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trippedandfell · 2 years

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#100 "it's always been you" kisses because damn if that aint buddiecore.... (please!)

today, yesterday, everyday, and tomorrow night

buddie | 3.6k | ao3 | enjoy some odd, vaguely explained magical realism/parallel universe... stuff.

Eddie wakes up in a cold sweat.

There’s a journal on his bedside table, a glass of water carefully perched on top. He picks up both, downs half the glass in one go.

Then, as the sun begins to creep up above the horizon, he begins to write.

This is what Eddie knows -

There are over 420,000 parallel universes that exist alongside Earth, bumping together like beads on a hand-strung necklace. For most people, they exist only in passing - a sentence at the end of a museum plaque, a throwaway line by a reporter on a slow news day. It’s the kind of information that gets taught near the sticky-hot end of the school year, kids fidgeting out of their chairs, the teacher plodding through a chapter that’s been forced to be included in the curriculum.

This is what Eddie knows -

He’s not like most people.

Hasn’t been, really, since he sat down at the kitchen table opposite his Abuela in the middle of June, twelve years old and still shaking from adrenaline as he recounted a dream that had been real, too real, right down to the hot warmth of the sun on his neck and the salty tang of the ocean. It had been almost a relief when she had taken his hand and explained it slowly, those who walked between worlds as they slept in hopes of discovering hidden truths. A gift, she called it, smile soft and understanding. A way to teach us what’s important.

Eddie learns about the night his Abeula awoke under a sky of different stars and met an old man who told her the exact nature of the injury that had been plaguing her hip, the time his Dad met a man in the middle of a brilliant purple ocean who showed him the path to his chosen career. When he gets older, he has his own stories to share - the young girl he met that showed him how to throw a fastball, the winding village road he followed back to his Abuelo’s childhood home. He and his sisters swap stories at the dinner table, tales of the not-quite right worlds they visit when they close their eyes, comparing notes on the different ways the ground felt beneath their feet, the unique tint of the sky.

The dreams don’t come every night, or even every week - they’re random, striking like a summer thunderstorm, a collection of short bursts that leave just as quickly as they came. Only when it’s truly important, his Abuela tells him, and Eddie realizes just how true that is when he spends three weeks trying to decipher why he keeps hearing a child laugh ecstatically while he sleeps, only to wake up one day to Shannon shaking his shoulder, a pregnancy test clutched tight in one hand.

He doesn’t dream when he’s overseas, although whether that’s from sheer exhaustion or something else, he can’t quite tell. It’s not until the helicopter goes down in a sea of flames that they start anew, more intense than ever - a woman on the street shouting at him to make a change, the faint sound of a siren following him as he treks around a world with two moons.

Eddie follows the dreams to LA, where they shudder again to a stop.

That is, he supposes, until now.

Buck’s already got coffee waiting when Eddie staggers into the kitchen, taking a grateful gulp before collapsing into the nearest chair.

“Somewhere tropical this time,” he says, in lieu of a greeting, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop. “South America, I think. Lots of beaches.”

He slides the leather-bound notebook across the table, already bookmarked to the latest entry, the messy memories he managed to scrawl down the night before. Buck’s silent as he reads, throat bobbing as he finishes his own coffee, topped with so much milk that it’s nearly the colour of snow.

“This is the third one that’s had blue sand,” he says finally, flipping to the back of the book, the series of hastily-drawn charts and diagrams littered across the pages. “Do you think that has something to do with it?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie moans, slumping down to press his forehead against the cool wood. “It’s never been this hard before.”

He can’t see Buck’s face from this angle, but he can picture it - eyebrows drawn together, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It’s the face he’s been wearing ever since Eddie sat him down last month and poured his secrets out in a rush - the dreams, the travelling, the way that he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night since Hen and Karen’s vow renewal, his consciousness on a hunt for something that he can’t quite find. They’d called his Abuela together later that day, who had been concerned but not ultimately helpful, reminding him that sometimes these things take time, that he just needs to find the underlying message and they’ll stop.

“Mijo,” she had said finally, after Buck left to go pick up Chris, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder as he went, “are you sure it’s not-”

“No,” Eddie said flatly, and that had been the end of that.

Because it’s not Buck causing the dreams, he’s sure of it. Buck appears in the dreams, more often than not, but he’s never - he’s not there to send a message, or to reveal some hidden truth. The vast majority of the worlds Eddie travels to are remarkably similar to his own, so it’s no surprise that nine times out of ten Buck is there, normally with some other members of the 118, or even Eddie’s family. He’s just there as part of the fabric of Eddie’s life - a familiarity. A welcome committee, wherever he goes.

Whatever his mind is trying to tell him, it isn’t about Buck. Which leaves him here, sitting at the kitchen table long before Chris makes it out of bed, dissecting every moment of last night in hopes that he’ll finally stumble across the right answer and finally be able to get some goddamn rest.

“Okay,” Buck says now, tapping a pencil against the lined page, one, two, three. “Maybe it has to do with the water. You didn’t speak to anyone?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, trying his best to remember. “I lived with you and Chimney,” he says, thinking of the strange room he woke up in, mattress hard against the floor. “We were - surfers, I think. Hen ran the coffee shop downstairs?”

“But no strangers?” Buck presses. “No one on the beach? Did you have a phone?”

“I did,” Eddie allows. It’s always easier in the worlds with phones - he can see who he’s in contact with, search the internet to discover where, exactly, he is. On the days when he wakes up without Chris, he’s always tempted to search his name, see what he finds, but can never quite find the strength to. If he’s honest, he’s scared he might stumble across something he never wants to see - that Chris is gone, or, even worse, that he never existed at all. “I texted - um. I wrote it down. My mom, and -”

“Adriana,” Buck says, squinting at the page. “I think. Your handwriting is awful, dude.”

Eddie kicks him under the table, laughing as Buck squirms away. “You try writing in the dark and see how well it turns out.”

That sets Buck off on some rant about different handwriting styles, and the cultural variations of each - Eddie’s too tired to fully comprehend it, if he’s honest, but he’s more than content to listen, let Buck’s words wash over him as he rambles. It’s far better than dissecting every single moment of Eddie’s night, as much as he knows Buck wants to.

Because Buck - Buck is worried. Eddie knows it, even if Buck won’t tell him outright - can see it in the clench of his jaw, the way the coffee mugs he slides to Eddie across the table keep growing in size. Eddie wants to hold him and tell him to stop, tell him that he’s alright, but at this point, he’s not quite sure if he believes it himself.

He’s at the edge of the precipice. And to be quite honest, he doesn’t think he has much longer until he falls.

It’s not until he starts travelling when he naps that it truly becomes a problem.

He’s been using naps as a bridge to survival the past six (or is it seven? He’s lost track) weeks, curling up against Buck’s side at the station and dozing off whenever he can. It’s been working pretty well for him, up until the day that he falls asleep in the bunkroom and wakes up in an unfamiliar house, stretched out in a king-sized bed.

“Motherfucker,” he curses, pulling himself upright before going through his checklist - phone, window, photos. Thankfully, the device on the bedside table looks remarkably similar to his iPhone at home, so he opens it up, swipes through it - Buck’s at the top of his contact list, same with Ravi and Hen. There’s no Chimney or Bobby this time, but there is a picture of Chris as his wallpaper, so - that’ll do. He can work with that.

The window is next, peeking out into a residential street, houses boring and beige and otherwise unremarkable. There’s a full moon high in the sky above, and Eddie’s about to check the formation of the stars when something darts across the street, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as it emerged.

It takes Eddie a minute to place it, but when he does, he has to bite back another curse. He turns to the pictures on the nightside table, and - yep. There’s a group of them sitting in a field, arms slung around each other’s shoulders and faces decidedly wolfy.

Buck’s probably going to get a kick out of this one. He loves the supernatural dreams.

Now that Eddie’s fully awake, he can feel his senses kick into full gear - the sound of Chris’s heartbeat down the hall, the faint honk of a horn from five streets over. There’s a scuffling downstairs, and he almost jumps before his brain catches up - Buck.

The house is old, floorboards warped with age, so Eddie doesn’t even bother to be quiet as he makes it down the steps, following the sound of Buck singing in the kitchen. He smiles when he sees Eddie, canines long and poking over his bottom teeth.

“Morning,” he says, sliding a plate of waffles across the table. “You’re up early.”

“Mm.” Eddie busies himself with eating so he doesn’t have to respond. This is always the hardest part of these dreams - figuring out what this world’s Eddie is like, slipping into another person’s shoes for a day. His Abuela has told him time and time again that he won’t actually affect this Eddie, that the day will reset once he’s gone and no one will have any memory of it except himself, but it still feels - weird. “You sleep okay?”

Buck snorts. “I never sleep on a full moon.” His eyebrows narrow, just the slightest. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m -” Eddie’s about to say fine when there’s a tug low in his gut, something he hasn’t felt before. “Uh,” he tries again, before he doubles over in pain, Buck racing over to his side before he can react, hands braced against Eddie’s chest.

“What’s going on?” He demands, voice tense - scared. “Talk to me.”

Eddie tries to, he really does, but then the world around him blurs and he comes to on the floor of the bunkroom, back drenched with sweat and Buck - his Buck - standing over him worriedly.

“You weren’t answering,” he says, and his voice is rough, as if he’s been yelling. “Was that-”

There’s still a sharp ache in Eddie’s gut, but it’s fading rapidly. “Yeah,” he says, because there’s no point in lying, not when it’s Buck. He takes a deep breath, digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands. “I, uh. Think it might be time to talk to someone.”

Dr. Richardson is kind, competent, and very, very experienced, according to her impressive website. None of that explains why her eyebrows furrow when Eddie describes his situation, Buck a stony soldier to his right, clutching the notebook they’ve brought along.

“The dreams aren’t supposed to hurt,” she says finally, leaning back in her seat. Outside the window, Eddie can hear the loud sound of a car alarm - he supposes, with people like him being so rare, that being in this industry isn’t exactly lucrative. Not unless you’re shilling fake dreams for people, like some of the weirdos Buck found online in his research. “They’re supposed to just - nudge. Help. Definitely not last this long.”

“So is there a way to stop it?” Buck asks, and his face is a little tense, gaunt. Neither of them have been sleeping well ever since the incident at the station, scared of what will happen if they do. “Like, do you have medicine or something that can help?”

“We can try a few things,” Dr. Richardson allows, although she doesn’t sound particularly hopeful. Eddie’s heart sinks somewhere deep in his stomach. “But dreams - especially travelling through dreams - are fickle. Unpredictable. It’s like the universe, wherever it is, has something it desperately wants you to know. Something you’re avoiding, or refusing to admit.”

“But I don’t have anything like that,” Eddie says frustratedly, refusing the urge to tug on his hair. “I mean - my biggest thing to work through was coming out, and I took care of that before this all started. Everyone in my life knows.”

“Coming out is a good example, but - not quite.” Dr. Richardson taps her pen on the corner of her page. “Some studies - fringe theories, really - say that what we learn in our dreams is the opposite of what happens when you’re awake. Not the lesson we learn, but - the feeling. If you discover something in a terrifying dream, it might end up being a really funny moment in real life. Same with sad dreams - happy moments, when you’re awake.”

“So what does that mean for Eddie?” Buck is too big for the chair, limbs squished and contorted. Any other time, Eddie would laugh, but right now he’s just - tired.

Dr. Richardson smiles at that, the faintest thing. “That maybe whatever the universe is trying to tell you, it’s really, really good.”

Eddie goes home.

Eddie dreams.

Eddie dreams about skydiving, about floating in a bubble above the Earth. Dreams about being a firefighter in Boston, or teaching overseas. Dreams about living in a mansion on a lake, camping in a tent during a pink-hued fall.

In all his dreams, Buck is there. In all his dreams, he’s awoken too early by a stabbing pain - sometimes in his stomach, sometimes elsewhere.

“This is just - bullshit,” Buck finally says one morning, when Eddie comes limping out of his bedroom with a fading ache in his leg. “This shouldn’t - this is supposed to be a good thing.”

He looks so indignant, so furious, that Eddie just wants to give him a hug. He settles for linking their ankles under the table instead.

“It normally is,” he says, soothing. “We just need to figure this out. We’re close.”

And they are close, he thinks. They’re circling in on a few themes, scrawled in the back of Eddie’s notebook: Family. Togetherness. Relaxing. Vague ideas that might lead to something, anything.

He’s taken to speaking ideas out loud, when he wakes up in unfamiliar places. I want more children. There is a promotion in my future. I’m taking a vacation soon. They all feel vaguely wrong, like ash on his lips the second he says them. But he just - can’t. Can’t figure out what else it might be.

The dream journal’s getting beat up by how much use he’s getting out of it, edges warped and pages bent. It’s instinct, at this point, for Eddie to reach for it when he wakes up yet again in a cold sweat, the clock on the wall informing him cheerily that it’s just past three in the morning.

Normally, after the dreams, he’s able to go back to sleep, catch a few hours of normal rest, but tonight he just feels - wired. Jittery. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, he gives up altogether and flips through the notebook, turning on the nightside lamp as he goes. There’s just - there’s got to be something.

Reading the book front-to-back doesn’t unlock any new secrets, so he settles instead for tallying words on the back of an old receipt, counting the total number of times they appear. Blue appears forty-eight. Father appears fifty. Family appears sixty-five. And Buck - Eddie scrubs at his eyes, just to make sure he’s not reading it wrong - Buck appears seventy-two times.

The last time Eddie got a dreamless sleep was seventy-three nights ago.

He forces himself to check his math, to try again, but the result is the same, Buck’s name leaping off of every page. More words appear, too - Cooking. Kitchen. Firefighting. Chris. Peace. He tallies them all, then stares down at the back of the page, hands shaking.

Because he’s just - on the back of a CVS receipt, of all places - he’s just holding a list of precious phrases that make up Buck. They’ve been searching all this time for one word, or one thing, but it’s been everything - every aspect of his dreams, from the beach in South America to Buck making him breakfast - is about him. He had been so sure, so certain that Buck wasn’t there in every dream, that it couldn’t possibly be the lesson he was trying to be taught, but now, looking at the pages - even if Buck wasn’t physically there, Eddie always texted him, or called. There was always at least one picture on the nightside table, a number in his phone.

God. Eddie’s mind has been a shrine to Buck for nearly three months now, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m in love with Buck,” he says, aloud to his empty room. Nothing shakes, nothing moves, but he somehow feels more - at peace, regardless. “I’m in love with Buck,” he repeats, and then, before he can help himself, he’s on his feet, making his way over to the couch where Buck’s dozing restlessly.

“Eddie?” He murmurs, and then he’s jolting awake, reaching out to grab his sides. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie promises, and he knows he’s smiling like a fool, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. “I just - I figured it out. I know what the dreams are trying to tell me.”

Buck’s alert now, his body a tense line next to Eddie’s own. “Really?” He murmurs, and then, without warning, pulls Eddie into his chest. “God, I was so fucking worried,” he gasps, hands fisting the back of Eddie’s shirt. “I just - what is it? Are you allowed to tell me?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. He should be nervous, should be terrified - this is, if the intensity of his dreams were any indication, probably the biggest realization he’s ever uncovered. But it’s also - it’s just Buck. Who showed up with a pile of research before Eddie even had a chance to think, who lets him steal sips of his too-sweet coffee at work. Buck, who takes Chris to the zoo nearly every weekend and has his own collection of mugs in the cupboard under the sink.

“I’m in love with you.”

Buck reels back as if he’s been hit. “You - what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie repeats, tugging Buck’s hand into his lap, twisting their fingers together. “And,” he adds, when he can see a protest forming on the tip of Buck’s tongue, “this isn’t another guess, or something I’m unsure about. I know it. This is what the dreams have been trying to tell me.”

“Your dream curse almost killed you to get you to confess your feelings,” Buck says, somewhat in disbelief. He stares at their entwined hands as if he can’t quite believe it himself. “I just - wow. Holy shit.”

“I know it’s a lot,” Eddie says apologetically, looking out the window, where the sun is barely peeking above the horizon. “And you don’t have to say it back today, or ever, really. I just - needed to tell you.”

Buck scoots closer, just enough so that their knees brush. It sends a tingle of something up Eddie’s spine, an undeniable sense of rightness flowing through his entire body.

“It is a lot,” he confesses, voice low. “But it’s not - God. I love you. I’ve wanted you for ages. You had to have noticed.”

Eddie gestures to his general everything, biting his lip to hide his smile. “I’m pretty oblivious, apparently.”

It feels silly now, in hindsight, that it could have been anything but Buck. He probably owes his Abuela an apology.

“I want to kiss you,” he blurts out, inelegant and simple. If pressed, he’ll blame it on the lack of sleep. “I mean,” he pauses, clears his throat. “Can I kiss you?”

Buck doesn’t answer with words.

Instead, he cradles Eddie’s face in both hands, like he’s something precious, something breakable, and leans in. It’s hardly a kiss, hardly anything at all, but Eddie swears his chest cracks right open in that moment, his heart barren for all to see as he kisses Buck again, and again, and again.

(And again.)

Eddie goes to bed with Buck in his arms that night.

It’s the best sleep he’s ever had.

leave a comment on ao3!

#911 #911fic #911 fox #buddie fic #myfic #asked and answered #thank you for the prompt sorry i took it in a weird direction mwah!!!#this is what happens when the teen wolf trailer drops while i'm writing #just roll with it we're just vibing here <3

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luxis-ocs · 2 years

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TWST OC: Elio

(Just thought I'd share one of my OCs in here- if u wanna see more abt this oc, you're free to read more)

ABOUT

Name . Elio Bianchi

Nicknames . Eli, Lio, Leaf Sheep (by Floyd), Monsieur Moelleux (by Rook), [le] Petit Mouton ([the] Little Sheep; also by Rook), Vice Dorm Leader Bellwether (by some Savanaclaw Students)

Gender . Male

Age . 17

Birthday . October 7

Starsign . Libra

Height . 158 cm

Eye Color . Green

Hair Color . White

Homeland . Afterglow Savanah

Dorm . Savanaclaw

School Year . 2nd

Class . 2-C (student no. 7)

Occupation . Student

Club . Magift Club

Best Subject . Animal Languages

Favorite Food . Pesto Trofie

Least Favorite Food . Meat

Dislike . Having to do Leona's work

Hobby . Playing chess with Leona

Talents . Being able to do things well under pressure

APPEARANCE

Elio is a short boy with fair skin with freckles, green eyes, and thick, curly, white hair that it is often help up in a bun. Elio is known for his round-shaped gold-colored glasses and sheep features. He is often found with a shy and sheepish (pun unintended but also intended- /lh) smile on his face.

PERSONALITY

Elio is pretty two-faced. To everyone he meets, he has a very meek and friendly persona; very helpful and nice. Some might even say that he might be an RSA student. He is usually seen with lots of work, with a calm and shy smile on his face. He's often underestimated by most because of his short and small stature; as well as being one of the very few prey beastmen in Savanaclaw. However, Elio is very cunning and pretty ruthless under that shiny persona of his. He's constantly very manipulating and thoughtful of his actions. He also holds lots of grudges and subtely uses that as leverage over other people. He also knows how to twist his words and actions and expressions into making him look like the victim, or simply a witness. Elio does not trust as easily as he looks. Out of all the people he has met in NRC, the amount of people he does fully trust can be counted in one hand. However, Elio is also very loyal to whoever he does trust. Once he deems you trustworthy enough, he won't necessarily stop his acting nor will he put down his facade, but he will be a lot more nice and genuine with you.

ABILITIES

Unique Magic . "Follow the Bell"

[Follow the Bell] allows Elio to cause people to act a certain way. Similar to Jamil's Snake Whisper and Ruggie's Laugh With Me; except Elio's Unique Magic affects the victim's "feelings", manipulating them to do something. He often uses this to make people attack someone else for him, similarly to how Dawn Bellwether from Zootopia made the predators go "savage". The victims will often hear sounds of bells ringing in their ears and that's when Follow The Bell makes its effect on the victim/s. Victims of this UM also don't even remember what they did, or why they did it. To the victims of "Follow the Bell", it's as if they "felt this weird urge to do something and suddenly had no control over their urges and body until it was too late".

TRIVIA

-Elio Bianchi is a sheep beastman, and is based on Vice Mayor Dawn Bellwether from Disney-Pixar's Zootopia.

-Elio actually challenged Leona for the Dorm Leader position when he was a first year. He made everyone who was watching attack Leona, and made a sort of barrage and ambush kind of thing. Leona was still able to win after around an hour or two of wrestling and a lot of debris and sand. Elio wasn't able to handle keeping his Unique Magic on for that long, especially on the amount of people he did at the time, so he had to stop and begrudgingly surrender. Leona was still really impressed by him and assigned him as Vice Dorm Leader.

-Elio and Ruggie do Leona's chores and work together.

-Elio's one and only weakness would be children. He loves children and would always play with Cheka when he visits.

-Elio has an older brother and a younger brother and sister. All four of them currently live with their paternal aunt and uncle.

-Elio hates it when people would play with his bun; cuz sometimes it would play a part in breaking his hair ties.

-Elio's hair tie would break A LOT so when this happens, his hair would just randomly plop down. (See pic below for reference)

(picrew used)

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #oc #luxaryllis oc #luxi's ocs

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thecncitygirls · 4 years

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Icon of Ginger T. Glass, a friend of Jora's and a sand and glass elemental! She's a relatively minor character in my Ben 10 fanverse.

#ginger t. glass #Ben 10 oc #sangled #Picrew #dollmaker #Oc icon #Fan character #ben 10 original series #ben 10 omniverse #Ben 10 #woc #she was going to have ice or fire #but sand and glass sounds a lot more unique #plus is kinda goes with the hot/cold dynamic since glass is made from melting sand #and wet sand feels cool to the touch

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bubbledumbbinch · 3 years

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Hi, there! I'm new here! Can I get the dorm leaders' (including Jamil's) reaction to their fem! s/o who suddenly passes out due to stress and when she wakes up, she tearfully confesses that she was traumatized by their Overblots. What can they do to comfort her? Fluff/angst combo. Please and thanks!

Yes yes! I will only be including the people who have overblotted so far so no Ignihyde or Diasomnia yet!

I also am sorry I just didn’t want to make s/o faint in all scenarios? I did in most tho!! Sorry >< I hope this is okay!!

Also also, sorry I haven’t posted in SO long!! I just came back from 2 vacations including a week long trip to Disney world!!

Warnings: angst, spoilers for everyone’s chapters I guess?

Riddle Rosehearts

In the following weeks of Riddle’s overblot, he was working to try to be a better leader to Heartslabyul. However, old habits don’t die very easily. You saw Riddle’s wrath once again when he scolded some students who had gotten into a fight and had promptly used his unique magic.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!” His voice resounded off the walls and the harshness of his voice brought awful flashbacks into your mind. Then, everything went black.

When you wake, Riddle is over your body, his large grey eyes were scanning over you panicked. When he asked what happened, you broke down and told him that you remembered his overblot and fainted.

Riddle’s guilt would skyrocket. He never intended to hurt so many people including one of his closest friends Trey and especially not you. Even after a few weeks he didn’t realize it would weigh so much on so many others.

Riddle would turn red from shame while hiding his face in the crook of your neck. As he starts to chant “I’m sorry”s over and over, he starts to sob shakily, also making you start to release the tears that were in your eyes.

Riddle takes care of you personally - brings you to bed, attempts to cooks for you, studies with you, anything he can do to gain your trust back.

“I- I’ll be better. A better person. For you, for everybody in Heartslabyul, for me.” Riddle was hiccuping from crying. You kissed Riddle’s cheek and stroked it, trying to wipe his tears from his face. “I know, Riddle. I can see you trying every day and you’re getting better and better.” It was true. You personally saw him interacting with students and knew his relationship with everyone was improving. With time, things will get a lot easier to process emotions and the feelings from that eventful day.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s practice session for Magift wasn’t going as planned. You noticed he was getting angrier and angrier with his poor plays while sitting on the sidelines.

When he finally had enough he grabbed the disc and turned it into sand, growling in anger. He shouted at his teammates and physically threatened them.

You felt your heart stop as your boyfriend continued to scream. The last thing you saw before falling was Epel’s shocked face as you hit the ground.

When you woke up, the team members were all circled around you, only to be scared away by Leona’s growling.

When you admitted you had PTSD from his overblot, he looked away in shame. The beastman didn’t say much - it’s not like he COULD say anything. He knew he was wrong at that moment but he was only frustrated at the game.

Leona tries to spend more time with you by pulling you into his arms when he naps. He mumbles softly about being sorry and telling you he loves you. You know that it’s a lot for him to even do that, so it means a lot to you.

As Leona held you in his arms, you couldn’t help but tighten your arm’s grip on his. “My little herbivore… I’m sorry..” It was a whisper. Almost quiet enough to the point of you not hearing it. Soon after, the soft rise and fall of his chest indicated he was asleep. Leona’s pride was high. He never expressed his feelings through words - but feeling his arms embrace you protectively, you knew how sorry he was and how regretful he was to make you feel so upset.

Azul Ashengrotto

It had been a few months since you’d seen Azul overblot. You figured everything had gone back to normal - you were dating steadily, which was going well, and Azul treated you well.

One day though, he lost his control. Under his own stress and when his business affairs weren’t going as well as planned, he blew up and you heard him scream at someone from the outside the VIP room - all too familiar to the yelling he did when he overblotted.

You felt stuck - your feet were planted outside of his office and your nerves got the better of your motor functions. You knew you loved Azul but that moment when you saw his insecurities and too much power getting a hold of him, you were truly scared. You barely remember registering any memories as things started to fade.

“Shrimpy wake up!!” You were suddenly being shaken about, earning a gasp from you. Azul sighed next to Floyd and Jade. He asked you what had happened - he found you outside his office in a daze.

Once you truthfully told him about your memories of his overblot his expression fell. Azul was emotional and his feelings of rejection would flare up. You would need to tell him you still love him because something in him will tell him you don’t.

Azul spoils you a bit and makes sure you are not present or in the area, working in the lounge only when he isn’t dealing with complicated contracts.

Azul is also happy you weren’t traumatized due to the fact you saw his octopus form - he was very worried about that possibility.

“Angelfish, tell me, what is it you want? Anything, I’ll give it to you, please just forgive me…” Azul tearfully grasped your hands in his, glasses fogging up. It was seldom at times you saw Azul break his smile. “A-Azul, you can’t just give me something to make me forget. I need to process this and I wouldn’t be surprised if other people need to, as well. Just… be there for me.” You spoke, rubbing his cheek with your thumb as your hand cupped his face. Azul freely let his tears run down his face. “Of course, angelfish. I promise.”

Jamil Viper

You were simply looking over at the view of the desert sand from the common room of Scarabia. It wasn’t long after Jamil’s overblot.

Things have changed in the dynamic of the dorm - him and Kalim were closer now that suppressed feelings could be free, Jamil gained the trust back from most if not all the members, and you both started dating.

The more you stared into the distance, the more it reminded you of that fateful day. Visions of the dark red stormy sky invaded your thoughts while you swore you could hear Jamil’s sinister laughter growing louder and louder.

Memories being hurled from the dorm to the cold desert sand invaded your senses as you fell to the ground.

When you opened your eyes, you flinched back when you saw Jamil so close to you, making his eyes look hurt. Jamil would surround you with soft pillows and a silk sheet he must have borrowed from Kalim.

Once he finally pries your feelings out of you after you don’t want to tell him the truth, Jamil looks pained. He didn’t want to hurt you.

Jamil would give you time to think, knowing how much alone time is valued. Whether you want him to give you space or spend time with him is up to you.

“I’m, I’m sorry, y/n…” his eyes dropped to look at the floor, ashamed. “I’ll give you some time alone to think about our relationship, if that’s what you want.” The weight he added to the bed was lifted as the raven haired boy started to walk away. “No, Jamil, please stay with me.” Your voice seemed to shock him. He turned and looked at you, surprised. “I like you for you. I know you were having a hard time, and it was scary for you too. We can get stronger together! So please… don’t leave me.” You pleaded, cursing your voice for sounding weaker than you intended. Jamil’s brown eyes softened and a smile, a genuine one at that, made its way to his face.

Vil Schoenheit

Surprise surprise, Vil was checking the internet search results to see who the most beautiful one of all was. Vil had recently shot a movie and the trailer had come out an hour prior.

When the phone had still said the name he dreaded, he threw his phone down in frustration, making you flinch. He didn’t even know you were in the vicinity, you were in the hallway looking into his room as his back faced you in his room.

When you spoke his name softly, he replied callously in his response, making you freeze. His demeanor was mean to say the least, his eyes looked tired and he just looked angry.

It reminded you all too much of his overblot, which happened a few weeks back. You slowly backed into a wall and started to whimper.

Vil would realize his errors quickly and come running to your aid. He coos and strokes your hair, telling you he was sorry for lashing out. When you tell him it reminded you of his overblot, guilt racks through him.

Vil hugs you tightly and apologizes over and over. He would definitely be one to spend an entire day devoted to spoiling you, taking you to your favorite restaurant, giving you personalized facials, and shopping with you.

Vil knows this won’t resolve the issue, but he’s going to let you know how much you mean to him and how sorry he is, over time.

Vil looked over your shaking form with trembling hands. His soft, slender hands came to grasp your own. “Y/N, Y/N please answer me..!” You could only look away. “Vil, it reminded me of your… your overblot! I’m sorry…” your tears flowed freely now, staining your cheeks. You always thought you looked ugly when you cried so this only felt like salt in the wound. When Vil looked at you now, his eyes were looking into yours, deeper into you than what you physically offered. “I… that must have been scary for you, Y/N. I’m truly, so sorry. You had to see an ugly side of me that I never want to come out again.”

#twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #twst x you #overblot #twst dorm leaders

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

hi yes im still alive

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST--

HAVING A MOMENT TO PROCESS ALL THE LORE AND STORY CHAPTER 6 JUST DROPPED ON US, I CAN BARELY WRITE

AHHHHHHH, I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS 😭 kjdbbaufbiafafvoaybo LEMME PUT ON MY THINKING CAP AND THROW SOME STUFF OUT ASDYUBUASDLI;AGVUOQIB;VI You’ll understand why I used Leona’s face here even though it’s Idia and Ortho’s chapter after you read my thoughts--

***Chapter 6 (and other main story) spoilers below the cut!***

Okay, just to keep it simple, I’ll try to keep things in chronological order!

First is a bullet point list of my thoughts on chapter 6 so far, then all my questions and theories (mostly a biggish theory on Ace) are at the end of the post.

Expectation: Idia cowering in his room, Vil and Rook busting down his door using Epel as a battering ram, dead Ortho theory confirmed

Reality: SWAT TEAM RAID ON NRC, DORM LEADERS (sans Kalim) AND JAMIL GET KIDNAPPED

Admittedly, I’m disappointed to see that the injury Grim inflicted to MC was basically just a cat scratch and nothing more. I thought it would be a lot more impactful if MC had to deal with juggling the realization that Grim has betrayed their friendship and trust while also on the verge of death (or at least while being severely injured)... And given how MC reacted to the attack at the end of chapter 5, I would think whatever struck them was much more substantial than just a cat scratch. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say either the script got scrubbed by Disney, or the intent was that MC was still woozy from VDC / OB Vil, MC felt so betrayed that it shook them emotionally, or that MC was just that weak by default that they can’t defend themselves against cat claws.

Hey, Ramshackle’s finally getting renovated! Proceeds to immediately get destroyed again--

I feel like????????? They tried to retroactively explain why Neige won to try and mitigate the uproar over how VDC ended. There’s some dialogue between the VDC group about how they didn’t perform at their peak because of having just walked out of dealing with OB Vil, and how Neige’s fans were going to vote for him anyway because they resonated with his background. Honestly, I think they should have moved on from that sore spot instead of bringing it up again, even if how chapter 5 ended didn’t personally bother me.

BOOM, HERE COME THE TWST TERMINATORS--

NOT GONNA LIE, THOSE STYX GUYS LOOK HOT SO COOL

AAAAAAND IT’S KIDNAPPING MONTAGE TIME, KIDS

JOABSFHUPAUABDBADB CALM DOWN, RIDDLE??????? YOU’RE GOING TO COMMIT ARSON IN BROAD DAYLIGHT--

Okay, I know this chapter’s focused on Ignihyde and Grim, but the standout part to me (so far) has been the scene where Leona’s being kidnapped. Historically, Leona has not been a character that I like (excluding that one time I had to pretend to like him for a game). I feel like he’s one massive missed opportunity (he didn’t show up much in chapter 2, he’s pretty similar backstory-wise to his Disney counterpart compared to the other Dorm Leaders, he didn’t seem to learn anything or become a better person even a LITTLE after chapter 2, etc.). I’m not a fan of his lazy and arrogant attitude either (even if it is justified by his backstory). But here? THIS IS THE LEONA I ACTUALLY LIKE AND WANT TO SEE MORE OF.

LIKE????? I CAN’T DESCRIBE TO YOU HOW MUCH I LIKE THIS SCENE???? Yeah, we have Leona fighting STYX at first, but as soon as he realizes who they are, he wises up and surrenders because he knows better than to resist arrest. AND NOT ONLY THAT, but he uses King’s Roar in a smart way--to turn the falling greenhouse glass panes into sand so they don’t hurt anyone nearby (namely him and Ruggie).

And after he turns himself in????? LEONA TELLS RUGGIE TO TAKE CARE OF SAVANACLAW FOR HIM!!! THIS is what a real leader would do. He looks after himself and his people, but he knows when to surrender, AND he leaves his “kingdom” (the dorm) in good hands while he’s away. THIS is the Leona I want to see.

AJBDUASHPFBUABFIABIYFBIPFAAFIAF I ALSO REALLY LIKE HIS SASS WHEN HE JUST THROWS HIS HANDS UP AND ASDBIASBIABAIODDAYOFAIPPADAIDB SAYS “I’ll go with you, but be careful while escorting me, okay? Despite my looks, I'm a precious prince. I’ll get sick/dizzy if you drive recklessly.” SARCASTIC SASSY SMARTASS??????? IF YOU HAD MORE LINES LIKE THIS, I’D LIKE YOU MORE

I love how Azul’s still talking about capitalism/how he can profit from Idia (apparently the Shrouds are like the TWST equivalent of Google??????) as he’s being escorted away by the agents?????? IF I WERE HIM, I’D BE PISSED OFF THAT THEY INTERRUPTED MY BOARD GAME????? At least let the man finish first--

Damn, everyone’s being tasered???????? And apparently all the STYX agents are equipped with anti-magic plates? I guess Bind the Heart can just eat shit then--

Lilia’s ringtone is cute, period.

CROWLEY CALLED STYX TO CAPTURE GRIM???? GRIM IS OFFICIALLY A SCP THAT NEEDS TO BE CONTAINED????

WAIT WHAT CROWLEY’S BEING KIDNAPPED TOO??????? Oh well, the school is probably safer in Trein’s hands anyway--

askhlbfbilhidbabbidasb RIDDLE WAKES UP POST KIDNAPPING AND HE’S USING LEONA AS A LAP PILLOW?????!

How does it feel to be held in a room against your will, Jamil? Yeah, don’t like a taste of your own medicine, do you?

OH HI IDIA, NICE YZMA MAD SCIENTIST GETUP YOU GOT THERE

Wait, what????? THAT’S IT?????? SERIOUSLY???????

MAN.

I have so many questions??????? Specifically about STYX and what they do, and how the Shrouds are tied into all of it.

So they say STYX is a specialized unit called in to quell serious Overblot cases. And if Crowley called them to deal with Grim... well, bad times ahead for Grim. STYX has also been studying Overblot for a long time, which is why (I think?) they captured Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, and Vil.

There’s been some allusions made between Grim and Stitch in a lot of fan art and fan theories I’ve seen, since their struggles have some parallels: that being them struggling to decide if they are “good” or “bad”. I don’t know if this was intentional on the part of the TWST writing team, but regardless, it’s a really good concept that plays into the themes of TWST itself. There’s no good, there’s no evil, no black and white--most of the characters we see may be BASED on villains, but that doesn’t MAKE them villains. They are good, and bad, in their own ways--and now Grim is dealing with that crisis as he fights to keep his sanity and avoid completely succumbing to Overblot.

Though Idia seems to be involved with STYX’s research, it doesn’t sound like he personally gave the order to retrieve those test subjects (or at the very least, he’s not happy about roughing up the test subjects), it sounds like the orders came from other people in the organization. His parents, perhaps?

They mention briefly that Idia’s parents are asking him to “come home”, so it must be for something urgent. Are they worried about his safety? But Idia’s lines at the end of chapter 5 lead me to think he is estranged from his family, since he straight up rejected a job offer linked to them (Olympus Corp is owned by the Jupiter family, and the Shrouds are a branch family of Jupier), and says something like “I’m not welcome anywhere”. Has Idia done something to disgrace him from the rest of the family? Or is it more of a self imposed/self inflicted statement, given that he always says he’s “cursed” and acts like he’s guilty of something that deserves scorn?

Why is Idia participating in STYX research, even if it means experimenting on his fellow students (and fellow board game enthusiast Azul)? People are speculating that he wants to use blots to fully revive Ortho (if dead Ortho theory is true), or that Idia actually has heroic intentions (he wants to know more about blots to prevent OBing from happening?), but at this point??? Literally anything could happen?!

In future parts, I’m guessing Pomefiore, MC, and Adeuce will team up to break Jamil and the Dorm Leaders (except Malleus, Malleus got left out again www) out? And HOPEFULLY we get to see Rook’s Unique Magic or at least more screen time, since I feel like he got so little in chapter 5... Another thing I’d like to see is Ace and/or Epel getting their Unique Magic, or at least starting to develop it. It’s really mostly Ace I want more details for.

A theory I’ve been holding onto for a long time is that Deuce getting his UM will spur Ace on to become jealous (since he has always seen Deuce as an idiot/”lesser” than him), and that will cause a rift in the friendship, or for Ace to throw himself into a dangerous situation to prove himself (he has done it before with Riddle)... and has his ass rescued again. This would make Ace even angrier, since he feels like everyone is treating him like a little kid or rubbing it in that he isn’t “as good” as they are. I don’t know where it would go from there (I’m sure TWST would get creative), but ultimately it would culminate in Ace making amends with everyone and rushing in to save them from either Grim or Idia OB.

I don’t think Ace would discover his UM in a similar manner as Deuce (Deuce had to embrace his own stubbornness and straightforwardness, but as the term “Unique” Magic implies, the way a magic develops and manifests is “unique” to the user). While Deuce has to learn to accept his own way of thinking, I believe Ace is already sure of his own way of thinking and has totally accepted it. I think what Ace has to deal with instead is coming to terms with his fickleness. We’ve seen him time and time again treating his loved ones kind of callously, from constantly bullying MC, Grim, and Deuce to ghosting his own girlfriend and flaking on people when they are counting on him to do a task.

The issue with Ace isn’t that he isn’t aware, it’s that he is aware and he seems to think this behavior is totally okay. He demonstrates little to no remorse in what he does and says, and he doesn’t seem to care about the consequences either (how many times does he get punished by Riddle, yet he keeps doing the same dumb things over and over?). Ace appears to operate under the mindset of always being in the right, or (if he’s in the wrong), he won’t really acknowledge it, or he will wave it off as “no big deal”--and I think that’s his greatest weakness.

In the scenario I described earlier, I mentioned that Ace’s jealousy will cause a wedge between him and his friends, and I think this will play into him realizing the error of his ways. When he has finally driven away all of the people that supported him, what will he have left? Nothing. Then maybe Ace suddenly finds himself relating to Idia, or to Grim, who have Overblotted and are in a similar emotional state as he is. Confused and lonely... and that energizes him to pitch in again, even if all he has is wind magic up his sleeve. Everyone could be shocked that Ace has returned, and in that moment, he could finally realize his true potential and unlock his Unique Magic!

(Maybe that’s too specific, but that’s a scenario that I’ve had playing in my head for a long time!)

... Buuuuut given that Ace has gotten little to no spotlight so far in chapter 6, I’m not sure if they’ll lean into him developing his UM yet (unless they pull a chapter 5 and really start addressing Ace in the latter half of the chapter like they did with Deuce). Seeing as chapter 6 is dealing with a lot of heavy topics (death, Grim lore, Overblot lore), I’m thinking maybe the TWST team will push off Ace’s UM development to chapter 7???? The only way I can see it happening in chapter 6 is if the chapter is SUPER long, or if the writing is REALLY good or really bad.

Anyway, I’m keeping my fingers crossed!!! I’m so excited for the rest of chapter 6... I hope that we don’t have to wait too long for it!

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

“How Did All This Happen?”- A Memoire by one Marinette Dupain-Cheng 2

wow. okay. so first off i dont have an update schedule but im on winter break starting next monday so i just have a lot of time on my hands. if this progresses into next year updates wont be as frequent. hell updates probably wont be as frequent next week either. who knows not me. Also i have a few spots left open on the tag list for those who were wondering.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

without further ado

People Fucked Up and Now It’s All Marinette’s Mess to Clean Up II

Marinette knew how she ruined the eastern coastline, but for all that is magical she could not fathom how that team of hero proteges managed to completely decimate the western side. She knew they were capable of it though, Constantine had warned her that they had an interesting habit of bending, if not outright breaking, the rules and legislation of the UN. He had also warned her that the group of Justice League mini-me’s had a unique calling card. The symphony of everything going to total shit in the background was the declaration of their presence on the island. She hasn’t even seen them from her new cliffside perch but she knew they were there by the distinct sounds of explosions. God, she hoped that super son wasn’t there. And she really hoped he didn’t get his indestructible hands on the magical dagger and destroyed it. It was one thing to return from this mission empty handed. It was an entirely different kettle of fish to return and join her grandfather in having “Broken a magical artifact” added to her list of crimes against the universe. Adrien would never let her live it down. No, Chloe would never let her live that down. She probably would put it on her headstone or something.

Deciding she has wasted enough time, Marinette began enacting one of her contingency plans in hopes of salvaging this night. She had brought the Tiger, the Horse and the Cat miraculouses for this mission, fearing that a Ladybug Cure would bring too much attention to her and her family. She was right in that fear because reconstructing two coastlines would not fly under international radar.

She called upon the magic of the Tiger, camouflaging with the scenery as she made her descent back to where Kobra himself hopefully still was.

She found him making his escape from the hellfest that was once their base of operation, followed by two other members. Marinette begrudgingly gives her thanks for the intruding hero team who distracted the cult from her presence and created enough wreckage that forced the cult members into separating. Sneaking up from behind, she jumped on the shoulders of the one furthest back. A swift jab to his throat, and Marinette was using his falling body as a springboard to kick the second cultist. At this point Kobra was aware of her presence and tried to attack her. Keeping the magical dagger on his person, he moved to grab Marinette by her hair. Extending the claws from her panja bracelet, Marinette slashed Kobra by his outstretched hands and used her semi-sentient tiger’s tail to retrieve the dagger. Before Kobra could regain his bearings, Marinette merged the Tiger and the Horse and made a hasty escape to her hideout.

She was greeted to the sight of her grandfather who Marinette believed was entirely too relaxed, enjoying some mint tea as he watched the night sky be curtained by smoke mushrooms from the nearby island. He was reclined in one of the couches in their AirBnB back in Trinidad. She dropped her transformations, Roaar and Kaalki flying to the kitchenette. Plagg slowly came out of Marinette’s purse and pointedly avoided her gaze. So the hellcat did have a guilty conscience, she lamented. Who knew? Apparently accidentally sneezing from the sand on the beach of Santa Prisca, and leaving behind a new cliff, was not one of the Destruction god’s finer moments. If he had any.

“Don’t tell Tikki,” he began. And look, actual names, he must have been really embarrassed if that’s how he’s referring to his counterpart.

“Don’t tell me what?” The answering scream Plagg released was actually comical and Marinette decided to be merciful. “Don’t worry Tiks, just a hiccup in the mission but all is well now.” Plagg looked at Marinette like he was about to lay worship to her for not selling him out. He took it in stride and joined the other Kwamis on the counter, already with a cheese wedge in hand.

“You did well, Mei,” her grandfather began. “I will report to Constantine and we will discuss further in the morning. For now get some sleep.” That was a dismissal if Marinette ever heard one so she placed the panja bracelet and the glasses, the tiger and horse miraculouses, back in the box and retreated to her room. A quick shower and a call to her parents later, Marinette was left awake in her room. Bored.

Plagg soon joined her, and despite his earlier reservations, he was brimming with chaotic energy. He had an idea and nothing spelt trouble faster than Plagg’s ideas. Apparently Plagg was curious about what the other young heroes were even doing on the island and wanted to know more. Now Marinette had half a mind to tell him to go by himself and leave her out of it. But she was kind of curious too. They weren’t after the dagger, that much she figured, or else Constantine would have had them go for it instead. So why were they there? A voice that sounded painfully like Kagami in her head told her not to be bullheaded and leave well enough alone.

Ignoring that advice, Marinette went to the den to retrieve the Tiger and the Horse again, the two most suitable for reconnaissance missions. Plagg, of course, would still be accompanying her for it was his shitty idea anyways.

“Going somewhere?”

The two turned to come face to face with Wayzz, Tikki and Master Fu, all wearing matching faces of disappointment but not surprise.

“We were just going to stake out the island again, figure out what the other hero team were up to.” Marinette was not going to quiver under their gazes. No. Nope. Her maman may not have been an assassin, but she still didn’t raise a weak bitch. Hell, she shadowed one of the most feared assassins for her more formative years. She. Would. Not. Break.

“Why?”

“It was Plagg’s idea.” She broke.

“HEY!” No offense to Plagg, but he was the only one out of the two of them that was immortal, he could survive Tikki’s ire.

“It’s not a bad idea, Master,” bless Kaalki and all their endeavors. “If the hero team were not after the dagger, but still after the Cult of the Kobra, investigating would provide valuable insight to what plans the cult had for the dagger in the first place. And perhaps, allow us to put in cautionary measures to prevent the cult from finding other magical means to meet their ends.”

“Yeah, what they said.” Marinette wasn’t all in favor of extending the mission if they did find anything concerning, but she committed to this idea and she’s going to see it through. Logical rational and self-preservation be damned.

Taglist:

@deathwishy @neakco @ virtualreading @f-rget-lt @your-resident-chicken-nugget @nathleigh @toodaloo-kangaroo @irontimetravelflower @trippingovermyfeet @t1dwarrior-of-earth @tip-tap-tired @fidget-eep @thenillabean @officiallydarkgeek

#badass!marinette dupain cheng #maribat #marinette x damian #daminette #damimari #guess im back #idk what to tag this as #hdath #almost forgot that one

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toraashi · 3 years

Text

‘tis the damn season (ft. oikawa tooru)

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: angst, fluff, implications of sex (there’s no sexual dialogue, the most explicit it gets is i use the word “whimper” once but theres not even graphic descriptions like i rate this PG-13), a couple swears

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: part two to this fic. Oikawa visits for the holidays after leaving for Argentina years ago. Catching up with his old flame brings back memories and reminds him of a love lost

Author’s Note: this is inspired by ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift. It’s so good, please listen to it, it’ll add so much to the story because I reference it lots :) also i’m dedicating this to @hikariakaashi bc she agreed to be my valentine this year hehe 🥰 also @u-make-my-heart-tsumtsum thank you for hyping this up in the discord :))

“the road not taken looks real good now, and it always leads to you.”

"Hey, it's Tooru. I'm in town for the holidays. I'd like to see you."

The sound of his voice as the audio repeated left an unpleasant feeling in his chest. It burned like longing but twisted and lurched like nervosity, a sensation he pretended he wasn't familiar with. Oikawa wasn't a nervous person. He was a confident, suave man with the world in his hands, but for some reason, leaving a voicemail for someone this dear to him, who could see through him like glass, left a slight tremble in his fingers.

The ding of his phone startled him, muscles growing taut.

10:36am

It's been so long! I'd love to see you. Would 4 at that old coffee shop work?

received

Holy shit.

It was almost embarrassing how his breath caught and his heart stuttered. It had been years, but yet here he was, hooked in with every word.

10:40am

I'll make it work

sent

10:42am

That's a first ;) i'll see you then

received

The coffee shop hadn't changed much since he'd last been. The walls were still straining with the wooden roof's weight, the floor still comprised of creaky floorboards that screeched at each drag of a chair. Sparkling red and green lights decked the rafters, hanging low and casting unique shadows across the residents. The lobby was relatively empty, and he was seated quickly at a metal table near the window. The round teapoy rocked on uneven legs when he put his arms on it, but nostalgia made up for the shoddy furniture quality. The poignant smells and whispers of piano music wafted over him like a tender memory, leaving him with visions of your sunrise smile and golden touch breezing over his fingertips. Content was the next emotion that settled over him, but before he could melt too far into it, the bell on the door jingled. Chilly winter air rushed through his hair, waking him up from the dream that was the last few years and bringing him back home. In the blink of an eye, a familiar arm was pulling at the seat in front of him. It took his brain far too long to process the rosy cheeks and snow-dusted hair before him, but once he did, an infectious grin tugged at his lips.

"Long time, no see." Your gaze was cautious and guarded, and it burned holes in his euphoria.

"Long time, no see," you repeated with a light smile, "How have you been?"

"Ah, you know, just capturing the hearts of every person in Argentina, how are you?" That earned him a tinkling laugh, and his heart beamed at the reward.

"I'm doing okay, just living my life." You greeted the waitress, plainly speaking your order, pausing to glance at him before ordering his old favorite. Honey hues glittered with unspoken fondness when you caught his gaze; he couldn't help it.

"You remembered my order. I feel special."

"Shut up. You are special, Mr. Pro Volleyball Player." You teased, inching your fingertips towards him on the table. It wasn't enough to be wanton, but he noticed, and he couldn't help but reciprocate. Eyes flicking to his hands and back up, that cautious glaze returned. "So, are you staying in town?" A warm hum in affirmation thrummed in his throat.

"I'm staying at my parents' house."

"For how long?" The words seemed full, but he wasn't sure with what.

"Just the weekend." He held your gaze like a taut string tugging you closer and closer. The air felt heavy, and his heart ached with a longing he'd suppressed for years. You opened your mouth to speak, but before anything came out, he interjected boldly. After all, what was he, if not bold? "I got your letter." Hues big and lips parted, a pink flush climbed your cheeks. If he was the same person he was years ago, he would've teased you, but now? With his heart on his sleeve and your eyes staring into his soul, how could he muster that courage up?

"And?" The single word was meek and tentative, fragile like the little bird of your unyielding love.

"Well, for one, your attempt at scratching out the last line wasn't great." There was the teasing. He couldn't hold it back for long.

"Shut up." You shied away from his crinkled eyes, pinker than you were when you stumbled in. God, he missed this.

"I won't." He drawled, closing the narrow distance between your fingertips and enveloping your hands like it didn't electrify his nerves. "And for the record, I missed you too."

"Did you?" He rubbed a calloused finger across your knuckles, holding your eyes confidently.

"How could I not miss that pretty face?"

"Stop teasing." You pouted.

"I'm not." Pensively, you stared back at him, and he admired the furrow of your eyebrows, the puff of your pouted cheeks. Your smaller hands were quaking in his, and just as he considered laying off, you spoke a conglomeration of words that shuddered up his spine.

"Would you like to stay at mine for the night? We can catch up more? I don't want to leave you just yet." A genuine smile simmered up his lips, and he linked his fingers between yours.

"You know I can't say no to you."

"Didn't seem like it when you left." The magic in his chest faltered at the blow, but the regret was evident in your expression. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I know it was about more than me." he hummed, the affectionate graze of his thumb against your knuckles resuming.

The conversation felt much too short, every move you made clenching his heart, brimming it with innocent nostalgia and longing. Before long, you were tugging him out the door, leading him to your apartment in a movie-worthy montage. The silver moonlight caught your hair like silk, your gossamer grip on his wrist balmy and familiar.

"My, you're eager." When you glanced back, your eyes sparkled like the sequins on your prom getup from so many years ago.

"Is it stupid that I missed you so much?" The way his heart caught in his throat was almost painful. Chest aching, he concluded that this was what happiness felt like, a hummingbird flutter he'd never find in the falsities of fame. You, who knew him like the muddy road to your secret high-school hangout spot, looked ethereal beneath the moon's knowing smile. As you approached the door, he couldn't help but dip his toes into the subdued desire he'd grown to ignore.

Your chest pressing into his, your back to the door, his fingertips firm against your waist, and finally, the brush of your reposeful kiss against his needy lips, it left him with frantic desperation clawing up his body. You broke away with a similar gleam tucked into your gaze like a secret just for him. Swinging the door open and fumbling with your jacket, you found your place in his arms again, a mutual craving for a love that was cut so short.

He did many things that night he'd only remembered in dreams, his frame pressing your familiar figure into the bed, lips tracing every line of your silhouette, the dips and curves in your skin, sealing each forgotten memory in an envelope for him to read later. Just for tonight, he'd bask in your entirety, the glow of your smile, the whimpers that spilled past your pretty lips, everything that was purely you. When everything was done and gone, the flaxen glow of your lamplight flickering out, you pulled him into your arms, twirling the chocolate strands of his hair, breathing in his adoration, your own lulling him into a long-awaited, dream-filled slumber. He dreamed of his past self getting lost in the empty arms of another, the void carved out by your existence impossible to fill. He dreamed of the life he'd lead if he'd remained in your embrace, waking up to you every morning instead of cold sheets.

He awoke with the December sun, your bare skin blinding in the morning's glow. Glancing at the red numbers on your nightstand, he stretched his arms. It was almost ten, but the warmth of your body reeled him back in like a fishing pole, his mouth splattering kisses across your visage like freckles. Swelling with delight, he collected you into his arms, setter's fingers revisiting the map he drew on your body like the ink was still drying, greeting you with a grin as your eyes lolled open.

"Morning, babe." Oikawa scanned the love-struck expression painting your features, the scrunch of your nose, the quirk of your lips; he inhaled it like it was his last breath, coming to terms with the time and its draining sand. Raising a lone finger, he followed the shape of your jawline, locking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Sleep well?" You neglected to respond, searching his gaze.

"If this is the last time I ever see you, I want you to know that I've always loved you, and I won't ask you to stay." The last grain of sand in the hourglass tumbled through the glass gap, the alarm clock on your nightstand beeping abruptly, stealing Oikawa's breath.

And as he looked upon your effervescent figure, shattering his own battered heart at the realization, Oikawa decided the road not taken never looked more appealing than now.

#hqradiostation #oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa imagine #oikawa scenario #oikawa haikyuu #oikawa fluff #oikawa angst #oikawa fanfiction #hq x reader #hq oikawa

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clockworknightmares · 3 years

Text

The Gift

I’ve had the ideas of this fumbling around in my drafts for a long time now and I finally finished it. I’m glad I waited thought because I had time to think long and hard about the way in which Rowena acquired Dray and what that might look like. This is from Vys’ POV, however I might write Dray’s POV at some point too.

Tw for “it” as pronouns, dehumanization, slavery, blood, muzzles, drugged whumpee (only briefly mentioned).

“That one.”

Vysthrain’s gaze follows to where Rowena’s finger is pointing. “That one? You can’t be serious, your Majesty. That one is- looks unremarkable. If- if I may be so bold.” He catches himself at the last moment. It never bodes well to contradict the Empress. He glances at her, gauging her reaction to his blunder. However- his opinion stands. The bloodied… boy in the arena below looks one more hit away from his demise.

Rowena laughs, a melodic sound with an edge that sends a shiver curling down Vys’ spine. She doesn’t seem bothered at his difference of opinion. “Ostra Ailmer doesn’t know what he has.”

“But you do.” It’s a statement, not a question. He can see the cogs in her head turning, that slight twitch of her lips when she’s thinking. More like scheming, his brain provides unhelpfully.

“That I do.” She keeps her eyes trained on the man in the arena as he runs his opponent through with the short spear he wields in his hand. It’s clearly not his weapon of choice, but he’s making it work. “You see, that is a half dragon.”

Vys snorts and plucks a grape from the bunch on the table next to them. Her majesty seems to be in a light mood, a mood in which he is allowed to converse freely. Within reason. “A half dragon. I think you have had one too many glasses, your Majesty. Everyone knows there’s no such thing as male halfbreed dragons.” He pops the firm grape into his mouth and rolls it around on his tongue. “Besides, if there was, surely they would be more… impressing.” He keeps his eyes on her and away from the blood splattered sand below.

“And that’s where you’re wrong.” Rowena sits back and smiles to herself. “You see, it’s not that there’s no such thing, it’s that they’re incredibly rare, almost unheard of and Ostra Ailmer doesn’t know just how valuable that possession is.” Her eyes narrow as she turns her attention to watching again, fingers steepled in the way she does when she’s thinking. Vys recognizes the look as that dark shimmering greed of hers. He’s seen it a few times- and knows if it’s something she truly desires, nothing will stop her until it’s in her possession.

“And you’re going to get it, how exactly? Whether he knows what he has or not, Ailmer won’t give up a winning fighter easily.” Because- despite all odds, they were currently naming the object of Rowena’s attention the winner.

She leans over and pats his cheek like he’s a child asking a silly question. “Vys dear, when have I ever not found a way to get what I want?” It’s a rhetorical question. One that doesn’t even warrant an answer. He knows very well she has her ways. Even as Empress she can not simply demand what she wants, but there are ways.

“Sounds like you are already coming up with a wonderful plan, your Majesty.” He leans into her touch, as he knows she likes and gives her an easy smile. The heat of the day is not so unbearable to him in this moment. “Is there anything I may do to assist you in it?” If she becomes infatuated with some new object, will he be forgotten? He will never let that happen.

“Perhaps”, she says, idly watching the guards half guide, half drag the winner out of the arena. “However there might be no need for any form of coercion.” She gives him another smile. He knows all her smiles by now. This one is self satisfaction, security in her own plans, and just a hint of mirth. “My birthday will be arriving soon. And with it- gifts.”

…

There are such practices in court, that on the ruling monarch’s day of birth, they host many grand parties leading up to the day. These days are important as they allow the mingling of many Ostri and other important personages, officials and relatives, ambassadors and priestesses. It is the time to make important connections, vie for favors and with the right maneuvering, raise your position in court and the eyes of the Empress. A very difficult thing to do indeed.

It is one of the busiest times of Vys’ year, being both companion and spy for the Empress. Her eyes and ears in court, as she must keep herself from mingling too much. He knows Rowena keeps him to herself, not only because he owes her his life, his very existence, but also because he is invisible and they both know it. He is fae, lesser. And therefore apparently- deaf and blind.

The festivities begin several weeks before the actual day, plenty of time for Vys to worm his way into many circles, sometimes through rather unpleasant means. But if it solidifies his usefulness, his position in Rowena’s eyes- He will give all he has. He may not have need to coerce Ailmer into giving up this new arena rat, but the Ostra might need a nudge in the right direction.

The first time he makes contact with Ostra Ailmer is at a social gathering of the more relaxed nature and the man in question- appearing to have had one too many of the overflowing cups of wine, was in the perfect condition for Vys to begin his plan. The air is warm and thick, cloying in only the way that incense and perfumes bring in small spaces. Vys was more than happy to keep the Ostra’s cup full, hang on his arm, whisper the seeds of Rowena’s desire into this man’s ear.

“The Empress is very fond of the sport”, he says silkily, gliding his fingers along the man’s arm.

“Indeed, so they say”, the Ostra replies, twisting the sheer fabric of Vys’ shirt around his fingers. They are pressed close in some low, overstuffed seat, no other ears around.

“I have heard such wonderful things about your champions though. Some say a stock even to rival hers.” The flattery was working, Vys can tell. This man, wrapped up so much in his own self importance, wouldn’t notice a trap until it was too late for him.

“But of course. My lot is the best in all of Athyx Cyreos. I import you know. Better than pulling from the same pools that seem to go around here.”

“Have you ever found anything...extraordinary in your imports?” Vys knows he has to be careful in his words, Ostra Ailmer must never know what he has.

“I do believe I’ve found a champion, a survivor. Not much to look at of course, I did not think it would make it past initial training, but it has done surprisingly well for itself. That is- hasn’t died on me yet.” He laughs, an ear grating thing, and somehow Vys finds it difficult to laugh along with him.

“You know, I have heard some gossip about what the queen desires for her gifts this year, you seem like the type of man that would do well in her court, one I would enjoy seeing around more often.” Vys trails his long fingers down the row of tiny buttons that make up the front of the Ostra’s tunic.

That gets the man’s attention. Vysthrain, however not known to be the Empress' ear, is certainly known as a permanent fixture of the court and Her Majesty’s upper circles. He has access most Ostri can only ever dream of. The gossip of the upper circles is as close to facts as he will ever get. And the gift presented to the Empress has a direct effect on the status and placement you can hope to achieve that year. A gift well received means favors and power. A gift ill-suited to her Majesty’s desires can bring shame and loss of influence.

“You say the Empress might have desire for some of my imports?” Ailmer says, sitting up and glancing around to see if any stray eyes and ears are on them. There are none, save those soaking in his every reaction to take straight back to Rowena. “Tell me fae, what you know of this.”

“Well, you never heard it from me”, Vys says, pulling the Ostra back down to be seated. “But she does have an eye for the unique. Something… different from what others have. She is our Empress after all.” How many more hints must he drop before this man gets it through his wine-addled head? Then again, Rowena had said that Ostra Ailmer did not know what he had.

“She wants a strong champion, one to win for her?” Ailmer asks, missing the point entirely.

“No-” he starts, nearly frustrated but stops. He’s better than this. “No, I have heard the Empress desires it to be nothing, so that she may turn it into something” He recalls the image of the bloodstained boy in the arena. It had won, but barely. There was certainly nothing there, but that was the appeal for Rowena. She likes to rub her victories into her opponents faces.

“I- I will take this information into account. It has been… most helpful.”

Vys gave a lazy grin and stroked the line of the Ostra’s jaw. “I am most pleased to be of assistance to you. In any way that I can.”

…

With the Empress’ desire secured, or at least he prays it is, Vys leans back into his job of attending every gathering, rooting out every gossip, avoiding those few people he knows better than to tangle with. The day of Rowena’s birth arrives, and with it, the gifts and delicacies and flatteries that never seem to cease. He can tell that she soaks it all in, but with a scrutiny in her eye that he knows sees through the genuine devotion and the false praise. Vys knows most of it is fake, simply a vie for attention and power. But so must it be, it is their way.

She has become fixated in these weeks, wondering more often than not if she can simply buy the thing she wants. But Vys reassures her that letting this be gifted could lead to an established connection with the Ostra and his imports and also the ability to show him up, simply giving away something so valuable (according to Rowena). Vys knows not of dragons and their worth, but it does seem to be a point of fascination with Her Majesty.

So it is of no surprise to him when she awaits this moment with a form of anticipation, not shown on her face, but in the way she sits up straighter, leans forward slightly, jeweled claws tapping slightly on the arm of her throne. She is raised a good deal above the court, stairs to a platform where her council and inner circle have their places, then still more stairs to her. The Ostri are allowed to ascend to the first platform to present their gifts.

Vys lingers there, keeping an eye on them, watching and mentally recording their gifts. The Empress allows him at her side, near the throne to be at her call, so he often moves between, catching a whisper from her in his ear, making (slightly) judgmental comments about persons of the court. He has not succeeded in making her laugh on her throne, but wonders what would happen if he did. She would either find it extremely amusing or highly punishable. He fears the latter, so he keeps his tone even, with the dry humor he knows she is fond of.

There are many people in court today, many gifts being presented. But Vys knows that Rowena waits for only one. When Ostra Ailmer approaches, she straightens ever so slightly and pulls on her look of disinterest.

Vys tunes out most of the scraping and bowing and presenting, instead peering around for the thing that Rowena continues to fixate on. His heart begins to beat quicker when he doesn’t see it. If Rowena doesn't get it today, she is going to be most displeased. Particularly with him.

“And what have you brought for me today, Ostra Ailmer”, he hears Rowena say, clear and strong. She knows how to project her voice if nothing else.

“Your Majesty, I know you hold a great love of sport and pride yourself in having only the best in the arena. Your choices are always unique and with great might. I myself am in the humble occupation of procuring such items. Yet it has come to my attention that you wish for something to craft yourself, mould to your desires. And I hope that on this day, I can present you with such a thing.”

Vys finds himself holding his breath. If what Ailmer procured is not-

The two guards that flank the Ostra part and Vys realizes why he hadn’t been able to see it, dwarfed by Ailmer’s guards of imposing size. Vys looks it over, and feels Rowena next to him doing the same. It was a rather dismal-looking individual with two short horns curling from a shaved head, hands chained in front connected to a thick collar around its neck, a muzzle strapped tightly against its face, clothed only from the waist down. They have it shackled at the ankles, barefoot. Ailmer obviously had tried to clean it up, but the traces of freshly healed wounds are still evident across its body. It keeps its head low, its eyes on the ground. Ailmer has been able to train it that much at least.

The light catches in a glint on something at its chest, and Vys tries to get a closer look before realizing the room has fallen into silence and Ostra Ailmer has paled to the point of looking a rather sickly grey.

It has been several long moments and Rowena has still not given an indication on whether or not the gift was worthy. She too- as Vys has been- is studying the thing before her, lost in thought. It made sense to Vys, of course. They had been discussing this moment for weeks now, but he realized to the rest of the court and especially to Ostra Ailmer in hindsight, this appeared to be a very poor excuse for a gift. It was a single worthless looking thing. It was not as if Ailmer was offering the Empress his best champion. No. This was some untrained waif that he had drug up from who knows where.

“Y-your your Majesty, I-” Ostra Ailmer begins, quaking in his boots, and cuts himself off sharply with an undignified squeak as Rowena stands from her throne.

A sickening hush fell across the entire court. Even Vys, who knew that this was the gift Rowena desired, felt his breath catch in his throat. She never stood. She never walked down the steps.

Ailmer and his guards bow low, dropping to their knees and not daring to look up at her face. Her inner circle even bows their heads, backing away to give her space as she descends. Only Vys watches as she comes to the bottom of the stairs, in front of the thing in chains who is neither bowing, nor trying to move away from her. Vys thinks he hears Ailmer whimper.

Rowena’s dress pools at her feet, many lengths of dark red fabric like a waterfall of blood behind her.

A single gold clawed fingertip reaches out and catches underneath the thing’s muzzle, tipping it’s face up to meet her gaze. It’s eyes lock to hers, blue against gold, unblinking.

Vys isn't sure how long they stay that way, the oppressive silence across the vast room, the shivering Ostra at the Empress’ feet before she tugs the gift a step forward by the chain connected to the collar and cuffs.

“Ostra Ailmer”, she says, voice ringing loudly. Vys’ ears burn from the noise after so much deafening quiet. “Your gift is accepted.”

A general murmur comes over the entire court, first nervous tittering, then a few polite claps, then the court quickly recovers, returning to the claps and cheers of normal.

Ostra Ailmer looks as if his ghost has already taken leave of his body and ascended to the Mother.

“T-thank you your Majesty”, he whispers, not quite all there as his guards help him down the stairs. Vys has to try and not smile at the sight. The man will recover with time and most likely prosper well from this happenstance, but he will never forget this moment where he believed himself to be seconds from seeing his ancestors.

Vys watches one of the Empress’ personal guards approach as if to remove her new gift further behind scenes, but she waves them away with a subtle flick of her wrist, and ascends the stairs to her throne, chained gift in tow, stopping only once again seated as if nothing had happened.

Vys shoots a look across her to where she’s pushed it down next to her throne on the opposite side, golden claws slowly scraping across its shorn scalp. He meets its eyes for a moment, a cloudy blue, not quite there look. He recognizes the cloudiness. Ailmer must have had it drugged before bringing it into a room full of high profile individuals. Smart.

The look doesn't last long, as it turns its gaze and head downward. But there had been something in those eyes that didn’t settle him. A slight shudder rippled through his shoulders and he returned his attention to the remainder of the presentation.

Rowena had another smile on her face, one that he knew very well to be only one thing.

Victory.

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ask-spider-man-61610 · 3 years

Text

The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

#Spider-Man #Spider-Man AU #Peter Parker #Earth-61610 #Cape Code Authority #Reed Richards | Mister Fantastic #Flint Marko | Sandman #Scrier #story #long #Odyssey Prelude

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jhoudiey · 3 years

Text

Inspired by a convo in the writing server and by Mamo's salty Jade, I wrote some fluffy-ish Yoru and Floyd mountain "date" nonsense. No warnings except bad grammar.

_______________________________________________________

“Hey Fugu-chan do you wanna come fight a monster with me?” Floyd had pulled himself through Yoru’s window as usual to interrupt her studies.

“Floyd, it’s 1pm, don’t you have class?”

“Ehhh I don’t wanna go, its the same boring stuff every day anyway” He perched in her windowsill urging her to follow him.

“Where’s this monster?” She grinned and put her books down, Floyd had a point. Fighting was always more fun than studying.

“In the mines where we went camping! I wanna see if I can find another one!” he insistently waved for her to hurry up.

“Still mad you didn’t get to go all out last time, huh?” She stretched out her shoulders and joined him at the window.

“Mhmmm~ Now that I have my magical pen back I want to play some more ehe!” She laughed and hopped out the window behind him.

They landed at the mouth of the caves, Yoru letting him down from her talons before touching down on the ground beside him. He sprinted into the tunnels with a grin on his face, shouting for any monsters to show up to play. Yoru flew behind him trying to stifle her laughter, he looked like a kid on a sugar high.

“Eeeeehhhh Fugu-chan this is taking foreverrrrrrr” He whined after half an hour in the caves with no appearance of any monsters. “Can’t you use your magic and find one?” he begged. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“That's not how my magic works Floyd, I can only see through crows, not through rocks. I’m the only bird in these caves so unless there’s a hidden crows nest somewhere I can’t help”

“Huh? Then what good is your unique magic then?” he complained, crossing his arms

“Says the guy who can only deflect magic, wouldn’t stop me taking your head off-” They were interrupted by a low rumbling coming from the path behind them. They turned to the sound, another Overblot monster materializing from the darkness. Floyd cheered, happy that his foe had finally appeared.

“Awe maaaaaan, Floooooyd, you never said it was an overblot monster! I can’t fight this!” Yoru complained as the monster descended on them.

“Eeeh? Why not? This is fun!” Floyd danced out of the way of the monster, hitting it with some magic of his own to keep it away from them.

“I can’t do magic, remember? All I can do is see. My hands and feet won’t do shit to that thing” She pouted, sitting on the ground with a huff, resigned to watch Floyd fight it on his own. He was clearly enjoying himself, hitting it with spell after spell. Yoru watched on in envy, how amazing would it be to be able to do magic like that. She watched him dance around the monster, attacking with reckless abandon, his own unique magic deflecting the attacks thrown at him.

Yoru sighed resting with her head in her hands, eyes following the battle. Floyd really was incredible, so much so it pissed her off. He made it seem so effortless. Fire, grass, water, ice, wind, dark… every kind of magic she’d dreamed of having Floyd was throwing out without a care in the world, this level of effort was nothing to him, when she couldn't even change the colour of a single flower petal. After what seemed like hours the glass head on the monster cracked, it’s ink splashing to the ground. It roared and the walls around them shook.

“Hey Floyd, you should finish up, if this thing collapses the cave around us we’re screwed” she said flatly, watching small rocks fall from the ceiling.

“Okay Fugu-chaaaaan~ Let me show you my special move, just look at how amazing I am!” He unleashed his strongest attack yet, Yoru wasn’t able to conceal her admiration for him. Her jaw dropped.

“Holy shit… you’re actually incredible…” she muttered, more annoyed than ever at how talented he was. The monster crumbled before them, disappearing into ink and sinking back into the ground. Floyd cheered.

“Yaaaayyyy!! That was fun!” he looked exhausted. His hair was a mess and he drenched in sweat, but the grin he wore was one of the biggest Yoru had ever seen. It was quite cute. She nodded at him and held out her arm in case he needed to lean on her, she wasn’t sure how he was still standing after expending so much magic in such a short time. He stretched his arms behind his head, not needing her assistance.

“We should have a fire too! Come on Fugu-chan!” He grabbed her hand and ran from the cave, staggering when they got outside and saw that the sun had already begun to set. “Uwaaahhh I’m tired all of a sudden, carry me Fugu-chan” She laughed. It seemed Floyd wasn’t invincible after all.

She flew to the shore of the lake, setting him down near an old decaying log. Somewhere along their flight he’d fallen asleep. She set to work gathering firewood, setting the wood in a way that would be easy to ignite once he woke up. When that was ready she wandered over to the lake to grab some fish, no sense not eating while they were out. They didn’t have any spices, but grilled fish was simple enough and delicious on it’s own. She wasn’t as proficient as catching fish with her bare hands as Floyd, but it still didn’t take her long before she’d caught half a dozen and brought them back to their impromptu base camp. The sun had fully set by the time she’d gotten the fish onto their skewers and shook Floyd awake so he could start the fire.

“Hmmm? When did I fall asleep?” He whined, confused by his surroundings

“When we were flying over here, you went limp almost immediately after we took off, I almost dropped you” Yoru grinned at him “Now can you get the fire going, I’m starving.” He nodded, using his magic to light the fire as she arranged the fish around it to cook.

“Wait, lemme see your pen” She said suddenly, able to see the once white gem clouded over with black ink in the firelight. She grabbed at it but he snatched it out of reach and shoved it back into his pocket. “Floyd, let me see it” Yoru growled at him, he pouted and handed it to her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it from her if she fought him for it.

“Floyd… that’s a lot of blot… you need to be more careful. If you overblotted I’d have you kill you, I wouldn't be able to stop you with magic”

“Haaaah like you could, you saw how strong I am! Ahaha! What do you know about overblotting anyway, you can barely do magic!” He argued, turning the fish to roast their other sides.

“Hmmm? Didn’t I tell you? I overblotted once as a kid. It sucked”

“As a kid? Did you have magic when you were younger? What happened to it ehe~” He raised an eyebrow at her, curious at how she had lost her magic. She snorted

“No. I got my unique magic really young but I didn’t know what it was so I used it all the time since I didn’t know any better. Dad found me screaming in bed, said I had all these shadowy birds walking over and pecking at me, he still talks about it like it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen.” She rolled her eyes, thinking about Crowley's overly theatrical reactions to the lamest things.

Floyd cringed away from her, throwing his hands up. “Eugh that sounds so gross!” He sat forward again with a smile “But it’s funny knowing even without a lot of magic you can overblot”

“Yea, really funny” She glared at him. “How are you not ranked higher at school though? You’re so amazing it pisses me off”. He smirked at her

“Doing everything I’m supposed to is boring so I just do whatever I want and fail sometimes cause I don’t feel like doing it” He grabbed one of the fish, happily biting into it.

“That must be nice. I wish I could say I’m not jealous of your talent” She bit into her own fish, chewing it more fiercely than was necessary.

“Hmmmm why are you jealous though? You’re really smart too, Fugu-chan” He smiled and chowed down, very much enjoying his meal. Yoru groaned, she wasn't used to compliments.

“...Thanks. ...By the way, didn’t Jade say he wanted to come out here with you next time? Isn’t he going to be mad we came without him?” Floyd's eyes grew wide before settling back to normal

“Eeeehhhh probably, but I wanted to find that monster and Jade wouldn't come with me so it’s his fault anyway” he shrugged, carefully selecting his last fish.

“Maybe he won’t be that mad, it’s not like we really did much mountaineering up here anyway” Yoru shrugged, finishing her meal and throwing sand on the fire. “We should get back though, unlike you, I do have some homework I need to hand in because I’m not allowed to fail”

They landed back in the mirror chamber full of fish and tired from adventure.

“Hey, next time you find a monster make sure it's one I can fight too. I can’t help but want to show off what I can do without magic”

“Kaaaaay~!” Floyd sang, hopping through the mirror that would take him back to Octavinelle.

“Ahh Floyd, you’re back late, did you enjoy your date? You missed dinner, Azul was worried sick about you” Jade smirked at him from across their bedroom. Floyd flopped into his bed, exhausted. Fugu-chan was right, he’d used too much magic today and was still tired despite his earlier nap.

“Aha! Azul wouldn’t worry about something thing like that, besides he would have been mad at me for going to fight a monster and getting my uniform all dirty”

“Oya? A monster? You never mentioned there was a monster on campus” Jade chuckled

“Ehhhh? It wasn’t on campus, me and Fugu-chan went back to Mount Dwarf to fight with the overblot monster in the caves! It was really fun!” Jade slowly turned to glare at Floyd.

“Floyd… you returned to the mountains once again without me” He exhaled dramatically. “You found yourself a girlfriend and completely forgot about little old me, all alone and mountainless” He let out an exaggerated sigh “I can’t believe my own twin would discard me so carelessly, how cruel” Floyd sat up in bed, a frown painted on his face.

“haaaaaaaaahhhh you said you didn’t want to come! You can’t complain about it now”

“Perhaps it is for the best, I wouldn’t want to be a third-wheel after all... I’ll just make you come with me next time I go...” he muttered to himself under his breath

“Ehhh what are you even talking about Jade?” Floyd laid back down and stretched out into his blankets.

“While crashing a date seems like it would be a lot of fun, I don’t believe Yoru-san is very fond of me, and she does have a habit of getting violent when she’s angry. I wouldn’t care to be on the receiving end of those talons.”

“It wasn’t even a date” he complained, rolling away to face the wall. He hadn’t told Jade about his failed confession at Vargas’s weekend camp so the insinuations he and Yoru were dating stung. “...and she’s not even my girlfriend” he muttered into his pillow.

“Fufufu not yet” Jade chuckled to himself as Floyd started snoring.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #yoru crowley #floyd leech #jade leech #twst #twst fic #twisted wonderland #dumb and dumber

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lady-charinette · 3 years

Text

Dinner for Two Chapter 12: The Purrfect Plan

Previously on ‘Dinner for Two’…

An idea popped into her head suddenly, “Hey, wait, I thought you found your mystery cat. Didn’t you say that professor guy was Chat Noir?”

A miserable frown marred the designer’s face and she gently hit her forehead against the table in frustration, “I’m not even sure what I found, Alya. Erik’s…alright, I guess. It’s just, he constantly makes fun of Nath and I don’t like that. He acts different than when we’re in the restaurant.”

“Maybe it’s a thing between professors? They do study in similar fields.” Alya shrugged.

Marinette huffed, “That’s what I thought too, but Nathaniel had that haunted, ‘that guy harassed me’ look about him when I mentioned his name. They really don’t get along at all.” She pushed aside her coffee and rested her chin against her propped up hands miserably, “Maybe I should drop it, maybe I was wrong about Chat, after all.”

Alya’s brow shot to her hairline, “What?! You can’t be serious, Marinette! You’ve talked about that guy for the last weeks! You’re totally smitten!”

“But what if I misjudged his character? What if he’s actually a jerk? I can’t date or like someone like that.” She pouted, looking truly conflicted. Alya hated seeing her like that.

The reporter stood up from her seat and walked around her kitchen table, wrapping an arm around her best friend reassuringly, “Hey, don’t be like that, I’m sure it’s all just a big misunderstanding.” She rubbed her cheek against Marinette’s affectionately, “Besides, my best friend doesn’t just fall for anyone, either way he’s a great guy or there is no guy at all!” she grinned and Marinette giggled, hugging Alya back.

“Thanks Alya, you always know what to say to make me more confident.” With a playful smirk, Marinette gently nudged her best friend, “By the way, Nathaniel is giving you competition, he started learning how to cheer me up too.”

Alya clenched her hand into a fist, “That punk! How dare he! Oh, he should watch his ass when I come into one of his lectures! That paperball is going straight for tomato child!”

Marinette laughed.

Adrien’s chemistry professor was perplexed when the part time model handed him a thick stack of papers neatly stapled together. “This is…?”

Adrien beamed, with eyebags that could go for days and suspiciously slouching feet, but beamed, “My assignment I’m supposed to hand in, professor.”

His professor did a double take, excusing himself to browse through his schedule and class list to see for when the assignment was due. “That’s in two weeks Adrien!”

The blond smiled tiredly, “Yes, I know, I wanted to hand it in sooner because I have other assignments to complete…I’m sorry did I inconvenience you?”

The taller man quickly stood, placing Adrien’s assignment on his desk and shaking his head, “No, no, that’s fine. I was just so surprised, you always hand in your work, but it’s still early and I know how busy you are.” He smiled kindly at his student, old worry lines deepening the more he noticed Adrien’s demeanor, “Are you getting enough sleep? If I remember correctly, you have another part time job to run to.”

Adrien nodded, straightening his stance. “Yes, I do, but oh sleep- yes of course, I’m getting enough sleep. Thank you.” He stumbled, shaking his head as if to clear the fog before giving a decisive nod, “I’m…working on that.”

His professor chuckled, patting Adrien’s shoulder kindly, “I know exhausted students when I see them, I know you’re well liked by the other professors, so don’t overwork yourself if you don’t hand in some assignments on time. I’m sure the colleagues would understand and give you more time if you needed, Adrien.”

The young man looked bashful, shuffling his feet before planting them firmly on the floor, adjusting his bag slung over his shoulder, “That’s alright, I can manage the rest well. I’ll be looking forward to your next lecture on analytical chemistry!”

The professor waved him off with a smile, shaking his head. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy chemistry as much as you do physics studies. Not many in the physics department do.” Adrien was certain his professor was thinking of another colleague, judging by the sour expression on his face.

Adrien waved goodbye, jogging up the steps towards the large double doors of the lecture hall. He still had time to get ready for the next lecture and grab a bite to eat.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Hey babe, aren’t you supposed to be at work already?” the sound of keys jiggling accompanied her boyfriend’s voice as Alya turned to the opposite direction they usually took to her workplace at the newspaper company.

She smiled, standing on tiptoes to plant a quick but affectionate peck on the DJ’s cheek. “Nope! I took the day off, gotta do some…investigating.” She grinned, a grin Nino learned to recognize from miles away.

It meant she was in ‘reporter’ mode and that any and all efforts to possibly stop her were futile.

With a resigned sigh, Nino pulled her closer and kissed her hair and forehead, shaking his head. “Alright, but be careful, don’t overdo it, okay?”

Alya’s grin brightened and she nodded, jogging in the opposite direction while waving. “Don’t worry!”

Nino sighed again, a longer more exhausted sigh, scratching his neck worriedly. “I always do…”

With that, he shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way to the studio.

Pierre’s day had been as inconspicuous as most, and when another customer approached his desk, he was quick to grab pen and notepad and open the latest entry in the guest book.

The auburn-haired woman stopped in front of him and gave him a kind smile, but her eyes seemed to be all over the place, scanning the room, analyzing, as if searching for something.

“Hello! I didn’t make a reservation but is it possible to get a free seat?”

Pierre didn’t need to eye the guest book to answer, this lady came before rush hour, so there were many seats available. He smiled politely, “Of course mademoiselle, follow me, please.” Pierre led the woman to the nearest available seat, handing her the menu and already jotting down her order.

“Um, excuse me, may I use your unique service today?”

Pierre blinked once, before nodding. “Certainly, which one would it be?”

The glint in the woman’s eyes reminded Pierre of a fox eyeing its prey, “Is the black cat in use?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

The smile stretching the woman’s lips reminded Pierre of a fox after a successful hunt, “Perfect,” he wasn’t sure what it was about this woman, but her inquisitive nature befuddled him.

Pierre excused himself with the promise to return with the lady’s order; a simple breakfast menu consisting of a cappuccino, orange juice, baguette with fresh fig jam, pain au chocolat, and a honeyed fruit salad.

As the waiter left, Alya took the time to look about the restaurant. It hadn’t changed much from the last time Nino and her went here a year ago, the walls had a fresh color and new chairs better fitting for the overall ambience but it stayed largely the same. She looked at the yellow tablecloth, discreetly taking out her notepad with her pen placed on her lap. As a passionate reporter, Alya never forgot conversations she had with clients, but she wanted to be safe with this one, since it seemed like Marinette was torn about knowing two contradicting sides of Chat Noir.

Speaking of the devil…

A sizeable black plush toy with large green eyes was carried by another waiter while Pierre was carrying her breakfast and Alya didn’t know what to feel more excited about, her impending interrogation or the delicious food.

Once situated opposite of her on the chair, the two waiters left with a ‘bon appetit’ on their tongues, Alya throwing back a happy word of gratitude for the food.

It wasn’t until Alya was sipping her coffee that she began the conversation before the toy could, “Alright, now listen up, I know there’s a vague humanoid person behind those fuzzy ears and I would appreciate it if you strain the human ears for me.”

There was radio silence on the toy’s part, so Alya continued, cool as a cucumber and fiery as a chili pepper, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sweet blue eyes and dark hair, a smile that could summon angels and cure the ill, ring any bells for you, kitty cat?”

Alya waited for an answer from the human behind the toy, slicing through her poached eggs and internally delighting in the visual beauty and the savory texture in her mouth when she took a bite.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was too early for Plagg to be awake, too early to start work, too early to even think of work. And yet, here he was, staring at Adrien’s screen in mounting horror, the image of an auburn-haired woman with glasses glaring him down with all the bitterness of a woman hellbent on revenge.

Revenge for what, Plagg didn’t know, he just wished he wasn’t in the middle of this while trying not to starve to death.

Only minutes ago, he had been pressing buttons on his computer, in his little room filled with the smell of cheese, working like a slave deprived of his most basic needs.

Pierre had graciously brought him his post breakfast, as Plagg liked to call it, something with cut meat, perhaps a vegetable or two, but most importantly cheese. A lot of melted cheese. So much cheese that Adrien’s nutritionist would’ve balked at his choice of food and promptly demanded a refund. And possibly counseling after dealing with Plagg and his unholy list of food he ate on a weekly basis.

He was working for two today, he needed all the energy he could get.

It seemed not even his meal would be enough to replace all the life that seemed to have trickled from his hands like sand when the woman began speaking to the Chat Noir toy like she was all too eager to drive that butter knife anywhere else other than her poached egg.

He was a goner.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

“No answer, huh?” Alya regarded the plushie curiously, wondering, for a brief moment, if Marinette had been telling the truth about her lengthy talks with the doll. No, of course she did, but it seemed like Chat Noir was in no mood to talk to her. She knew they had automated responses, but this one didn’t even seem to have those since all she had heard from it was silence.

Alya glanced down at her notepad, thinking of all the questions that burned at the tip of her tongue, fueled by the fierce need to protect her best friend, to get answers for all the questions Marinette had, an answer to all the confused feelings that plagued her. She deserved that, so Alya pressed on.

“I know I’m not the person you normally talk to, I don’t even know if you will talk to me today, but I’m here to get some answers for Marinette, since you weren’t here the last time she came. You have no idea how worried and confused Marinette is right now.” Alya’s tone softened, if slightly, she wasn’t sure which approach would work best to tickle answers out of the plushie, but she would try the hard and the soft way.

“So, here’s one question I have for you: the first time you met up with Marinette in a café, you talked badly of Nathaniel. Is this a rivalry thing between professors? Or are you just a jerk?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••

Plagg was debating whether to call Pierre and get the toy back, or risk suffering mental injury. He was glad this woman wasn’t able to physically reach him, he was sure he would be losing more than just his mind.

He had a hunch today wouldn’t be a normal day, it didn’t even start normally. No sooner had he arrived at work, he was being starved and had to beg Pierre to fix him a meal after breakfast. Plagg shook his head, running a hand down his face to focus on the issue at hand.

Nathaniel? Who in the world was Nathaniel? Was he someone Adrien knew? Obviously, but he knew the kid, Adrien rarely talked bad about someone and even if he did, he never did it behind their backs. Adrien talking badly about someone while on a date with a woman? Plagg doubted it.

And yet, this woman seemed to believe he did.

Plagg leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, food temporarily forgotten. She mentioned a rivalry between professors, Adrien wasn’t even a professor, he was still a student. This must be some misunderstanding. This Nathaniel didn't seem to be a model but a professor.

Wait, met up in a café?

Plagg leaned over and checked his phone, scrolling through all the messages he exchanged with Adrien, he tried to remember if Adrien ever mentioned anything about meeting up with pigtails girl before, but nothing sprung to mind.

Was he getting old?

Adrien never mentioned that. Plagg was sure of it.

The kid would be over the moon if he had met up with Marinette in person. Adrien would’ve been a mumbling, panicking fool. He would’ve harassed Plagg about dating etiquette, not that Plagg had many, and yet he had a girlfriend. He would ask Tikki for better advice, after being fed up with Plagg of course. He would get ready two weeks beforehand, choosing which outfits and cologne to wear, how to style his hair, having pep talks with Nino over how to talk to women.

And calling Plagg in the middle of the night while the middle-aged man slept peacefully, to harass him over popular places people visited for platonic dates and if it was too old fashioned to walk her home and kiss her hand. At which point he would squeal like a girl and hang up, leaving a grumpy, confused Plagg to stare at his phone.

But none of that happened. Nothing happened.

This had to be a mistake.

Just when Plagg wanted to press the speaker button, the woman spoke again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

After a long pregnant silence from the motionless toy, Alya clenched the material of her skirt in her hands, fists shaking in mounting rage.

“Not answering that either? You want to convince me that all those talks you two had and how she talked about you all these weeks was just an act?” Alya’s temper flared, nails now digging into the tablecloth, her poached egg momentarily forgotten.

There was static noise, as if someone was ripping paper and then a robotic-like voice sounded from the toy.

“Oh mon dieu, mademoiselle, you have quite a temper don’t you?”

Alya’s eyes narrowed, folding her hands over the other and resting her elbows on the table, “I’m all ears, cat.”

Plagg loved to dig his own grave, it even had several floors, one of which was the devil’s personal residence. Plagg was sure after this, he would have to pay his horned buddy a visit.

Should he try to channel his inner Adrien? The radiant, carefree, dreamy spirit of youth?

No, he would make things worse. Until Adrien got here, he had to set things straight for the kid’s sake.

With a deep breath, Plagg spoke.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What a clawsome day we have, huh? Purrty fine meowrning, right?”

Alya tapped her foot, eyeing the toy suspiciously, did it have a camera too or was it just a speaker for the voice?

“Or should I say, an eggcelent morning.”

So it had a built in camera.

Alya was mildly disturbed, with the new knowledge of a person behind this doll actually watching her eat and rage at it until now.

Gathering back her courage and anger, Alya adjusted her glasses. “Quit it with the puns, will you answer my questions or not?”

Silence followed her words, Alya thought the doll wouldn’t offer any answers she was seeking, but just a minute later, she was proven wrong.

“Sorry lady, you uh-this isn’t the cat you think you’re talking to.”

“What?” was this a bad joke? Had Marinette’s hunch been right? Was this person an impostor?

“The real owner of…uh the black cat is unavailable right now, I’m just filling in for him. But every time pigt-Miss Dupain-Cheng was here, it was the real him, trust me.”

Should she trust him? This was only a doll she was talking to, she had no way of knowing who was behind the voice, if this man was telling the truth.

Then again, she had nothing much to go on.

Crossing her arms and leaning back, Alya pondered her next movements, ire and ego sufficiently snuffed now that the man she had actually wanted to confront wasn’t even here, and she was talking to a third party.

…A third party who might just have the answers she needed.

“Hey, kitty cat.”

“What?” the voice originated from the plushie, sounding mildly grouchy.

Alya brushed the tone off, leaning forward to write in her notepad. “I have some questions I think you can answer, I’ll try to hold off on the difficult ones.”

There was another moment of silence, before the toy spoke, “…What kinda questions?”

“First, tell me if this switcheroo thing is an often occurrence and if you inform my best friend of this if it happens?” sticking her tongue out in concentration, Alya held her pen close to the paper.

The answer followed immediately. “What kind of a cat do you hold me for?! Today was the first time since he, uh Chat Noir, was busy.”

Alya scribbled the answer done, satisfied with the speed at which he answered.

“Okay, why are you a jerk?”

A scoff sounded, “It’s in my genetic make-up. Next.”

Snorting in amusement, Alya continued, “Did ‘Chat Noir’ ever had any intentions of meeting up with Marinette in person?”

“He has to keep his identity secret, so unless he could fully trust her with keeping his secret, I don’t think so. Or at least I would stop him, he wears his heart on his sleeve, at one point he would crack like an egg.”

Alya wrote that down too, ‘secret identity’, ‘no meeting’, ‘crack like an egg’.

The young woman rubbed her chin in thought, half the questions flying out the window now that the person she wanted to interrogate wasn’t here.

“What does ‘Chat Noir’ look like?”

“Oh, god-like. A model really. Sun kissed skin, corn golden hair, forest green eyes and all the smhuck.”

Alya rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee, “Are you giving me false information?” she stared at the soulless eyes of the doll, annoyed she wasn’t getting her questions answered.

“…Pawsibly.”

“So, you have to protect his identity that much? Alright, I’ll leave this for Marinette to figure out but can you at least answer me one question?”

Plagg mulled the suggestion over, before pressing down on the speaker and replying, “Fine.”

“Did you ever meet up with Marinette in person or do you know if he ever met up with her?”

“Nope, cat’s honor. The ki-he never met up with her personally, if he had I wouldn’t be trying to hide his identity, now would I?”

Alya sighed heavily, leaning her head back to massage her forehead in frustration.

If Chat Noir never met up with Marinette, who the hell was the guy Marinette met up with?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the doll spoke again.

“Now, let me ask a question, miss Reporter.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Plagg tapped his fingers against the control panel, never letting the woman on the screen out of sight.

According to this woman, some guy apparently met up with pigtails girl and pretended to be Adrien?

Did somebody know their secret? Did someone leak it? No, they kept it heavily guarded, they always make sure no one catches them entering or leaving the restaurant.

If this man was someone unknown to them, maybe he knew Marinette? But if Marinette didn’t know him, was he her stalker?

Plagg felt a headache sneaking up on him, all this talk of identities and possible imposters made him want to just eat cheese and sleep.

“Hm, what to do with you?” he mused aloud, fingers still tapping his desk.

If he wanted to gain anything from this conversation, Plagg had to get as much information as he could.

He pulled the microphone close to his mouth.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Sure, spill.” Alya leaned back, notepad resting on the table next to her half finished breakfast.

It had only been an hour, but she felt like half the day passed. Interrogations always made time pass by faster.

Finally, the cat asked, “Do you have a photo of the man who claimed to be Chat Noir? Did Miss Dupain-Cheng show you a photo?”

Alya frowned, mentally slapping herself. “Uh…no. No she didn’t. Just that he was good-looking but seemed to act weird, like, downright mean to Nathaniel, Nathaniel’s her friend and co-worker by the way.”

The doll was silent, seemingly deep in thought over her answer, before he poised his next question. “Yeah, no way that’s the same guy. Chat Noir would never disrespect someone like that, especially if he’s a friend. He’s too nice for that.”

Leaning forward again, Alya rested her chin on her palm, “So, what do you suggest we do Puss in Boots?”

Another moment of silence before the replacement Chat Noir answered, “Tail her.”

Alya blinked, “What?”

“Tail your friend when she goes out with that guy, try to get a photo.”

“What will you do with that information anyway? Are you from the secret services?” Alya froze, what if this guy and this Chat Noir fellow were some men with secretive backgrounds?

Alya snorted in amusement. What were the odds of them being some cliché secret agents? She would buy the story with Chat Noir being a model any day.

“If I were, I wouldn’t be sitting here posing as a plushie talking to people in a restaurant, would I?”

Someone was grouchy. Alya guessed this individual was either an old grump, or just a grump.

“That’s something a secret service agent would say to throw suspicion off themselves,” Alya teased playfully, before clearing her throat. “Anyway, fine, I’ll try to get a photo, but what will you tell Chat Noir when he comes back?”

“Exactly what happened, he has to know there’s a copycat out there. What will you tell Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Alya glanced down at her notes, “The truth and nothing but the truth! What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t tell her what I discovered today?”

“Don’t tell her anything yet, let her stay in the dark until you get that photo of the copycat, then tell her the truth.”

Frowning in dismay at the prospect of lying to her friend, Alya shook her head, “But why? What if she gets hurt with that weird guy? We don’t know who he is or what he wants from her!”

“If he wanted to do something, he would’ve done that already. No sense in playing cat and mouse forever, right? I think your friend will be fine until you get his picture.”

“But why is the picture so important? Can’t she just ditch the guy and come here again as if nothing happened?” Alya didn’t understand why he insisted on that picture.

“Look, if that guy shadows Miss Dupain-Cheng one day and knows to what restaurant she goes to, he could potentially discover Chat Noir and I. And that’s something I wanna avoid, so get that picture of him and I’ll deal with him.”

The edge from the robotic voice made Alya’s skin crawl, “I knew it! You’re a hitman! A muscle for hire! Will you kill the guy if you find out who he is?” Alya slapped her hand on the table, ducking her head and mouthing an apology when nearby patrons glared at her.

Plagg swirled around in his chair, coming to a stop facing the monitor again.

He smiled, chuckling as he gave his answer through the speaker. “Not kill, but I’ll deal with him for trying to stir up trouble. Don’t worry, nothing illegal. I want to keep a low profile too.”

He waited patiently for the woman’s answer, seeing her mulling it over in her head.

He knew he sounded shady, maybe even downright dangerous, but Plagg would not take any chances in getting to that guy before he got to them and possibly endangered Adrien this way.

“Fine, I’ll try to arrange it next week when she meets up with him. If you break our contract, I’ll personally hunt you down and hold you accountable, got it pussycat?”

The woman pointed her finger at the camera, coming dangerously close to one of the cat’s eyes.

Plagg smirked, pressing the speaker on the microphone to talk. “Got it, miss reporter. Hope you can keep a secret.”

He grew more amused when the woman gathered her things, grabbing her untouched croissant, “I wouldn’t be good at my job if I couldn’t, pussycat.”

With that, she left with the promise to bring the photo and Plagg was ready to finish the rest of his meal until a hazel eyes suddenly popped into his field of vision.

The scream Plagg released was never to leave this room, the shrill pitch embarrassing to his own red ears, he was glad Adrien wasn’t here today.

“What?! Don’t get so close to the camera!” he spat, trying to calm his racing heart down.

The woman backed away, quickly retrieving something from her purse and holding it up near the camera, “Sorry! Just, write this down so you know how to contact me, since I can’t contact you.”

Plagg squinted, eyeing the details on the white business card.

La presse de la societe

Alya Cesaire

Journaliste d’investigation

Tel. XXX-XXX-XXX

Quickly scribbling down the information, Plagg spoke into the speaker and Miss Cesaire left with the promise to return and the threat to contact her.

Plagg stared down at the information he wrote, quickly folding the piece of paper and shoving it in his pocket.

Just when he reached for his bowl of now cold cheese, the lock on the backdoor sounded.

“Hey Plagg! Sorry for being so late, I still had to ask my professor something.” Adrien greeted him with a wave and a tired smile, hanging his jacket on the coat rack and placing his bag on the empty chair before walking towards him. “So, anything interesting happen?”

There was this hopeful shimmer in his eyes, the one that told Plagg he was still waiting for Marinette to show up.

He almost felt guilty for lying. “Nope, nothing, just some cranky old lady eating her breakfast. Her teeth fell out so she had to leave, good thing you didn’t see that. Gonna give me nightmares for weeks, ugh.”

Plagg stuck his tongue out, rolling his chair out of the way so Adrien could take a seat at his desk, chuckling. “Don’t be like that Plagg, I can’t wait to see the day you grow all old and bald with your dentures in a glass.”

“Ha, ha, very funny kid.” Plagg playfully kicked Adrien’s chair, causing him to rotate in circles. The model only laughed and Plagg discreetly shoved the slip of paper that peeked out back in his pocket.

Thank you for reading everyone! And thank you again for your eternal patience, hopefully the next update is quicker :3

#miraculous ladybug #ml #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupaincheng #marichat #miraculous #ml fic #ml fanfic #my fic #my fics #marinette x chat noir #dinner for two fic #will try to update on a monthly basis from now!#long post

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c-rose2081 · 3 years

Text

Dragons of Auradon (and beyond)

Written by: Uma ‘the dragon expert’

‘Hey Ben, I’m writing this ‘Dragon Cheat Sheet’ for Evie since she asks so many questions and it’s driving me kinda insane. Please make sure it gets to her and that Mal doesn’t eat it. Thanks!’ - Shrimpy

—

Isle Dragon: Hailing from the mysterious Isle of the Lost, Isle Dragons are ferocious and temperamental beasts. They are large and bulky in stature; quadrupedal, and are very muscular with thick leathery hides that are resistant to fire. Isle Dragons normally have long curving horns on their head and down their ridges, and hand-like talons with an opposable thumb for grabbing and climbing. Isle Dragons have ear fins, which can be brought forwards and backwards but not pivoted. Isle Dragons are notoriously bad swimmers, and stray away from water whenever possible.

Size: Domesticated Isle Dragons will grow no larger then a German Shepard (like Mal), but wild Isle Dragons can grow to be quite large, about the size of a Tyrannosaurus Rex if in the right conditions. Isle Dragons aren’t normally kept as pets as the eggs are hard to get ahold of (being in very perilous places), and their temperament is a bit difficult to tame.

Egg Type: Colored in neutral, dull palettes, eggs of the Isle Dragon are dense and ribbed, as to have less chance of falling off craggy rock faces. Mother dragons nest in perilous locations, as to have less chance of being attacked while incubating. If a baby Isle Dragon cannot break through the egg on their own upon hatching, mothers will crush it, or throw the egg to break the shell. If an Isle Dragon is a runt, or considered pathetic by the mother, it will be left to die, or fend for itself.

Status: Isle Dragons, though restricted to the shores of the Isle of the Lost, are not endangered, as they have little to offer for hunters and poachers and mate easily with many partners.

Special Attributes:

- Fire Breath

- Fire Resistance

- Impressive Wingspan

- Affinity towards magical objects (this is a rumor)

- Brute Strength

Known Isle Dragons:

- Mal (belongs to Evie)

- Maleficent (on the Isle of the Lost - Mal’s mother)

- Hadie (belongs to Hades - Mal’s brother)

—

Aurorian Dragon: Native to the Moorlands, and the open fields of Auroria, Aurorian Dragons are one of the most beautiful species to exist in Auradon. They are longer with less muscle overall, but are wicked fast and incredibly intelligent. These prissy beasts are known for their unusual royal temperament, as well as their fantastic array of colors ranging from pastel pinks to the darkest of blacks. Aurorian Dragons are quadrupedal, with three sharp talons on each foot, and a long thin tail which can be used to grab and hold things. They have smooth, arrow shaped scales mixed with patches of silky fur, and pale colored horns on their heads and faces. Aurorian Dragons are well known for their silky manes, which travel down from the crest of the head to mid tail. Aurorian Dragons have three sets of ear flaps in a wing-like pattern, which can be moved and pivoted similar to a rabbits.

Size: The largest Aurorian Dragon ever found in the wild was about the size of a common crocodile. They stop growing early on, as their environment is dense with brush and foliage, which they must be able to navigate. Domestic Aurorian Dragons are fairly small, never surpassing the size of a large green iguana.

Egg Type: Pure Aurorian Dragon eggs are known to be perfectly smooth and glass like. They often mimic the colors and patterns (if any) on the hatchling. Aurorian Dragon mothers are well known for being protective to a fault over their eggs, to the point of starvation if a mate or companion is not present to bring food. Unlike most dragons in the wild, Aurorian Dragons do not leave their young, even after becoming full adults. It’s the hatchlings decision to leave the family unit; if they choose to stay the mother will continue to accept them as hers till they die.

Status: Nearly extinct. In the wild, Aurorian Dragons have been hunted for their scales, fur, ivory and blood. Aurorian Dragons mate for life, and lay only a few eggs in a single season, making repopulation difficult with such a small number left. They’ve made some comeback through preservation efforts, but there are very few non-domesticated Aurorian Dragons left. The Rose Family Foundation (run by Leah Rose) is one of the main protectors of the breed, as is the Charming Family.

Special Attributes:

- Gold Blood and Tears

- Aurorian Dragon Song (these dragons will sing in the presence of true love)

- Flammable Pink Smoke which can be caught on fire.

- Intelligence (scarily so)

- Innate Sensitivity

Known Aurorian Dragons:

- Audrey (Belongs to Ben)

- Aurora (Belongs to Leah Rose - Audrey’s mother)

- Chadwick (Belongs to Ella & Kit Charming - Audrey’s Brother)

- Celia, Dizzy, & Carlos (part Aurorian Dragon)

—

Costal Dragons: Stocky and built like walking tanks, Costal Dragons are only found outside Auradon’s borders. They nest, live and breed on sandy, warm costal beaches or in costal grasslands. These dragons are huge, and hatchlings reach the size of adult leatherback turtles by the time they are six months old. Costal Dragons are shelled similarly to armadillos, with unbreakable plates running from the nape of their neck to the end of a stout tail. There are horns all over these guys, from the back ridge, to four on the tail tip, elbows, wing’s and face. A notable trait are two forward facing horns on the forehead used for charging enemies and fighting other dragons. Unlike most dragons, the Costal Dragon have a toothless beak, with the ability to snap a femur in a single bite.

Size: Massive. Just...bulky. Unit dragons.

Egg Type: Costal Dragon eggs are laid in large numbers, usually 8-10 per clutch in nests of sand or grass. They are unusually soft and leathery for such well built dragons, and are only about the size of tennis balls. The male dragon is the one who incubates, as the female goes out to find food for when the babies hatch. The male will not leave the nest, and doesn’t need to eat for many weeks during this period. Male Costal dragons are just as protective over their eggs as female dragons, and even more so over their mate.

Status: Numerous, but unusual to see in Auradon. Because of their tough armor, Costal Dragons have no natural predators other then humans. And even then it’s dangerous to approach an adult due to their size and massive horns. Costal Dragons mate easily, and can have many clutches of eggs in a single season. They will find a new mate if their old one dies, or sometimes just stay single, but they will only ever have one mate at a time. Since Auradon isn’t the natural environment to find a Costal Dragon, they are very uncommon.

Special Attributes:

- Size & Wingspan

- Bite Strength

- Armor

- Gentle Demeanor

- Foghorn Call (Costal Dragon’s sound like foghorns, which often confused sailors in older literature)

Known Costal Dragons:

- Gil (Belongs to Uma & Harry)

- Celia, Dizzy, & Carlos (part Costal Dragon)

—

Imperial Dragons: Imperial Dragons are native to China, but breeders can be found in the Imperial Lands in Auradon. The Fa and Li families are very reputable, and produce some of the best dragons in the world. These beasts resemble ancient portraiture, with long serpent bodies and coin-like emerald, gold, or red scales. They are quadrupedal, with rooster like toes and dangerous silver claws. Imperial Dragons have large boxy faces with a powerful jaw and huge white teeth. Their cheeks and foreheads are often covered in tufts of snow colored fur. They can breathe fire, but also pure smoke, and have cat like eyes which dilate in and out depending on temperament and light. Imperial Dragons are common to see in sporting events, as they are naturally athletic and beautiful to watch. They are a wingless breed, but still have the ability to fly by running on the wind. Their temperament can vary; some hunting exclusive dragons can be ferocious and unfriendly. But those that are well domesticated are playful, and love to fetch, and do tricks.

Size: Depends. It’s not easy to tell how large an Imperial Dragon will get. In the wild, they grow wicked fast. Some legends say these creatures could be the size of mountains or bigger, though that’s never been proven. When domesticated, these beasts grow much slower, but can range from the size of a Great Dane, to a polar bear. One needs a lot of open space to properly raise Imperial Dragons.

Egg Types: Imperial Dragon eggs are perfectly circular, and often veined in unique colors like gold, emerald and ruby. They are smooth to the touch, and put out a lot of heat. These eggs cannot be touched by bare human hands, and can only be held with gloves or oven mitts. Imperial Dragons usually nest in trees, but also have a fondness for warm caves. When domesticated, they love cozy nesting boxes. Dragon mothers will often leave the nest unattended during the day to hunt. If they chose a good nesting spot, the eggs will be fine. But there is a higher mortality rate of little ones in the wild due to predators or environmental factors.

Status: Safe. There are no wild Imperial Dragons in Auradon, as they come from China. But these beasts are good at hiding and taking care of poachers for themselves, so the population is overall healthy. Domestic Imperial Dragons are common, and there are many different types to choose from.

Special Attributes:

- Wingless Flight

- Fire & Smoke Breath

- Agility

- Hunting Prowess

- Playful Demeanor

Known Imperial Dragons:

- Lonnie (belongs to Jay)

—-

A/N: So yeah, a little cheat sheet for all the dragons we’ve met (and some we haven’t met yet) in the Love Like Dragons AU :)

#disney descendants #descendants #love like dragons au #disney #dragons #audrey rose #mal bertha #lonnie li #gil son of gaston #descendants fanfiction #alternate universe

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shyrose57 · 3 years

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Brothers anon and ah, its just me than. Links on tumblr break half the time for me sorry bout that!

1: Mostly how it looks in the actual episode but with some changes. Its gaint, even has multiple floors, most rooms have a glass dome roof with iron railings (3-4) lining the bottom of the glass. The hallway typically have windows leading up to the roof, but the roof and both floor are a mix of materials like iron, copper, wood, and even gold. The most complex room is the Council room, which has a a higher roof than the rest, with mostly wood railings that go all the way up and lead to a circle at the top. The Council is the group that leads Mizu, they have 1 leader of every Idol to represent the different opinions of the citizens, with 1 special member that doesnt belong to any Idol, and is instead used to represent the opinions of people who either haven't chosen a idol yet, got kicked out of a idol following, and just to give a unbiased opinion most of the time. They do make most decisions, mostly those relating to topics like construction, farming, money distribution, where people can live, etc. And they also mostly agree on most subjects and don't agure, but they do have massive disagreements on topics and problems like Representation in other Cities/Kingdoms, trading, visitors and immigrants, and sometimes supply missions.

3: Situations like taking care of his siblings (I have decided Benjamin shall have siblings) and friends, and he was also put under extreme stress as a kid in school and family life, but unlike Ranbob, he managed to successfully communicate his struggle and find coping mechanisms. Also when he went off to live by himself for a bit, he was under sudden extreme situations where he had to make split second decision. So he just learned from everything thats happened to him over time.

8: Levi exists purely to make Watson and others go insane. People claimed it was made up because they claimed most events as unrealistic (like Doomsday, Techno escaping a death trial, Pandoras Vault (they believed it impossible for something to be inescapable)). Plus the fact it seemed cruel such young people where faced with such trauma that no sane person would let it happen, and the fact most historical important items couldn't be found, people claiming that they where made up (also cause if the land was that exposed to such devastation, it would've collapsed on itself). No to both of those, by this point their to far away from Dream for him to have a direct meaningful affect on the group, and while the residents of Kelalen know it was Dreams sword, the group does not know. Nope! Mizu came about years after Kelalen was forgotten about and shamed. And Mizu was only made because of the growing number of believers in the SMP history was causing disruptions in both the political sense and educational sense, so it was made to separate the "outcasts". Though Mizu eventually grew as big as most cities, and greatly civilized and advanced, though they where still often "forgotten" about and basically seperate from the Kingdom that set them up and became their own place (though not officially).

They do have a friendship! Its not super close but their definitely friends. Ranbob is definitely a worrier, he heard that two of his friends almost died he immediately goes to them and fuses over them. And when their recovering he doesnt leave their side, infact Benjamin has to drag him away from the two just to get him to eat. And he refuses to sleep unless he's like directly on top of them. Yeah, Cletus challenges Grievous to a parkour challenge over a Delta Basalt, and he happily accepts. They end up giving everyone a heart attack after Cletus slips and almost falls onto a magma block. Jackie plays in soul sand and dumps a handful down Rans shirt, Watson teaches Charles and Isaac how to make gold from gold nuggets and more Piglin culture. When Cletus is cleared to be ok and Jackie stops getting soul sand in areas he didn't even know existed. They all sit in a circle and decide what they should try first, with Ran and Watson watching carefully and preventing them from drinking anything that they recognized as harmful. But other than that they just let the others do whatever.

10: Because he couldn't use it, when Dream was a full human he used to be able to access his powers at his own will. But after his spirit got linked to his mask his power greatly reduced. To the point he relies on others for his powers, more specifically, he needs them to be exposed to him for a certain amount of time (like 2 weeks) until he can use their own essence/spirit to help his powers. When the group of people came after Ranbob left, they stayed for a long time, especially after they took the mask with them. Dream got the power back. Cause it is a "I worked to hard to give this up." Type situation. Ranbob was his first victim and the first person he had control over in decades, he considers Ranbob the puppet he was meant to have and refuses to let him go. Everyone is the nat to him, but specifically Ran. Cause Ran was the only person who survived the murders, so Dream sees him as a kill that was taken from him that he needs to fix. Everyone else to him is nothing more than an annoyance, and he's more than happy to use them as nothing more than a stepping stone to kill once he's done with them.

13: Ran is stronger than everyone else, Jackie is faster than everyone else, and Watson is more acrobatic than everyone else. Sorry can you reword "Is Jackie considered stronger than them aside from shared tactics, or is it the other way around?"? I dont completely understand sorry. Kind of, I'll say. There can only be 3 ranking members, but it can also be 2 Corporals and 1 Sergeant.

14: They where caught off guard, but also knew something must be going on due to the fishermen staying closer to Ranbob than normal. He never got too far, as he isnt very fast and Charles and both Isaac tend to be fast enough to get him. If the episode is really bad bringing him back can lead into physical fights but it rarely gets into that, as it seems like Ranbob really doesn't want to fight them most of the time, and holds himself back.

Well, I hope it’s working for you now, cause that sounds less than ideal, honestly.

1: Well, Mizu sounds gorgeous, quite frankly. As for the council having a member of no idol, what about that? People can get kicked out from an idol group? Why? Do some just never choose an idol? Also, how’s the housing situation there? Are there like, apartments on one of the floors, or something? Why does the council not really agree on outside affairs?

3: Not gonna lie, I’m rather curious. What kind of life did Benjamin lead to be under such heavy stress? Does he relate to Ranbob because of this? And what was he doing when he lived on his own to need to make fast-paced decisions? Also, siblings! What’re his siblings like?

8: He sounds like it.

And hm. There are several things I’ve taken from this.

Do totems no longer exist, if they don’t believe Techno could have survived, or did that particular piece of the story just get left out over time?

Has Pandora’s vault fallen? And why would people find it unbelievable? If it’s the future, shouldn’t they have even more advanced technology than that? Or is it simply the lack of evidence that leads them to disagreeing about it’s existence?

They don’t believe people would have been so cruel to the younger ones? Oof, um. Well, at least that says something about the future, I guess.

Mizu sounds like it has an interesting history in it’s self. How do Ran and Ranbob feel about being in a world that basically shunned the people of what would eventually become their home? Do they ever have issues when people find out they originate from Mizu, or worship an idol? From how you put it, it seems like that wasn’t really looked upon well, since they shunted the people who did it to Mizu.

Friendships for the win! Maybe not close, but it sounds like an interesting dynamic. Charles honestly seems pretty mild, and as you said, shy, so putting him with Mr.Random And Chaotic certainly sounds like something. How did these two become friends?

And honestly, it sounds like everyone had a lot of unique experiences in the Nether. It also sounds like Ran and Ranbob were probably an inch from a heart-attack the entire time, considering the shenanigans ongoing. It sounds kind of cute that Ranbob was only sleeping when he was close to them though, and it gives me the image of a giant fluffy cat, so win-win there.

10: Interesting. Was Ranbob not enough to fully return that power to him when the Fishermen first came and took him? Or did Dream just not think they’d get that far and not react in time, when he still had that power from his puppet?

And, uh, wow. Dream was certainly off his rocker before, but that’s definitely cemented now. Is anyone aware he thinks of Ranbob in such a way? Does Ranbob know? How are everyone’s feelings on that-besides y’know, ‘gonna murder Mr.Mask Man’. How does everyone feel about being considered as ‘nats’?

13: Huh. And yeah, I confused myself rereading that. Basically, is Jackie considered stronger than those two? You said they were mostly on par, because of the shared tactics, so when it comes to cutting those shared tactics out of the picture, does Jackie come out on top?

14: So the gang could tell? If I may ask, what were the tells that gave Ranbob away?

#Brothers AU #dream smp #dream smp au #tales from the smp #ranbob #ran

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Paradiso. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM] AU

a/n: au takes place in the early 1900s. tw for descriptions of cults, religious themes, and descriptions of violence.

From the moment you read Elle’s first letter, you were skeptical.

All of this high praise for a hidden community that accepted anyone regardless of their background. She speaks of the people, forgiving and helpful in every conceivable way. That even when she first arrived, not once did she feel like an outsider; everyone welcomed her with open and loving arms. It’s not that you don’t want to believe such a perfect place exists -- you wish it is, for her sake -- but it has to be too good to be true.

If there’s anything you know from firsthand experience, it’s people. Inherently selfish, always in pursuit of their own goals and agenda. There is undoubtedly a catch behind this, you know it in your gut. Elle’s descriptions are too biased, words written blindly behind rose-colored glasses. She isn’t able to see the truth anymore, too far into her own delusions of a flawlessly crafted world.

For a time, you were able to grin and bear it despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth. Responding with forced enthusiasm over her supposed healing, expressing how happy for her you are. It was the letter from the end of her first month, that you felt unparalleled dread overwhelm your entire person.

Words such as “blood” and “ritual” stuck out like a sore thumb, nausea overtaking you and concern soon after. The worst part of it all, is how she posed it as a wonderful thing! She spoke of how it brought healing and an abundance of crops, that it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever witnessed in her life.

No longer could you enable this detrimental behavior. Your dearest friend is in the jaws of a predator, and you’ll do anything to pry her out; even if it requires force. This conviction is what you hold tightly to, fastening yourself against the oncoming horrors.

“Is this it?” you yell over to your guide, loud purr of the motorboat’s engine deafening your ears. He nods his head in affirmation, attention remaining on steering in the right direction. Looking forward towards this utopia, doubts continue to cloud your mind. It didn’t help that the process to get here is beyond tedious, this fisherman the only one willing to take you out to this remote location.

No alarm bells are ringing from your initial glance over, but looks can be deceiving. With each passing moment the secluded island grows closer, looming over you with dubious intent. White sandy beaches line it, the only hint of civilization being an old wooden dock. Thick and lush green trees encompass the island, engulfing it in nature. It’s larger than you initially thought it would be from Elle’s complimentary descriptions.

For privacy, and to keep away suspicious eyes you imagine, the heart of the village is a trek from the beach. Elle justified it by a need to stay hidden, citing how many of the island’s inhabitants are reformed criminals or people who are rejected from society. All you can see in her reasoning are blatant excuses. Nothing good comes from having no accountability from others, it’s a wide open gate for madness and abuse of power.

Splashes of salt water sprinkle against your face, moistening your hair in the process. The peaceful experience does little to soothe you, your mind focused solely on how you’ll go about your investigation undetected. You’re arriving under the pretense of staying permanently, the only possible way to “earn” an invitation. It feels dirty to lie to your good friend, but this is all for the greater good.

The motor sputters down as the fisherman stops next to the dock, a sign of the unknown journey ahead of you finally starting. He begins the process of tying a rope against the dock to steady it, leaving you to sit on the rocking boat. Bobbing up and down with the waves, you close your eyes to fend off a wave of nausea the ocean brings with it.

“[First]!” A cheerful, nostalgic voice calls over to you; breaking you from your stupor. Elle waves eagerly from the shore, running against the sand with a wide grin. Once the rope has been tied successfully, you grab your bags and shakily step onto solid land. She’s wearing a simple white dress, that cuts off below her knees, adorned with sandals and a large straw hat.

Her skin is tanner than when you saw her last, likely from the hours spent in the sun. Light brunette hair secured in her signature high ponytail, and amber eyes shining brightly. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen her so giddy, the sight bittersweet and conflicting you further. Raking over her figure for any signs of foul play, she doesn’t have a single bruise or scratch on her person.

If anything, you’d say she looks to be in perfect health. No longer does her skin cling tightly to her bones, face full and evident that she’s been eating well. It doesn’t deter you for long, as you’re certain there’s still underlying malice in this supposed community.

Arms wrap around your waist in a suffocatingly tight hug, her face settles against your neck. Returning her affections to the best of your ability while holding your luggage, she carries on the embrace for a few more seconds. You can’t help but return her enthusiasm with a laugh of your own, recalling how she’s always been affectionate. Elle has an ability to make you melt within her hands.

“It looks like somebody missed me.” you tease with a short snicker, earning a low hum of affirmation.

“It just feels so good to finally see you again,” she admits with a dreamy sigh, hands moving down the skin of your arm to the handle of your bags. “I’ve missed you more than you could imagine. Here, hand me your bags. I’m sure you’re tired after all that travelling. But it’ll be well worth it, I promise!”

Elle sets off towards the intimidating looking woodland, turning back to you inquisitively when you don't follow right after her. You still don’t see any obvious signs of problems, eyes scouring every crevice of the area before you. With a reluctant sigh, you follow after your good friend into the unknown.

She leads you through thickets of trees and shrubbery, skillfully weaving throughout nature with practiced precision. “I have so much to tell you. I don’t want to overwhelm you right away though, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.��

“Give me just a general overview of how things work around here,” you respond while ducking under an imposing branch. “Is it all this… uninhabited?”

Waving off your poorly hidden concern, she shakes her head. “Not in the slightest. This is just to keep out anyone who’d do us harm. We’re getting closer to the central area, that’s where you’ll be staying with me. Don’t worry about chores or anything the first few days, I want you to focus on getting used to life here! It can take some adjusting.”

So inundated by the information you’re currently taking in, you fail to notice a vine rising ever so slightly from the ground. Your foot snags against it, sending you tumbling onto the ground and warm pain radiating from your knees from the impact. Elle whips her head back to you at the sound, immediately coming to your side with potent concern.

“A-are you okay? I forgot to mention how many things there are to trip on around here, I can’t even begin to recall how many times I’ve fallen…” she trails off, soothingly rubbing a hand against your shoulder while you catch your breath. You look down at your knees, the source of the stinging pain, to see they’re scraped up. Great, just great.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you grimace through the ebbing ache while standing up. “It’s just a few scratches, nothing serious. I think I’ll live.”

She inspects the wound further despite your insistence of being alright, you finding the circumstances of tripping like a klutz to be mildly embarrassing. The insignificant injury means little to you, you’ve experienced far worse in the past. It’s only an added nuisance since living here will require a lot of movement. That, and you’ve always wanted Elle to view you in a cool, “knows what she’s doing” type of way.

“Still, it’d be best if you got it looked at and disinfected to be on the safe side. We have a healer here who will help you out, no questions asked.”

This catches your attention. The word “healer” being used instead of a doctor or nurse is suspicious to say the least, but it will be a good opportunity to see firsthand what the practices are around here. Although you’re wary of accepting any medicine from these people, there’s no harm in letting this guy look at it.

“Alright, as long as it’s not too much trouble. It really is just a small scratch after all.” you respond nonchalantly while dusting dirt off your shorts. Ignoring the slight sting that reemerges with every step, Elle leads you in a slightly different direction than before.

Even with your reservations, there’s no denying how beautiful the nature surrounding you is. Wild life scurries about at every corner, trees tall and hanging over to protect from the harsh rays of sunlight. Various plant life of almost every color dot along the ground, flowers you’ve never seen before in full bloom.

After a few more minutes of walking, a small and wooden college appears before you. The first signs of this area actually being occupied, you note. There’s a large garden of herbs surrounding it, the structure impressively built with a few signs of weathering on the roof. Elle waves you over, knocking on the door.

“Giorno! Giorno, are you there?” she beckons with insistence, knocking increasing in volume from the lack of an immediate response. Before she can call out once more, the door opens to reveal a young man who looks to be around your age.

You feel an unexplainable draw to him, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His skin is very fair, without a single imperfection or blemish present. Golden hair as fine as silk, placed into a unique style consisting of three large curls for bangs and a braid. His eyes are piercing yet not unfriendly, color reminiscent to that of luminous emeralds. There’s no denying his beauty.

“You must be [First],” he greets with a welcoming smile, attention solely set upon you. “Your friend has spoken highly of you.”

Your cheeks flush at this, Elle looking similarly flustered. She speaks up for you, much to your internal relief. “[First] hurt her knees a bit on the trek here. Would you mind taking a look at it, if you’re not too busy?”

Giorno glances down at the aforementioned injury, placing a hand to his chin and narrowing his eyes in inspection. “I would treat it now, but I was about to deliver this medicine Fugo requested earlier.”

“It’s fine, really, Ellie,” you reassure her with her favorite nickname, throwing your hands up in mock defense. “I’d hate to impose on my first day here, this seems important.”

“Would you make the delivery for me, Elle? That way I can treat [First] right away.” Giorno proposes, lifting his hand up to reveal a small bag that must contain whatever this Fugo person needs. You snap your attention over to your friend who is thoughtfully considering Giorno’s request. Hoping she can get the hint from your tense body language that you’d rather not be left with a stranger from a weird reclusive village, you all but deflate as she gladly nods her head.

She’s always been too nice for her own good. And yours.

“Sure thing, anything to be of help! I’ll run this straight over to Fugo and be back in a jiffy.” Elle grabs the bag from Giorno’s hand, walking off without further thought. She gives you a wink and a wave, before scurrying off into the direction from before. You swallow thickly in her absence, feeling awkward as silence settles in over you and Giorno.

He steps aside from the door frame, waving you in with a single, graceful motion. You take the wordless invitation in stride, walking in and warily eyeing your surroundings. This area must double as Giorno’s living space and workplace, carefully arranged wooden furniture giving a sense of domesticity. Shelves line the walls, covered to the brim in a variety of small glass bottles full of things ranging from liquids to powders. It brings with it a nice, earthy scent.

An assortment of flora make up for most of the decoration within, different leafy plants and flowers sitting atop every counter. Nothing incriminating so far, but you didn’t think Giorno would display anything potentially off putting that blatantly. It still isn’t enough to lull your thumping heartbeat, wishing that Elle hadn’t left your side.

“Please, take a seat here.” Giorno nods to an empty chair in the furthest side of the room. You follow through with his request, grateful for the chance to rest your exhausted body. Hand hovering as he examines the bottles in front of him, he eventually gets the contents within. Mixing it together in a bowl with some other unidentified greenery, he walks over to you.

“So… should I be anticipating an amputation in the near future?” you attempt to joke to ease the stifling air, earning a small quirk of the lips. He looks nice when he’s smiling, you note.

“No, nothing like that,” Giorno calmly reassures, kneeling down and inspecting your knees closer. “May I?”

You can appreciate how polite he is, nodding to offer permission for him to touch you. Giorno wastes no time, skillfully running the unknown combination against your scraped skin. Inhaling sharply in anticipation, you’re for a loop by the immediate dulling of pain. At the very least, you were expecting a sting from the initial application of this homemade remedy.

Giorno reaches for a gauze from his pocket, wrapping it around the wounded area with perfect efficiency. The entire process was faster than any you’ve experienced, not that you’ve ever been able to afford a nice doctor. Maybe this Giorno character isn’t so bad after all? He has a soothing presence, being well mannered and not speaking more than necessary.

Your cheeks redden once more, the subsiding of the pain allowing you to realize how close he is to you. Giorno gives your skin a final glance over, but doesn’t stand back up immediately. Clearing your throat, you attempt to initiate a conversation.

“So… Giorno, was it? Have you lived here your entire life?” you question, hoping it seems natural and without a hidden agenda. He doesn’t appear to interpret it in a negative light, going into deep thought at your prompting.

“In a way, yes,” he concludes aloud, standing from his kneeling position and cleaning off his hands. “It’s somewhat difficult to explain.”

At this, you decide to stop yourself from prying further. Having quite the past yourself, you can sympathize with not wanting to put it all on display. Still, there are further questions that refuse to leave your mind. Giorno speaks up before you get the opportunity to ask him anything else.

“You’ll need to reapply this remedy once a day until it shows further signs of healing. I’d give you it to do yourself, but it's less effective the longer it's been exposed to air. It’ll work best if being applied after I make it fresh.”

You have mixed feelings, lips pursing at the extra steps your little tumble gave you. Nodding your head in agreement, you carefully test the waters by extending your leg forward. “Thank you, Giorno. Elle really wasn’t exaggerating when she said everyone here is beyond helpful.”

“You’re one of us now,” Giorno places the bottles he took down earlier back to their original position, then turns his head to you. “I’ll take care of anything you need. And remember to stop by tomorrow.”

A nagging feeling pinches at your side, one comparable to guilt. It doesn’t make logical sense why you’d feel bad for deceiving Giorno, who you have just met. Due to his unabashed kindness and trustworthy visage, you find yourself feeling bad for your dishonesty. Looking away from his watchful gaze, you relent.

“Y-yeah, I will.”

---

When you start to doubt yourself, it’s never a good sign.

Whether it’s because of the pride of admitting that you were wrong, or the shame for suspecting Elle’s testimony in the first place. For months you’ve stayed here, living out the simple yet satisfying life you once scrutinized. Nothing of questionable intent has caught your attention. What originally was meant to be a short visit became extended, each day carrying out with welcome familiarity.

Life has been good. Better than it was before, in some regards. No longer do you have to worry about where your next meal will come from, what you’ll do if you’re unable to make rent by the end of the month. You still pull your weight, of course, but expectations that society bestowed upon you before are now nonexistent.

“I think I forgot my bag at the beach. Dammit…” you trail off with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. Elle laughs at your misfortune, looking out the window of your shared cabin to see that the sun is long set.

“I’d say to leave it until morning, but who knows if the tides will come wash it away. Want me to walk with you to get it?” she offers with a smile, already standing up to come help. You shake your head, not wanting to trouble her. She’s never been a night person, always one to wake up bright and early.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

Even when the path is only lit by moonlight, you’re able to maneuver through the area with ease. You often would find yourself spending time on this section of the shore, joined either by Elle or Giorno. Elle isn’t capable of sitting still for long, normally bringing you a snack before running off to find something new to do. Giorno’s a different story. He’ll sit next to you for hours at a time. The two of you having conversations ranging from light topics about plants, to deep philosophical musings over human nature.

The thought puts an extra spring in your step, beige bag thrown against the sand now being picked up. While walking back to your shared residence, you’re thrown off by a shrieking noise coming from your left.

It’s eerie, unquestionably a human scream. A variety of thoughts flood your mind, but you know you’ll need to investigate it. Before you can call out to see if anyone needs help, you overhear two male voices talking with one another.

“--Need to do something about this traitor now.”

“Gag him.”

Narrowing your eyes, you source the noise to one of the fishing cabins on the outskirts. Only a single light shines within, dull and flickering; yet undeniable. No one is out this late under normal conditions, much less a group of people. Holding your breath, you sneak alongside the building to get a better spot to listen.

A bag rustles within, a voice you recognize as Abbachio’s picking up with tangible displeasure. “Bucciarati, get a look at this. He didn’t just steal supplies, he wrote down firsthand accounts too.”

“We’ll burn them later,” Bucciarati replies without hesitation. “For now, we need to learn if he was alone or working with others.”

Abbacchio sighs at the extra workload, floorboards creaking as he walks along them. You hear a distinct noise of flesh being hit repeatedly, a body thumping across the floor with muffled screams. “Who do you think you are, making us do all this? What a pain…”

More kicks. It feels like there’s a vice grip constricting your chest, breathing growing more strained. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, urging you to flee the scene and seek safety elsewhere. The more logical side of you prevents this, feeling a need to come up with a solid plan first.

With all the sticks and rocks littered across the ground, it’s possible they might be alerted if you make any sudden movements. Creeping alongside the house slowly towards the back, you swallow thickly as your heart pounds violently. Never have you felt so warm, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of your face.

Cautiously, you’re able to put some distance between yourself and the incriminating scene. It isn’t enough to lull you into a false sense of security, all your senses dialed to the max. You didn’t realize how harshly you’ve been gripping your bag, knuckles white and feeling numb.

Questions flood your mind that you doubt you’ll ever find the answers to. What was it that this person did to earn such a cruel fate? Abbachio and Bucciarati are revered here, Bucciarati even more so. They spoke of firsthand accounts being written down... he must’ve seen something he shouldn’t have.

It’s too dangerous here. You need to get back to Elle, and you need to go the hell out of here. Creeping along in the night, you feel like something or someone is watching you. Looking around sporadically for any signs of this, you frown at the lack of confirmation.

‘Is it just my imagination...?’

Your mental state is fragile now, having witnessed a gruesome scene unfolding. Shaking your head, you silently chastise yourself. There’s no time for this jittery, you need to get a hold of yourself to make it out of this alive. Lightly smacking your face in hopes it’ll bring you back to reality, you think of more hurdles that’ll need to be overcome.

A daring idea pops into your mind. Telling Elle now what you just saw would be a recipe for disaster, she’ll be an anxious mess incapable of the resolve to escape. That leaves incapacitating her in some way, as much as it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It’s all for the greater good, you remind yourself. Once you’re in safety you’ll explain all the details to her.

She’s never been able to handle alcohol well.

It might not be enough to keep her asleep. That’s when you realize Giorno will likely have some kind of medicine that makes you tired. The thought of him, and never seeing him again, twists your heart in a strange manner. Perhaps you can say your goodbyes to him, or even ask him to come with you.

Similar to the way you first met him, you knock on the door to his home.

‘Please be awake, please be awake...’

Great relief washes over you as he opens the door, eyes widening at the sight of you this late at night. Before he gets the opportunity to question you about it, you walk inside; closing the door and looking around for signs of anyone else. It’s only him, you realize.

“[First]? Are you alright? You look terribly pale.” His concern is palpable, likely thinking that you’re injured in some way.

“I-I’m fine. Giorno, do you have any medicine to help with sleeping by chance? Or anything similar?” you inquire frantically, to which he slowly nods his head; still trying to gauge the situation. Letting out a sigh of immense relief, you run your hands through your hair.

He hands you a bottle full of unrecognizable herbs, not loosening his grip when you go to take it from him. Blinking in confusion at this, you realize he must have a few questions of his own over your disheveled appearance. It’d be rude not to offer some form of explanation, no matter how messy it may be.

“What is this really about? Please remember that you can always tell me anything.” he pries further, voice unwavering and eyes hopeful. His sympathy touches your heart. Licking your lips, you manage to rush out an explanation.

“Listen, Giorno. It isn’t safe here. I-I saw something, something bad. I can’t stay here, we can’t stay here anymore. I think... they were torturing someone. Someone who saw something they shouldn’t have. I don’t even want to know,” you rush out, finally managing to grasp the bottle from his hands. “Please, for your own good, consider leaving.”

At this influx of information he doesn’t seem shaken, only more curious. “I think you should sit down. You’re clearly not thinking straight. If you’ve been having trouble sleeping, that could--”

“No! It’s not that,” you cut off in frustration, furrowing your eyebrows and clenching your fists. “You’re not listening to me. Giorno, I know what I saw. I-I need to go. Now.”

Not waiting for his response, you rush towards the door. Giorno grabs your wrist from behind, your heart sinking in the process. His grasp isn’t as tight as it could be, more for show than anything. He can feel your brisk pulse with his fingers, head lowering.

“You’ll regret it. Don’t.”

The words are whispered so lowly, you wonder if you even heard them in the first place. With a lackluster tug, you break free without further dilemma. His chin dips to his chest, letdown evident. It pulls at your heartstrings, still not being enough to deter you further.

Holding your hands to your chest, you keep an eye on him as you back up towards the door. “I’m sorry.”

When you feel the handle underneath your hand, no time is wasted rushing back to Elle. Giorno doesn’t stop you as you leave, and you don’t want to look back to see him now.

It doesn’t make any sense why he’d try to stop you, why he didn’t even flinch at the mention of a person being tortured. A cloud of dread hangs over your head, combination of negative emotions stirring within. His eyes, so melancholic and hurt--

No, it does nothing to think about it. All that matters is escape.

Returning to your house, your shaky hands miraculously manage to pour a touch of herbal concoction into Elle’s drink. You’re grateful that she’s in bed, too preoccupied to see what it is you’re doing. Wiping the sweat from your brows and straightening out your posture, you enter her room with a facade of calm.

“I wanted to celebrate the three month mark of my stay.” you explain while opening the door with your back, then handing her a glass. She looks up from her book, grabbing it without another thought. The liquid within your cup rattles from your jittery hands.

“Kinda outta nowhere, but it is a good cause to celebrate!” Elle lifts her glass into the air in a mock toast, which you mimic with less enthusiasm. You watch her throat move as she gulps down the liquid, wiping at her mouth. To avoid suspicion, you do the same, but taking in less.

She stretches in a way that reminds you of a cat, making a loud noise and going to stand by your side sluggishly. With the scent of alcohol on her breath, she lazily brings you into a hug. Is the concoction working this fast? You weren’t able to ask Giorno what to expect, too rushed.

“I felt so lonely without you.” she begins to slur her words, eyelids growing heavier and leaning her weight against you. Your muscles go taut at the sudden declaration, steadying her against your shoulders as she begins to sway. Whatever that stuff is, it’s fast acting. Hopefully you didn’t pour too much.

Her cheeks have a rosy tint, eyes growing further from this reality. She refuses to let go of you, wanting to be by your side.

“So... so lonely... mn... don’t leave me alone again... okay?”

Elle sniffles, burying her face in your neck. “Promise?”

You press your lips against her forehead gently, her eyes fluttering shut in the process. Tightening your grip around her, you nod your head; though you doubt she’s coherent enough to understand the action.

“I promise. Everything will be okay soon.”

A few more moments pass, and she’s entirely slack against you.

Testing the waters, you call her name calmly. No response. A nudge. Still nothing. Gentle breaths fan out against your flushed skin, Elle lulled into the depths of unassuming slumber. If it weren’t for the dire situation, you’d admire how her eyelashes look so pretty against her skin, how here brunette hair frames her face when it’s let down--

Shaking your head at the intrusive thoughts, you grunt while picking her up into your arms. There are some rowboats used for fishing alongside the coast, and that’s where you’ll make the final step of your escape. It isn’t the easiest task to haul her along, despite not being too heavy.

It doesn’t matter. You’re close, so palpably close. You can hear the seagulls cawing in the air, the sound of the ocean crashing against the sand. Just a few more minutes, and then you’ll be free of this nightmare. Keeping her secured against your chest, you trudge along some tricky vines.

‘Was this area always like this? It’s feels more like a jungle than a forest.’

Kicking yourself loose, your frustration grows as the vines seemingly begin to wrap around your ankles. Eyes widening at the unbelievable sight, you frantically begin to struggle against the restraints. It wouldn’t be too difficult, if not for the fact you were carrying a person in your arms.

Your body feels weighed down from exhaustion, but you push down any complaints. Cursing underneath your breath, the vines finally are warded off by another tug. Beyond a few more trees, you’re welcomed by the inviting sight of the moonlit ocean. Its beauty takes your breath away.

The ground underneath your feet now feels soft, dirt replaced by sand. It makes it more tedious to walk. Your ticket to freedom is but a couple feet away, the rowboats bobbing up and down in time with the waves. Not the most ideal escape, yet it’ll still work.

‘Please, just give me the strength to make it to land.’

Finally at the boat, you feel your shoulders and body growing weaker by the second. Your movement has grown considerably more sluggish since arriving at the beach, the sinking of the sand underneath you all but sapping the remainders of your strength.

With utmost delicateness, you gingerly lay Elle down inside of the boat. Now all that’s left is untying it from the dock. The rope isn’t in too complicated a knot, a small amount of luck. Hurriedly working at it, you notice the texture of it changing before your very eyes.

It grows scaly instead of rough, color morphing into a dark green; beady eyes now peering at you. Jumping back in surprise, a snake in place of the rope hisses at you, tongue flickering out of its mouth. It slithers against your arm, causing you to yelp and tumble backwards.

‘This place is fucking cursed!’

“Over here! We found them!”

Looking back to the trees where you came from, you see a few shrouded figures emerging. It’s unfair, safety just tauntingly within your reach. There’s too many than you could hope to fend off, even if you were at your full strength. The snake coils around your forearm, stopping just short of biting you.

‘Is there anyway out of this...?’

Elle’s peaceful face is blissfully ignorant to the chaotic events unfolding around her, and you can’t stop the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. Failing her hurt more than any physical pain this world could throw at you. Will this be the last time you’ll see her?

A hand presses against your shoulder.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be.”

Of course.

That lamenting voice belongs to no one other than Giorno. He must’ve betrayed your trust by seeking you out and alerting the others. So this is what betrayal feels like. You wouldn’t have known until now, having always been too skittish to get close to others. It was Elle who broke your tough shell, inviting herself into your life like a ray of sunshine.

‘God protect her in my stead.’

Adamantly refusing to give him the time of day, you swat away at the hand he extends towards you, stupid as it is.

Giorno sighs in a mix of disappointment and minor frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose at your petty actions.

“She had nothing to do with this,” you struggle to get the words out, throat tightening with the threat of crying. “Do whatever you want with me... just don’t hurt her.”

Giorno walks in front of you, kneeling without any signs of fear towards the snake who remains still against your arm. Placing his hands on it, it returns to its original form of a rope, falling off of you.

He looks back at your drained, hunched over form. You must look pathetic, mustering up your best attempt at a glare.

“Please don’t make this difficult. Come back with me willingly and she won’t be touched, you have my word.”

There’s no reason to trust him, his request leading you to grit your teeth. For her sake, you’ll cease any signs of resistance. No other options present themselves to you, prayers remaining unanswered. Reality is cruel, twisting you at its own discretion.

Resigning yourself to this fate, you get up and following after him without a word. Abbacchio and a few other men look at you, Giorno placing a hand up to stop them from approaching. Does that mean he’s their leader?

You recognize the path Giorno’s taken on, having gone to his home too many times to count. Tree branches move out of his way, the sight reminding you of a fairy tale. It still remains one of the least shocking events you’ve seen tonight, you humorlessly think to yourself.

Biting your tongue has never been your forte, awe and dread too staggering to push back any longer. “What is all this? W-what are you? That snake... and these trees, was that you?”

Giorno waits before entertaining you with a response, voice low and devoid of emotion as if he was speaking about the weather. “It’s my doing, yes.”

“Is anyone here human?” you ask without further thought, before shutting your mouth. He remains quiet for a painful moment, giving you a response that makes you lightheaded.

“Everyone aside from me.”

Not a single word in the dictionary could form a decent response to a confession like that. Elle had mentioned to you a divine being that blesses this island, watching over it and offering abundant blessings to those who were deemed worthy of it. This is how their harvests were so abundant, she explained, but you disregarded it as a hoax at first.

There’s no denying it any longer. How could you have been so foolish, to get yourself into this situation? The same tenacity that you arrived here with would’ve protected you, had you only continued to listen to it.

Giorno comes to an abrupt stop, turning on his heel to get a good look at you. Not wanting to cause more trouble in the face of the supernatural, you stay firmly planted. He saunters towards you, leaves crunching underneath his feet. Raising a hand to your face, his thumb rubs small circles against your cheek.

He’s close to you, too close for comfort. The skin of his hands are icy cold, eyes softening with unidentifiable flurries of emotion. Tenderness is unwelcome from him, yet you’re far too entranced to pull away.

Giorno’s mystical eyes are all you can look at.

“Under normal conditions, you’d be punished harshly,” Giorno presses his forehead against yours, considering you. “Yet I can’t bring myself to do it. I had hoped you’d turn around of your own will.”

Lips trembling and jaw agape, your tongue is incapable of forming words, mouth painfully dry. Whoever -- or whatever -- that’s in front of you has whisked away all forms of rational thought, leaving you a shivering mess. You’re at his mercy, if he has any to offer.

“I only want to be honest with you, now that there’s no reason to hide it any longer. From the moment you first stepped on my island, I finally knew what I wanted, for the first time in centuries.”

“I wanted to be your god. But now, I feel that’s far too impersonal to sate me,” he pauses his movements, eyes shut in deep thought. “What I want... is something far more. Will you give me that, [First]?”

He poses the question as if it’s a choice for you to make. Patiently, he awaits your answer, already knowing what it’ll be by the gratification in his smile. Giorno’s serene, the battle already having been won.

“I will.”

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #god au #my stuff #commissions #yandere giorno giovanna x reader #yandere giorno x reader

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

June Contest Submission #12: Boom Boom Pow

Words: ca. 3,300 Setting: mAU Lemon: lime CW: sand, alcohol, beanbags, dash of lime, language

“Do you like the stars?”

“Anna it’s fucking noon, the sun is up, it’s bright as shit. Why are you asking about stars?”

“Yo, my dude, chill. The sun is a star… right?”

Elsa rolled her eyes and turned up the radio, blasting 80’s music, but only the good songs. “I don’t know why I agree to come with you on these things.”

At this Anna laughed and danced a bit offbeat to the song that was playing. She didn’t know the lyrics, but the bass line was nice and she could vibe with that. She let the whole song play out before answering.

“Because you loooove me” She sing-songed, earning another eye roll from the driver. “You love me and we’re going to the beach and it’s going to be a good time.”

“If I didn’t love you, would it still be a good time?” Elsa asked, smirking.

As a response, Anna reached over and changed the radio. A loud, bass-heavy rap song overtook the speakers. The signer immediately spitting out questionably appropriate lyrics for the radio. Elsa’s face reddened under her large glasses and she reached to change channels so quickly that she turned it off. Enveloping the small sedan in a brief silence till Anna’s laughter filled the space.

And it went on like this the entire car ride, bits and pieces of random songs rapidly changing. Anna would allow something Elsa liked to play out entirely but when it was her turn she either skipped around or Elsa changed the station for her. The older woman apparently hated both rap and country music. The first part Anna didn’t understand and the latter, she agreed with. She was desperately trying to find a gospel station, just to see her sister’s reaction, but she found nothing but commercials.

Finally, she heard what she was looking for and turned to see Elsa’s reaction just as the other girl reached over and turned the radio off again. Anna was going to protest when she realized they were in a drive-thru.

“What can I get started for you today?” a tired-sounding voice asked over the intercom.

Anna leaned over Elsa to get closer to the open window and thus the speaker box. Making sure to be just close enough to be annoying.

“We would like to get married please, with Elvis if you have him, if not we’ll take what you have.”

“Anna!” Elsa exclaimed, slapping her on the shoulder.

There was an audible sigh come over the loudspeaker, “Ma’am this is a Wendy’s.”

“Oh right, then I’ll take a cheeseburger and a medium Coke, no ice. Thank you!”

“Anything else?” the tired voice asked. “I’ll have the same thing.”

They continued driving towards the beach after the drive-thru. Cupholders full of sodas in flimsy paper cups, and Anna’s lap full of white paper bags of greasy food. She kept sneaking a fry when she thought Elsa wasn’t looking. But it was a small car and Elsa could see every bit of fried potato Anna took.

The closer they got to the beach, the darker the sky became. Tall looming clouds crept over the horizon. They couldn’t see the beach yet as it was the east coast, and most roads took you to the beach straight on instead of winding down cliff faces like the Pacific was famous for. But still, the clouds loomed. Elsa knew there was a storm somewhere off the coast, but it seemed far away last she checked, which wasn’t today. She refused to check the weather today for fear of bad news.

On the main highway, traffic was starting to get heavy, more tourists were headed for their long-awaited vacations and the road ahead was either congested to the point of slowing down. Or there was an accident and everyone had to slow to a crawl to creep a glance at the carnage.

Thankfully the girls weren’t tourists, unthankfully they lived close to this tiny town that became a major city in the summer months. Having to deal with millions of tourists every year meant that locals had a series of short-cuts. So when traffic started building, Elsa took the next exit rather suddenly, cutting across the solid white lines and nearly missing the crash barrier.

“Elsa! Shit! What the fuck!” Anna yelled and shot out her hands with nearly inhuman speed to catch the drinks before they spilled out of their too-small cupholders. “There’s a backup, I’m not sitting in that,” Elsa replied, taking the next turn so hard that the car nearly tilted on two wheels.

“But I saw flashing lights, it could have been a firetruck!”

“It could have been a police car…”

“But Elsa you don’t understand, the hot firemen! …and women.”

“Anna I’m not sitting in traffic for 30 minutes or even longer, just for you to ogle at people in uniform.”

Anna took another fry, “Not people in uniform, F-I-R-E-M-E-N and women. It is very different.”

Elsa let out a heavy sigh as they came to a stop at a red light. “If I buy you that stupid Australian calendar will you shut up?”

“Wow, harsh.” Anna dramatically threw one braid over her shoulder. “But, yes.”

Again, Elsa rolled her eyes and continued forward when the light changed. It was only a short while later that they left the main road and turned into a small, older housing development. The narrow street lead them all the way to the ocean, coming out on the far end of the main strip. Highrise condos and hotels dotted the skyline to their left, but right in front of them was the beach, concealed behind a short sand dune. Because life is a bitch like that sometimes.

Luckily for them, there was also free parking at this end if you didn’t mind a bit of a walk. Which, for the price of 17 bucks to park next to the beach, who wouldn’t mind the walk. 17 dollars could buy many cheeseburgers, Anna pointed out.

The beach wasn’t nearly as crowded down where they were, away from the boardwalk and the hotels. The sand also happened to be rockier, rough and pitted with long-forgotten footprints and broken shells. The beach groomers didn’t come this far. Which was fine by them, they would take a rough sandy beach with fewer people over a crowded hellscape any day.

There’s nothing more relaxing than simultaneously listening to eight different speakers all playing different music. While children screamed for no reason and the air was filled with a mix of sunscreen and cigarette smoke.

So yes they will miss out on the hot lifeguards and yes there will be fewer people to watch. But you can’t put a price on the quiet and the fresh air that this section of the beach had to offer.

After crossing the highway on foot, climbing the dune, and laying out their towels, only then did they pause to look out on the water. The ocean was angry, white caps dotted the surface as far as they could see. The horizon line was blurred with fog or rain and the dark clouds from before were more ominous than ever. Why the two women didn’t notice all these signs until now was some kind of act of God. Or stupidly. Probably the latter.

The beach itself was even more sparsely populated than normal. A smart person would have gone home after seeing all the warning signs. But this was Anna’s only day off for the next few weeks. And Elsa, well Elsa was too stubborn to admit her beach idea was a bad one.

They both laid down, on separate towels, choosing to ignore the warning signs and attempting to soak up as much sun as possible before it was swallowed by the coming storm. Elsa tried not to think about it too much. Neither was sure how long it had been before they were interpreted.

“What are you two gay ass losers doing?” Came a female voice.

“Ch’yeah it’s like gonna rain bruh.” Said a male’s.

Elsa opened one eye to see her cousin and her boyfriend, or so it fiancé now? Standing over them. The sky beyond them somehow looked even darker than before, which was very rude.

“Trying to enjoy the sunshine, obviously.” She mumbled in response.

“What sun?” their cousin asked, in a weird out of place, and badly performed accent.

“Wait but what is that voice?” Anna asked, sitting up and brushing the sand off her arms. How that girl could get sand everywhere, Elsa would never know.

“It’s like our new characters,” Eugene answered, earning not an eye roll from Rapunzel but a nod of approval.

“I’m New York and he’s Los Angeles. Both strong and independent cities that you could almost say are their own character. And those characters are us.” She added

“Why though?” Elsa was also now sitting up and confused, though nowhere near as sandy because she wasn’t a dirt gremlin-like her sister.

“Because we wanted to be unique characters, otherwise we’re just boring white people and where’s the fun in that?” Eugene or rather Los Angeles answered.

“Oh boring, like you watch Star Trek and try to fit it into everything even though it has no business being there?”

Eugene shot Anna finger guns, “exactly, this one gets it… bruh.”

A boom was heard in the distance and it sent a few people running towards their cars, towels billowing behind them. A long-distance away, over the water, there was a flash and with it, the wind picked up.

“Looks like our beach day is ruined, I’m sorry Anna.” Elsa stood and began to roll up her towel. Even with the limited sun, she was already red on her front, making a stark difference to the pale skin of her back.

“Nah we just getting started, come back to our place and play some ping pong. We just pulled the table out of storage.” Rapunzel aka New York offered. The two of them didn’t live far from the beach, having taken over Rapunzel’s parent’s beach house. It was very old and run down, but the pair was fixing it up in exchange for free rent.

‘Aye New York is right, and we can take my new whip… bruh.” Los Angeles gestured over his shoulder towards the dunes. They couldn’t see it yet because that dang dune was blocking things again. But everyone knew he was referring to his new golf cart.

Reluctantly the girls agreed and a few long minutes later they were rushing inside an old house to avoid the rain that had just started to fall. Their car was left abandoned in the free parking lot.

Inside was an odd mix of old and new. Brand new stainless steel appliances dotted a kitchen with dark wood cabinets and a yellow linoleum floor. A half-torn-down wall gave way to the living room with floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and floral print furniture.

“It ain’t much but it’s home.” Los Angeles said once everyone was inside. He walked beyond the torn-down wall and slapped his hand on the wood paneling. “New York over there hates this stuff, but it’s hella soundproof if you know what I mean.” With this, he wiggled his eyebrows and finally, earned an eye roll from New York.

“How did you know we were on the beach by the way?” Elsa asked as she took a step further into the kitchen to look at the collection of magnets on the fridge.

“Your sister posted about it on her tumblr of all places. Honestly, get an Instagram like the rest of us already.” New York said throwing her hands up dramatically. The drama ran in the family apparently.

The ping pong table was in the basement, a dimly light space with concrete walls and a tiled floor. Mix-matched chairs lined the walls and a mini-fridge sat in the corner next to a shelf full of liquor bottles.

The ping pong game quickly descended into beer pong with a twist. No one had to drink from the cups the ball landed in. Because that’s gross, don’t do that. Inside if someone managed to land the ball in a cup the other team had to take half a shot of vodka. Los Angeles had wanted to do full shots but Elsa and New York talked him out of it, if only for not dying reasons.

Even so after a few games with no true stand-out winner, just a bunch of dumb luck, they were all fairly buzzed. Flushed creeks and slurred speech. Outside the storm finally hit. Rain battered the small basement windows and thunder boomed overhead.

With each thunderclap, Elsa reached for Anna’s hand and wouldn’t let go till the other girl gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Finally, everyone seemed to have enough of the game and collapsed into bean bag bars that Anna and Elsa had both not noticed before. Elsa scooted her bean bag closer to Anna’s, the other two people didn’t seem to notice. New York was hanging all over Los Angeles. Her fingers tracing the curve of his jawline down, her eyes practically boring holes into his face. He acted like he didn’t see, but it was obvious he knew.

“You guys can stay here for the night if you want since the storm sounds so bad,” Eugene said, dropping his horrible accent.

“That’s very kind, but it’s just a little rain, we’ll be alright,” Anna replied, completely forgetting their car was many blocks away.

New York stopped messing with her man and turned to them. “Anna, it’s more than a little rain. It’s a hurricane, I mean it was a tropical storm and it was supposed to miss us. But you know how it be sometimes.” She said with amazing clarity for a drunkard.

Elsa’s hand shot to Anna’s and she let out an audible gasp. She had refused to check the weather before heading out the door today, figuring what she didn’t know, can’t hurt her. Which was stupid and out of character for someone who claims to be responsible.

Another boom followed by a bright flash of lightning illuminated the room for a brief second. Elsa looked terrified so Anna took it upon herself to change the subject.

“So we will be seeing you in two weeks right?”

Rapunzel playing New York smiled and clapped her hands together, “Yes! At the church!”

“For things better left unspoken,” Eugene playing Los Angeles groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Another boom and the room was suddenly cast in darkness and accompanied by an eerie quiet. You never notice how much sound your electronics make till everything is off. Elsa grabbed Anna’s entire arm, holding it so tightly Anna was worried she would lose it.

“Ah fuck the power is out. We have some candles upstairs, I’ll be right back, Rapunzel can you see if the camping lantern is over on the shelf?”

“Um excuse me, it’s New York, but yes I will look.”

Two bodies moved away in the darkness, their paths illuminated by the small light on their phones. Next to Anna, Elsa’s breathing became rapid and she clung to Anna as if she was in danger of being blown away.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright,” Anna whispered, using her free hand to pet the top of Elsa’s head. The older girl shifted so in one fluid motion she was off her beanbag and on Anna’s before curling into the young girl’s side.

“I found it!” Rapunzel slash New York exclaimed. She turned it on and the room was partly lit up. She walked back to where the other two women were cuddled together and sat back down in her own beanbag.

“Wow, that’s like hella gay.” She said, pointing to the pair.

“Oh shut up, she just doesn’t like storms, you know that.” Anna quipped

Elsa let go of Anna’s arm long enough to extend a hand and flip off her cousin, earning her a laugh in response.

Eugene returned shortly after with the candles, a tray of food, and some cards. “Anyone up for a game of hurricane poker? It’s like regular poker only there’s a hurricane.”

He rejoined the group, placing the tray in the middle of everyone and paying no mind to the two women who now shared a beanbag.

Elsa lifted her head to look, the tray was adorned with a random assortment of food. Celery sticks, M&M’s, KitKat bars, Cheetos, Grapes, and some animal crackers. She made a face.

“What’s wrong uh bruh?” Eugene asked in a bad attempt to get back in character. Los Angeles would never quite be the character that New York was.

“I’ll only eat celery sticks if you pay me,” Elsa responded.

The next few hours consisted of Eugene completely wiping the floor with everyone. They played for the M&M’s, of which he now owned all of. With the power still out and the storm still raging on the decision was made for the sisters to spend the night over.

Their room was completely unrenovated, the same wood paneling from the living room made up the walls and the carpet was a thick green shag rug. Eugene was right about one thing though, the paneling sure did dampen the sound. Once the door was shut the two women could hardly hear anything, which was good because Rapunzel had started blasting Mandy Moore music for some reason.

There was only one bed, pushed into the corner, but it didn’t matter anyway. There could have been 80 beds and they still would have shared just one.

Anna laid down on her back and traced the grains in the wooden wall. “Really makes you want to carve something in this stuff you know? Something that would be around for hundreds of years.”

“Please don’t vandalize our cousin’s house,” Elsa said before sitting on the edge of the bed. She turned the lantern off so the only source of the light in the room was the candle on the nightstand.

“You alright?” Anna asked, propping herself up on one elbow.

“Yeah, I’m just worried about the storm, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Anna reached out and gently grabbed Elsa’s arm, guiding her back to lay in the bed next to her. “Do you want to sleep or keep your mind off things?”

Elsa paused for a brief moment before removing her arm from Anna’s grip. “I don’t know…”

“It’s your choice, either way, I’m here for you.” Anna smiled at her, a flash of lightning lit up the room but no thunder.

It startled Elsa but she remained where she was, staring at Anna. Thinking, always thinking.

“It’s just a storm and this old house seems to be built like a tank anyway.” She made a fist and pounded the wall to prove her point.

Elsa started twirling the end of one of Anna’s braids but her eyes remained locked on Anna’s. The delayed thunderclap came and Elsa inhaled sharply. Anna leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead.

“You sure this is okay?” Elsa asked and Anna nodded, running the back of her hand down the other girl’s cheek. “Let’s get our mind off of things then.”

Elsa crawled till she was straddling Anna who gazed up at her with eyes that shown like stars in the candlelight.

“What’s your favorite constellation?”

“Hmm, probably Orion, because you can find his belt so easy,” Anna answered, “Yours?” “Your eyes”

“Ew, that’s so fucking cheesy.”

Elsa leaned down, her mouth slightly agape. Anna’s eyes fluttered shut as her hands found their way to the other woman’s shoulders.

The storm, the damage, their car, all these things could wait until tomorrow. Tonight they were out of their control so for tonight they didn’t matter.

Elsa blew out the candle, and they both plunged into the sinful escape of the darkness.

#elsanna #submission #June 2021 contest #prompt: storm #lime #cw: alcohol use

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