This is treating the symptoms not the cause.

So What Is or Isn’t Real About the Curse?

Once again, we finally get some actual lore and rules for magic and the writers are already throwing it away during the same episode they are introduced. I now have as little context for how the wolf curse works within the Tangled world as I did before the episode started.

This Is Sweet, But Once Again Context Brings It Down.

So just to reiterate, this a surface level resolution to the conflict of the episode that doesn’t actually address anything. It might feel like an appropriate ending but only if you ignore the fact that Red and Angry are orphans who’ve been abandoned but the adults.

Angry apologizing here to Red does not solve any of their problems, especially since Angry, as a child herself, is not responsible for her sister’s behavior, feelings, nor well being. That falls to the adults and they fail to address Red’s core issues and their own failings to her in their apologies as well. Not to mention that the very next scene undermines any optional progress that could have been made here.

Listening to Someone Does Not Mean Giving Them Whatever They Want

This does not fix anything. Red and Angry are still left to live on their own without any real supervision. Giving them a big play house is not providing for them, it’s spoiling them. Would you let all the other orphans in the local orphanage roam free without an adult to take care of them? No!? Gee I wonder why? Could it be because letting a 12 and 10 year old raise themselves is a very stupid idea? One that will potentially damage them later in life assuming that they don't get themselves killed in the meantime.

Moreover this is yet another example of the series overall problem with not understanding that compromise and resolving conflicts does not mean rewarding the characters at the end with everything that they want without having them work for it. That’s not how life works and it’s not how good story telling works.

This Is Beyond Irresponsible

No! Bad Show! Bad!

You do not get to pretend that negligence is the same thing as compromise. Yes I know Eugene said to come to him when they have a problem, but as demonstrated by this very episode children do not always know when to ask for help nor can they always find it when needed, that is why parents exist!

Nor does the show get a free pass for turning it’s main characters into child abusers who neglected three minors multiple times now. Even when they themselves are victims of that same abuse!

How utterly blinkered do you have to be to not see the problem here?

It’s the Return of the Pointless Parallels

Let me count the ways for how stupid this is.

Red and Angry’s conflict has no impact on the on going narrative. Even with them now being reoccurring characters they still manage to contribute nothing to the future storylines involving Cass.

Neither Rapunzel nor Cassandra learn anything from Red and Angry’s spat; Rapunzel because she refuses to acknowledge her own flaws and Cassandra’s not even here for any of it.

The sister’s dynamic between Raps and Cass is not well established and the writers mange to piss all over it by series end because of gay baiting and poor writing. Therefore relying on lazy parallels to other siblings in the show to bolster this connection falls flat.

Red and Angry’s argument has nothing in common with Rapunzel and Cass’s current fighting. One is about abandonment issues and the other is about shallow validation. Trying to tie these two themes together actually winds up undermining both conflicts.

Red and Angry are children. Rapunzel and Cassandra are not. That very much matters.

Red and Angry didn’t drag innocent people into their petty bitch fight and endanger them because they wanted to feel special.

This Makes Zero Sense

I don’t know; she looked pretty happy during Crossing the Line.

She was also able to control the rocks just fine then, so what happened?

Not to mention soon after this Zhan Tiri is telling her she needs some sort of incantation to control the rocks, despite being able to already control the rocks....

It’s almost as if the writers are full of shit and don’t actually know what they’re doing.

So Are We Remembering the Burnt Hand or Not?

Does the hand matter or not? Is it ever a motivating factor in what Cassandra decides to do? Is her waning control over the rocks connected to her burnt hand; even though having a burnt hand is what allowed her grab the moonstone in the first place? Did the moonstone heal the hand? Does Raps singing the healing incantation later on heal it? Does Cass have a forever burnt hand?

Who the fuck knows!

Not the writers that’s for sure, cause it never comes up again.

Don’t introduce plot points and then not resolve them. That’s writing 101 guys.

Wait if she needs the incantation to control the rocks and the angry thing is a lie, then how the heck is she controlling them just now? Make up your dang mind show!

I swear I lose brain cells whenever I have to rewatch the evil Cassandra plot. It is so dumb you guys.... so, so dumb.

Conclusion

It’s not the worst thing ever but series has far better episodes on offer than this one. Even in a season as suck ass as season three.

So there’s praying that this review posts this time and if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me in my projects feel free to leave a tip on my Ko-Fi. Thank you.

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

#tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #anti-tangled #anti-rapunzel #anti-Cassandra

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olivinesea · 3 years

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Space Is Only Noise If You Can See

a/n: I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s because I handle change & uncertainty extremely poorly and that is all my life is rn. Maybe I just need to find out the extent of my evil powers. Regardless, you’re about to experience something unpleasant. TW major character death, suicide mentions, guns, violence, you name it, it’s happening. Only positive is I actually outlined the whole thing first this time so I know where we’re going (it’s not good). ~2.8k

Mr. Scratch surrendered. Or did he? Discuss.

It was always the smell that got to him. The sickly sweet scent of decaying flowers. He wondered who had made the decision to flood all funerals with the same noxious lilies. Didn’t that smell make anyone else feel ill? It lingered in the back of his throat, fogging his vision. He scowled at the offending arrangements—ostentatious wreathes shaped like hearts with hollow messages in a stock cursive font. He had been to so many funerals at this point he was reluctant to admit he sometimes got confused about where he was, who he was mourning. He tried to focus on the portrait of the deceased, but the outline kept shifting.

He blinked hard to settle his contacts, tears always had a detrimental effect on their usefulness. He needed to remember to wear his glasses to the next funeral. A twisted laugh threatened to slip, gallows humor at its finest. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be a next funeral. He wondered how many more before it was his turn, before he no longer had to be the one staying strong for everyone else, pretending the smell didn’t make him choke. He looked again, determined to figure out when he was before he was required to do anything, before he let on that he wasn’t fully present.

The coffin, shiny and black, occupied center stage. Where he thought he’d seen people solemnly walking up the aisle to say goodbye, there was only empty space. He realized he was unnervingly alone. Yet the coffin was not, it was flanked on either side by identical shapes, the light reflecting from their polished surfaces dazzling his vision. He stumbled to his feet, gripping tightly to the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. He rubbed his fingers against it, distracted by the grain, worn down by decades of touch. He looked again and there were six coffins, the once open space crowded and bent to accommodate so much loss.

He swayed, confused, it must be the damn flowers. The whole room seemed to tilt and he fell into the aisle, landing hard on his knees. He looked up just in time to see the coffins, doubled, tripled in size, rolling toward him, shuddering as they picked up speed.

Hotch gasped as he woke up on the jet, gripping the armrest tightly as he scanned the area around him. No one noticed the slight disruption, he knew well how to stay still, how to disappear in response to distress. Everyone was dozing or lost in their thoughts, drained from long days on the road. He counted their heads to check that everyone was accounted for. They were coming back from another case, he wasn’t quite sure from where. His hands shook from holding the seat too tightly so he put them in his lap, absently running his thumb across his other fingers.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and, more importantly, to check the date. He’d been struggling ever since the Scratch case to keep the details of time in order. It was embarrassing and he did his best to hide these lapses in awareness. The disorientation was always worse after one of these dreams. Though he was too practiced to show he was having nightmares, this one was starting to get to him. It had been coming back again and again since that night when he watched his team die. One right after the other, unable to stop it, unable to even be sure it wasn’t himself pulling the trigger. Though they were safe, were still alive at least, he couldn’t shake the fear. It had been so real. And it had been his fault.

He tried to tell himself to let it go, that it was only a hallucination brought on by a chemical attack from a psychopath. A man who was now in prison, successfully captured by his very alive teammates while he sat uselessly on the floor, afraid to trust his senses. However, he couldn’t quite escape the nagging fear that Scratch didn’t surrender, that in the mess of it all he had gotten away. When he let himself think about it, it never made sense that a man so calculated, so many moves ahead of them, would simply give in. He couldn’t be sure that the surrender wasn’t one of the false memories.

There was no way to distinguish between them, the real and the nightmare. He could only convince himself that his team was alive by watching carefully as they breathed whenever they weren’t looking. By their heated bickering over who would ride where. Lately he had even relinquished the driver’s seat, worried that his loosely tethered mind might sweep them all off the road. He fixated on their little habits, certain that these were things his mind couldn’t make up, proof that his family was really there in front of him. The orange fingerprints on case files and every single coffee mug disappeared from the kitchenette, lost wherever Reid set them down before forgetting, caught up in some exciting train of thought. Things that might have frustrated him before became lifelines to reality, the reality he hoped with all his heart was true.

In the immediate days after the attack, he would ask Dave, quietly, for assurance that Peter Lewis was locked up, unable to harm his team. Dave was understanding, remembering how he had been that night, eyes full of loss. But the looks he gave Hotch grew longer and more worried with each repetition of the question. Now, again unsure, he was too ashamed to ask.

It had been so hard to keep things straight in his mind. For awhile he had been writing himself notes: “Peter Lewis is in prison.” Except he would find them again later, letters added, message changed, unable to tell if it was still his handwriting. It didn’t make sense for it to be someone else, fuck he kept these notes in his pockets, in his desk drawer, in his medicine cabinet. He couldn’t remember changing them though. Maybe that was what he had written in the first place. The confusion of the notes started making him feel worse so he stopped writing them. Every time he found another one, he tore it into tiny pieces, all the while trying to convince himself nothing was wrong with his behavior, nothing was wrong with his mind.

On Saturday, rare in its lack of crisis, Hotch was sitting on the couch, finally free to read a book while waiting for Jack to get home. He had been invited to a movie with some school friends. He started thinking about how relieved he was that Jack had friends to do normal things with and lost track of the story. As he scanned back, a little surprised how far he’d read without absorbing any information, his phone rang. His lungs constricted. Fear was always the first reaction to the phone ringing. He leaned forward to pick it up from the coffee table, brushing away his irrational feelings. It was Spencer. That was a little odd but not unheard of. Sometimes Spencer learned a new fact that only Hotch would appreciate and couldn’t wait until they got back to the office to share it. He smiled as he answered, anticipating an excited rush of speech. Instead there was silence.

“Hello?”

Nothing. He listened hard, not sure if he could hear breathing. There was some rustling, muffled and indistinct. Maybe Spencer dialed him by accident. He hung up and tried calling back. It rang without answer. He tried one more time but got the same result, the voicemail picking up quicker the second time. He told himself there was a mundane explanation but anxiety crawled like a spider up his neck. He was about to make another call, was trying to decide who was most likely to be helpful. Penelope? Derek? But then Jack walked in the door, hyped on candy and popcorn and wanting to repeat every joke from the movie. He let it go, if it was important Spencer would call back.

Monday morning and Spencer wasn’t in the office. Hotch had been there since 6 am, buried in paperwork, perpetually stuck in a state of catching up. He didn’t notice the absence until JJ came to ask him if he had any update from Spencer.

“Hmm? No, I haven’t heard from him. Update on what exactly?”

“Oh well he was supposed to come over for game night on Saturday but he said he wasn’t feeling well.” She assumed he was still sick, that he had called out. It was very unlike him to skip out on work, though perhaps he was just very unwell. Images of Spencer, pale and shaky, in the depths of his addiction, flashed through both of their memories and they exchanged looks. It had been so many years, and he did such a good job of pretending it never even happened, but they still remembered. It always came back whenever some uncertainty with Reid popped up.

“Have you tried calling him?” He tried to be logical, not everything needed to be the end of the world.

“Just goes to voicemail.” She raised her eyebrows at him, the silent question—what do we do boss?

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at the files covering his desk, he’d already put in several hours today, he could use a break.

“I’ll go check on him.”

She started to offer to go with him but he waved her off. If Reid was sick there was no reason for both of them to be exposed. If it was something else, well, it was probably better if Hotch was alone for that too. Just as he got to the elevator, Derek caught up with him.

“I hear you’re going to check on pretty boy,” he was trying to sound light-hearted.

Hotch made a noise in response.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch looked over at him and saw the steel behind the statement. He wasn’t asking. Neither one needed to say aloud the worry laying just beneath the surface. That dreaded what if that swam around in the back of all their minds. He gestured for Morgan to get in the elevator ahead of him.

They got to Spencer’s apartment with still no word from him. He didn’t answer when they knocked on the door and though neither wanted to admit it, they were starting to panic.

“He better be passed out on cough syrup,” Morgan muttered as he flipped through his keys to find Reid’s spare, still trying to mask his fear. When they got the door open the apartment was cold and empty. The blinds were closed and the room was dark. Once they flipped the lights on everything seemed normal though unoccupied. The apartment was relatively neat, stacks of books and papers operating as some kind of decor.

“Reid?” they called even though they could tell he wasn’t there. They wandered through the small apartment, checking for signs of their friend.

“Hotch!”

Hotch caught the edge of the door with his shoulder and swore as he hurried out of the bedroom to respond to Morgan’s distressed call. He was standing in the small kitchen, looking at the counter. On it were Reid’s keys, phone and wallet. They could have been tossed there upon his arrival. But wouldn’t he have taken them if he had gone somewhere?

“Where is he?” Morgan’s voice was tight.

Hotch shook his head, this didn’t make sense. He picked up the phone and saw the list of missed calls from the office, from JJ, from him. He unlocked it and checked, heart sinking as his fear was confirmed. The last call was to his own phone on Saturday evening.

“Call Garcia,” he said, checking Reid’s messages.

“What’s going on Hotch?” Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off Reid’s phone, the frantic way Hotch was scrolling through it.

He stopped and looked up. “I…I don’t know.” The images from his dream, his nightmare were threatening to envelop him. Reid crumpled on the ground, a gunshot still ringing, dark wood with rounded edges cradling his lifeless body. The phone screen blurred when he looked at it again and he dropped it on the counter, using his hands to hold himself up.

“Hey man, are you ok?” Derek started to move closer but Hotch turned away, effectively closing himself off.

“Call Garcia, we need to start a search.” And I need to get a grip, he thought as the world around him shifted disturbingly. If something was as wrong as it seemed, they would all be looking to him to solve it. He certainly couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even sure if he was clinging to the counter or the floor.

It was hours later when they finally got a lead. It was not the lead that they wanted. There was a report of a body matching his description at a morgue one town over. It had been pulled out of the river in the early hours on Sunday, spotted by a couple of unhappy fishermen. There had been no wallet, no ID, no way to figure out who he belonged to. They had put him down as a John Doe, a presumed suicide and he was being held until they could get around to trying to match dental records. Garcia teared up as she relayed the information to the rest of the team.

“That can’t be him! Are you sure?” Morgan spoke more harshly than he meant to, nerves frayed by hours of fending off worst case scenarios.

Garcia hesitated, holding a folder. “They sent pictures but…I can’t look. I’m sorry.” She started crying in earnest now.

“Oh baby girl,” Morgan put a hand gently on her shoulder and pulled the file away. He was reluctant to open it as well. Hotch saw this and quickly took the folder and walked to the other side of the table where he flipped it open. His mouth formed a grim line and he didn’t have to say anything for them to know. He was glad he took it, happy to spare them the sight of waxy pale skin, the only color a deep purple beneath his closed eyes and his startlingly blue lips. It looked like he was wearing make up, like this was just another Halloween look Spencer was testing out. Hotch stared at the picture a moment too long. This is real, he told himself.

“Aaron?” Dave tried to pull his attention back to the room of anxious agents. Even though they knew, there was still the tortured hope that if he didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t true.

He sighed, “It’s Spencer.”

Garcia let out a sob and turned into the hug that Morgan wrapped around her. JJ, sitting at the table stared into the distance.

He tried to organize the facts, solidify them in his mind by repeating them silently to himself. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he normally suppressed to avoid having it sticking out wildly.

“I’ll go formally identify the…” He couldn’t call Spencer a body. “I’ll go see when we can get him transferred to us.”

“I can come with you,” Dave offered but Hotch declined. Looking at the others he felt like they needed someone to stay with them that would ward off anything too impulsive. They were all stunned at the moment but the feeling in the room was unsettled.

“You’re wrong.” JJ spoke without looking at him, her gaze still fixed at a spot on the far end of the table. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”

He realized she was crying and felt a weight start to crush his chest. With effort he moved to where she sat, unable to find anything to say. He touched her hand but she jerked away, suddenly standing and glaring at him.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated before leaving quickly.

There was a hand at his elbow, squeezing gently. “I’ll go talk to her in a little bit. You should get going, it’s already late.”

He tried not to pull away too quickly as he nodded his thanks at Dave, who looked at him curiously.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I can do it.” He hoped Dave would ignore the shake in his voice. He was fine, he could do this, he didn’t have a choice. He walked to his office to get his things, stopping for a moment to pull out Reid’s phone again. He needed to check the calls one more time, to confirm what he thought he remembered. Sure enough, his number remained the last outgoing call. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that it was real.

~Part 2~

#Criminal Minds #tw major character death #tw suicide mention #tw guns #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jj jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #dont hate me

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devnicolee · 3 years

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Into the Light (1)

Warnings: none yet!

Summary: Wesley Parker is a smart, political genius with years of policy experience. After working at the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland for over a year, Erik Stevens, Wesley’s longtime friend, offers her the opportunity of a lifetime: move to Wakanda and serve as an international policy advisor to King T’Challa alongside him. For reasons even Erik doesn’t know, she jumps at the chance and immediately leaves her Oakland life behind for a new one in the elusive, secretive nation. Like her friend Erik, she is a recluse and a loner, determined to focus on rebuilding her life and keeping her secrets her own. However, when she meets a certain Mountain king, she realizes that her life in the darkness doesn’t always have to be so. But is stepping into her light that easy? Or will the fear of trusting others keep her stuck?

Word count: 4,509

Enjoy!

***

Wesley took a tentative step down the ramp of the Royal Talon, the smoldering African heat immediately hitting her in the face.

“Parker!”

Her face immediately lit up when she saw him, standing separate from the rest of the Royal Family. She hadn’t expected all of them to be waiting to greet her.

“Stevens.”

It came out as almost a quiet sigh of relief instead of the upbeat, jovial tone she usually had. After days on edge, the reality of seeing him, stepping her feet on Wakandan soil was like stepping under the warmth of a thousand suns. She couldn’t even hide how relieved she was. It certainly felt better than her impromptu move back to Oakland a year ago. She quickly fixed her face to mask her relief and put on a neutral smile, more of an expression he would expect.

As soon as she was in arm’s length, his strong arms wrapped around her midsection to pull her into a tight hug. She hesitated for a moment, surprised at his greeting, before her arms rested on his broad shoulders to return it. Even after rekindling their friendship over the past year, she still wasn’t used to this new version of him. He was more inviting… more warm than he used to be. Wakanda had changed him, just not in the ways he originally intended.

He pulled back, eyeing her up and down as if she had managed to acquire some injury in the last week without his watchful eye.

“You good?”

“Yea, the flight was great… you know, I just slept through most of it.”

Her eyes tried to take in everything: the silent planes whizzing above her head, the guards lining the landing pad around them, the grandiose palace towering above them, the sounds of bustling city streets outside the palace gates. Wesley had done a decent bit of traveling in her time and this was truly unlike any city she had ever seen.

“Aight. Good, good. Come inside, sis… get you situated.”

After a quick introduction to the Queen Mother and hellos to the rest of the family, all of whom she had met and worked with at the Outreach Center, Erik ushered her inside to show her the room she would be staying in. She knew the accommodations were only temporary, until she got settled and could find her own place. But she certainly was not complaining.

She tried to listen to Shuri as she rattled off information about the different areas of the Palace, what her new bracelet did. But Wesley knew she would retain none of it. She was too excited, too anxious, too nervous.

Her professors and old colleagues called her a budding prodigy. Everyone knew Wesley Parker was going places. But she knew what they all also called her now: a waste of talent. After graduating from Harvard, she spent years working her way from government office to government office, trying to work her way up to the upper echelons of the political sphere. She was poised to be a leading voice in foreign policy, one of the few young Black women in the field. And then, over two years ago, Wesley just walked away. From her cushy life in D.C., her high-paying position, a new job offer with the U.N. She abandoned her dream, leaving it stranded in the road for an unexpected detour. And she always looked back, always wished she could get back there.

And here she was, as she walked down the opulent halls of this palace tucked away in Africa. This was the break in the trees illuminating her path back to her dream. This was her chance, her shot to rebuild what she lost… and this was the only place in the world she could do it. She couldn’t mess it up. She wouldn’t.

****

“You like it?”

Wesley laughed, rolling her eyes, “Yea nigga… this is bigger than my whole apartment.”

Her feet sunk into soft taupe carpet blanketing her bedroom floor. She shuffled her feet, feeling the plushness between her toes. She flopped down on her bed, which felt sinfully good and soft. She propped herself up on her forearms to look at Erik, who looked amused by her childish antics.

“Good. How you feeling?”

Wesley sighed, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself back to her feet. The question was vague, as many from Erik were, but she knew exactly what he was referring to. She walked toward him, arms folded in annoyance at his overprotective and overbearing nature.

“Stevens… you gotta stop asking me that. I am fine. That was, what? A week ago? I’ve been through worse, I’ve seen worse. I am good - I’ve moved on.” Her beautiful face scrunched up in a frown, “I am honestly sorry I even brought you into all that. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyes widened slightly, “The fuck? Wes. That was a big fucking deal. And lying to me about it don’t change that. You need to talk someone… you need to talk about it. And you need to tell me what ha-”

“Erik. I am begging you… drop this. Leave it alone. Please.”

She knew he could hear the exasperation in her words, the pleads. She didn’t like thinking about it, one of the many things from her past she flew halfway around the world to escape. The thin fraying ropes holding her up were starting to unravel again, and it took all her power not to collapse, fall right here in front of him.

He nodded, raising his hands in surrender, knowing that she was serious if she chose to use his first name.

“Fine. I’ll let you keep your secrets… for now. We all got ‘em. When you’re ready, I’m here. You know, I’d kill for you. I gotchu always, Wes.”

And that’s the problem.

“I know… you’ve killed for less.”

Wesley was one of the few people, outside of his new family, that knew about his past, knew the road littered with blood and bodies he traveled to reach his paradise… his home.

After her parents died in a tragic accident, 15-year-old Wesley was sent from her home in Charlotte to live with her aging grandmother who had little time or interest in raising a rambunctious teenager. However, she did have time for her friends, Ms. Louise and Mr. Franklin, the old couple in their building who had been fostering a 17-year-old boy, Erik.

She and Erik became fast friends, developing a close brother/sister bond. Already exhibiting a penchant for violence, Erik was a good friend to have around as a young girl. He was always there to fight for her, protect her. Even when he left for MIT, everyone in the neighborhood knew she was the wrong girl to mess with.

He looked after her when she joined him in Cambridge during his last two years at MIT. Harvard and MIT were demanding for the pair but they still spent as much time together as they could, studying their respective disciplines. As she kept her nose to the ground and worked on the Hill in D.C. after graduating and Erik started his career in the Navy, they still remained close, talking or seeing each other anytime Erik was available. For every high and every low, Erik was the one constant in her life.

However, when Erik decided to fall deeper into the life of espionage and violence, the calls came less frequently and, eventually, stopped all together. And there was no one to call, no one to check in with to see if he was ok. And so, Wesley lost the remaining family she had in this world, the only family she thought she would ever have.

When their paths fatefully crossed 12 months ago outside a black-owned coffee shop near the Center, both thought they had seen a ghost. They hardly recognized each other, mere shadows of the teenagers that ran through the streets together. Part of her wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. One brief conversation reminded her what it was like to have family… someone who cared. And she jumped at the opportunity to have him back in her life - with the promise that he would never leave her again. And it was clear how much his life had changed. He had found home and safety while she was still fumbling in the dark, desperately searching for both.

It didn’t take long for him to “convince” her to take a position as a consultant at the Outreach Center, lending her policy experience to help them bridge the gap between them and local policymakers in the state. It was better than what she was doing before, preparing to apply to a bookstore to pay her bills.

“Fair enough. See you for dinner? I’ll come by and scoop you… you’ll be lost in this place for days tryin’ find it yourself.”

“Yea, yea. That’s cool. Thanks. See you then.”

Wesley chewed her bottom lip as she watched his back retreat out her door. She hated how overprotective he was… how much he actually cared. Most people heard “I am fine,” and accept it as fact. Not Erik… he wanted the truth.

She flopped back down on the bed, this time out of frustration and guilt, not childlike amusement. Her hand covered her face as tears stung the back of her eyes.

“You are not fine,” she whispered out loud. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that… or the real reason why.

****

“Does this look ok?” She smoothed the front of her dress.

Erik told her dinner was casual and she tried to follow that but she also refused to look like an idiot in front of the Royal Family. This was casual enough but still stylish and cute. And purple, paired with gold jewelry, as Erik told her those were the colors of the Panther Tribe. While her relationships with Erik, Shuri, and Nakia extended beyond professional pleasantries, she could not say the same about King T’Challa, who she had only really spoken to a handful of times. She couldn’t show up to dinner looking any type of way.

“Yea… I told you it was casual tho?”

And he looked casual and comfy, sporting a pair of black joggers and a t-shirt.

“This is as casual as I am gonna get. Some of us aren’t royalty, Stevens… Or should I call you Prince N’Jadaka?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Nah you shouldn’t if you wanna know where dinner is.”

“Stevens or Erik, it is,” she vowed quickly, not wanting to smart mouth her way out of a meal.

“The tribal leader of Jabariland gon’ join us to by the way. Name’s M’Baku.”

Wesley tilted her head, racking her brain for the bit of knowledge about Wakanda she learned from Shuri, Erik, and Nakia during their long sessions at the outreach center.

“Jabariland, Jabariland… Jabari… Oh, that’s the group in the mountains right? Gorilla god, snow, just started talking to y’all again like last week?”

“Tribe,” he corrected. “But yea, that’s the one. He is cool people tho. The only council member I like.”

Wesley didn’t really understand why she was so nervous. After a year helping them launch the Outreach Center, she was, at least, friendly with everyone at varying degrees. But here? She was a stranger, feeling an intense desire to prove herself and fit in.

“Ms. Parker!” T’Challa stood as she entered the dining hall. It was set for seven, four of the people already seated and waiting.

“King T’Challa,” she rose her arms in the X she had seen others do around him for a year. He smiled brightly, an encouraging sign on her end. “And you can just call me Wesley or Wes.”

“Of course, of course. And just T’Challa will do as well. Please sit. We are just waiting on Lord M’Baku.” He gestured toward one of three empty seats available, the one with a mysterious small gift box sitting on the chair.

“You all did not need to get me anything,” she muttered as she picked up the box. It felt heavy as she fiddled with the edge of the wrapping paper.

“Nonsense. We are so excited to have you here. N’Jadaka and Nakia believe you will be a great asset as we determine how to situate ourselves on the world stage and I concur. This is just a token of our appreciation for your willingness to join us here and we hope it makes your job a bit easier.”

“Thank you. And believe me, I am so appreciative of the opportunity.” She prayed no one could see the light tremble in her hands as she started to tear the paper off. However, before she could, the double doors to the hall burst open.

“Apologies for my tardiness, my king! Issue in the mountains.”

Wesley looked up to find a giant walking toward her, that was the only way she could think to describe him. She almost wondered if he was an enhanced person, like T’Challa. For she had never seen a “regular” man quite his size.

You’ve never seen a man as gorgeous as him either.

If she could have, she would have rolled her eyes at herself. It was true, he was a sight to behold. He entered the room with an aura of power and strength that would have, once upon a time, had her lusting after him. But that was hardly what she was there for.

“No worries, M’Baku. We were just welcoming our guest, Wesley Parker. This is Lord M’Baku, tribal leader of the Jabari.”

Wesley smiled brightly, offering him a polite wave. Her smile wilted slightly under his unreadable gaze. She watched as his eyes traveled up and down her frame, lingering on her for a few moments before he seemed to catch himself and the awkward silence filling the room.

“The American… Welcome to Wakanda, Ms. Parker.”

Wesley bristled slightly at his words as if being called an American was an insult to her, and in many ways - it was. She turned her head to her right where Erik sat, rolling her eyes and mouthing “the American?” sharing her disdain with the only person in the room who would understand. To which he just chuckled lowly and shook his head. She fixed her face to hide her annoyance before turning back toward him as he sat down in the seat left of her. She supposed she should ready herself for that reaction.

“Uh.. thanks? I guess.” Her voice trailed off a bit as she spoke. Turning her attention back to the half opened gift sitting in her lap, she ripped the rest of the wrapping paper off.

She gasped as she pulled a shiny, state-of-the-art tablet out of a box.

“Oh… I can’t accept this! Thank you but I can’t.”

It was sleek and beautiful, she had seen them all with it over the last year. And she knew no amount of money would afford her something as high tech as this. But she didn’t feel right accepting it.

“Really, it is nothing.” Shuri waved her hand dismissively, completely ignoring the woman’s protests. “And it will work better with our tech here. It syncs to your beads, the easiest file transfers you have ever seen. You will love it.”

“It’s a losing battle, Parker. Just say thank you,” Erik whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she responded meekly.

T’Challa motioned for a servant to take it from the dinner table, letting Wesley know it would be brought to her room.

“Thank you! It’s too much, really. But I appreciate it. I am sure it will work better than mine.” She thought back to the broken and beaten iPad tucked in her bag, the screen partially shattered and many years past its prime.

Small conversations commenced throughout the group as Wesley sat watching. Shuri and M’Baku were engaging in a lively debate about the merits of vibranium vs. Jabari wood? Whatever that was. Hushed whispers past between T’Challa and Nakia on the other end of the table. And Erik listened, albeit reluctantly given the look on his face, to the Queen Mother chastise him for missing yet another council meeting.

Wesley sat, eating her second course of only God knew how many, just listening to all of them laugh, bicker, and poke fun at each other.

This is nice, Wesley thought. She knew they weren’t her family. But even being in their presence lifted her spirits more than she could have known. More than sad for what she didn’t have, she was filled with joy for what Erik found. She was curious how they found a way to accept him, forgive him… love him after all he did. But she was glad they had. He deserved it. He deserved happiness after losing so much for so long.

And you don’t.

She shook her head lightly, as if she could shake the negative orator out of her mind. But she knew she couldn’t. That voice was always there, always reminding her to never get attached. Everyone leaves, everyone hurts you. Because nobody wanted her.

“Wes. Wes!”

At the sound of her name, Wesley pulled herself out of her thoughts, directing her attention at Shuri. It was clear the young girl had tried and failed to get her attention multiple times.

“S-sorry, princess. I-I got lost in my own thoughts there. What did you say?”

“No problem. I just asked how the date with Jason went?”

Wesley blinked a few times in confusion before it hit her. Fuck. Jason was a gorgeous and accomplished volunteer at the Outreach Center who taught engineering to the students with Shuri. He had his eye on Wes since the day she literally ran into him in the staff lounge but Wes never really paid him much attention. Shuri had tried incessantly to play matchmaker with the pair. Wesley had almost forgot she lied and told Shuri she had agreed to go on a date with him. She had no intention of doing such a thing; she just didn’t want to be asked about it again.

“O-oh we ended up not being able to get it scheduled before I moved. Y-you know, it all happened so suddenly.”

Shuri seemed crestfallen for a moment but immediately perked up.

“Oh, well good thing there are soooooo many eligible men here. And cute too! Nakia and I will find you someone, don’t worry.”

She wasn’t worried or interested. But she appreciated Shuri’s enthusiasm and good intentions so she just nodded and smiled.

“It must have been hard, moving away from home so quickly,” the Queen Mother interjected, thankfully moving the conversation away from Wesley’s nonexistent love life. “We were surprised you wanted to move so soon.”

“I-I hadn’t been in Oakland long. Just a year so I hadn’t put down too many roots. Wasn’t too difficult to make the move.”

“Still, your friends and family. It must have been hard to say goodbye so fast?” Shuri asked.

“Yes, it was.”

She picked up her wine glass, taking a long sip, which confirmed the finality in her clipped and short response. This conversation was over.

Everyone returned to their separate conversations and their food. Awkwardness slowly seeping into her as she questioned whether she should have just lied to keep the conversation going and be polite.

“Do not feel awkward. Shuri and the tribal leaders in Jabariland have been trying to play matchmaker with me for the last year. I just ignore them.”

Wesley laughed, directing her attention to the owner of that deep baritone voice. “And they haven’t caught on yet?”

M’Baku brought his glass of wine to his lips. “Of course, not.”

“Well, I could use some of your tips then. The Princess is quite persistent. But I suppose that is what makes her the genius she is,” Wesley mused.

“Happy to share my insights anytime.”

“You live in the mountains, right? I didn’t even know it could snow here.”

M’Baku smirked, “I imagine there is quite a lot you do not know about Wakanda yet.”

Wesley took the bait, he was not wrong. There was so much she didn’t know about this country she was now meant to help lead.

“Well, tell me something about Wakanda you think I should know.”

And his answer to that question carried them through the main course and on to dessert. She mostly listened as he talked about his home, Jabariland, and the people there. It was very surface level, but it made her want to learn more, as much as she could. He explained the differences between the Jabari and the rest of the country. As he spoke, Wesley felt at ease for the first time since she sat down at the table, felt glimmer of her old eager and passionate self peaking through the thick walls she had stacked up. Talking to him felt like talking to an old friend, someone she had known all her life.

“So you come down here often?”

“A few times a month. T’Challa and N’Jadaka lean on my counsel often.”

Wesley nodded, “So we will be seeing quite a lot of each other then, I suppose?”

“Oh, I am counting on that.”

The flirtatious tone in his voice was not lost on Wesley, even if no one else at the table was paying them any attention. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing him wink at her before smiling. If her deep, warm brown skin could, her cheeks would have turned a rosy pink. There was a lot about this face that was gorgeous beyond belief. But his smile drew her eye, pulled her in. She could tell he frowned a lot, his resting face throughout dinner had looked generally disgruntled. However, his smile lit his whole face up, made him look even more beautiful - as if that were possible - and more youthful.

“All, I must retire for the evening. Attend to some tribal business. I will see you all in the Council meeting in the morning. My king.”

He saluted T’Challa who returned it and offered him a head nod. He offered Wesley a lingering glance and and a small smile before leaving.

What the fuck was that? She imagined he did that with a lot of women. Harmless flirting that meant nothing at the end of the day. She knew a man like that would never go for someone like her.

“U-uh I should head to bed as well. I have quite a bit of reading I wanted to do before bed, actually. Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.” Wesley wiped the corners of her mouth before folding her napkin and placing it by her dirty plate.

“Let me walk you,” Nakia offered. “I am headed in that direction anyway. T’Challa and Erik have some business to discuss.”

A sense of longing washed over Wesley as she watched the intimate, subtle touches that passed between the pair as T’Challa kissed her hand and squeezed it before letting her go. Once again, she shook her head, internally stamping down the emotions that did not serve her cause.

She offered them all thanks again and said good night before following Nakia. There was silence for the first minute or two as the events of dinner tumbled through her head.

Was he actually flirting with me?

Does it really matter? She debated with herself. Even if he was, which seemed highly unlikely, there were about 1,000 reasons she couldn’t pursue him. Wesley pushed that aside quickly, deciding that he was simply a flirt and she was simply a fool so starved for love that she would fall for his flirtatious nature so easily.

And then that awkward moment with Shuri and the Queen Mother. Wesley hated questions about her personal life. Not because she found them intrusive, but because she did not have the standard cookie cutter answers people actually expected when they asked those questions. She couldn’t tell the truth and all that left her with was lies and she had enough lies… enough secrets for one person.

“I can almost hear you overthinking, Wesley.”

Nakia broke their silence, stopping in front of a large bay window that looked out into the palace gardens. The moonlight illuminated Nakia’s face, which carried a concerned expression on it.

“Dinner went well. Everyone is excited to have you here, truly. Don’t stress over tomorrow. The Council will like you.”

The tension building in her chest dissipated almost immediately, thankful that this was the path the conversation was taking.

“Y-yea I’m sure you’re right. I’m good, really. Just need to get some of the nervous energy out I guess.”

Nakia nodded before turning to resume their trek back to her quarters. More turns and long hallways than Wesley could count later, they were standing outside her bedroom.

“You and M’Baku seemed to have hit it off.” Nakia’s face was filled with interest and excitement. “And that is saying something… there are few in Wakanda as cold as Lord M’Baku. Pun intended.”

Wesley chuckled, tucking a stray black hair behind her ear. Her small frame leaned against her closed, deep mahogany doors as they talked.

“He was nice! Well… everyone here is nice. But I am sure he is like that with all the ladies, just a charmer.”

“Oh I can assure you, he is not. He likes you.”

Wesley’s face must have been a lens into her inner skepticism for Nakia immediately started to laugh.

“I am serious!”

Wesley’s hand fumbled for the door knob, slowly opening it before saying, “I doubt it but it doesn’t really matter. I am here to work, I don’t have time for much else.”

Nakia tilted her head, almost examining her. She imagined it was from all the spy training but Nakia was almost impossible to read, which frustrated Wesley to no end. Half of being good at politics was simply being able to read people. Nakia always made her question that skill.

“I find that people only make drastic moves like you have for two reasons. They want to start over or they are running from something. I don’t know which one brought you here, Wesley. But you won’t find your escape or new start behind a mountain of paperwork. It is out there.” Her hand pointed behind her at the stained window across across from her door.

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying is that Wakanda is more than its political agenda. Wakanda is its people, its culture. To succeed here,” she gestured around her, “You have to know what’s out there. You have to experience what is out there. You have to live, Wesley.”

Silence.

“Just something to think about. Good night, Wesley.”

***

Tag list: @muse-of-mbaku @allinhishands @ms-reader

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

#M'Baku #m'baku x reader #m'baku imagine #m'baku x oc #black panther #black writer #black panther fanfiction

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scimitar-and-longsword · 4 years

Note

Two requests if it's okay 1) a gif of the neck grab of pride Andy gives Nile after she jumps out the window. 2)Fic about Nile's first birthday as an immortal Thanks so much!!

Sorry this took so long lol. I really liked the prompt and I just wanted to get it right! We all know my brotp is Booker & Joe... Nicky & Nile are a close second....

—————–

There was a sliver of dull sunlight shining right across Nile’s forehead as she came to consciousness on the morning of her twenty-sixth birthday. Or at least it should have been her twenty-sixth birthday. She wasn’t quite sure on the details.

Did she even still count her birthday the same now? Was she twenty-six? Or perhaps only one? No- No. That sounded ridiculous. So maybe just the first anniversary of her twenty-fifth birthday?

Nile opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It was a rather unremarkable ceiling, painted a faded a pale green. It was discolored brown from water damage in a few spots.

She had been to this safe house once before. Two months ago after a particularly rough mission the five of them had limped in, blood soaked and exhausted. Luckily this time they had only been exhausted.

This was the first time she had been to a safe house twice. It was strange how much it felt like home after only having been there once for a week. But after seven months of new place after new place she felt a welcome familiarity with this crumbling cottage, small though it was.

She had known what bed was to be hers. No dragging of an old mattress from another room. No reshuffling of sleeping arrangements to accommodate for her. No Andy or Booker taking a couch or armchair. No Joe and Nicky sleeping on the floor because they both couldn’t fit on the couch.

Booker made a low pained noise in his sleep. And Nile’s thoughts were brought back to the present.

Booker was in a bed perpendicular to hers, their head’s only a couple feet apart.

She glanced up at him, he appeared to still be asleep, his arm slung over his eyes.

Nile craned her neck to see Andy still asleep in the bed next to the door. Her immortality was gone but she still insisted on sleeping closest to the door. The first line of defense.

Joe and Nicky were directly across from her, huddled facing her in a bed that seemed too small for the two of them.

How old were each of them again? 953, and 950. Booker was 247...or was it 248?, And she couldn’t even guess at Andy’s age.

Would that happen to her? Her years becoming so numerous that she couldn’t remember the year she was born?

The sun had moved enough to shine irritatingly in her eyes, Nile brought her hand up to shield them. But after a minute or so, when her arm grew tired, she flipped onto her stomach. Her frustration got the better of her and she sighed loudly.

Too loudly, apparently, as Nicky started awake and sat bolt upright in the bed across from hers. Joe too started, and sleepily said something to Nicky in Italian that Nile couldn’t quite make out. Nicky glanced around the room and made eye contact with Nile.

“Sorry.” Nile whispered.

Nicky gave her a sleepy smile and turned over to face Joe, responding to him in Italian as well, but this time she heard her name and the word for sleep.

Andy and Booker hadn’t even moved. Both of their breathing was as even as Joe’s was slowly becoming once more.

Nicky was obviously awake still, propped up on his elbow facing Joe. His other hand stroked Joe’s hip soothingly.

A minute or so passed where Nile turned the problem of her birthday over in her mind, before she gave up trying to fall back asleep. She got out of bed with a frustrated sigh, and exited the bedroom.

The rest of the cottage consisted of a bathroom and a small main room full of mismatched furniture and with what one might consider a kitchenette.

Nile plugged in and turned on a hotplate and filled a kettle with water. She opened the pantry and was surprised to find a half used package of instant coffee. It took her a moment to realize that it was hers, left here from the previous stay in October.

She couldn’t help but smile to herself. Silly as it sounded, it was nice to find something she knew she had left behind for herself.

She glanced around the room, the little touches of each member of her new family were evident. Various swords hung on the wall above the small dining table. She was sure they were all sharp and battle ready. There was a single bookshelf that was full to bursting, with piles of books on the ground all around it.

Despite the cottage’s pathetic excuse for a kitchen there were nice pots and pans and a stand alone pantry pushed against the wall next to the small counter that currently held the slowly heating up hot plate. That would have been Ncky’s doing, Nile thought with a smile.

The water finally came to a boil and Nile made herself a cup of coffee. She looked out the window at the Welsh countryside and took a long slow sip of her coffee.

She started when she heard the door to the bedroom quietly click open behind her.

She wheeled around to see Nicky stepping into the main room, and closing the door behind him once more with another soft click.

“Good morning.” Nicky said quietly. He crossed the small room and took out a mug to poor himself some of the hot water.

“Sorry I woke you.” Nile said.

She opened the pantry and fished out a tin of tea. But when Nile turned to offer it to Nicky, he was already stirring in some of the instant coffee mix.

“It’s fine,” He said with a smile. And when he saw Nile’s look of surprise, “Sorry, do you mind if I have some of your coffee?”

“You never drink coffee.” Nile said, not really answering his question.

“I think you’ll find words like ‘never’ rather useless when talking to a 900 year old man.”

“I just mean- I’ve never seen you drink coffee. You have a cup of tea. Every morning. For seven months”

“We go through phases,” Nicky said, taking a small sip of his coffee, “Joe was particularly fond of coffee for most of the 1600’s.”

“An entire century is a particularly long phase.”

Nicky chuckled.

A comfortable silence fell over them for a while after that. Nicky sat at the small dining table and opened a book he had left there the night before. Nile stared out the window watching the morning fog burn off as the sun rose higher.

She thought about how much had happened in the two months since the previous time they had been to this safe house. None of them had died, thank god. But Nile had been shot twice in the leg, and Joe had taken the butt of a gun to the back of the head, knocking him out just two days ago.

Booker had had his throat cut so deep that Nile thought he was about to fade out as she held the wound together. Luckily he had pulled through, his healing repairing the damage as if nothing had happened.

Try as she might to distract herself though, her thoughts returned to her birthday. Surely it wasn’t something that should bring her this much anguish. She was not the type of person to care about getting older, let alone now when nothing would change.

But she had seen the way immortality weighed heavily on Andy and Booker. She had even glimpsed it’s sting in Joe and Nicky’s eyes, though they were better at hiding it. At least from her.

“Did you dream of Quynh?” Nicky asked after nearly a half hour had passed.

“What?” Nile said, genuinely confused, “Oh- no. I had just been thinking and forgot I was in a room full of jumpy, trigger happy warriors. I sighed too loudly.”

“Was that what woke me?” Nicky smiled, “Perhaps I am a bit jumpy.”

Nicky returned his eyes to his book, but it really didn’t look like he was reading. In fact Nile was pretty sure she hadn’t heard him turn a single page in his book this whole time.

“It’s my birthday.” Nile said before she could overthink it.

“I know.” Nicky said simply, taking another sip of coffee, and lifting his eyes to meet hers.

“You-” Nile shook her head, a confused smile spreading over her face, “You know?”

“December 10th, 1994.” Nicky said as if that was an explanation.

Nile took a seat at the table with him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Nile asked, and then hastily added, “I mean- I just feel kind silly for trying to hide it now.”

“I wasn’t sure that you wanted to celebrate.” Nicky said.

“It does feel strange.” Nile said.

“It always does.” Nicky said, he took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m afraid that won’t change.”

“Do you celebrate?” Nile asked, “I’ve been with you all for the better part of a year and I don’t think any of you have mentioned birthdays. Do you even remember yours?”

“October 22nd,” Nicky said, “On the Gregorian calendar at least.”

“So you remember, you just don’t celebrate.”

“Sometimes we do. Big numbers, milestones.” Nicky said, “Booker’s 249th birthday was two days ago. Next year we’ll probably do something. But generally no, we don’t celebrate as a group.”

“As a group.” Nile turned the word choice over in her head, “So that’s Nicky and Joe speak for you guys celebrate each other's birthdays without Booker and Andy.” -or me.

Nicky laughed, nodded, and took another drink of coffee.

“Wait- October 22nd? The last time we were here was on your birthday.”

“That’s true. This is one of my favorite safe houses, I imagine Andy picked it for that reason.”

“I missed your birthday. And I could have done something- gotten you a present or made you a cake.”

“I don’t need anything from you Nile.” Nicky said.

“I know you don’t need anything. But if you want to celebrate with someone I could have made an effort-”

“Do you want to celebrate today Nile?” Nicky cut her off.

Nile blinked at him for a moment. Did she?

“I’m not sure. With Andy and Booker the way that they are- it feels selfish.”

“Forget about them. Do you want to celebrate?”

“I think so?” Nile took a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts, “This will be one of the last birthday’s that my age reflects how I look. One of the last times my birthday will have meaning beyond just being a piece of trivia to remind me of how long I’ve been frozen in time. So yes, I think I do.”

“Good.” Nicky said with a small smile. He got up from the table.

Nicky disappeared into the bedroom and for a moment Nile dreaded him popping back out with everyone to surprise her. But no, that wasn’t Nicky's style.

Instead, he returned a minute later carrying a small rectangular package.

“Happy birthday Nile.” Nicky said simply as he placed it in front of her, and took his seat once more.

“Nicky-” Nile started, but her words seemed to evaporate in her throat.

“Open it.” Nicky said, his smile was the biggest she’d seen it in months.

She took the lid off the box and found the unmistakable shape of a white jewelry box.

“When my sword, my first sword, the one I brought with me to the holy land from Genova, began to deteriorate beyond repair it was Joe who suggested I melt the steel down to keep. A memory from my previous life.”

Nile took it out and opened it slowly, in it was a delicate silver charm bracelet. On it was a single, rough looking charm.

“Joe wears a piece of it on a chain around his neck.” Nicky continued.

Nile knew exactly the charm he was talking about. A simple rectangle of metal that hung low from Joe’s neck.

“Booker has a vein of the steel in a ring that he hardly wears, Andy has an earring, though I haven't seen her wear it in decades,” Nicky paused, “Quynh had a piece too, on an anklet. Though I suppose it’s rusted away to nothing by now.”

Nile stared down at the bracelet, unsure what to do next. Nicky took a deep breath, She could hear the slight quiver in his breathing that he tried to suppress.

“I have more though, I’ll replace Quynh’s when we find her.” Nick said. He extended his hands out toward the box, “May I?”

Nile nodded and pushed the box toward him. He removed the bracelet and held it up for her, fastening around her wrist when she offered it.

“Don’t feel obligated to wear it every day, or even often. Joe tries not to wear his on missions if he can help it.”

Nile took a closer look at the charm, it was a square, rough and unpolished, much like Joe’s. She had never gotten a close look at Joe’s pendant so she didn’t know what if anything was etched into the metal. But as Nile turned the square of rough steel over in her hand she noticed a tiny but intricate cross indented into one of the corners.

“I don’t-” Nile started, she laughed and then a small sob escaped her throat, “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.” Nicky said, his smile was back to the small one she was used to.

“Well now I have to get you something.” Nile laughed out another sob, followed by another, and then she was full on crying.

Nicky moved around the table to stand in front of Nile and pulled her into an awkward hug while she still sat. Her head fell into his chest and she threw her arms around his waist.

“Hey. Hey- shhhhh.” Nicky said. He placed a hand on the back of her head, the other arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her tight to him as she let the sobs rock her body for a minute.

“I’ll have other birthday’s Nile, as will you. Don’t pay it any mind. I don’t need anything. Though I imagine that’s not why you’re actually upset.”

Nile nodded against Nicky’s chest, vaguely aware that a wet spot was forming where her tears had soaked into Nicky’s shirt. He held her there for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably less than a quarter of an hour. Until her sobs had subsided into the occasional uneven breath.

“You haven’t missed Joe’s birthday yet.” Nicky finally said.

Nile laughed, pulled back from the hug, and wiped tears away from her cheeks.

Nicky took a step back, and placed his hands on his hips. He looked very fatherly in that moment, which made Nile’s heart ache, but it also warmed it ever so slightly.

“What about Andy?”

“I don’t know hers,” Nicky said, “But I don’t think she ever knew her birthday. She’s older than the idea of a calendar, or at least in the way we experience years and months.”

Nicky stood in front of her for a minute longer before grabbing both of their mugs and taking them to the bathroom, where the only sink in the cottage was located.

Nile took another closer look at the charm. She suspected that the cross that was pressed into the metal had more significant meaning than just their shared faith in a higher power. She would have to ask him about it later when she was feeling less emotional.

Nicky returned but he didn’t hover, instead choosing to grab his book and move to an armchair by the front door.

When Joe got up at last he gave her a wink and pointed at the bracelet.

“It looks good.” he said, and then went to kiss Nicky good morning.

Andy and Booker followed shortly thereafter, and the day passed mostly like any other.

That night she lay in the same bed she had started her day in, her heart much lighter. While it hadn’t been like any other birthday she had celebrated, it had been nice.

She got the distinct feeling that they were all aware it was her birthday. Even though no one else directly acknowledged it.

Booker had gone for a run with her and sparred with her before lunch. Which wasn’t necessarily abnormal, but she did get more than one hit on him that she was pretty sure he let her land.

Andy was a tougher one to crack, but given that she had chosen this house for Nicky’s birthday and now hers, Nile felt like it wasn’t a coincidence.

Nicky, with a little help from Joe, made a surprisingly good deep dish pizza using the fireplace for dinner. Another thoughtful gesture that was not lost on her.

Nile looked up at the now familiar ceiling. And turned the charm around her wrist in her fingers.

She felt different. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to grapple with the consequence of her newly acquired immortality in the seven months she’d had it. But it was the first time she’d felt generally ok with it.

Up until now Nile had felt mostly like she had only lost things since she died for the first time. She had lost the world as she knew it, her life as she knew it. She had lost her family, and a home to call her own.

But for the first time she felt aware of how much she was gaining. The feeling of safety that only came with home. She genuinely felt excited to make her mark on countless safe houses all over the world.

Family. Each of the other members of the Guard had already felt like a new family to her, but something about the simple understanding of today had made her feel loved in a way she had never experienced before. Each of their reactions to her birthday seemed to fit them all perfectly.

Things were different now, but she liked the small place she was carving out in their family.

Twenty-six years on this earth. She looked forward to what Twenty-seven would have in store for her.

((Available on AO3 as well, link on my tumblr 💜))

#request #ask #my stuff #my fics #Nile #Nile Freeman #Nicky #Nicolo di genova #Nicky & Nile #the old guard #the old guard fic #poe39

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

End of the Day (Crystal x Gigi) - Ashley

A/N: The plan was simple. All Crystal had to do was pretend to be her twin for one week: sit silently in seminars, only leave her room for her basic necessities and stick closely to the set of rules she was left with. Only the rule that stated she “mustn’t bother the bitch from downstairs” became a lot harder for Crystal to follow once she had laid eyes on Gigi Goode.

Hope you guys like this!! Think of it as Breakfast at Tiffany’s meets She’s the Man only at a Russell Group where there’s a stereotype around every corner. Sending infinite thank you’s to Meggie for being a fab beta. p.s thanks so much for all the lovely feedback for Everything Has Changed (I could have cried reading some of it)…xoxo Ashley.

“No way.” Crystal dropped the pencil she toyed with, a laugh squeaking out of her throat at her sister’s audacity.

“It’s only a week,” she pleaded over the phone, the voice that had convinced Crystal to do stupid things since they were children making its reappearance.

“You seriously want me to pretend to be you just so you can jet off to Majorca to see that creep?”

“Yes!” Elle ignored Crystal’s clear disdain. “That is exactly what I want. We used to do it all the time in school.”

“You’re crazy, actually insane.”

Crystal was used to her sister’s wild antics, but this plot may have been a step too far.

“But you love me.”

“I hate you.”

“It’s not like you have any plans.” Elle held no hesitation in poking the bear - the boundaries between the two twins almost non-existent.

“I have Depop orders actually,” Crystal snapped back, a tiny part of resentment that her sister was attending one of the best universities in the country whilst she was sitting at home making jewellery rising inside of her body but not quite breaking the surface.

“£200.”

Crystal stopped in her tracks - now she was listening.

“It won’t work anyway, people will notice!”

“They won’t. I don’t speak to anyone in my college anyway and my course friends won’t say anything, just stay in bed all day once you’ve been to my seminars. I’ll even give you my Disney+ password.”

A hint of worry rose in Crystal’s mind; she wondered how her more outgoing other half had managed to go to university and not make friends in her accommodation. Where Crystal was shy and nervous throughout the entirety of her education, Elle had never been afraid to put herself out there, always surrounded by one group of pretty girls or another. “So what am I supposed to do in these seminars then? It’s not like I have an extensive knowledge of anthropology is it?”

“All you have to do is sign in and sit there pretending to type - they don’t even pick on you I swear. And it’s the last week before we break up so everyone will be really chill.”

“£300,” Crystal responded, the idea of escaping the four walls of her bedroom whilst making three months of her usual income beginning to tempt her, cursing internally at how easily convinced she was.

“I can’t give you £300.” Crystal could hear that her sister was talking through a grin despite not being able to see her face, the grin that meant she’d won.

“Well, you can’t go to Majorca then.”

“Three hundred pounds it is,” Elle agreed. “But you better get me a decent Christmas present.”

“Deal,” Crystal responded, knowing she had already purchased her sister’s gift two months prior. “Now, tell me absolutely everything I need to know about collegiate life.”

“It’s a good job. I knew you’d say yes and already planned this part out.” Elle beamed, proud at her ability to convince her timid younger-by-ten-minutes sister to do almost anything.

***

If secondary school was supposed to be a jungle of cliques, then Elle’s college may as well have been the Amazon rainforest.

Walking through the incredibly hard to find dining hall for breakfast, Crystal could make out almost every university stereotype she could think of, each confined to their own special hold.

From the druggies to the athletes, to the Oxbridge rejects, to the girls who borrowed daddy’s credit card - they were all there and thriving. A small part of Crystal wanted to go and sit with who she decided were the artsy girls despite knowing her sister wouldn’t be caught dead doing so.

Trying not to draw attention to herself, she kept her head down as she made it to the front of the queue, Elle’s clear step-by-step of how she approached meals playing through her head on repeat, the weeks of planning for this moment all coming into play.

Only at that moment, she panicked, the child’s paint by numbers that were her instructions started to turn into a set of IKEA diagrams without captions in her brain. Wishing she’d stuck to eating a pot noodle in her sister’s room, Crystal’s body froze in a state of fear after dolloping a ladle of baked beans onto her toast. A tonne (or maybe ten tonnes) of bricks smacked her right between the eyes. She knew she wouldn’t be able to pull this off. The lack of self-confidence she always battled with ran thick through her veins, her thoughts turning to ways she could go home and return to the comfort of her hometown, willing to sacrifice her sister’s already flagged attendance and the three hundred pounds to be watching Bake Off with her mam in the kitchen.

It almost happened in slow motion, time losing its speed as the boy behind her walked into Crystal’s back, propelling her tray forward onto an unsuspecting blonde. An unsuspecting blonde who seemed the opposite of dumb.

“What the fuck?” She snapped her head around to Crystal, thick brows furrowed and pink lips pursed.

“I’m sorr-” Crystal started, beating herself up internally at how she had managed to do the exact opposite of laying low despite being only one night into her weeklong mission.

“This won’t come out!” The girl started turning her neck frantically to the back of her shirt, the white satin stained bright orange.

Her mouth opening but no words coming out, Crystal didn’t have a chance to apologise again before the girl had a swarm of minions dabbing her back with tissues.

“It’ll be okay, G.” One of them took her hand. Crystal wanted to burst out in tears like she usually did at the smallest sign of conflict, pinching the skin on the back of her hand and looking at the white ceiling lights to stop herself.

“So long as people look where they’re going.” The girl, G, cast a terrifying yet beautiful scowl in Crystal’s direction before sauntering away.

So much for laying low, she sighed before leaving the queue herself, her body tingling as if she’d hit her funny bone over a dozen times. The girl’s stare still imprinted in the back of her eyes.

Having narrowly avoided a panic attack, Crystal thought hard about her old coping mechanisms and tried her best to remain positive as she did after these situations, sitting down at an empty table and giving herself a pat on the back that she had at least passed as Elle without any doubts, ready to take the rest of her day by storm (also known as sitting in silence and occasionally nodding her head as a bunch of middle ages men discuss human evolution and diversity).

***

Having achieved three B grades by the end of sixth form and the award for ‘most creative’ in their final assembly, Crystal always thought of herself as somewhat intelligent and capable of living in the real world despite her decision not to go to university like her sister.

Yet there she stood, her face in a scowl and her fist in a ball, completely and utterly perplexed by the laundry system.

After sleeping in her sister’s dirty sheets the night before, she had arrived back to the college with hopes of resting her head on a pillow that wasn’t mascara stained and washing her face with a flannel sans toothpaste blobs (which was basic hygiene in Crystal’s opinion, but she hadn’t expected anything more from her twin). Only those dreams were temporarily dashed as she spent an entire thirty minutes pressing buttons and swiping the card Elle had left her manically against an aged machine.

Thirty-six internet searches and two desperate phone calls to her sister later, Crystal was beaming at the sheets swirling around, not a care in the world at how much of a psychopath she would look to anyone entering the room, the stress she had previously faced in getting the machine to work inducing her to stay and wait for the clothes to wash instead of leaving them like normal practice.

Elle had seemed happy on the phone, gushing to Crystal about how tanned she’d gotten in such a short space of time and how delicious all the food was - Crystal shutting her down quickly by reminding her that such a tan would only alert their mother to the fact she’d spent a week abroad visiting the sleazy holiday rep she’d fallen in love with that summer rather than in the brown-bricked, straight from a horror movie, sixties’ style complex that Crystal was currently residing in.

Crystal made a mental note to text her mam later and tell her how much she was enjoying her time “visiting her sister” - knowing fine well that talking to her on the phone would probably cause her to crumble and confess their scheme.

She had always been a family orientated person, always choosing a night in the house watching movies over playing out with friends, crying buckets the day her sister moved out and started a new chapter of her life without her. It was clear her mother wanted her to get out into the world, knowing she was capable of more than selling jewellery online, but unlike her sister, Crystal wasn’t quite ready to leave her home yet, needing that extra push to get her feet moving that just hadn’t come her way yet.

She figured that spending a week pretending to be her sister may actually be a good start.

Lost away with her head in the clouds like usual, Crystal was snapped back to surface level as her phone chimed to signal the end of the cycle, only to find herself even more frustrated when she realised that no dryers were free.

Today really hadn’t been her day.

She personally blamed the lack of lucky necklace around her neck (Elle telling her specifically during their planning stages that she would never wear such a monstrosity and Crystal following suit despite knowing it was only entrenched in their rules because her sister thought it was ugly). Her secret superstitious side kicking in, she thanked herself for bringing some of her jewellery making gadgets with her, figuring she’d have to make her own version of it, for now, it wasn’t as if she had any better way to spend her evening.

Seeing a dryer with two minutes left until it timed out, Crystal figured she’d simply wait until it had been emptied to use it, allowing her brain to return back to Pinterest for a short period of time.

But ten minutes passed and no one came to empty the machine.

She glanced at the other piles of clothes that lay on top of the machines, figuring it was normal to remove other people’s when none were free, the thought of her sheets staying wet and crinkled making her feel uneasy.

Opening the dryer, she was hit immediately by a waft of lavender, reassuring herself that it was okay to move the clothes and feeling almost proud of herself for making a leap the old Crystal would have ran from in fear of awkwardness.

Being her most careful, she picked the clothes one by one and started to fold them, her brain subconsciously admiring the mystery tartan-wearer’s sense of fashion and wishing she had the confidence to wear some of the outfits. That was when her hands met a satin blouse, a familiar satin blouse with an orange tinge on its white back.

Before she had time to process that the clothes she was moving belonged to the pretty girl from breakfast, Crystal’s train of thought was interrupted by the devil herself.

“Admiring your handiwork?” She strutted over and snatched the shirt back from Crystal’s hands.

Crystal couldn’t quite place her accent but she knew it was Southern. Her overactive imagination hearing the girl whisper dirty thoughts to her in that posh voice without being able to stop herself.

Oh, fuck.

“I’m sorry.” Crystal turned to her, not even attempting to act like anything other than the soft wimp she was inside. “I didn’t mean to.”

Crystal looked into the girl’s eyes, almost seeing her melt a little before her.

She felt the tension between them, dense and heavy in the air.

“It’s fine,” the blonde responded, losing the passive-aggressive tone she’d carried beforehand but still not sounding entirely sincere as she began to throw her clothes into her hamper.

Crystal couldn’t help but gawk a little as she began to strut away, her body swishing like a model’s as she made her way out of the room, pausing for a second at the door.

“Can you do me a favour, though?” the girl called back to Crystal.

‘I think I’d give both of my kidneys to you’ Crystal thought. Only it instead came out as an awkwardly stuttered, “Erm, sure.”

“Turn your music down, please.” She shot a sarcastic smile in Crystal’s direction. Crystal felt it burrow straight through her chest cavity and into her fast-beating heart. “I know that anthropology may be a bit simpler than most degrees, but some of us really struggle to work when all they can hear is your shit music directly above them.”

Her mouth dropping open to catch flies as the girl left the room for good, a pang of realisation hit Crystal.

Opening her phone and flicking through the dramatic guide to her sister’s university life that was now saved at the top of her notes, she found what she’d been looking for:

“12. DO NOT, under any circumstances, bother the bitch downstairs.”

Too late, Crystal thought to herself, wondering how many more of her sister’s rules she would have broken by the end of the week.

***

Crystal would be lying if she said she hadn’t been watching out for the blonde that week, whose name she had figured out (after an intensive Facebook stalking session) to be Gigi.

Yes, she was lying low, not leaving Elle’s room other than for seminars and to eat - but that didn’t stop her from taking stolen glances at the girl across the dining hall or walking up that second flight of stairs to the room just a fraction slower than she did the first flight.

Three days at university and she’d somehow turned back into a fourteen-year-old girl fantasising about the most popular girl in the class.

Except this time, the popular girl didn’t even know her real name.

She felt like Tracy from Hairspray - one look and she could hear the wedding bells playing in the back of her head.

But at the same time, Crystal knew what was at stake - leaving their interactions to intense eye contact and mumbled “excuse mes,” knowing that even speaking to Gigi again could blow her entire cover.

Yet, she somehow managed to do exactly that on Wednesday night. Or, technically, the early hours of Thursday morning.

At first, Crystal tried to ignore the argument below her, drowning out their voices with her headphones (partly because she felt like she was intruding and partly because listening to people screaming at each other, like a lot of things, made her cry). However, as the war below was still awaiting a cease-fire, snippets of conversation slid their way into the room.

“Why do you have to do this on every night out?”

“I just want what’s best for you.”

“You don’t know what’s best for me.”

She could hear the pain in Gigi’s voice heighten right before her door slammed, Crystal wincing in bed at the sound.

Expecting to hear male footsteps stomp away, Crystal was surprised to instead hear lighter ones, making their way up the stairs and past her landing, a muffled sob travelling through her door.

Looking out of the window, she squinted in the dark until she saw the red glow of a cigarette from their fire escape, the hum of an unfamiliar tune making its way through the thin walls.

She knew it was a risk, but it was one that Crystal couldn’t help but take when she thought of the beautiful girl from the laundry room freezing in the cold.

Grabbing her sister’s spare dressing gown, she made her way onto the landing, taking a deep breath before going out onto the fire escape.

Logic and speech pushed to the back part of her mind, Crystal simply made her way over to the other girl and sat down beside her, placing the dressing gown over her slim shoulders.

Even in the dark, she could see how perfect Gigi was.

The mole on the side of her cheek.

The soft pout on her lips.

Despite the mascara smudged down her face and her eyes stinging red, Crystal thought she looked like an angel.

“Hi,” Gigi spoke to her, dropping the cigarette she smoked on the floor and pressing it out with her trainers.

“Hi,” Crystal spoke back, unsure of what to say to the girl, blood rushing through her at a rate of knots, nervous filling her body and bursting through her head like she was some sort of human kettle.

“I guess you know what I mean about the music now.”

“Yeah.” Crystal nodded in the dark. “It’s noted.”

“I’m sorry about Karl…” Gigi trailed off, taking some time before speaking again. “He just gets like that sometimes when he’s had a drink. I know he doesn’t mean it. I guess you know that.”

Unsure of who Karl was, or why she was supposed to know that, Crystal began to feel like she was drowning. Only instead of jumping on the next lifeboat, she swam down deeper for Gigi.

A part of her was afraid, afraid she’d read the aura surrounding the other girl so wrong, afraid that Karl was her boyfriend.

“Mmhmm,” Crystal responded, maybe a bit more high pitched than she naturally would have.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s my best friend. But sometimes a part of me thinks that he just doesn’t have any idea who I really am if you get me.”

Crystal couldn’t have understood any better at that moment.

All she wanted to do was tell her. To tell her how hard it was when everyone expected you to be the same as another person. How awful it felt when they never knew the real you, only a shell of the more outgoing sister.

Only she couldn’t, so she did the next best thing and placed her hand on the girl’s forearm, instantly getting a shock at how cold she felt.

“Do you wanna go inside? We can make hot chocolate,” she suggested, noting how Gigi’s body relaxed under her touch.

“He’s still in my room.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “I just can’t deal with him right now, it needs to be left for the morning.”

“You can stay in mine,” Crystal asked, squeezing her grip ever so slightly.

What was she doing?

This wasn’t part of the plan.

And it was certainly breaking some of the rules.

Potentially all of them combined.

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

But nothing filled her with greater relief then when Gigi finally responded: “If you don’t mind, thank you.”

***

At first, she felt awkward as she let Gigi into the room, especially considering the fact it wasn’t hers. But after two hot chocolates each she had felt the most comfortable and at peace as she had since masquerading as her sister.

She watched as Gigi’s eyes made their way around the room, a kid in a sweetie shop, gawking at the treasures around her.

“What’s that?” she spoke between sips, pointing towards Crystal’s craft box that had been haphazardly set up on her sister’s desk.

“Oh.” Crystal went to pick it up, a flutter of warmth rushing through her at the thought of someone, let alone Gigi, being interested in her jewellery. “Just some bits and bobs I make.”

“These are so cool.” Gigi held a pair of scarlet earrings up and examined them closer, her mouth opening slightly as she focused. “Like the ones you had in the other day.”

Crystal’s face turned a deeper red than the earrings, the thought of Gigi remembering what she wore sending shivers down her spine - her head telling her heart on an auto loop that no matter what she thought about Gigi, all of Gigi’s returned thoughts were instead about Elle.

“Yeah,” she choked out, nipping her skin to bring herself back to reality.

“You should sell these!” Gigi gasped as she rooted through more of Crystal’s collection. “I sell the clothes I make on Depop, we’d make a great team.”

Crystal didn’t get a chance to respond. She was too busy picking the pieces of her exploding heart from the carpet and trying to put it back together again.

“In fact.” Gigi grabbed her phone and began to search.

Crystal decided that her thinking face was even cuter than her regular face.

She was in deep. Too deep.

“I think I follow an account that does stuff like this, let me think, something to do with crystals…”

Way, way too deep.

“I’m feeling a bit tired.” Crystal blurted awkwardly, getting mad at her mother for never placing her in acting lessons as a child, ready for the inevitable week that she’d have to pretend to be her twin sister or else she’d be kicked out of university and murdered by their family. Seeing the almost defeated look on Gigi’s face, she tried again. “But you can show me in the morning?”

“I’d love that.” Gigi smiled.

Crystal wanted to rewind time just to hear that sentence again. She wouldn’t be too greedy, she’d only listen to it one more time. Two at a push.

Making sure to go into the en suite as Gigi got changed, Crystal returned to find her in bed, already asleep, her hair a sprawl of honey against the pink pillows.

She waited a second before turning off the light and getting into bed beside her, something about lying next Gigi sending Crystal into a sleepy haze despite the way her heart had been beating so fast just moments before.

She could hear Gigi breathing, snoring just a little, finding her own breathing starting to sync along.

Sleep was only minutes away from taking over her body when she heard it, the muffled cry coming from the other side of the bed.

“No.” She heard Gigi mumble as she tossed from one side to the other. “Don’t go.”

Crystal placed a reassuring hand on her arm without thought. “Are you alright?”

Gigi woke startled, her eyes beaming at Crystal like a young deer caught in the middle of the road.

“I’m fine.” She realised her surroundings and threw the quilt to one side, moving her body down to the bottom end of the bed. “I best be off.”

“Hey.” Crystal sat up, flicking the lamp on by her bedside. “It’s alright, we can-”

But before she could finish, Gigi was gone. Nothing more than the faint smell of lavender on the pillows and the dark ring of hot chocolate in the bottom of her sister’s mug.

***

Making her way back into the college that evening, Crystal waited by the entrance for a few moments, wondering if she could manage to get to Elle’s room without passing the drinks and shenanigans that were currently taking place in front of her, wondering if she could manage to make it without passing Gigi, more precisely.

Tesco carrier bags full to the brim of every comfort food she could gorge on (salami, cheese, salt and vinegar crisps and three different bars of dairy milk to be precise) as she watched her sister’s Disney+ alone, Crystal concluded that the coast was clear and made her way to the bottom of her stairs without passing Gigi.

The words of the note she had posted under Elle’s door the day beforehand were still dancing around Crystal’s mind like a puzzle that even Professor Layton couldn’t solve:

“Elle, please forgive me for this morning. I don’t know what happens when I get like that..we’re all having drinks at around 8 tomorrow if you wanna join? - Gigi.”

As much as she longed to join Gigi for a drink, Crystal knew that she couldn’t. She’d already put too much on the line, allowed herself to get too close, too emotionally invested. A short text from Elle asking if everything was okay scared her straight, there was too much at stake. Yes, she wanted more than anything to be the one who comforted Gigi the next time she had a nightmare, to make jewellery for her and kiss her forehead whenever she looked stressed. But family meant everything to her, and she knew if anyone were to find out what they’d done, the consequences wouldn’t be worth it.

About to make her way up the stairs, Crystal felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Let me help with those,” the boy motioned to her bags, his voice familiar.

With dark hair slicked back, and skin the colour of caramel, it took Crystal a second to realise where she knew the boy from, remembering his face next to Gigi’s in their corner of the dining hall.

“I’m fine, they’re not heavy.” Crystal tried to walk away but was stopped by his voice, yet again.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come help? It’s been a little while, Elle.” He grinned, a smirk in his eyes that Crystal couldn’t quite trace.

“I’m sorry, I’ll have to catch up with you later,” Crystal responded, trying to remain calm on the outside as her insides reached peak panic mode, her brain mentally scanning her notes for anything mentioning this boy. Her search found no results.

“Oh I get it,” he laughed. “It’s one of your games. Sure, you wanna catch up later.”

That’s when the realisation hit Crystal. Her sister was having sex with this boy. And she completely failed to mention it.

Trying to think of something to say, a heavy silence lingered between them. Broken by a familiar tone that managed to scare her half to death and turn her on at the same time.

“Karl.” Gigi shook her head as she made her way down the staircase, carrying what looked like a sippy cup of vodka red bull in her hands. “Do you mind not trying to shag every girl in college for five seconds?”

“I’ll see you later, Elle.” He muttered before strutting away with Gigi, Crystal making out the word ‘cockblock’ in their hushed conversation as they left.

She knew that Elle didn’t tell her everything.

Just because they were twins they didn’t have to know every detail of each other’s lives, even though they spoke every day. Crystal always knew that. But a part of her heart stung at the thought of her sister not even telling her about a boy she was sleeping with. Is that how far apart they’d grown since Elle came to uni?

Fighting back tears, she made her way up the stairs and tried to call her sister. She knew she was being silly; a part of her had just thought she’d know when her sister was sleeping with someone. So many questions ran through her mind. Was Elle safe? Did she love him? Why didn’t anyone know?

She tried to call again, no answer.

Gigi must have known, Crystal figured - slotting together their interaction the night before with the one they’d just had. Is that why Elle didn’t like her? Why they weren’t friends? Why she’d told Crystal to avoid her?

She answered on the fifth call.

“Hey, babe, I really can’t talk right now.”

Crystal ignored her sister’s words, dropping her shopping outside the door and moving out onto the fire escape, the cold breeze hitting her face harshly.

“Who’s Karl?”

“Oh.” She heard her other half’s surprise, she could see the look on her face, high definition in Crystal’s mind. “I told you not to speak to people, for fuck sake, Crystal.”

“Who’s Karl?”

“I can’t speak about this now.” Her tone lowered, clearly someone else was in her company.

“Who’s Karl?” Crystal asked again, not even stopping to think about how dramatic she was being.

Only her sister had hung up before she could get an answer.

Crystal didn’t know how long she’d been out there when she heard the door open, she didn’t even know if she was still crying or not.

“Hi,” Gigi spoke, almost a whisper, as she approached her. “We gotta stop meeting like this, hey?”

Crystal watched Gigi’s face drop a little at the sight of her, looking hurt the second she got close enough to see her tears.

“Yeah, I-” Crystal started but was swiftly interrupted.

Normally in films, it happened after a moment.

The pair would talk, get deep about their issues, reach a comforting solution then sit for a moment in an all-knowing silence.

Then they’d look into each other’s eyes, letting them flicker down once or twice before meeting again, that lock not leaving until they were shut.

Next came the strand of hair, pushed away and tucked neatly behind the ear.

Finally, the kiss, slow at first then growing in passion.

Only Gigi had no patience.

It took Crystal a second to react, to realise what was happening, to press her lips back against Gigi’s, to race her hand through the other girl’s hair.

It was unexpected.

Yet it felt nothing but natural.

And right.

“I’m sorry.” Gigi pulled away, pausing to bite her tongue between her teeth, a nervous side of her appearing that Crystal had not yet seen. “I know that’s like the last thing you’re meant to do when someone’s upset but, I don’t know, you just looked so sad and-”

This time Crystal wasn’t going to let her finish.

She felt Gigi’s hands wipe the stray tears from her face before moving right down her body to her waist. Moving her body closer so she was almost straddling the other girl, Gigi pulled away for just a second to let out a breath.

Crystal moved her hands round to Gigi’s back, further and further down until she was granted a nod of permission, letting them slide over the silky fabric of her skirt.

Before Crystal knew it she was being pushed back to the ground, Gigi’s long and beautiful body towering over her, as she got to her knees and began to kiss Crystal all over.

Gently, methodically, slowly.

Crystal’s mind was carried away, far from reality and refusing to take away from the moment in front of her.

“I knew you wanted me.” She felt Gigi’s breath tickle her ear, sending hot flushes down her entire body, reaching her hands out to touch the other girl’s breasts.

“Fuck, Elle.” Gigi grinned, flicking a switch in Crystal’s body as she pushed herself backwards away from her touch.

She’d almost forgotten that part.

Looking at the other girl’s confused face, she was lost for words, pulling the strap of her vest top back in its place. She knew she couldn’t do it anymore, she couldn’t keep lying. She would have let Gigi sleep with her thinking that she was someone else. She’d become a monster. She had to tell the truth.

“What the fuck?” A voice came from the door behind them, Karl’s confused face flicking between the pair of them. “Is this a joke?”

“Shit,” Gigi muttered and stood up, but Crystal was frozen in place, her hands and feet turning numb with anxiety, the sky around them warping in time. “I can explain.”

Crystal watched as Gigi chased her friend back into the building, listening to her tell him she was sorry and she just got carried away. Listening to Karl ask if that was why she’d told him to stop sleeping with her. Listening to Gigi explain that it wasn’t it, that something had just changed recently. Listening to her life crumble around her.

And then she heard nothing at all.

Even when she knocked on Gigi’s door later that night, ready to give her the explanation she needed, Crystal heard nothing at all - eventually giving in and retreating to the cave of Elle’s room, with no plans to leave it until their train pulled in at the station.

***

Looking up at the hideous brown bricks in front of her, Elle Barge never thought she’d be so relieved to see the college in her life.

One day earlier than she was supposed to return, she hoped that Crystal would forgive her for withholding some of the stuff she’d been doing at university, thinking that they could have one fun night together before getting the train home the next day, giving at least a hint of truth to their family when they arrived back.

Besides, her holiday romance meet-up hadn’t exactly gone the way she had planned when she accidentally met up with his wife. Hence her early departure.

She figured she’d just have to chalk this one up to being a good story to tell, throwing away her sadness at the thought of having a best-selling novel about her awful love life someday.

Heck, she’d probably already have half of it written with just stories about Karl.

Walking up the stairs to her room, she rolled her eyes at the sight in front of her.

One thing she certainly had not missed was Gigi Goode braying on her door to tell her to turn her music down.

Surely, Crystal wasn’t irritating her, Elle thought to herself. The only music Crystal ever played was One Direction and she hardly blasted it.

“Ahem.” Elle coughed loudly enough for Crystal to hear from inside the room, praying she’d understand with her magic twin sense not to come out (also quickly texting her not to incase the magic twin sense failed them. Elle did not want a repeat of that time in year nine when Jackie Cox asked if they could read each other’s minds).

“Hey.” Gigi turned to face her, a strange look on her face that Elle couldn’t quite decode. Tension started to seep through the stained carpet and up the walls like lava.

“Hi?” Elle raised an eyebrow to her, more of a question than a greeting.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you before,” Gigi started, nodding her head as she got into the rhythm of her speech. “I was just scared and I didn’t know how to say it but I can now. Please just listen and wait ‘til I’m done, I have to explain.”

Minefields began exploding inside Elle’s brain.

She simply nodded.

“I’ve been fucked over in the past. And it still scares me today. You know the other night? That was it, I haven’t felt myself get close to anyone in a while. And I know it’s bad because of Karl and I’m a shitty friend to him but honestly, I think that this is something bigger than that, cause I’ve not felt it for a while. And I think you feel it too. Look, I’m really shit at this but something changed this week, I saw you in this light I’d never caught you in. I might sound mad but I think that I need you.”

Looking back at the girl in front of her with dismay, Elle spoke back the only three words that rang through her brain at that moment.

“What the fuck.”

And then her door opened, her sister’s face peeking out around the corner, clad in the same expression she used to have whenever she’d spilt juice on the carpet or smashed plate. Her hair matted and eyes puffy, Elle immediately moved to her side.

And then Gigi uttered the three words as well - only adding a “fucking” in there too for good measure.

Killing the silence that lingered for some time, Crystal spoke the fastest sentence Elle had ever heard all in one breath: “I’ve been pretending to be my sister so she could go get fucked by a Spanish guy.”

“Wow.” Elle looked back and forth between the pair, recognising a glint in her sister’s eyes that was certainly not there before.

Crystal prepared herself and walked up to Gigi, placing her hand on her arm. “I wanted to tell you so bad. I was going to but then Karl came and everything got messy. I know you probably can’t forgive me, but I saw that bigger thing too and I let myself get carried away in it.”

Gigi looked between the pair and raised a hand to her mouth, letting out a hearty laugh.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Elle pleaded, fear rising inside her.

Silence filled the landing again, the twins standing sheepishly as they gave time for Gigi to process.

“If I’m honest I think I’m less confused now.” Gigi turned to face Crystal and grinned, showing an emotion Elle didn’t think the Barbie doll was even capable of showing. “This makes a lot more sense.”

Elle watched as her sister grinned back, seeing the genuine happiness on her face and throwing away all thoughts about whether or not she’d get in trouble.

“I think I might just be able to forgive you.” Gigi looked her up and down, pouting her lips in a joking manner. “If you let me take you out so we can talk this through over dinner?”

“Yes,” Crystal responded without hesitation.

“But first, could you tell me your name?”

“Crystal.” Elle watched as her sister reached out and shook the other girl’s hand, proud of the growth in confidence she could see - happy to see the return of the happy-go-lucky Crystal who wasn’t too scared to try anything new that she knew as a child.

“Crystal,” Gigi repeated, smiling to herself. “So Crystal, do you go to uni or just hang around at other people’s?”

“Maybe next year.” Crystal smiled back a sense of optimism in her voice. “Are we going for this dinner or what?”

Although it took her a minute to take in what she’d seen, a strange feeling inside of her as she waved her sister goodbye for a date with her bitchy downstairs neighbour, Elle couldn’t help but think that her disaster vacation had all happened for a good reason. In fact, she found herself almost shedding a tear as she heard her sister laughing at something Gigi said on their way downstairs, figuring that she might just see more of her sister than usual next term (and being nothing but happy about it).

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #crygi #angst #lesbian au #university au #end of the day #ashley #concrit welcome #submission #s12 #college au

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writingtoforgetreality · 4 years

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MARVEL-MASTERLIST

Bucky Barnes:

Louisiana Fever (GN!Reader)

Summary: A forever changing decision was made between Bucky & you. Whatever the future held for you, you could not wait to finally start somewhere new.

The Way You Make Me Feel [18+]

Summary: Steve sent Bucky & you on a mission together. Nothing special, you worked well together, after all. This time, you had to go undercover. Pretending to be a couple. Your frustration after an unsuccessful night needed to be released. Bucky had something in mind.

Series:

The Falcon And The Winter Soldier Rewrite-Masterlist

[Status: COMPLETE]

Summary: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes & …you? The three of you teamed up, sort of. After all, they were your friends. One of them. The other one? Well, whatever you had was complicated. No need to get private business & work mixed up, though.

Helmut Zemo:

And Then It Was Dark (soon)

Guarding Your Heart

Summary: Inmate: Helmut Zemo. Accommodation: The Raft. Visitors: Generally prohibited. Exceptions: Maintaining a friendly relationship with an Avenger.

Sleep Paralysis

Summary: You hated sharing a room with another person. Especially when it came to sleeping. Which usually resulted into you staying awake for the night if you were teamed up with someone. Sometimes you could not escape exhaustion, though.

Springing Forward

Summary: Your family owned a little flower shop. You assisted every now & then. One day, your parents had departed for a while, a man entered the store & changed your life forever.

Stockholm Syndrome | Part Two (soon)

Summary: During the fight with the Dora Milaje in his safe-house, Zemo made an exit. But not alone. For inexplicable reasons, he dragged you along. Probably because he wanted to mess with Sam & Bucky. Would the Baron kill you? Or worse?

That's What You Deserve

Summary: Not every person was as attentive as Helmut. So it should have been no surprise when he noticed the most subtle movements that went by unnoticed by everyone else.

The Way I Loved You

Summary: Old feelings resurfaced the moment you laid eyes on Zemo again. Past memories you so desperately tried to erase from your mind. He still had that same effect on you. Even after all these years. Even after everything he had done.

Headcanons:

Jealous!Zemo Handling Walker

Kidnapped!Zemo Getting Saved By Reader

On The Beach With Zemo & Plus Size!Reader

Overprotective & Gentle!Zemo

Prison Guard Falling For Zemo

Zemo Buying Flowers From Reader's Shop

Zemo Dealing With Reader's Death

Zemo Marrying A British!Reader

Zemo With A Mildly Insane!Reader

Zemo With A Plus Size!Reader

Sam Wilson:

Blind

Summary: You had to attend one of Sharon’s parties in Madripoor. Which left you no choice but to wear one of her dresses. The one she suggested for you made you incredibly uncomfortable. After all, you were not really happy with the way you looked.

I’m Only Me When I’m With You

Summary: You liked Sam. Was it a secret? You hoped so but your team would state otherwise. While the teasing was funny & all, it actually made you distance yourself from your feelings even more. Luckily, there was a certain someone who could see right through you.

Professionally Unprofessional

Summary: You were everything but average. As a reporter, people expected you to be laid back, professional. You were all those things, you simply added a bit of spice into the mix to lend your interviews something special.

Worrisome Wars & Fortunate Futures

Summary: Your life with Sam had many ups & downs. From unfortunate first impressions to precarious dates, a dream wedding & the greatest grief of your life. You no longer believed in a mutual future. But you were not opposed to let yourself be convinced of the contrary.

Steve Rogers:

Faking To Pretend

Summary: Fake engagements, wedding plans & an undercover mission that jeopardized your well-being in the blink of an eye. Throughout it all, you somehow had to hide the fact that your feelings for Steve were just friendly, nothing more.

Just this one time (College!AU)

Summary: Steve & you have been roommates for two years now. You were best friends even though you have started to develop a crush on him. One day, Steve asks you to accompany him to a party of one of your friends. You agree, planning on confessing your feelings for him. At the party, a bad surprise awaits you…

You’re never bothering me

Summary: Steve got back from a mission with Bucky & you were happy to have him back in one piece. But after waking up, your thoughts consumed you & you tried your best to hide them in order not to bother a very exhausted Steve.

#steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel masterlist #bucky barnes x reader #helmut zemo x reader #sam wilson x reader

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

Beautiful Dreams - Ch 4 Beautiful Dreamer

The hard part, he thought, was over; the cards were on the table, he’d asked her out and she’d agreed. Even so, Luka suffered from an annoying lack of chill for the rest of the week. He kept it together for his students, but outside of work, he was nervous, jittery to a degree that was both embarrassing and frustrating. The days, which had been slipping past without much notice from Luka, were suddenly crawling by.

Luka found himself picking up his guitar more and more, trying to work out his feelings, or at least his nerves, through his music. He wasn’t entirely unsuccessful; he had most of a new song written, and when he sent a demo of his progress to the rest of the band the feedback was positive—more enthusiastically positive than it had been for any of his recent compositions, actually. Not that the feedback had been bad before, but the difference was noticeable. He made a mental note to revisit that with his bandmates later.

At least something good came out of his distraction.

He cleaned his apartment, he organized his student files and his cabinet of inspiration music, and realized he hadn’t added to it in some time. That made him feel a little guilty. Luka usually tried to let his students pick their own music but he liked to have a variety of ideas on hand when they got stuck or needed a change. He hadn’t refreshed or even rotated the collection in months.

Once that injustice had been rectified he was kind of out of productive uses for his energy. He played until his fingers were sore, he worked out until his arms felt like noodles and he thought another pushup might kill him, and when he couldn’t take it anymore, Luka picked up takeout and went over to bug Juleka and Rose and cuddle the baby.

“You’re pathetic,” Juleka told him, her normal deadpan tones colored with fond amusement as she watched him, stretched out on her living room floor, playing with Angelique’s little hands and making silly faces at her while she lay on a blanket and blinked up at him.

“Believe me, I know,” Luka said, smooching tiny fingers. “But I brought you dinner and it’s your favorite, so try not to give me too hard of a time over it.”

“Mm.”

Luka grunted as Juleka stepped on him on her way to the kitchen. “Don’t grow up to be mean like Mama J,” he whispered to Angie. “Be sweet like Mama Rose, okay?”

“You know...I’m actually glad you’re nervous.”

Luka rolled to his side and looked back to find Juleka had paused. He noted with amusement her perfect modelesque three-quarter turn and over the shoulder look. “I thought I was embarrassing,” he said, propping his cheek on his fist.

“You’re always embarrassing,” Juleka agreed. “Even so. I’m glad you’re nervous. I’m glad you care enough to be nervous.”

Luka looked down at the carpet, tickling Angie’s toes. “It’s been a rough year,” he agreed quietly.

“Rose and I have been really worried about you,” Juleka sighed, turning around to face him fully and folding her arms. “We’re still worried about you, honestly. You’ve always been all about going with the flow but you’ve been taking it to an extreme for a while now. You don’t go out anymore except to come here. You don’t seem excited about anything anymore. You have good days every now and then but...it just makes me really happy to see that you care about this enough to be nervous. That’s all.”

Luka felt a stab of guilt that made it hard to meet Juleka’s eyes. She’d had so much to deal with, and he hated to be a burden for her.

She turned quickly and headed into the kitchen before he could say anything. Luka sighed and laid his head down on the carpet, letting Angie’s hand curl around his index finger. “Okay,” he breathed. “You can grow up a little bit like Mama Jules.”

***

The sun had mostly set and the lights of Paris were beginning to shine as Luka met Marinette in front of the Louvre. She was waiting for him by one of the fountains, staring into the foaming water rising from the middle. The fact that she was there eased at least some of the nervous energy fizzing under his skin. Luka had been a little afraid she would bail on him. Marinette didn’t answer when he called her name and jolted when he touched her arm.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, sliding his fingers down her arm to take her hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t, um, I was just—just thinking,” she said, shuffling her feet and not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so distracted, uh…”

“You were thinking or you were worrying?” Luka asked gently, ducking his head slightly to get a better look at her expression. “Marinette, if you don’t want to do this, or you’re not ready, or anything at all—”

“No,” she said quickly, finally meeting his gaze. “No, I...I want to. I want this.” Her fingers tightened on his, almost painfully. “I just...don’t want to mess up.”

Luka laughed, shaking his head. “It’s not a test,” he teased, tugging her hand lightly. “If you’re worried about impressing me, Marinette, here’s a hint.” He leaned down a little and grinned. “I’m already impressed.”

She squeaked and blushed and Luka chuckled. “Do you want to go inside?” he asked, “Or would you rather watch the fountain a little more?”

“Oh, no, we can—we can go inside, I was just, I mean, it’s pretty at night and—”

“You’re allowed to enjoy the fountain, Marinette. We can stay here and watch it all night if you want.”

“No, really, I’m done,” she sighed, turning away from the fountain and facing him fully. “I’m ready.”

Luka smiled and stepped back, still holding her hand. “Then shall we?”

Marinette broke into a genuine smile, and followed his gentle pull.

It was late enough that the tourist crowds had gone to seek out the Paris nightlife, and the museum itself was relatively calm.

“What would you like to see?” Luka asked once they were through the door and strolling through the wide halls. “Musée de la Mode, or have you been over that more times than you can count already?”

“I have,” Marinette admitted. “But honestly, I never get tired of it. I find new inspiration every time I go. Just breathing the history here is inspiring.”

History smelled a lot like tourists to Luka, but he just smiled. “Do you want to do that, then?”

“Wouldn’t you be bored? Isn’t there anywhere you want to go?” Marinette asked, looking up at him.

Luka shrugged. “I mostly just like to wander and see where I end up. It’s not hard to find things to appreciate here, and it’s actually been a really long time since I last came.”

“That’s true,” Marinette agreed. “I love it here.”

“And to tell you the truth,” he continued, “I find the passion of other creators inspiring all on its own. So why don’t we go see the Musée de la Mode if that’s what you want to do, and you can be my guide and explain to me what I’m seeing. My sister modeled for years until she retired to become a talent coach, so I’m not completely stupid on the subject, but I still know next to nothing about the artistry behind it, so I’d love your perspective.”

She smiled shyly at him. “Okay.”

They made their way to the correct wing, and after only a nudge or two from Luka, Marinette forgot her self-consciousness. She was beautiful in her enthusiasm, animated and glowing with repressed excitement as she got into her subject. The conversation was actually less one-sided than he expected. Fashion and music were both influenced by their historical and political context, and Marinette seemed interested in what he had to share as they talked about the various time periods. He blundered into one or two stupid questions but he actually didn’t mind looking a little silly when it made her laugh like that. As it turned out, the museum had recently begun their latest temporary exhibit, so there were several things that Marinette hadn’t seen. She fell silent as she examined the new pieces, but her alert curiosity was just as interesting to him, and Luka waited patiently each time until she was ready to move on—more and more reluctantly each time, it seemed.

The next time she got caught up in a piece, Luka touched her arm. “Do you want to stop here for a little bit?”

Marinette turned wide eyes up at him. “Oh...no, no, that’s okay, um...I can...some other time or something, I can come back—”

“Marinette,” Luka said, shaking his head slightly with a smile. “We’re in no hurry. We’re just here to have fun. There’s no schedule. If you want to sit down for a minute and just take something in, that’s cool. I don’t mind. Especially if something’s inspiring you, I don’t want you to rush through that just to accommodate me. Shall we sit down?”

Marinette hovered, looking a bit like a deer in the headlines, suspended in indecision. Luka felt a pang in his heart for her. “There’s no schedule,” he repeated. “Just you and me. We can stay here and look at this one piece until closing if you like, it’d be fine with me. You’ve taught me a lot and I wouldn’t mind taking a breather just to let everything sink in.”

That seemed to tip her. “You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asked weakly.

“I don’t mind at all.” Luka turned and sat on a nearby bench. “See? This is fine. I’ll just relax here for a minute, you look as long as you want.”

They spent the rest of the visit lingering in that one small area, Marinette hovering back and forth between a few pieces, and occasionally coming back to the bench to sit down and sketch something in a small notebook she had in her purse, talking distractedly to him about her thoughts and ideas. Luka didn’t understand more than half of it, partly because his knowledge of fashion and its terms was still pretty lacking and partly because Marinette frequently interrupted herself, changing direction mid-sentence. Luka didn’t mind; he found her creative process as fascinating as the art around him and his heart leaped every time she touched him without thinking, her hand catching his arm or pressing his knee when she was struck by a new idea.

Luka tried to be useful, to ask helpful questions when she wavered and give opinions only when she asked him, to not get caught staring at the way she pursed her lips and scrunched her nose when she was concentrating or the bounce in her step when she ran back to look at some piece or another that she wanted another look at.

“I hate to say this,” he murmured finally, keeping his voice low to avoid startling her as he leaned one arm on the bench behind her. “But they’re going to be closing soon. Best wrap up if you can.”

Marinette’s head shot up and she looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Oh, I—I didn’t realize I was spending so much time—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted her, unable to resist reaching up to slide a stray lock of hair back from her cheek and over her ear and pleased by the way she blushed at his touch. “I didn’t mind it, honestly, I’m really enjoying myself actually. I just don’t want you to get caught in the middle of something, so go ahead and get to a stopping place if you can.”

Marinette bit her lip and looked down. “I’m...really enjoying this too. It’s been a long time since someone had time to listen to me ramble who wasn’t paid to, and you’re a good person to bounce ideas off of. Thank you. Sorry for taking up so much time though.”

“If I’m having fun and you’re having fun I don’t see that there’s much to apologize for,” Luka chuckled. “I wouldn’t object to spending more time with you, though...would you like to take a walk when we’re done here?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, a shy but happy smile spreading over her face. “I’d really like that, Luka.”

Her cheeks pinked at the slow smile that spread over his face in response. “Then finish up,” he said, “and we’ll take a walk. We’ve still got about half an hour before they come to kick us out.”

She turned back to her paper and Luka tried to use the time to get himself together. She was too cute and whatever tiny chance there had been that going out with her would cure his infatuation was rapidly diminishing.

***

They stopped to get crêpes from a street vendor and ate them on a bench by the fountain Marinette had been admiring previously. Marinette seemed deep in thought, still immersed, he suspected, in whatever inspiration she’d found in the museum, so Luka stayed quiet, though he was itching to know what was going on in her head.

He was watching her absently lick the last bit of cream off her lip when she shook her head slightly, and as she looked up and smiled at him he felt her come back to the moment and smiled back.

“Shall we walk?” he asked, before she could apologize again, and offered his arm once they’d tossed their trash. “You found your calling early, didn’t you?” Luka asked as they began to walk. “Did you go to school for it too?”

The night was brisk but not uncomfortable, and as clear a night as Paris ever got. School seemed to be a comfortable subject, long enough ago for both of them not to bring on too many painful memories, and they swapped stories as they strolled along.

They broke off to listen as they approached a set of street musicians, a small group playing instruments as a man and a woman sang.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Marinette breathed. “It’s not in French, though, is it? I wish I could understand it.”

“It’s Italian,” Luka told her. He concentrated for a moment, listening. “It’s about someone who thought they’d given up on finding love, but now they’ve met someone and those feelings are coming back.”

“You speak Italian?” she whispered to him as the instruments took over.

“Music terminology’s almost all in Italian,” he shrugged. “And I needed a language requirement for my degree anyway, so it seemed like the natural choice. I speak some Scots and some English too, but I got those mostly from my mom and dad, not formal training. Would you like to dance?”

“Oh, I—“ Marinette looked around. One or two couples were swaying together. “Um, s-sure?”

“That sounds like a no, Marinette.” He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. “It’s okay, we don’t have to. We can listen for a bit and then move on if you like.”

She smiled up at him weakly. “I’m kind of terrible at this, aren’t I? First I lecture you, and then I ignore you, and everything I say has you wondering if I really want to be here.”

“You’re kind of out of practice,” Luka chuckled, reaching to catch another stray bit of hair that the wind was whipping across her face and tuck it behind her ear. “That’s okay. But I’d rather you didn’t agree to things you’d rather not do just to make me happy. If you don’t want to do something or don’t like something we’re doing, I wish you’d just tell me.”

Marinette sighed, and gave him an apologetic smile. “You’re right. I’ll do better. Um, no, thank you, as much as the idea of dancing is appealing, the reality of it in my case...well. I’m kind of a klutz and I have two left feet and I prefer to dance in places where I’m not going to draw so much attention.”

Luka grinned. “See? Not so bad, was it?”

“It was a little bad,” Marinette pouted. “You’re probably an amazing dancer.”

Luka snorted. “I’m an average dancer,” he corrected her with a grin. “Off the stage, I have good rhythm but no style, as my sister frequently tells me. You’re probably used to all kinds of fancy moves and aside from a few Scottish reels that would not go at all with an Italian love song, all I can do is a good old-fashioned sway-in-a-circle slow dance.” They both laughed.

“It would be amazing to dance like that after years of being critiqued after ever stupid party and social function and—” she cut herself off and shook her head briskly and said, “You know what? I think a good old-fashioned sway-in-a-circle slow dance sounds amazing. Will you dance with me, Luka?”

“I’d love to,” he chuckled, stepping towards her and lifting his hands to her waist as she put hers on his shoulders. Just as they came together, the singers hit a final, long note, and the song was over. Luka and Marinette looked at each other, and both broke down laughing, leaning on each other for a moment before slowly separating. “Maybe we should just keep walking,” Luka suggested, still laughing as he took her hands. “Shall we?”

“Please,” Marinette grinned up at him, eyes sparkling as she squeezed his hands, and his eyes fell to her lips shimmering pink in the light from the streetlamps. He took a deep breath and dropped one hand, tugging her gently into place beside him with the other as he angled their walk towards Pont Neuf.

***

“I don’t have anything against digital music,” Luka protested, as they strolled beneath the trees of the Square du Vert-Galant where it jutted out into the Seine. “The computer can be an instrument just like anything else in the hands of an actual musician, but XY, he’s just...his music is just so tired and unoriginal. It’s like he’s not even trying. Maybe sometimes he comes up with things that aren’t painful to listen to, but even his good stuff doesn’t have any soul. I’d never judge anybody for making money with their music, but I question whether he does it for any reason but money.”

“It’s true, his music is very…” Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Bland. Heartless is a good way to put it.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Luka grinned at her as they paused at the point of the triangular walkway, where the Seine surrounded them. He nodded at the river. “I grew up on a houseboat on the Seine,” he said. “Coming down here is kind of like coming home.”

“Do you miss it?” Marinette asked.

“Sometimes,” he sighed. “It was cramped and it was messy and nothing was ever where you left it because the wind would pick up and rock the ship juuuust enough to roll stuff under the furniture. Sometimes my friends would get seasick when they visited, and we were always stepping all over each other, but...it was home, you know? Do you miss the bakery?”

“Sometimes,” she echoed back to him, and they shared a smile. “It was too warm, and my parents were always working and sometimes there were days when I didn’t want to be nice to everybody but I had to because we couldn’t offend a customer. And whenever Papa wasn’t paying attention and burned something it took forever for the smell to go away.” She shrugged. “But sometimes, the smell of fresh bread makes me tear up a little bit, you know?”

“The Seine doesn’t smell as good as bread,” he chuckled. “But I know exactly what you mean.” He took a breath, and sang lightly, “I’ve been walking, walking these shores all my days.” He grinned at her as he finished, “But with you by my side I am walking on the waves.”

Marinette giggled, covering her mouth at the girlish sound. Luka just grinned wider and looked back to the river.

“Do you have a song for everything?” she asked, bumping against him lightly.

Luka shrugged, pleased that she felt comfortable enough to tease him. “I’m a collector, I guess. There’s always memories in music for me.” He took a deep breath of the cold wind coming off the river and was hit by a wave of nostalgia. “My love is like a red red rose, that’s newly sprung in June,” he sang softly. “My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.” He sighed, and Marinette squeezed his arm. He looked at her and smiled softly. “As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,” he sang, “How deep in love am I…” He reached out and tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear again. “And I will love thee still my dear, till all the seas run dry.”

Marinette blushed and looked away. Luka started them slowly walking again, turning his back to the river. “I still can’t sing the second verse,” he said. “The narrator goes far away, but swears they’ll come back.” He swallowed, looking away. “But she’s not coming back, no matter how much I wish she would.” He smiled ruefully at her. “I guess being down here reminds me of her. God, sorry, you’d think I’d be past it by now, but...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“You didn’t,” Marinette smiled, nudging him with her arm. “And I don’t think it’s something you get over, not completely. You can’t put a timeline on that kind of grief.” She sighed. “I think it’s beautiful that you loved her so much. I’m really close with my parents too, always have been. I can’t imagine losing them. I know it’s not something I’d get past easily.” She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked, as another chill breeze swept through. “We can go somewhere else if the wind is too much.”

“No, this is good,” she said, snuggling into his arm a little. Then she seemed to realize what she was doing and straightened. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, not on my account.” He slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her gently into his side, but kept his hold loose and easily broken. “I didn’t ask you out because I wanted you to keep your distance. I’m happy if you’re comfortable being close to me.”

Marinette looked down. “I still think you could do better.”

Luka stopped walking and faced her. “Marinette, when you say you aren’t special it just makes me want to show you even more that you are.”

She went from pink to red. “But—”

“No, no, turn it around,” he chuckled. “I’ve been on maybe three dates in the last year, all firsts, and all pretty much to get my sister off my back. You’re the first person I’ve actually wanted to spend time with in forever. Not only that, you’re a business executive and a famous fashion designer with an international brand. I’m just a musician, and not a very ambitious one at that. I like playing small venues and I like teaching my students. No plans for stardom here.” Luka spread his arms a little, as if inviting her to check him for hidden ambitions.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Marinette said earnestly, surprising him a little. “There’s a lot to be said for doing what you love and not letting money twist it into something you didn’t mean it to be.”

Luka let his hands fall and put his arm back around her waist, starting them walking again. They walked in silence for a moment before Marinette spoke again. “It used to be my greatest dream to work for Gabriel,” she said wistfully. “But I never thought I’d be there forever, you know? It was always just the first step.”

“What’s the next step?” Luka asked curiously.

“Apparently there isn’t one,” Marinette said bitterly, and then sighed, hanging her head a little. “I can’t leave,” she said quietly. “There’s no one else to step up and take my place as head designer. Gabriel’s stocks took a huge hit during the divorce because everybody assumed I would quit. There’s other designers but no one with the kind of understanding I have of Gabriel’s customers, and no one the shareholders would trust because I was trained by Gabriel Agreste himself in his vision.”

“What about your vision?” Luka asked, squeezing her lightly, and Marinette scoffed.

“Gabriel made it clear a long time ago that, much as he respected my talent, he had no room for my vision. Customers want a consistent, unified approach, classic with just enough innovation to keep things fresh, but not so much that they think it’s too risky.”

Luka frowned. “Gabriel’s gone, though. I mean, I don’t know anything about fashion and not a whole lot more about business, but shouldn’t you be able to take the company any direction you want?”

Marinette shook her head sadly, staring at the ground. “His legacy remains, and Adrien wants to keep it that way.”

Luka bit back something impolite. He’d long since given up Adrien’s dad as not worth thinking about, but he couldn’t help feeling a sudden flash of annoyance at his friend. How stupid could you be, to put someone with Marinette’s passion and creativity inside a box like that and insist she stay there for—what? Loyalty to a man who had treated his son like dirt, or worse, like nothing more than a company asset, his whole life?

“If you could do anything you wanted,” he said, genuinely curious, “What would you do?”

“I’d start my own brand from the ground up,” Marinette said immediately. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’d go back to working in my home on commission and I’d start from scratch. Build my business the way I want it. Build a brand with my name on it and not Gabriel’s.” She sighed. “Maybe it’d never be as big...it’s kind of a late start after all. But at least it would be mine.”

Luka smiled. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. Maybe I haven’t known you all that long but I feel like I know you well enough to say you’re an independent type of person. I can see how having something that’s yours and building it yourself would appeal to you.”

“Most people would give a limb to have the kind of boost early on that I did,” Marinette snorted softly. “To throw away all that, it’s...it’s crazy.”

“You didn’t do it for the boost, though,” Luka replied, finding it hard to keep from pulling her closer. “You did it because you loved Adrien and that was the price of being with him. Why would you think less of yourself for that?”

“Because I—” Marinette burst out, and then paused, and lowered her voice, and Luka felt a pang. He’d seen Adrien do exactly the same sort of thing. “Because I ought to be grateful, instead of resenting it. Anyone else would have been ecstatic.”

“Maybe,” Luka conceded. “But no one who felt that way would have loved Adrien as honestly as you did.” He sighed. “I feel bad for Adrien, I feel bad that he got dealt such a shit hand with his family. I feel bad that it seems like he couldn’t let go even after Gabriel died. I feel bad for him that all that cost him someone like you. And I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be showing you a good time, and instead we’re stuck on depressing things.”

Marinette smiled. “Maybe you should sing for me again.”

Luka’s grin was mischievous. “Maybe I should. Beautiful dreamer,” he sang, and Marinette groaned. “Wake unto me…”

“Luka!” Marinette whined over him as he continued, trying to control his laughter. Marinette turned away from him, folded her arms and pouted.

“Beautiful dreamer,” he sang, reaching for her hands. Turning her back towards him and leaning close, he locked eyes with her, voice going from teasing to earnest. “Queen of my song, list while I woo thee with soft melody.” Marinette blushed. “Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng,” he leaned closer, eyes on her lips. Her eyes widened and her breath quickened. “Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.” He changed course quickly and kissed high on her cheek. He laughed as Marinette blushed and spluttered, and then she shoved him hard with both hands, making him stagger.

“This is so unfair,” she hissed. “I’m such a disaster and you’re so smooth and cool and calm—“

Luka caught her wrist and pulled gently. “Come here, dreamer.” He pulled her forward gently until he could lay her hand on his pounding heart. Her eyes widened slightly as he covered her hand with his own and laced his fingers through hers to hold her there. “It’s been doing that since we met,” he told her softly. “I’m crazy about you, Marinette, and I am nowhere close to calm.” Luka watched her lips part in surprise, saw her gaze darken. He didn’t even realize he was leaning in until her free hand slipped behind his neck and her face tilted up to meet him. He held her eyes until just before he slowly, softly pressed his mouth to hers, deepening it when she pressed closer to him. She made a helpless noise in her throat and pushed up on her toes as he wrapped his arm around her waist. When she didn’t pull away he grew bolder, nipping lightly at her lower lip and dipping his tongue into her mouth when she gasped. It felt so good, the way she clung to him, so warm and alive and moving in sync with him like they were made for each other. Her hand moved from his hair to his face, down his neck and across his shoulder, around to his back, the roving of her fingers as intoxicating as the movement of her mouth against his. His own hand ached to wander but he kept it firmly planted against her lower back, pressing her into him.

When her lips left his, he didn’t open his eyes right away, taking a moment to breathe. Beneath their hands his heart was beating even harder than before, if that was possible, and he felt her fingers flex against him as she sank back until her heels were on the ground once more.

When he did finally look, her cheeks were turning a deep pink that matched her sweet lips, and he could see the panic slowly growing in her eyes. He bent and kissed her again, softly this time, reassuring. “That was amazing,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. “Don’t be upset, Marinette, please. We can go as slow as you need to, baby, okay? You’re all right. I’ve got you.” He let go of her to move his hands to her arms and rubbed up and down gently. She let out a shaky breath, and leaned into him. Luka folded her into his arms, shifting his rubbing to her back. After a minute, she raised her face, nose nudging his shyly, and he obliged her with more soft, affectionate kisses.

Eventually she grew brave enough to kiss him, to shyly taste his lips and explore his mouth. He kept her wrapped up tight and safe and let her set the pace, enjoying the different kind of torture her painfully, deliciously slow escalation played on his deprived body.

At last she pulled away from his lips, panting lightly, pushing against his chest until he loosened his arms around her. “I think, um...I think I need to stop.”

“Okay,” he said, nuzzling her jaw and leaving one last soft kiss at the hinge. “You want me to take you home?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see you again, Marinette?” he asked, a little nervously. Maybe this had all been too much for her, maybe she really wasn’t ready, and what was he going to do if that were so? He was already in so deep…

“Yes, please,” she said, burying her face in his neck. “Soon.”

Relief made him weak, and he was glad to hold onto the rail when they went down the stairs of the metro station. Once again he felt like a stupid teenager, giddy to be holding hands and leaning on each other on the ride back to Marinette’s home. As he was walking her up the stairs to her apartment, something else occurred to him.

“What do you want to do about Louis? It’s your call, of course, but if we’re going to do this again, I feel like we should talk to him,” Luka said, caressing her knuckles absently with his thumb.

“Yes, I was thinking that too,” sighed Marinette. “I know he’s already figured out something’s going on. He’s very perceptive, and well…” she gestured to her pink cheeks. “I’m not exactly subtle.”

“You’re perfect,” Luka smiled as they paused outside of her door. “Maybe if he’s willing, we could take him to a movie or something? Something he likes to do? And if that goes well, Jagged Stone’s going to be in town in a couple weeks, I can get tickets. He doesn’t do too many shows anymore, maybe Louis would like to see his mom’s oldest client in action while there’s still the chance.” He winked, and Marinette laughed. “Ask him about it. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or push my company on him. If he’s not ready to spend time with me, I won’t be offended.”

Marinette laughed. “Are you ever offended?” she asked, running her thumb over his cheek affectionately.

“Sometimes,” he chuckled, catching her hand. “I try not to sweat the small stuff, though.” He started to lift her hand to his lips, only to have her pull it away quickly.

“Sorry,” she said, reddening. “It’s just, the kiss on the knuckles, that was Adrien’s thing, I don’t—”

“I understand,” Luka said, and then smiled mischievously. “Wasn’t going for that, actually.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he reached for her hand again, lifted and turned it, and placed a gentle kiss on the little ladybug tattoo. “That okay?”

Marinette smiled. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Thanks for putting up with all my hang-ups. I don’t think many guys would be as patient as you, and...well, I’m grateful.”

Luka leaned forward and laid his forehead against hers. “It’s not like I don’t have my own baggage. Everybody does. Besides, you’re worth it, Marinette. Any guy that wouldn’t wait for you is an idiot. You’re an amazing person, there’s nothing wrong with you, and you’re so worth it.”

“Um,” Marinette said softly, moving away just enough to be able to see him clearly as she looked up from beneath her lashes. “You are too. You know that, right?”

That caught him off guard, and he blinked at her for a moment. Marinette brought one hand up and laid it a little tentatively against his cheek. Luka leaned into it as she spoke. “I can, um...w-well you’ve obviously been going through a lot too. And I don’t really know how...I don’t want to promise anything I can’t keep but…” She sighed. “I’m not as good at this as you are. I’m not, I don’t want...ugh…” She broke off and bit her lip.

“Take your time,” Luka said, putting his hand over hers. “I want to understand.”

“I just mean...even though I joke about how annoyingly composed you are...that you’re allowed to not be perfect. Those moments, when you miss your mom, you don’t have to apologize to me for that.” She swallowed, and her voice was a little thick when she continued. “I don’t know if I can be what you need,” she said in a rush. “But you shouldn’t be sorry for needing it. Not at all.”

Luka let that sink in a moment, and then smiled softly. “Thank you for that,” he told her. “Honestly, that’s enough. If you can just let me work through it as long as it takes, then that’s enough.”

“I can do that much,” Marinette smiled, and it only trembled a little.

He angled his face slightly in invitation, and she moved to meet him in one last, tender kiss. “Good night, beautiful dreamer. I’ll see you soon.”

“Good night, Luka,” Marinette said, adorably shy as she looked up at him.

~~~

I've never had to not use a song before because it was TOO perfect, but this time I just decided quoting any of the lyrics would be so on the nose as to be almost comical. So, I'll just leave this here, the song Marinette and Luka were listening to on their walk:

youtube

#quickspins #beautiful dreams #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #ml fics

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dromaeocore · 4 years

Text

Like.

I was eleven the first time I made a Plan. I had gotten my period and I was going to run away into the wilderness and maybe catch a bus and start a new life, or maybe die because I couldn't handle what was happening to my body - and maybe that was a sign I was broken and God should take me.

I spent the next few years dreaming of being a martyr. Of looking for signs in the sky that the End Times were here and hoping to God I'd have a chance to prove my faith my giving my life to Him. That's what I thought about, day in and day out. That was my plan for the future. Die a gruesome, public death so that I may somehow find some shred of worth in my last moments.

I started getting really depressed at 14. I didn't think I'd make it past 15. Still, I told no one.

By 16, I was switching between "I have to kill myself to find out the truth about reality because I can't handle what the eldritch gods are telling me anymore and I know the government will imprison me if they find me and the world keeps glitching and I can't handle not knowing anything anymore I can't I can't I can't" and "I'm a worthless piece of shit and I deserve to die before I hurt anyone".

When I told a Christian counsellor I hallucinated sometimes, she acted like she didn't hear me and talked to me about respecting my parents and we prayed a lot.

I had a short stint of happiness for a few months at 17 before it all came crashing down on me tenfold. By that point, I didn't believe in recovery. I just didn't.

The psychotic symptoms came back again, different themes this time, but no less terrifying. I attempted twice at 18, and you know who I told? Absolutely no one. I still think it's some kind of miracle I survived the second time around. I secretly went to two sessions of campus therapy and said I sometimes feel like wanting to die, but don't worry, I don't have a plan and would never actually do it.

At 19, I moved back home and had a long mental health evaluation where I was desperate enough to be kind of honest. I got diagnosed with ADHD and put on medication and for once in my life I felt like my brain worked. I got therapy with a man who self-identified as a fundamentalist Christian - but was mature enough to set his beliefs aside to help me. This was the first time I learned actual CBT skills. The first time I felt a glimmer of hope for my future. I started exercising. I started seeing my grades improve. I got accommodations for my disabilities. For once I started to develop dreams and an identity beyond how abysmal my mental health was and "what's the best way to kill myself?".

I think the times I was most convinced recovery wasn't possible for me was during the relapses of this period. I wish it'd taken me less time to learn that relapses would Happen. I thought I was doomed. I thought the universe had a target on my head and my time was here at long last.

Instead, I moved out at 20 to get some space. I had the faintest glimmer of myself and I knew that glimmer was incompatible with the church-heavy life my folks were having me lead back there. My identity was in shambles, but this time, I liked myself just enough to want to build one.

The flashbacks and dissociation began to take over my life and after about six months of that I thought shit, I need to start seeing a trauma therapist. So I did, in secret, with cash, leaving the phone tracker at home while I drove to hourly sessions and it turned out yep, this was PTSD.

And slowly, I learned how to live again. I was finishing my AA while working almost full time at a minimum wage job and living off of oatmeal and sweet potatoes and beans and rice. I didn't really have goals. Or a social life. Or even decent grades. But I learned to love the parts of myself that wanted to die, and I learned I really, really liked cooking, and I met my best friend, and I fell in love. And suddenly it didn't feel like my mental health and the deeply closeted life I was living affected just me anymore.

There were relapses, of course there were. But then my car broke down completely, and somehow I garnered enough of a self-preservation instinct to ask a friend for help, and I stayed at his place for a few weeks, and kept the phone tracker at work, and I came out to my parents, and that's still the most terrifying thing I've ever done. (Speaking as someome who drove across the country in the middle of a national uprising and a pandemic.)

And now - woah! I have so many goddamn goals and dreams I don't even know what to do with myself or where to start! I'm so fucking scattered and indecisive it's frustrating and sometimes it feels like it'll be impossible to finish any of them but holy shit! I have dreams! I want to be alive! There's so much I want to do and so little time and that's!!! Woah!!!

Despite that, I'm still depressed. Seriously, it takes me hours to get out of bed without a pressing Responsibility. I feel at least somewhat grey and foggy and tired 75% of the time.

But when you look at the fact that I've been actively suicidal for PRETTY MUCH my entire thinking life minus the majority of the past couple years? Bro, I'm on cloud nine. I'm doing great. [insert "do you think a depressed person could make THIS?" screencap from parks and rec here]

I never thought I'd make it to 15, 16, 17, 18, 19. 22 was out of the goddamn question and you know what? I'm on like, teenager-level of Life Plans right now. But I have a LIFE! And I have PLANS! Plans ABOUT that life - not about vanquishing it! And isn't that wonderful?

I sometimes muster the energy to work on my fursuit. I draw a fair amount. I'm making OCs and original stories, again. I go on runs with my boyfriend and we cook together and cuddle a lot and I actually get to go outside and hike around sometimes. I'm looking into getting involved in volunteering somewhere and I'm gonna start weightlifting again. Medical/legal transition is no longer some faraway, impossible dream. And I pet dogs. And watch a whole lot of Avatar: The Last Airbender.

So. Yeah. I'm not cured. My level of functioning now is about at the neurotypical level of "holy shit, what's wrong with me, I need to see a doctor". (And guess what - that's in the plans, too)

But I'm recovering and coping and likely will be the rest of my life. That's how lifelong illnesses are, babey. But I've accepted that. And I've got a good, full life ahead of me - a life I didn't even think I deserved, a few years ago.

Anyways. I hope my story gives someone out there some hope. I see a LOT of mental illness recovery stories like "I had an acute depressive episode for a year, talked to a therapist and got some meds, now I'm back to Normal Happy Life!!", but... nothing for those of us who've been dealing with severe mental illness for so long that we don't even have a before to go back to.

From a young adult who's been fighting with their own brain since they were a kid: As long as you're alive, there's hope.

And for the love of GOD, stop comparing yourself to people who've never have to deal with this level of Brain Fuck before.

#personal #mental illness #suicide #recovery #long post #SOOOOOO THATS ALL I GOTTA SAY ON THAY #*THAT

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toxophilitis · 4 years

Text

Daddy’s Little Girls cont.

CHAPTER TEN

Howard lay sighing and smiling for some time, softly holding, his daughter as she rested upon his broad chest. She was still quite blissfully aware of the upright state of his cock, glowing warmly just below her widely parted asscheeks. The nipples of her tits had softened some against his chest, and though she was relaxing and feeling quite good, she was still sensitive enough to feel the tiny, hard points of his nipples pressing upward against her chest. She enjoyed every part of this man who was her father and her lover. They sighed and sighed together, hearts beating as one, while Olive watched proudly and a bit sadly at the closeness she had helped to create.

As Howard further relaxed from his lascivious delights, his thick, upright cock slowly dwindled and rested between Lynette's asscheeks. She wriggled and giggled softly. Olive leaned over to brush her smooth cheek against Lynette's even smoother ass, and then sucked Howard's cock knob into her mouth. His cock still tasted sweetly of his jism, and the perfume arising from Lynette's well-sucked cunt was an added delight.

"Olive," Howard said, "I don't ever know how I got mixed up with a double-gaited bisexual like you."

Olive stopped kissing Howard's cockhead, and warmly pressed half the length of his cock between Lynette's accommodating asscheeks. "If this sex-pot of yours had her way, she'd be playing stoop-tag on her brother's pecker," she said. "And it wouldn't be nearly enough for her. You ought to do her a favor and fuck her. That's what she really needs."

"Oh, no," Howard said with a feeble shake of his head. "That's something I'll never do."

Olive caressed his balls. She reached out and touched Lynette's clitoris, and said, "Better you than her brother."

"I'd skin Mark alive if he touched her."

Olive fingered his balls very sweetly and nicely, and she continued, "Better you than some long-haired hippie in the back of a Volkswagen van."

"I'd find him and kill him. I swear it!" said Howard, his powerful arms tightening about Lynette's supple back. Olive kept tickling her clit.

"Better you," Olive went on, tickling so very delightfully Lynette could scarcely hold still, "Better you, Howard than some greasy pimp with a big, flashy car and bag full of heroin in his pocket."

"Baby, baby!" Howard wailed, and a tear flowed down his cheek, as he clasped his darling daughter. "I'll take care of you for as long as I live. I'll see to it those bastards never get to you!"

"Daddy. Oh, Daddy, stay with me," she said, curling her arms about his neck and kissing his whiskered cheek, clasping her thighs about his cock and wriggling her cunt.

They clung and kissed and clasped, Howard softly rocking from side to side on Olive's bed, Lynette warmly holding onto him. She held onto him with every part of her, from her lips to her fingers, from her tits to her cunt, to her toes digging in at his ankles.

Olive caressed the knob of Howard's stiff cock and both of Lynette's tight asscheeks as she said, "I think I'd better leave you two alone for a while. I think you've got something between you that only you two can settle."

The thick shaft of her father's cock was thrilling Lynette through and through as she clung to him with her thighs. The very wet, very swollen lips of her cunt were kissing his cock as Lynette and her father clung and rocked gently together.

"I think we'd both better get up and go before this gets out of hand," Howard said.

"Can't I just play with your cock for a minute?"

"Better not," Howard warned.

"Why not?" asked his daughter. "After all, I've sucked your cock and kissed it and drunk up its goodie-good cum-cum. So why can't I play with your cock for a minute?"

"Well, maybe for a minute," Howard sighed.

Lynette kissed him jubilantly and moved down to sit on his thighs, waddling her soaking wet cunt onto the length of his cock as she did so. Now his cock stood up before her mightily. She took his cock in both her hands once again, and pulled his cock against her tummy.

"Oh, Daddy, your cock is so big! Just look! It would fit clear up to here if you'd ever put it inside me," she said, and indeed the tip of its ruddy, red cockhead reached up to her tiny navel.

Just the sight of his great, red cock being pressed to Lynette's tiny navel was enough to give Howard further pause. He shook his head gravely, and firmly said, "No way. It's time we got dressed."

"But I haven't gotten to play with your cock yet," said Lynette, and now she scooted her naked ass farther down on his hairy legs, clasping his cock, giggling and pressing it tightly against her tits.

Moving lower, she kissed and clasped his cock against her cheek, laughing and saying, "Oh, Daddy! You must have the biggest cock in the whole wide world!"

"There are bigger I'm sure," Howard said with a smile. "Though I've never really shopped around for one."

"And it's not just big. It's pretty!" said Lynette, and she sucked it into her mouth for a moment again. She enjoyed his cock's delightful male taste and felt the thick ridge under his cock-knob with her greedy tongue. "If I had a cock like this for my own, I'd never go looking for another one," she said, and she moved, her ass up on his thighs once again and hugged his hard cock to her tummy.

"You'll find one of your own soon enough," Howard said with a sigh. Now his hands move over her amazingly silken thighs, and closed on her nubile hips.

"I suppose you're right," said Lynette, still holding his cock, rocking forward and back on his thighs, feeling the heat from his balls rising straight up in her newly itching cunt. "And I know every man has a cock. Every boy, too," she went on, sighing wistfully, as if she hadn't noticed the knitting of her father's brows. "I know Markie has one. I've peeked when he's gone to the bathroom. And there's the handsomest boy who's just come to town. He drives the neatest van, and he's got hair just as long as a rock singer."

"Don't all those rock singers... use narcotics?"

"I don't know. But there's a big guy who drives a pink Cadillac, who the teens all say is on smack." Howard groaned and clasped his daughter to him. He felt the frailness of her back and the fragility of her ribs and spine. He also felt the warmth and softness of her loins as he kissed her and softly moaned, "You'd never forgive me if I fucked you."

"Oh, you wouldn't have to do it all the way," said Lynette, wriggling her glowing, wet cunt up against the thick base of his cock. "You could just sort of give my pussy a nice taste of it," she said, already feeling his cock-knob inside herself, though his cock still pressed against her bell button.

"Just a taste," Howard murmured, stroking and feeling her delicate flesh. "Perhaps just the tip of my cock," Howard went on, while his cock throbbed against her warm tummy.

"You just lay back! I'll do it!" Lynette quickly said. She kneeled astraddle her father's hard hips.

"Couldn't I help? Kitchy-koo?" he teased. He tickled her clit. Her hot hips twitched and jerked, and her cum with his cockhead strayed. Howard wisely leaned back with his hands behind his head, and watched while Lynette did the job herself.

His cockhead was a rich, ruddy red, almost identical in color to Lynette's glistening, wet cunt lips. His cock was splitting her cunt lips widely as she tried to force it inside herself. Their pubic hair was the same color, too, though his was bushy and thick at the base of his cock, and hers was a filigree of delicate threads closely nestling over her tiny cunt. Her titties, so tiny and sweet, scarcely jiggled at all, though her movements were excited and vigorous as she tried once again to force him inside her burning hot cunt.

"I figured I was just too big for you," Howard said.

"You're not! You can fit! I just know you can," Lynette insisted, feeling more and more sure of this -- or at least more and more desirous of the lovely big cock in her hands -- each time his big knob went skidding across her cunt.

Her cunt felt hugely open, as if it was yawning quite widely, though her cunt's portals remained obstinately closed. Lynette tried and tried to push his monstrously lovely cock into her cunt, fighting back team of frustration while her father lay back smiling and warning her that she'd only hurt herself. And then when his great big knob suddenly popped right up inside her, she gasped out so loudly in astonishment that Howard was sure he had hurt her.

"It's all right! It feels fine!" said Lynette, though indeed it felt as if his cock was splitting her.

Only the knob of his cock was inside her. And the big blunt ridge underneath now acted like a fishhook's barb, impaling the tight portals of her cunt in such a way that she'd never be able to climb off. Not that she wanted to try, for the stretching and splitting sensations alone were enough to make her feel like a real, live woman all over her teenaged body.

Strong as she felt in her heart, her legs were weakening so that she slipped down another inch onto his cock. The stretching sensations were better, marred only by the fact that her father no winced.

"Am I hurting you, Daddy?" she asked anxiously.

"Pain like this I'm quite able to stand."

"Mmm! Oh-h! It's beautiful!" Lynette crooned, as she trembled, lowering her widely stretched cunt down on the thick, burning hot cock up inside of her.

"I never dreamed... anything could feel so go-o-o-o-d!" she exclaimed, twisting her hips and her torso to feel still more of his cock deeper inside her.

"You'll never have another fuck like this," said her father quite proudly.

"Never, never, never, never, never!" she replied, shaking her head and her torso with her every rapidly delivered word, and feeling more and still more of his cock up inside her.

"Never, never, never, never, never!!!" she exclaimed, and she at last settled down with her delicate hair on his bush, and with the stout knob of his cock being lovingly kissed by that wonderful place in her tummy.

"Oo-o-oh. A-a-a-a-h. Feels so good!" said Lynette, rocking back and forth on his cock, swaying from side to side, massaging every part of his cock just as it massaged all of her cunt.

She felt glorious all over. Her fine bod felt so very good that she had to touch herself. Howard, seeing this, helped her all he could. He squeezed her knees, and Lynette shivered and moaned through a lovely orgasm. She raised her arms and felt more orgasms as he touched her tits.

With her arms up like that, her tits seemed flattened against her chest. But her tits were still very soft to his touch, and her nipples turned upward, pink and prominent, quite ripe for the ripping good orgasms that now flowed from her knees to her tits. Howard massaged her anus and started more orgasms. He fondled her tits and her hips and her knees, and started new orgasms flowing again with new vigor. He had her cumming all over her tender body as she rocked back and forth on his wonderful cock and kept it all going inside.

She knew very well she wasn't fucking him right. It should be up and down, not forward and back. She had the wild and fearful notion that she might flex the base of his cock and break it, but still she couldn't stop her rocking. It was doing some nice things to him.

"Tight," Howard murmured, shifting on the bed and pushing up closer against her. "Really tight," he said. He drew back his cock a scant inch for some comfort and pushed it inside once again, an both of them looked at each other in wonder.

Lynette found she could move, up and down once again. She moved her hips up and down with increasing delight, a delight that he shared by moving up and down with her.

"Oh, Daddy! Your cock is so hot! It's so hard! Your cock's so big!" she exclaimed through her panting and gasping.

"Your cunt's so tight! You're so hot! You're so sweet! Oh, Lynette!" he said back to her. And then suddenly he was on top of her, fucking her hard and fast and cumming like crazy.

As small as she was and as heavy as he was on top of her, Lynette was showing amazing agility. She couldn't hold still. She could very distinctly feel each one of her father's heavy ejaculations, and each one of these drove her, entire body into a frenzy to feel just one more.

She was like a wild thing underneath him. She wriggled and squirmed in his clasping arms for just one more of his orgasms, for just one more kiss from his cock on her secret spot -- and then for one more after that. She could no longer utter a groan or a moan. She hadn't the strength for that left. But she did have the strength to cling everywhere to him and hump like a fiend at his pistoning cock till his balls were all empty and he sighed a long sigh for the two of them.

At last he said, "I don't want to take my cock out of you."

"I don't think you can," she said.

He hugged her. She in turn squeezed his cock with her cunt, bringing forth some last droplets of syrupy jism that Howard did not know existed in him.

And with those last droplets of jism, Howard felt himself going soft. Not as soft as the cunt of his daughter, for no cunt in creation could be any softer than that, but just soft enough that his cock might slip out of her, and this his cock did as they clung to each other and sighed.

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myownworldstayout · 5 years

Text

New Friends Ch. 2

Ch.1 / Ch.3

Enjoy!

The next morning, Marinette woke up more tired than she had fallen asleep. Any dreams she had were just nightmares, nothing more. That’d been happening a lot recently.

“Marinette, you’re going to be late for school!” Her mother called from below.

“Coming, Mama.” Marinette mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she stumbled around her room for clothes.

“Maybe you should go to bed earlier tomorrow?” Tikki suggested worriedly, flying around her holder’s head.

The ravenette hummed at the thought. sleep wasn’t the real issue. They both knew that. It was Lila and Marinette’s friends.

Sounds like you need new friends. Felix’s words from yesterday echoed in her mind. Though Marinette felt guilty about it, the more she pondered the words, the more they made sense to her. She hated to admit it, but what kind of friends did she have if they didn’t believe her over a foreigner?

As she continued to think it over, Marinette hobbled down the steps to grab a bagel or two for the walk to school.

“Honey, you look like a zombie. Are you okay?” Her mother frowned, gently rubbing her shoulder. If not for the touch, Marinette might not have registered that Sabine was even talking to her.

Pulling a weary smile, Marinette nodded, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and grabbing a bagel.

“I just stayed up too late last night, I guess. See you after school.” She answered, slipping out the door before her mother could ask anymore questions.

Despite being exhausted, Marinette managed to make it to class on time. When she walked in, though, she found Lila sitting in her seat.

“Lila, you’re in my seat.” Marinette remarked flatly, too tired to play nice at the moment. She ignored the sting of seeing Alya protectively put a hand on Lila’s shoulder. The journalist used to protect Marinette just like that.

Lila blinked in feigned surprise at Mari.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette, my tinnitus is bugging me a lot today.” The liar apologized, placing her hand on her ear.

“I thought you said ladybug healed your Tinnitus.” Marinette countered, wearing the same blank expression.

It wasn’t so much as Marinette’s words as her attitude that threw Lila off.

“S-she did!- or I thought she did, but it came back this morning."

“Mari, it’s just moving seats. Does it really matter?” Alya spoke up, annoyance lacing her tone.

Marinette’s gaze flickered to her supposed best friend, then to Adrien, who was giving her a displeased look.

“It’s really okay guys.. I know Mari doesn’t like me, and she really wants to get at me for some reason, but we shouldn’t band against her like this.” Lila pretended to be a mediator for the situation.

The class, as usual, started angrily buzzing about Marinette’s “behavior”. Marinette wanted to believe in her friends, to think they would eventually come to their senses and realize what Lila’s done. Sadly, the only thing she found herself believing right now were the words from the strange boy she met yesterday.

The bluenette looked back at Lila for a solid minute without saying a word. Then she simply turned and headed for the back seat she had been exiled to.

(Credit to @nobodyfamousposts for this next bit!)

“Tinnitus is the persistent ringing in one’s ears.” Came a new voice. “If you are claiming to hear things that no one at any point has said, then perhaps your disability should be diagnosed under mental health rather than hearing.”

All of her classmates immediately turned to the new student standing at the door who was the source of the cutting remark. And though she couldn’t help but feel relief at no longer being the center of her classmates’ ire, Marinette’s eyes similarly snapped to the owner of the voice as well, though for a different reason.

The others were confused, but growing angry at the clear insult. She, on the other hand, was seeking out the one other person who was willing to see the obvious lies and manipulations for what they were, even if that person was a stranger. And how much did that have to hurt that it was someone she didn’t even know who was willing to side with her instead of her own best friend?

What she saw was a familiar blonde haired-boy wearing a grey dress shirt and black pants. His steely grey eyes almost seemed to glimmer as he took in the scene of the classroom.

“Who exactly are you supposed to be?” Alya demanded.

The boy barely gave her a glance before looking back over the rest of the class until his gaze settled on Marinette. He seemed to look her over, as if assessing her before starting to speak again.

“I have to say, it’s hardly impressive when the first thing to see upon entering a new classroom is everyone bullying a single student.”

Marinette blanched at that. “They’re not—no one is bullying—”

His steely glare cut her off. “They pushed you out of your seat without your knowledge or permission—a seat that isn’t even needed for the one who is claiming to have a special need, at that—and are requiring you to sit alone in the back where you clearly don’t want to be, only to gang up on you when you express unhappiness about the matter. What is that if not bullying?”

It was phrased as a question, but it certainly in no way sounded like one and brokered no room for argument. It left Marinette stunned and the rest of her classmates actually looked a bit sheepish at that.

“He’s right.” Came a response from Lila that brought the tension right back to Marinette’s shoulders. The girl had her head lowered and brought a hand up to her eye like she was trying to wipe away a tear before it formed.

“I’m causing so much trouble. I could go to the back after all. It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t even be here.”

Oh gosh, was she actually sniffling? Yes, yes she was.

The rest of the class rose in their seats at that, as if to rush to the liar’s side and try to comfort her. The clear ploy only made Marinette more frustrated. Fortunately, this time she wasn’t the only one.

“If you’re quite finished with your self-inflicted pity party,” The strange boy continued. “Perhaps you could acknowledge that the issue here never needed to be about you.”

That gave Lila pause, actually bringing a stop to her fake tears. “What?”

“In order to accommodate you, only one student would have needed to move. There was absolutely no need to move everyone in the class, especially to do so without all members of the class present to be able to advocate for themselves, or do you all regularly make decisions for classmates without consideration as to their feelings?”

Finally, Mlle. Bustier intervened. “Felix, please. There’s no need for harsh words. I’m sure the class meant no harm.”

Marinette looked back at him, taking in his features. She was too preoccupied yesterday to really get a look at him.

He was tall and standoffish, exuding an air of seriousness and sternness that would be off-putting to most people. But he stood up to Lila without hesitation and seemed prone to speaking his mind. She was wary, but also curious.

Felix, on the other hand, was less than appeased with the teacher’s attempts to calm the situation.

“Then shouldn’t you have been the one to arrange the seating? Or have the class wait to make changes until after class starts and everyone would be present?”

Seeing the way Mlle. Bustier’s eyes widened and the rest of the class gaped, Marinette chose that moment to jump in.

“It’s fine!” Marinette insisted, waving her hands up and causing the boy to turn to her. “I mean, it was really my own fault for being late.”

“You weren’t late. The bell hasn’t even rung.” He shot back.

She hesitated. “Still…”

“Such decisions that affect everyone should be agreed upon by everyone before being implemented. That they made the choice when not everyone was present only to turn on the one who was not allowed a say speaks volumes.” His eyes narrowed. “Or do you regularly let others make decisions for you?”

Marinette froze. She really had nothing she could say to that. Neither did the rest of the class.

Mlle. Bustier coughed, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. “Marinette, perhaps as the class rep, you can take Felix on a tour of the school and help show him around?”

It wasn’t something they normally did, but separating them for now seemed the best move. This would hopefully allow the class time to calm, and maybe Marinette could help Felix to acclimate. At the very least, it would prevent a fight from breaking out.

“Uh—sure!” Marinette agreed, uncertain but willing to try to help diffuse this growingly tense situation. Felix was smart. And fully willing to speak out if he felt it necessary. Those were admirable qualities, even if they seemed to turn people off. Marinette had hopes that maybe if they got to know each other, they could perhaps become friends.

Desperately trying to ignore the intense stares from her class, Marinette stepped down to the bottom floor and smiled at Felix. He simply raised an eyebrow in response. She coughed, then forcefully smiled again.

“Shall we go?” She asked, as she gestured to the door.

A moment passed. Then thankfully, he nodded and moved to follow her as she started for the entrance. However, once he reached the door, he turned back and looked up at the class with a critical eye.

“My first impression of this class is…I don’t like any of you.”

Marinette managed to pull him out of the room right before the shouting started.

(Back to mine lol)

“I thought you were in Luka’s class.” Marinette commented as they walked the school grounds.

“I never said that. I used to go to the same school as Tsurugi. That’s why I was at lunch with them.” He answered vaguely, skeptically looking around the school.

“So you transferred here?”

“Yesterday.” He confirmed shortly.

Marinette nodded in understanding, falling silent for a moment. She couldn’t help but think- once again- of his advice.

“Thank you.” Marinette spoke without thinking.

It gave Felix a pause. They both knew what she was thanking him for. Anyone defending Marinette against Lila was apparently a rarity now.

“I simply stated the facts. Nothing more.” He replied flatly.

Marinette shrugged, though she felt differently on the matter.

They continued the tour without much conversation after that, with Marinette pointing out the classroom, gym, and library, and explaining the class schedules and how to look them up.

By the time they got back to the class, everyone had settled down, though they still pointed Marinette and Felix with a hard glare. Marinette just avoided their gaze, moving forward to sit in the back.

Felix, however, seemed to meet each of their eyes with an icy glare of his own. He slid into the back seat next to Marinette without much hesitation, pulling out his books.

“You’re sitting next to me?” She asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

“It’s the only other seat in the classroom.” Felix responded, not even sparing her a glance.

Marinette flushed with embarrassment at that, mumbling an “oh” as she took out her own books. Felix was extremely blunt and pretty cold most of the time, but.. He was also the only person who took her side against Lila.

Sure, Adrien knew about Lila’s lies, but he never did anything about it. He never defended her the way Felix did just now. No one did.

So, Marinette supposed, Felix couldn’t be that bad, right? She just had to get to know him more, and that was what she intended to do.

tag list: @unabashedbookworm @minightrose @rhub4rb @bluerosette23 @clumsy-owl-4178 @kuroko26 @angstyrastuff @fanboy7794 @dargeon-lissa

#New Friends AU #Felix Culpa #Felinette

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