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angel-of-the-moons · 6 months

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Doppelgänger

Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst, self-image issues, mentions of childhood trauma, addiction, our mans has had it rough as fuck™

A/N: Brought on by this post from @tarjapearce and the comments i made (I'm sorry i am a ho for some angst sometimes) I'm merging ATSV stuff with comic stuffs because NO WAY IS HIS MOVIE DESIGN LIKE THAT ON PURPOSE WITHOUT IT POSSIBLY COMING UP IN FUTURE MOVIES ASDFGHJKL

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

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You came home and it was quiet. Quiet and dark; and already you knew something was up. You left Miguel sleeping so you could attend to some meetings and paperwork at your office, and pick up a few groceries.

Miguel had been acting strange the past few days. You'd asked him if it had something to do with work and he simply shrugged the question aside, like it was a small chip on one of his broad shoulders.

You'd asked him what was bothering him again, and he simply stared at the carpet, muttering something you didn't quite catch, and he went straight to bed.

You were so worried you'd even texted Gabriel on your walk home:

Hey, Gabe...

Heyyyy! If it ain't my favorite brother's girlfriend!

You couldn't help but roll your eyes with a soft snort. You only have one brother, Gabe.

No no, chica, I meant that you're my favorite of any girlfriends he's ever had. 😂

Gabe that sounds a little... Bad. 😬

Does it? Woops! Anyways, what's up? My big dumb, brick-house brother do something to make you mad?

No, Gabe... He's acting weird. Has been for the past few days, and he won't open up to me. I'm worried.

You could see the chat bubble pop up over and over again with '...' signifying that he was in the process of texting. With how many times it popped up and went away you were expecting a bible scripture's length of a text wall.

But what you got instead made your heart sink.

He saw our mom. She... She brought up Tyler.

Oh, god. You knew that Miguel and Conchata had a rocky relationship. Miguel had told you why. It was so bad, even just recalling everything, that you felt Miguel's pain like it was your own.

You also knew that Miguel's biological father, Tyler Stone, was the one that manipulated him, that used him, got him addicted to Rapture and almost killed him...

But it wasn't even the real dose of Rapture. It was simulated. Just another manipulation tactic. It was overhearing that conversation that Miguel found out the truth of his heritage, and you could tell that nugget of knowledge permanently chipped his sense of identity.

Even moreso when he confessed to you about Gabriela--

Your phone pinged.

They fought. It was... It was ugly. I... I didn't know about Tyler. God, chica, I didn't know. Dad was...

You felt your heart flop, knowing poor Gabriel was shielded by Miguel for so long so he didn't have to suffer like he did at the hands of their gaslighting and manipulative mother, his sadistic sperm donor... Miguel wanted nothing more than to protect Gabriel from that pain.

Your fingers flew fast on the little keyboard, a few spelling errors here and there;

God, Gabri im sory you had to fidn out that way

I know. It figures Miguel would have told you, before me, tho. He loves you.

He loves you too, Gabri. God, more than you know. He loves you.

I know. He was trying to keep me safe and out of Mom's drama.

No offense, Gabri, but if I ever see that woman I'm rearranging her face with a shovel.

OMG. I mean... After the things she said to Miggy, I... Kind of want her to at least feel consequences of her actions, y'know?

Oh, she will. Don't worry. Thanks for telling me this, Gabri.

Go cuddle my big brother and tell him I love him, k? Let me know how he's doing.

OMW home now, I'll text you when he's feeling better.

KK, see ya.

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Yeah. You knew for sure Miguel was still heartbroken when you came home after that.

You put the groceries away, a somber expression on your face as a million thoughts went through your head.

God, of course Conchata had to come see Gabriel at the same time Miguel was there. You wouldn't be surprised if either she could have tabs kept on him, just to... to try and lord her power over him somehow, like he was still that scared little boy, holding onto his baby brother, being his shield and buffer from their parents' fights.

That bitch had to have had a hand in Tyler using him the way that he did, that she had to have known about--

Your mind was knocked away from those dark thoughts when you heard glass shatter.

You dropped the bag of apples onto the ground, the fruits tumbling out and rolling across the floor as you made a mad dash to your bedroom.

Noting Miguel wasn't in there, you turned to the adjoining bathroom door, seeing faint light come down from below, small wafts of steam rolling out.

"Miguel?" You frantically called out, knocking on the door and leaning your ear against the smooth metal.

You could hear shuffling and the tinkling of glass shards, as well as the shower running; but no verbal reply.

You knocked on the door again, hurried and a little too hard, your fingers hovering over the control panel.

Before you could push a button, the door slid open.

Miguel was in nothing but a pair of boxers, leaning over your bathroom sink, his hands gripping the marble countertops, threatening to crack the material. Beads of water rolled down his muscular, tanned skin; droplets of water dripped from the ends of his thick, wavy chocolate locks, the natural curls more apparent thanks to the water.

That's when you noticed it. Your bathroom mirror, shattered into a hundred pieces, scattering the counter, floor, and in the sink.

Bright, scarlet droplets were on the floor, steadily building into small puddle from his right hand, his knuckles split, shards of the reflective material sticking out of it.

"I'll pay for it." His voice croaked out, unable to lift his eyes to meet your horrified gaze. "I just--"

"Oh, god! Miggy!" You breathed, reaching out, taking a step towards him, only to wince and hiss when the pieces of broken mirror stabbed the soft, delicate soles of your feet.

You gritted your teeth as the glass crunched, but you grabbed Miguel.

Instantly it was like a switch flipped inside of him, Miguel's head snapped up and he looked down at you, seeing the bloody footprints you now left on your tile.

He looked terrified at what he was seeing. How you just ignored the shards in your body in favor of frantically digging around one of the cabinets for your first aid kit.

"Bebita... I..." Miguel choked out.

When you found it, you killed the shower and stepped into the glass once again, pulling him into your room, and onto your bed, your feet leaving bloody prints as you walked, like macabre rose petals being left in your wake. Miguel had a large enough stride that he was careful to avoid getting any in his feet, but the smell of your blood permeated the air, it made him sick to his stomach. Not with disgust.

With guilt.

Of course, you checked him over first, plucking out the shards of glass from his knuckles and cleaning the cuts out with wound wash, ignoring the blood welling up onto the tile floor of your bedroom from.

You carefully roll his hand as you try to wrap the gauze around his knuckles. "Miggy, can you hold your--"

"I'm sorry." He interrupts.

You looked up at him, and only then do you see his face. Framed in his wet curls, his face was shadowed and haunted, his eyes dark and as tumultuous in a maelstrom of anxiety and fear.

You bring your hand to his cheek, caressing one of his sharp cheekbones with your thumb. "Baby, it's okay. It's just a mirror, I can--"

He shook his head, as if your touch to his face burned him like a hot iron.

He leaned over, grabbing your legs and pulling your feet into his lap so he can assess the damage, and return the favor of cleaning and dressing them.

"You're hurt because of me." He whispered sadly, dabbing the blood away.

"I'm hurt because of the glass, honey." You tell him gently, letting him apply the "honey" to the cuts in your feet, sealing them.

His massive hands encapsulated your ankles, his thumbs rubbing small circles as the rough pads caressed your skin. Like you were made of the delicate gossamer of a butterfly's wing.

He sits like that, not meeting your eyes. And god, did that hurt you so badly. You knew how important eye contact was with Miguel, he almost always went out of his way to keep eye contact when he was conversing with someone. Having him avoid your eyes... hurt.

Because you knew he was hurting.

"Miggy." You breathed. "Talk to me."

You move your feet from his lap and scoot closer to him, moving your face until he locked eyes with you again, and you could see the pain and the tears fill his own as he looked at you; his full, pouty lips trembling in an effort to hold his emotions at bay.

His shoulders dropped low, and Miguel leans forward until he was practically bent in half, clinging to you, burying his face in your chest as he fisted your shirt in his hands.

You rubbed his shoulder with one hand, biting your lip as he softly cried into your blouse, your other hand combing through his messy wet hair.

You stayed like that, for what felt like hours. You weren't sure how long it was exactly, with the blackout curtains drawn and the lights off. The only light that dimly illuminated the room was from your bathroom, and the open door.

He finally calmed enough to speak, to explain why he shattered the mirror.

"...I look like him." Miguel said, his heart in his voice, his soul stripped down and naked with raw pain.

"Mig--"

"God, I look like him. That... that cabrón." He hissed, tugging your shirt in his fists.

"I look like that bastard that... that made me into this." The self-contempt in his voice broke your heart.

You kiss the top of his head, murmuring against him. "No, you don't, baby."

"Yes, I do!" He snapped, pulling himself away from you and throwing himself to his feet. He paced like an angry tiger in a cage, waiting to swat at whatever keeper dared enter his enclosure. He didn't notice that he was stepping into the sticky, dried blood trails you left.

"I have his--his face. His fucking face--" He said, gripping his hair in his hands, tugging as he started to hyperventilate. "My fucking nose, my fucking cheeks, my fucking lips--they're all him! I'm not allowed to be me, every time I look in the mirror I see him! I can't ever get away from him! He's a part of me, he always will be! I fucking look like him!"

You get to your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your soles as you dared to reach out, to touch the pacing tiger.

Your hands smooth up his back, gently, softly; then back down until they wrapped around his mid-section.

You feel him, how tense he is, how his muscles flex at your touch almost like he's bracing himself for some kind of blow that simply will never come from you.

You rest your cheek against his back, feeling how hot his skin was burning.

"Baby. You don't look like him. You aren't him, and you never will be." You whisper.

You plant kisses wherever you could reach, not letting him go, feeling his body shake with each shuddering breath as your soft lips made contact.

"More importantly, Tyler will never be you."

"I--"

You cut him off. "Listen to me... Did Tyler figure out multi-dimensional travel, build a strike force of super-powered people from across the multiverse? Does Tyler, almost every day, work to keep dozens--no, hundreds--of universes safe from monsters?"

He didn't answer.

"And did Tyler Stone protect your baby brother from your mother all these years?"

No answer.

"You are Miguel-goddamn-O'Hara." You tell him. "I love you, with trauma, quirks and all. I love your little scritch-scratches you make, the way your bottom lip pokes out when you pout, your crooked teeth when you smile. I love your ridiculously large body, I love how you hug me. I love the little snores you make when you fall asleep at your desk, how you crinkle your nose when you're about to sneeze.."

You feel his hands slowly rise to touch your arms where they're almost-locked around his larger frame.

"I love how sweet and gentle you are. I love hearing you curse to yourself when you shock yourself with your soldering gun... I love listening to you bicker with Lyla, or complain about one of the other Spiders bugging you." You place more kisses after each sentence; hoping each one plants a seed of love beneath his skin, to bloom into a garden that he can admire and love, not hate for the very skin he was born with out of illegitimacy and infidelity.

"Tyler Stone is not you. He never will be. He will never be as good as you." You sigh against his skin, feeling the goosebumps form in the cold of your room, now that the adrenaline of his anxiety was beginning to fade, and his body became aware of the water that was slowly drying and cooling his skin.

"I love you, Miguel O'Hara. You and no-one else. Don't ever think for a second that you don't have your own identity because of your genes."

He slowly turns in your grasp, looking down at you with raw, unclothed emotion as his hand touches your cheek.

"You're more than that. You're you, and I wouldn't have you any other way." You say, your tone set and jaw tight; every word you spoke carrying a hefty weight of seriousness and honesty.

He smiles, almost sadly as you feel the rough pads of his thumb against your cheek, the little talon there poking you but not breaking the skin.

"...I..." He said, his voice stiff as he swallows the lump in his throat.

"I really will pay for your mirror, you know."

You grin up at him and turn your face so you can kiss the palm of his hand.

"I know you will, Miggy."

"But I am curious... I felt like you were going to keep going with the affirmations." He said, raising an eyebrow slowly.

"Well, the last one..."

"The last one?" Miguel tilted his head down at you quizzically.

You grin at him again, your teeth showing and eyes creasing as you barely manage to reach around him, swatting his ass playfully.

"I also love the fact you have the nicest ass I've ever seen on a man."

He couldn't contain the snort that came out of him, and he reached up to cover his whole face with his other hand.

"Mierda..."

You giggle as you step around him, giving a playful swat to his ass once again as you walk by.

"C'mon, Miguel O'Hara. You got a broken mirror to clean up."

His shoulders lifted as he watched you, his eyes softer than you've ever seen as he smiled.

Yeah. You were right.

He was Miguel O'Hara.

And he was certainly going to pay you back for the smacks to his ass.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse

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acerathia · 11 months

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Summary:

While spending the summer at your grandparent's place, an accident leads to a fateful encounter with Izuku. Yet you reject this first meeting, seeking to craft a proper first impression.

Pairing:

Midoriya Izuku / Reader

Wordcount: 11.3k

Read it on AO3

Tags/CW:

Love at first sight, slightly idiots in love (if you squint), Aged-up characters, vague description of a panic attack, slight miscommunication (I hate it as much as you do), Reader is gn but there is 'girl' as a term of endearment,

Note:

This work is part of the 'Meet Fruit Collab' by willow's house! Go check the other works!!

The sun caresses your cheeks and makes you close your eyes, allowing the warmth to seep into your bones. There is only a slight breeze, cooling your skin with each whisper. The weather seemingly fits your current tranquility.

It’s summer. And similar to every summer you had experienced before, you’re visiting your grandparents at their small cottage in the south of the country. The warmth practically radiating from the edges of the village. You love it here, despite the long trip, carrying you over borders and through mountains. But in the end, it’s always worth it, the weather and the comfort of the people forming the valley of your dreams. No wonder you had planned on staying for the duration of the summer, nothing better than to spend your vacation with your family and their well-loved apple trees.

You had arrived a couple of days ago, the train finally coming to a halt after hours of driving through the darkness of the tunnel, emerging into another world, wildly different from the other side of the mountain range. And as much as you love riding the train for long distances, it had exhausted you quite a bit, you almost had no choice but to rest for a couple of days. These last days had consisted of you catching up with your grandparents, and of course, enjoying the apple pie of your dear grandpa.

That is until they had kicked you out of the door with some silly task. Well, getting kicked out is a strong word, rather they had sent you on an errand because according to your grandma, you had gotten ‘the zoomies’, whatever that means.

So there you are, in the middle of a meadow, trying to walk towards the apple trees of your family without stomping on the flowers. And as much as you hate to admit it, you aren’t successful with your current endeavor, and you hope to at least save the apples from their dooming demise. That’s why you had to pick them directly from the trees, these delicious, fresh apples should not, under any circumstance, fall onto the ground and rot away, turning into sad mush. You shall not allow them to suffer such fate!

But even if you are to pick every single apple from the trees, you wonder where your grandparents store all these apples, before you remember the morning market. The people around here open their stalls in the morning to sell their homemade products and to converse with each other, taking that chance to simply catch up with each other without any reason to do so. And of course, your grandparents go there, they have many friends in the village and how else are they supposed to get their gossip from? And soon you are going to be part of that gossip because while you had missed the market due to your inability to wake up early in the morning, they definitely are going to drag you along with them as soon as possible.

With a sigh, signifying your surrender to your upcoming fate, you arrive at the base of the first tree. You are only supposed to fill the basket you are carrying, so there is no need for you to visit more than one tree today. You set the basket between the roots of the tree to put your hands on your hips. With a scrutinizing gaze, you inspect the stem and its bark, judging how well you would be able to climb it. And it seems like a challenge for your climbing skills, but it definitely isn’t something you can’t handle.

Rolling your imaginary sleeves up to gather some strength, you begin feeling the bark with both your palms and fingertips, looking for grooves and furrows to hold onto. Once you discover some proper places to hold onto, you manage to get a good grasp around the trunk, hauling yourself with one push and jump. Your feet push the ground away before they step onto the bark. Holding your grasp for a moment, your hand grabs the next branch to finally pull your whole body upwards, your body sprawling across the branch. With a swing you manage to get your legs up, getting yourself into a sitting position on the thicker branch. And despite its thickness, you remain close to the trunk as a safety measure.

With your body secure and safe, you start grabbing the apples, picking the ones closest to you to let them fall to the ground. You try your best to soften the fall by stretching your body towards the ground, or by trying to get them into your basket in one shot. That way you clear the surrounding space, before you begin to move upwards, standing on the branch to reach higher. Methodically you move from branch to branch, reaching as far as you possibly could without endangering yourself.

Reaching higher and higher, you continue to let the apples drop, until you hear a small shout of surprise. You gasp silently and peer down to look for the source of that sound, staying hidden behind the leaves and branches.

Down below standing at the base of the tree is a boy your age, his hand rubbing against the top of his head with a slight wince. You bite your bottom lip to swallow a curse, lest he sees you between the branches of the tree. Because it seems like you were the cause of his pain, as you accidentally let an apple fall on top of his head. And you probably should get down and apologize, maybe gift him some apples to soothe the pain. But before you decide on your next move, he looks up and you freeze. You can’t do anything but stare at his beautiful face; and you think, you must have fallen and broken your neck because you have never seen such mesmerizing features before. His green eyes make you step into a deep, refreshing forest, full of secrets you can discover if you step closer; yet welcoming and beautiful, soothing your mind with ease. Strands of hair framed those gleaming eyes, soft; and you wondered how it would feel to drive your fingers through them while counting the small galaxy of freckles emphasizing his features. You wonder how many little stars he owns.

There is no way you can simply jump down and meet him like that, not after that accident with the apple. That would be a bad first impression and you have no idea how you currently look, the leaves probably sitting on top of your head. The peak of bad impressions. ‘Hey, I hit you with an apple, but you’re cute, so forget about it.’ You can’t just do that! For some reason you need that first impression to be good, no, perfect. So you clasp your free hand against your mouth and hold still, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. He should not catch you under any circumstance, especially after you refuse to go down after hitting him. That only would worsen his possible first impression of you.

‘Please leave, please leave,’ you try to persuade him with your telepathic skills. You hope you have these skills, or else he might not leave soon. But lucky you, your persuasion skills seem to work, as he picks an apple off the ground to roll it between his palms, scarred palms. And you wonder how that rough skin would feel against your own pair of hands before you notice him turning and finally leaving.

You almost cheer, thanking your merciful luck, hoping it doesn’t deplete with that simple graciousness. Still, you don’t risk anything and wait for some time, making sure nobody is truly left, before you jump down, starting to pick the apples off the ground in a hurry, collecting the fruits in your basket.

With a last glance in every possible direction, you make your way back to the cottage, arms and doubts heavy. And as much as you want to enjoy the beautiful sun on your skin, your gaze has locked itself onto the grassy ground, watching the blades dance with the silent brise. You just can’t help but think that you might have burst your only chance with that boy, just because of your cowardice. What if you never saw him again? Then what? Are you just going to lament over that non-existent loss, maybe cry every time you spot some green apples, because he reminds you of these green Pound Sweet apples? Probably. But right now all you want to do is to kick yourself back in time, maybe take another way of action. But no, your head had been empty and your thoughts didn’t carry any semblance of common sense. You never make the right decisions in the nick of time, and you always end up regretting it, like right now. You lost him, forever!

Maybe you are acting a tad dramatic, but you think you deserve a little drama, as a treat to distract yourself from your lost chance to meet the embodiment of the perfect person.

Your grandma immediately notices your little pout upon your entrance, and just doesn’t allow you to enter the cottage. She had taken the basket out of your hands before pulling you into her little vegetable garden in the back. Apparently, she needs help with getting rid of the weed. And even if you know she doesn’t need help and that she holds too much strength in her frame, you oblige to her pushing you into this task. You doubt you would be able to get rid of a single weed, and you spend the rest of the day in a brawl, fighting those scratching plants with all your might and still losing, too many times to count. And maybe that is the plan of your grandma, to distract you from whatever is bothering you and to tire you out like a little child throwing a tantrum. You don’t care though, that is her way of caring for you after all.

***

The next morning doesn’t start like you wanted it to. You are deep in your dreams and your pillows, hugging your blanket close to your face when a spray of water hits your face with its startling coldness. A groan escapes you and you try to swat at the source of your bother but without any success. The attacks continue without mercy, soaking even your pillow. Hesitantly you open your eyes, hoping to avoid getting sprayed into them, before seeing a familiar figure standing beside your bed.

“Wake up, you lazy thing, we’re going to the market!” your grandma proclaims, waving the spray bottle in front of your face as a threat.

You grunt some curse words under your breath, making an effort in sitting up. “Okay, okay… Man, a warning would be nice…”

The only response to your mumbled complaint is another spray into your face before she leaves you to change into some proper outerwear. And you are almost inclined to leave the house in your pajamas if only to embarrass her a bit. But if you are honest with yourself, you will end up regretting that choice more than her non-existent embarrassment will be worth it. You will wind up being the embarrassed one, she will be nonchalant about the whole thing, shrugging your audacity off like nothing. So you almost have no choice but to change into some proper summer wear, yearning for your hoodies, but you would rather not fry in this weather, as beautiful as it is.

Dragging your feet, sleep still hanging onto your ankles, you join your grandparents in the kitchen. They are preparing for the morning market, and they expect your help if the basket squeezed into your hands is any indication. It is filled to the brim with green apples, Beauty of Bath, the ones you had picked from the tree just yesterday. You sneak a hand into the basket to grab one for yourself, but your grandma seems to have a telepathy or a sense of premonition because she’s already slapping your hand away, tutting at your allegedly bad behavior.

“Aw, c’mon, I didn’t get to eat anything yet…”, you grumble, still eyeing the green, fresh apples hanging off the crook of your arm.

“Stop makin’ eyes at them apples girl, shoulda woken up earlier,” she reprimands you, and you feel like you're being punished for something. Is she mad about how much of a loser you are in weeding out the garden? Did you step on a tomato while brawling those stubborn plants? Is she getting sick of you being a failure in her favorite hobby?

And maybe you’re being dramatic again, making a big deal out of her response, when you’re well aware of her ways of communication.

Still, this knowledge doesn’t stop you from pouting slightly, reacting appropriately. But you can’t help but light up when your grandpa goes up to you and hands you a piece of the pie. With a broad smile and a thank you, you ravish that piece, enjoying the way the apples and cream melt on your tongue, leaving a sour and sweet taste behind. Licking the rest off your fingertips, you both giggle about that secret exchange, while your grandma has her back turned on you.

Despite her obliviousness, she must have noticed something going on, as she begins to push the both of you out of the door, arms heavy with product, apples, pies and tarts. With your packed load, you begin to walk down the path to the village. Luckily, the cottage is stationed on a hill, so you only have to walk down with all that stuff, rather than dying from the slope. And despite the village sitting at the base of the hill, the distance between the cottage and the center is quite short. There is no need for any of you to use the car at all, even if carrying everything slowly turns out to be exhausting.

By the time you finally arrive at the closed stall, you’re barely feeling your arms anymore, the basket cutting your blood circulation off. With a grateful sigh, you manage to put everything down safely, before shaking your arms to get them back to work, wincing at the pins and needles appearing in your veins. Once you think you can use them again, you start helping your grandparents with opening up the stall and sorting the products into their respective spaces, checking if everything has survived the travels.

Everything is at its proper place the moment people start wandering into the market, the noise level immediately rising. The growing crowd carries their conversation with itself, the words traveling from stall to stall with people catching up with each other. The bargaining accompanies the chattering, the people trying to get their grocery shopping as cheap as possible.

Even you can’t escape the talking. You’re acquainted with some of your grandparents’ friends, so you have no choice but to greet them, which ends in you trying to dodge every question coming your way. Their questions and calculating gazes dig quite deep and if you don’t know any better, they seem like they’re analyzing your body language for any possible reaction. But that’s not possible, right? They’re just retired folk, they surely aren’t putting that much effort into their gossip, right?

You even start busying yourself with stocking the stall up, making sure there is always enough stuff from everything on the table, just to escape the awkwardness of the digging elderly.

“Oh, these look delicious, what kind of apples are these?” a voice asks you while you’re straightening the rows of green apples.

Oh, this is a rather easy question, so you grin and look up to answer, only to meet green eyes, soft curls framing them with the slight breeze and a shining smile. Your brain short-circuits and you can’t help but be mesmerized by him, the name you had given him in your head slipping out: “Uh, Pound Sweet?”

Immediately your grandma's elbow digs itself deep between your ribs, the pain pulling you back into reality. “What are ya blabbing? Those are-”

“Beauty of Bath apples, I know… Excuse my mistake…” you apologize to the boy in front of you, bowing to avoid making eye contact with him and falling into that trance again.

You can see how he hurriedly waves his free hand around. “Uh! No-No need to bow, everything is fine”, he insists and lets his hand rub the back of his neck, still giving you that brilliant smile.

And even after you straighten up, you actively avoid making eye contact with him. You’re sure you won’t escape those beautiful eyes of his if you get caught in them again. Instead, you let your eyes roam over his galaxy of freckles dusting his soft-looking cheeks, which mold with his bright smile; over his swaying, green curls moving around his ears, brushing the edges of his eyes, getting stuck in his long lashes.

Even his face sends you into a stupor and you don’t notice your staring until your grandma has rammed into you once again. Embarrassed, you let your hands wander over the apples, rambling about this sort of apples and their acidic sweet taste, while picking the number of apples he desires, You try to put your whole focus on the packaging of the apples and the piece of pie you decide to sneak into his order, catching your wandering gaze before you can even begin to stare again. Still, how are you supposed to prepare for the scars on his hands or the accidental touch of his rough hands as you handed him his package. The slight brush of his fingers against yours as he received his order sends you into another turmoil of thoughts and you hastily pull your hand away.

“Thankyoubye,” you blurt hurriedly, feeling embarrassed at your reactions to every single thing about him. For some reason everything about him makes you run on a higher sensitivity level leading to you slightly overreacting, probably.

Still, you feel bad for letting him experience these reactions at such a close range, so you look up and give him a crooked smile, a shy one, mirroring your current feelings. You feel the need to hide under his gaze and you scratch your nose to hide your face a tiny bit.

In return, you receive a bright smile with a thank you. You physically feel your heart stop, before you start choking on your own spit from the shock, resulting in a coughing fit. A curse tumbles with a cough and you have to turn away, propping yourself on your knees.

Well, there goes your good first impression, well done, you had ruined it, and this time you can’t just hide or run away. You can’t do anything but cough your lungs out, your throat getting raw; and if the tears in your eyes are due to your disappointment and shame, and not because your body is trying to eject your esophagus, nobody but you has to know.

After hacking a couple more times, your body finally allows you to catch your breath, as you hold yourself steady with a hand on the edge of the table. Your swipe at the beads of tears in the corners of your eyes, faintly feeling a hand between your shoulder blades. At first, you think it’s your grandpa, but the size of the palm feels too big to be actually his. And while the realization slowly creeps into your mind, the touch sears itself onto your skin, every skin ridge etching itself into your bones.

You swallow, trying to avoid the repeat of earlier, before finally raising your gaze and seeing Pound Sweet right in front of you. His brows are furrowed in some kind of worry, and you wonder why he would worry about you in the first place. You, nothing more than a stranger, as much as you want to change that.

Your eyes meet his, green and flashing, holding all these secrets, filled with a whirlwind of emotion you cannot decipher. You don’t register his question until after he repeats himself.

“Is everything okay?” he asks with a professional tone, and how can someone ask such a question in a professional tone anyway? Is he some sort of EMT and is used to people choking on their own spit, embarrassing themselves in front of him?

With a blink of your eyes, you realize he’s waiting for any kind of response, so you nod slowly.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. ‘Twas weird…” you murmur, as if your nod needs some boost in its credibility, lowering your gaze to avoid looking at him as mortification slowly fills your veins, hot and teary, crawling and ripping at your insides.

Instead of replying he just put a cup filled with juice, the smell of berries emanating from its edges. You recognize the barely touched juice from another stall close by, a couple of people had been holding the same kind of cup in their hands, savoring the taste with each sip. And with a small thanks, you decide to do the same thing, letting the sip on your tongue distract you for even a little moment.

You can’t help but take a second sip, as the cool liquid soothes your throat. But after that, you hesitantly return the cup to its owner, regret already pooling in your stomach like a heavy stone. Why did you take a sip? Maybe he wanted you to reject his offer, to keep his juice to himself. He probably just feels pity for your tiny miserable figure.

“Uh, thank you for that… Do- Do you mind me paying you back in some way?”, you ask with your raw voice, rasping each syllable.

You feel your insides knot with rising nervousness. You don’t know what compelled you to be so upfront, especially after your hiding, and your embarrassment, but you do owe him for that drink and his attention to you. And maybe you’re hoping to get to know him a little bit more, and nobody is to judge you for that.

“You’re welcome! And uh, it’s totally fine…”, he waves to refuse your offer so easily, while still keeping his brilliant smile, and you don’t quite feel like you just got rejected.

He rejected you and you have no choice but to accept it. That’s what any sane person would do in your situation. But to your misery, you don’t have enough sanity to make such wise decisions (later you would put the blame on the lack of oxygen, or just because his beauty crashed your brain). So for whatever reason you only shake your head at his answer and reach for some crumpled piece of paper. Snatching a pen from under the table, you jot your phone number onto the cracks of paper. Folding the ink and handing it to him you simply said: “Here, my number. Uh, I’m here for the summer, so maybe? I don’t know, text me, if you want to, I guess?”

You bite the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from babbling any nonsense that is crawling up your throat and clogging your brain from thinking straight forward. This day has filled you with enough embarrassment to last you a decade, you probably won’t ever forget this day, the memories haunting you for the rest of your life whenever you want to go to sleep.

He seems surprised, holding your number delicately between his fingers, and maybe you’re imagining things, but to you, it looks like his neck is slightly redder than it used to be just a moment ago. His mouth opens and closes with no words actually leaving him before he finally pockets the paper with no arguments. He agrees on texting you, before straightening to leave the stall with a small wave.

You wave back, hesitance creeping into your actions. The whole thing slowly starts to register in your brain and you want to crawl under the table of the stall and let the darkness swallow you. What did you do? What just happened? You don’t even have his name, he doesn’t know yours. That’s crazy of you, he probably thinks you’re some kind of weirdo… How did you ruin a first meeting in multiple ways?

With a sigh you turn around, only to make eye contact with your grandma, a sly grin adorning her face. And this is how things could in fact get worse. She won’t ever let this up, pestering you about it for probably the rest of your life, no matter how this whole thing turns out. You really don’t want to hear her so-called ‘advice’ or whatever has been cooking up inside her brain. So you immediately turn right back to continue whatever you have been doing before he showed up. Filling the gaps between the products, serving whoever decides to take a peek at your stall, and most importantly, relentlessly ignoring any upcoming conversation about Pound Sweet, no matter how much your grandparents try. No matter how bad you feel for ignoring your grandpa, but regardless of how tame he might look, he is married to his wife. And they both are borderline vicious about this sort of stuff. The elderly still love to gossip, and you’d rather not give them any ammunition about yourself.

The rest of the morning market finished without any hiccups, just with you averting their trials at interrogation in any possible way. And once you’re packing up and on the way home, their questions stopped, and you start to see the end of the tu-

And you had started hoping way too soon, as they corner you once you finally arrive at home. Trapped in a tight spot in the kitchen you have no way to escape the imposing figure of your grandma, especially with your grandpa guarding the door in case you miraculously manage to run away.

“So, you an’ the Midoriya-boy?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, almost like she already knows the answer to that question and you don’t.

“Who?”

You’re aware of the implication. She assumes something is going on with Pound Sweet, but because you don’t know his name, you choose the easiest thing to do and to act ignorant. Name-dropping only works if you know their name after all.

She grunts with annoyance at your shenanigans, waving a hand like she’s trying to get rid of something bothering her. “Dun’ play tha’ game with me, girl. Ya for sure have some stupid apple name for’im. Now, what was happenin’?”

Ow, bullseye. How does she even know that? You bite the insides of your cheek and avoid eye contact with her, trying to come up with some way out, but apparently, you hadn’t responded fast enough.

Her face scrunches up at your little wince before her facial expressions change from her usual scowl to unbelief, shock, triumph. You don’t even have the chance to retort anything, she already has her own conclusion made up in her mind. Still, you feel the need to say something, but nothing comes out of your mouth, leaving you to look like a fish on dry land. All wide eyes and open mouth.

With mirth finally placed on her face, she pushes your chin up to help you close your mouth.

“Imma leave ya to it. Should tell ya to be responsible, but I dun’ care,”, she shrugs and finally releases you from her entrapment.

You almost stumble over your own feet as you hurry with your escape, her snickers following you into your bedroom.

With a groan you let yourself fall onto your bed, burying your shame in your pillows. She won’t ever let you live this down, and every time you go out, she will be teasing you about him, even if you would only be accompanying them. There is no way you will be meeting him in the near future, not after your pushiness earlier.

You’re wailing in your conundrum when your phone suddenly vibrates. You stop your dramatic antics to furrow your eyebrows. Who could be messaging you? You barely text with your friends, and you’re supposed to be on vacation, so your workplace can’t be bothering you.

You stretch your arm to reach your phone on the commode, barely getting a hold of it. Once your phone is secure in your hand and not about to slip from your fingertips, you open your messenger to look at the received message. Unknown number.

And the moment you open the message you almost fling your phone across the room. The message isn’t long, it only consists of a greeting with his name, but that’s already longer than you had anticipated. Which is nothing.

But now you’re standing in front of the next hurdle. How are you supposed to answer? He doesn’t know your name, but to start with that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Could you use the spelling of your name as an excuse to still tell him what you’re called, or should you leave it to the future?

You scrunch your nose and stare at your unmoving phone, expecting an answer to jump out of it and tell you what to do. After just glaring at it you pick your phone up again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, dancing a little over the letters. Writing and deleting. Writing and deleting. Nothing sounds right, no matter what you say. So in the end you just send some basic text, at least you hope it is. After your pushiness earlier, you tell yourself to allow him to choose what to do, that is the main reason you gave him your number after all.

And this time your poor phone didn’t get thrown away, but rather imprisoned into your commode. That way you aren’t able to see or hear any notifications. At least that’s the plan, but you had forgotten how your nervousness makes you check your phone every five minutes, hoping for any kind of answer, and then of course getting disappointed by the radio silence. And you immediately respond to every text, too excited to hold back and wait for a while.

Still, this leads to you regularly texting with Izuku, as it turns out you both are on vacation in this little idle village. None of you really disclosed your work, but his seems to be putting some strain on him, especially after he expressed his relief about this time-out.

So you’re nothing but eager to allow him to experience this village to its fullest potential, leading to your meet-up today. You both are going to visit the summer festival taking place.

You’re already buzzing with excitement. Even if it isn’t a proper date (as much as you want to go on a date with him), it’s finally your chance to act like a normal human being in his presence. Comfortably texting doesn’t mean he would actually enjoy your company, considering how awkward the first time had been. This thought puts an undercurrent of nervousness beneath your excitement, but you’re confident that everything will go well. You’ve come so far, you won’t easily give this up, not now.

After rummaging through your closet you finally discover something fitting for the weather of late summer, while being a tiny bit appealing to the eye. You’re not expecting anything, really, but it can’t hurt to feel good in your own skin when meeting him. Nothing but a meet-up between friends. With a final look in the mirror to make sure everything is in its place, you grab your bag with your necessities and leave the cottage with a simple call-out to your grandparents.

The weather outside is beautiful, just warm enough to not bother anyone, with a brise cooling your skin with its soft touch. You can’t help yourself looking up to watch the clouds slowly passing by. They look so calm and cozy, and for a moment they made you feel at peace. So you keep walking with your face raised towards the sky to let your gaze roam over the speckles of white and blue, the warmth comfortably laying on your face.

Your phone vibrates, ripping you out of your current trance of enjoyment. With a sigh, you sift through your bag to grab your device to look at the new message you just got. The moment you open your messages, a picture of your figure with your nose high in the sky greets you. You furrow your eyebrows, wondering how the sender, Izuku, even got this picture in the first place. You start looking around until you make eye contact with him. A grin already sitting on his face, lighting something inside of you on fire before you reciprocate with a grin of your own. With a wave, you speed up until you could stop in front of him.

You both exchanged a simple greeting, before starting to wander between the stalls and activities. There is quite a collection of stuff to do, ranging from a tombola, to shooting games, and different types of competition. A lot of things seem popular among the locals and the tourists, but nothing really spoke to you, so you aren’t sure what to do. That is until you spot a particular game you’ve always wanted to play: Apple bobbing.

Without thinking you just nudge Izuku to point towards the stall with the tubs propped in front of it. “Hey, that looks fun? Should we try it?” you ask, even if you’d like to just tug him along to play it with you.

Luckily he easily complies with your hidden demand, following you to the desk to pay for two people, before kneeling in front of a basin. His gaze already zeroed on the floating apples. You want to join him by getting onto the ground, but for some reason, he looks up to you, and your brain stops working for a second. He just looks so ethereal in the afternoon sun. His eyes focused on you, shining with the rays of the sun and his hair slightly tousled with the fresh breeze. His hands are simply relaxing on his thighs. He just contemplates you before cocking his head, seemingly noticing your hesitance.

And you almost choke on your own spit, again. But you manage to get your bearings before that happens, shaking your head to get back to your senses.

Carefully you take your place in front of the metal tub. You keep your arms behind your back to avoid using them in any way or form. Widening your stance a bit to fix your balance, before you shoot a look at Izuku, and you both exchange a giddy grin.

The person responsible for this game starts counting down until they give you the start sign. You immediately plunge your face into the filled tub, trying to grasp an apple with your teeth. You have been targeting a specific fruit, but it always manages to escape you just before you could take a proper hold onto it. And you probably had swallowed more water than it would have been healthy. You begin to grow frustrated at your evasive opponent, but before you could just throw the towel, you finally grasp the flesh of the apple between your teeth. Making sure you have a proper bite you finally straighten up. A grin hides behind the fruit and with your emergence, you feel the water coating your skin, cooling with the oncoming breeze, drying with no trace under the sun.

With your prize, you turn to see how the game had been for Izuku and you catch him already looking your way. His hair framing his face a shade darker and dripping. His head resting on his palm, arm propped up on the edge of the basin and a shining red apple in his other hand. He grins at you and you remember the apple still stuck in your mouth. In your haste to get rid of it, you almost let it drop onto the ground, but you catch it before anything happens.

“Uh, I guess you won?” you say with a crooked smile, shifting your weight from one knee to the other, and wondering how long he had been watching you struggle with that single apple.

At least you hadn’t let anything slip, like him being pretty, or how badly you want to brush the strands away from his face.

“Mhm! That was fun,” he smiles broadly, running his fingers through his wet hair, slightly slicking it back.

You blink a couple of times, stunned. Then with a breath, you stand up, taking a bite out of your hard-won apple. The slight acidity runs over your tongue, distracting you from the mesmerizing sight just beside you. You doubt it’s healthy for you to even look at him for such extended time, so you let your gaze sweep over the open field, looking for the next possible activity.

There isn’t anything really catching your interest, but you do discover a stall selling candied apples. And despite the one already sitting in your hand, you have a craving for one of these. Candied apples use a different type of apples after all.

“Oh! Do you wanna get some candied apples?” you ask Izuku, who has gotten up and has been letting his gaze wander over the place.

“Hm, didn’t we just get some apples?” he wonders and puts his hand to his face in a contemplating gesture.

“That’s true, but these are Red Delicious Apples, which often lack proper taste, and candied apples use these Gala Apples. They have a much sweeter flavor!” you try to explain to him without going on a tangent about the different sorts of apples, again.

He giggles at your so-called restraint, already aware of the struggle. “I don’t mind trying them.”

A grin spreads over your face with satisfaction and you march to that specific stall to buy two candied apples. They immediately hand you two sticks, from which one you pass along to Izuku. Turning to your own apple, you take a crunching bite out of it and savor the sweetness melting over your tongue. A content sigh escapes you.

Suddenly a hand materializes in front of you, gingerly wiping the corner of your mouth. Your wide eyes you follow the source of that hand, only to make eye contact with a stuttering Izuku. His face seems to get redder by the second, his hands already frantically waving in front of him.

“Oh, uh, sorry… you just, uh, there was some candy on your face…” he mutters, his free hand already placed on his reddening neck, avoiding your gaze with slightly hunched shoulders.

You’re glad you don’t have a full mouth because it would have been a waste to spit it out.

You waved a hand, trying to finish this topic before it could escalate in any way; your heart already lives in your throat. “No! Uh, I mean, thank you, I’d rather not walk with candy sticking all over me…”

This stopped the conversation, but now you both are silent, rocking on your feet, or shifting your weight. Doing your best to avoid making any sort of eye contact, as you don’t know what to say, you spot something you hadn’t expected at all. A Ferris wheel. You immediately whip around and point at it, already wordlessly pleading with Izuku to get on it.

For some reason, he looks like he already had expected it, and easily agrees; glad to get rid of that earlier tension.

That’s how you both end up last in the current queue, awkwardness already warded off by the quick walk from the stall, from which you almost dragged him behind you. So time goes by faster, you both start talking, picking up topics almost like you have been acquainted for some time (even if you technically have been knowing each other for some time, it’s still different to talk face to face). The conversation flows easily, both of you getting properly engaged in whatever forms the main point of your talking. You’re only focused on him, and that’s how you’re able to notice so many of his tiny quirks. The way he just dives into his explanations and analysis, getting excited about his favorite topics and research. His scarred, calloused hands move in sync with his talking, almost like they’re supporting him in his current endeavor. His stream of thoughts doesn’t mean he’s ignoring your own, but rather the opposite; he’s listening and considering them, leading to an in-depth conversation. You never had the possibility to dive that deep into certain topics, and you appreciate his seemingly vast knowledge in your own interests.

While enjoying this talk, the guilt begins to resurface, blubbering and hot, steaming its way up your throat. The accident wafts in your head, penetrating your nose like the smell of bad eggs. You couldn’t ignore the pressure, the urge to confess everything to him, as if you have committed a grave sin. And maybe you would, if you allow the both of you to explore this any further, without being in the open about anything. You should tell him before it’s too late and you lose yourself completely.

So you take a breath, trying to get rid of the steam clogging your lungs. “Uhm, I’m sorry for interrupting you. But, uh, I need to tell you something… I’ve met you before? I mean before that day at the market… Even, uh, even if it wasn't really… meeting, more like… How do I say that… Didn’t an apple fall onto your head, or something?” you stutter, realizing you don’t have a proper plan for this.

This is going to suck.

He slowly nods, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows and his bottom lip slightly juts out. You err for a moment, getting distracted, but you shake your head to get yourself out of that daze and to continue talking.

“Yes! Uh, the apple was me. No, I mean, uh, I let the apple fall and didn’t see you. Sorry… And… and I didn’t tell you earlier because I- uh, I wanted you to like me? I mean, I wanted a good first impression, I guess?”

You pull your shoulders up and avoid looking at his face, waiting for the inevitable. He’s going to get mad, just walk away. At least the outfall can happen before you completely are gone for him.

You wait for any kind of reaction from him, but all you can hear is his phone ringing. He just sighs before turning around to accept the call. And the moment he starts talking, you realize he’s speaking a language you aren’t understanding at all, and you wish you had learned more languages.

He put the phone away with a furrow between his eyebrows, driving his hand through his hair, letting strands stand slightly and frizzing his curls.

“I’m sorry, but, uh, there has been an emergency, and… and I have to go…” he simply explains with a smile. But this smile doesn’t shine like his usual ones, regret almost seeping through the gaps of his teeth; and you wonder if it’s your fault.

“O-Oh! That’s fine, yeah. Maybe, uh, maybe we could finish another time?” You have to ask, this isn’t the last time you’re seeing him, is it? Maybe… Maybe you still can see each other, right?

Wrong. His mouth pulls down and the furrow seems to deepen. “I- I’m sorry. I have to return to my home, to my country…”

That makes sense. It’s an emergency, he has no other choice. And you understand, you really do. That doesn’t make it hurt less though. He could at least respond to whatever you had said earlier, but he seems to be in a rush, giving you a simple goodbye before walking away, leaving you at the other end of the queue. And for some reason, you feel like he’s running away, like everything is your fault.

You end up getting onto the Ferris wheel. All alone. And despite the sun warming the wagon, it feels cold, empty, soaking. Getting off you only carry a swollen waterline and a burning nose, only to immediately go home without even looking at the rest of the festival.

It hurts more than you thought it would; it feels like rejection. Even if nothing has been going on in the first place. And you have no choice but to bury these feelings deep in the waters of your insides, drowning them in the cold soaking after the steam had left, and to go on with your life. Spending time with your grandparents, surrounded by apples, despite never picking them yourself anymore.

And before you know it (that’s a lie, you’re so well aware how much time passed), summer is over and you’re already boarding the train to return to the city, to your tiny, homey space and your distracting work.

And work is distracting but also exciting. The company you’re working for is planning a collaboration with another one in Japan, and as it’s your job, you will be the one to lead the negotiations. After preparing with enough language and culture classes to get around, a few weeks after returning, you have to leave again, boarding a plane and making yourself comfortable for the upcoming hours. But you don’t mind the lost time, rather enjoying the flight and the food.

Doesn’t stop you from feeling groggy when you finally arrive in Japan, the sleep you managed to get doesn’t satiate your body. The haze lays heavy on your mind, making navigating through the busy streets more difficult than it’s supposed to be. And despite your language courses, you struggle to read the street signs, regretting not learning the language earlier. The language barrier hadn’t budged even with your basis of talk. You hope to strengthen your skills with your stay.

But that’s for future you, because the moment you finally step into the apartment you just want to collapse on the bed and sleep for an unreasonable amount of time. As much as you desire sleep, you have to check for any bugs. This complex is supposedly one of the most secure places in Musutafu, specifically made for important people such as politicians and these heroes.

And you don’t belong in any of these categories of important people, but your company had taken care of the lodging, and you just assume it’s simply because of the documents and knowledge you carry. They can’t afford to lose them on such short notice, but that also means you’re accustomed to some heavy stuff, like the search for espionage in your living places. That doesn’t make you a hero though.

And you can’t help but wonder why these exist. You’re aware how several countries have laws to allow them, training children and turn them into their heroes (which in your opinion is already an iffy subject). But you’re not a lawyer either, so you don’t think it’s your position to complain about it. As long as they keep everyone safe, they can keep their jumpsuits for all you care.

After looking under everything and into every lamp, checking the mirror for anything, you finally get ready to go to bed. You have a couple of days to properly adjust to the time, fixing your current jet lag as soon as possible. But you also plan on walking around the neighborhood, at least getting to know where all the important shops lie.

With that in mind, you fall asleep. And lucky you, you don’t immediately forget about your plans, even though you usually forget things easily. That leads to you leaving the apartment to look for the closest bakery to get yourself a treat for breakfast.

You walk around with leisure and lightness in your step, gazing around and memorizing every little detail you could possibly ever need later on. That is until you finally stumble across a bakery, which you enter with a wide grin. The smell immediately welcomes you with a hug, leading you deeper inside. With a little giddiness, you step close to the counter to properly look at the different loaves of bread and pastries. It takes you some time to decipher the names of the pieces to order in your broken, basic Japanese. Despite your difficulty communicating the clerk still understands you and even helps you in bits and pieces, especially with your pronunciation of certain vowels, and you thank them for it.

They’re in the middle of handing you your package full of tasty food when the glass front shatters with a dazing sound. A surprised scream escapes you before the cashier can pull you behind the desk with them.

Ducking into a corner, panic begins to fill your senses, the smell of spoiling and rotting filling your nose, ants crawling all over your skin, ears rumbling with fallen rocks. You don’t understand what’s going on, but the person in front of you seems accustomed to such situations for some reason and begins helping you to calm down, your hand pressed between hers.

You both stay kneeling like that until a voice calls into the store. And it seems like it’s not the one responsible for this, as the person immediately stands up to join the green-clad person, who seems to be a hero, according to his jumpsuit, and the familiarity and trust of the clerk with him. By the time you join them, they’re in the middle of a conversation, but you can’t keep up with the fast pace, barely understanding any sentences as a whole. Despite this barrier, you manage to bow and to give him your thanks.

But you don’t leave immediately after, rather you begin helping the cashier with the glass and whatever had been thrown around when the whole place exploded. That hero, ‘Deku’ as the clerk called him earlier, tries to help with the work, handling some of the stuff a tiny bit clumsier than you have expected of a so-called hero. And he doesn’t seem to only be a hero, but a rather popular one, as the clerk had recognized him despite his face being covered with a mouth guard and some sort of hood.

And for some reason, you have a weird feeling about him, not a bad one. He feels familiar for some reason, but you’ve never been to Japan before and you’ve never taken an interest in these heroes, so why do you keep looking at him, your gaze just drawn to his moving silhouette. You just shake your head, trying to focus on the work ahead of you (and you think it’s maybe the green of his suit, the one so similar to the warmth of last summer; and maybe it’s the little mannerisms, the moving hands and the palm in neck).

He doesn’t stay for long though, being called by the other heroes to help with another part of the street, which seems to have gotten the worst part of the fight.

After helping with the best of your abilities, you grab your once-forgotten package, not minding how the pastries inside probably don’t look as nice as they used to, but you don’t mind. Who are you to expect them to make you new ones to substitute for them. It isn’t the fault of this place, but rather of those ‘villains’. You’re not going to make a big deal out of it, because it simply isn’t.

You leave the bakery and register how bad the situation has gotten. The rest of the street was torn apart, the mud shining through the chunks of heavy concrete, The other buildings barely stand on their own, their insides already crawling towards the sun, and you have to look back to realize how lucky you have been. If you didn’t enter this almost unscathed place, you might as well be dead. You would be nothing but a colored speck in the cracks of the cement.

The whole concept of heroes and villains is still bizarre to you, but you start to understand the necessity of these people in their silly jumpsuits (even if it still kind of looks like adults playing like children, only with much higher damage potential). And you’re glad these heroes exist, they did save your life today and they deserve the respect.

That doesn’t mean you don’t want to avoid such situations at all cost. So you just make your way back, this time without getting distracted, which is partly due to that incident, but also because you’re getting famished and these pastries are waiting for you, their smell already clinging to you.

And despite your attempts of avoiding villains and the fights they seem to carry with them, it appears that these kinds of situations are a normal occurrence, simply unavoidable, unless you barricade yourself somewhere, and even then there’s a chance of getting in the middle of any attack.

You curse your company and their horrible choices, after being in another attack once again. But you’re in luck, as that one hero, ‘Deku’, has helped with the situation; and diffused it with the help of another, more brash one. The explosive hero had gotten angry with you, for some reason, but you hadn’t understood him well, but his attitude made you want to punch him. And you would have if you were on vacation. You would have at least left a proper bruise before they led you away, but you can’t tarnish the company’s image solely because he’s annoying.

On the brighter side, you interacted a bit more with the green hero, just a few pleasantries, but those made you decide to finally dive into the whole hero business and learn more about them (even if just to discover if all heroes fumble around, are a bit clumsy, or just have a mean streak).

So after finally getting home after that particular fight, you start researching the whole topic of heroes. You slowly learn everything about this hero-culture, and you realize how much it resembles the celebrity culture in the early 21st century in the US. Polls, merch, websites and awards. You even stumble across fanfiction of these celebrities (and you have to admit to reading and enjoying them quite a bit).

And then you come across the current number one hero, Deku; having browsed through numerous footage, interviews and gala pictures. With a face to put behind the mask, you finally realize why you had been drawn to him. But you can’t help but wonder why he didn’t tell you anything about it. On the other hand, he did tell you about how stressful his work is, and with this new information, it all makes much more sense.

For some reason, you don’t want to wait for him to tell you, so you just download a picture of him in his hero costume, and send it to him, accompanied with several question marks. You cringe a little at this action because you both hadn’t talked much lately, both of you busy, but also the whole confession and then runaway thing has been heavy on your mind. That’s why you have been hesitant to text him first.

To your surprise, he immediately responds. A simple sentence.

“Can we talk?”

And usually, this phrase would inject the anxiety straight into your bloodstream, but this time you had initiated the conversation, so you kind of are expecting the topic. So you agree to meet him at a local park the very next day.

Despite the meeting park being local, you struggle quite a bit to find it, almost just going in circles, before you manage to discover the little bridge you both had agreed on meeting on.

You lean against the railing to look into the softly streaming water, watching the colored fish idly swim with the movements, and you regret not getting them any proper food. Still, you enjoy just watching the calming water, slightly leaning forward to get a better view of the underwater world.

“Be careful!” a voice behind you chimes and a hand lands on your shoulder to carefully pull you away. “You could easily slip and fall.”

You glance to the side and recognize Izuku, so you fully turn around to face him, this time leaning your back against the railing.

“Oh, thank you, I didn’t know that…”

After your response you both look at each other, silence stretching between you, one waiting for the other to say something. And because you can’t stand this thickness between you, you clear your throat, trying to prepare to say something.

“Uhm, listen, I understand why you didn’t tell me. The whole ‘my work is dangerous or needs a big amount of secrecy’ isn’t a new concept to me. I just wonder… Uhm, well, I just wonder if you’re hesitant to tell me because of your work ethic, or, uhm, the whole apple accident, and me practically lying to you?” Well done, for some reason you just start talking about that past, not being able to just forget about it. Your peace of mind kind of relies on his answer right now. And you didn’t lie, you’re not mad at him for not telling you, just confused, because he did encounter you twice.

His hands already wave these thoughts away. “No! Well, the thing is just, I was on leave when we met, and uh, I didn’t want you to get hurt because you’re seen with me. And… and I wasn’t sure how your perception of me would change. I liked just being a normal person around you… It definitely wasn’t because of that apple… Uhm, it’s because I already knew when you told me. The leaves didn’t hide you very well, and I kind of got curious about you…”

You don’t say anything and just gape at him, unbelief evident in your speechlessness. It only takes a moment for the embarrassment to truly sink its teeth as you realize how both your alleged first meetings have been a full-on defeat.

With a silent groan, you bury your face in your hands, the realization being uncomfortable and yet gratifying.

“Honestly? This doesn’t make it better…” you grumble but slightly perk up when you hear his soft giggle ring, and you can’t help yourself but peak at his bright, smiling face.

After that you both spend the rest of the time until his patrol simply talking; you answering his inquiry why you’re in Japan with a simple ‘work’ and a grin, as you both cannot disclose details of your occupations.

Once he has to leave for work, he promises to meet you again, or at least to call you; to simply do his best to meet you in the middle this time. And you take his word to heart, but also promising to work with him, meet him in the middle.

This leads to him calling you daily, until you memorize his patrol schedule to call him at the right time to hold a small conversation, avoiding all topics about work and instead indulging in the many interests you both share. And if he doesn’t call, he still sends you a quick text in his break, to just simply let you know that he’s safe and thinking of you. And despite your meetings never happening due to clashing schedules, you’re content with the moments you still get with him, staying on the phone for hours until one of you falls asleep (or has to leave), playing mini-games, or simply sending pictures of cats and whatever has caught your eye.

To your regrets, you never manage to see him face-to-face again before the negotiations have been successful and your work in Japan is officially over. You have to return to your country, as much as you learned to love this country, and as much as you desire to stay. Your work is expecting you to just come back, it’s the only constant in your life in the city. If you decide to throw it all away, who would you be? What were you supposed to do with yourself, without backup, without something else to hold onto?

So you book your return flight, giving yourself a couple of days to pack up and to properly say goodbye to this town. Of course, you told Izuku, and he wants to see you before you go, but his work is using up all his time, he barely has any to even send you a goodnight text. You understand the pressure he’s under, and there’s no way you want to put more weight onto his shoulders.

After spending your last days just enjoying the place, you take a cab to the airport, and for the first time in your stay, you almost wish for a villain attack, if only to see him briefly. But nothing happened. The whole way has been peaceful and nothing happened, not when it finally would have been convenient for you.

With a last look at the skyline of the city, you enter the airport. Inside you start looking for the check-in but stop in your tracks when you hear someone calling your name. Did you mishear, and it’s just another person with a similar name? Despite this possibility, you look around until you hear the same shout once again.

And then you spot it, a green head of hair above everyone else.

Izuku seems to have noticed you at the same time, making eye contact with you before breaking into a big smile, at least his eyes do, as the rest of his face is covered by a medical mask. He begins hurrying towards you, avoiding any collision with the people around you to the best of his abilities.

After a short moment, he finally stops in front of you, hand already scratching the back of his neck. “I’m glad I still caught you! Uhm, here.”

A colorful speck appears in front of you, a small bouquet of flowers, and you gasp slightly, eyes widening at the sight of them.

“Izuku, what, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy, but your work…” you ask, voice slightly wavering with confusion, but also accepting the handful of flowers with a giddiness.

The tips of his ears turn red, indicating his flushed face. “Uh, I wanted to ask you out… on, uh, a date, but you know. We barely saw each other and.. and I thought I still had some time. But then you told me, you were leaving and I had to do something! I mean, I’m not asking you to stay, I would love for you to stay, but uh, I know you can’t, but maybe you could visit sometimes? Or- or I could visit? Maybe? I honestly didn’t think this through…” he rambles, trying to explain his thought process with a strained voice and a hand in front of his mouth, muffling his mumbles.

You’re at a loss for words (which seems to be a recurring theme with Izuku), and your heart feels like it’s sitting in your neck, daring you to do something. And you do, once you process his words, a smile spreads over your face, before you carefully take his scarred hand into yours, letting your thumb softly caress his callouses.

“Izuku, I would love to go out with you,” you answer in a light voice, in a voice full of the warmth of last summer and the flow of the water; simply watching as his forest green eyes accept your offerings, lighting up, tearing up.

His fingers press against yours, caressing your knuckles and squeezing his palm against yours.

And you wish this moment would never end. But you have a flight to catch, and he’s supposed to be at work. Yet this isn’t a goodbye, even if you’re leaving. Reluctant to let go, he presses his forehead against yours in a silent goodbye, none of you wanting to say the words outright, trying to let any kind of illusion live longer.

But eventually, you have to break those connections to him, the loss making your skin yearn and long for the warmth of him. With small steps, you force yourself to retreat, to only glance at him occasionally until his figure has been concealed by the sheer amount of people. And your insides hurt, trying to convince you to go back, to just stay here with him, but you continue to step further, to catch your flight, to persist through these endless hours up in the sky, and to arrive in your town. In your home. But for some reason, you feel estranged, almost like you’ve never truly belonged to this place. And this thought only pushes you further, your plan slowly clicking into place like Tetris. And you're going to clear it, to win.

You punch through whatever obstacle lies ahead of you: the jetlag, the needed signatures for the forms, the time it took you to finish different courses and meetings. Whatever must be done, you will do it.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Izuku and you stay in contact as much as possible, even with the time difference, and your difficult schedules; enjoying the late-night calls while he prepares to go on patrol. And not once had you slipped, allowing him to be unaware of your workings behind the scenes.

You didn’t want to tell him until you finally arrived in Japan until all your work finally paid off. You have managed to convince your workplace to permanently relocate you to Musutafu with the agreement to travel to whatever place whenever they need you. Considering you often have to comply with these rules anyway, this was a striking deal in your favor.

So there you are. Stepping into the airport, immediately trying to pull your phone out to call Izuku and to surprise him. But before you even have the chance to dial his number, you once again spot a mop of green hair. You doubt your senses, doubt if it’s even him in the first place until the tell-tale green continues to move closer to you.

And then he steps out of the crowd, hair slightly tousled, medical mask pulled down to reveal a bright, slightly mischievous grin, and his focussed gaze, looking you up and down, filled with wonder and curiosity.

For a moment you both just stand there, looking at each other, trying to assess if this situation is real before you just let go of your baggage to jump at him, to wrap his huge frame with your own arms if only to feel his very real warmth and heartbeat. Too immersed in the moment and spurred by his own arms slightly crushing you into him, you put your hands on his face, appreciating every little detail, his freckles, his forest green eyes only looking at you, and his plush lips. And you wonder how they would feel on your own before they just meet yours. You don’t know if you’re the one who moved, or if he seemingly reacted to your thoughts, but it doesn’t matter. Only he matters, only the way his lips caress yours matters.

After barely a breath you both split, only leaving the least amount of space between you, forehead on forehead, nose touching nose, breath mingling like dancers. And your grins mirroring.

“So, whatcha say? Wanna let me take you out?” you ask with a slight tease, anticipation filling the little room between you.

He accepts. His smile warming your ribcage, and the smell of apple pies seems to linger between you.

And you wonder if the next time you climb on a tree, someone would be waiting on the ground and catching the sweet fruits for you.

#izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x you #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x you #bnha reader insert #meet fruit collab #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku x you #izuku midoriya x you #deku x reader #deku x you #mha reader insert

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inawearyworld · 5 months

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free if you truly wish to be: chapter i

florence fickelgruber, the famed chocolatier's idealistic young wife, ponders her past, her regrets, and her longing for a change. guess what? she finds one.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.7k

chapter one is a shit ton of exposition for the character, but i promise you, dear timothee fans, the content you're here for is coming. i tried to capture the dahl style of storytelling (without, yknow, the racism and fatphobia and all that) which was so fun. this character essentially popped into my head last night, and the story will follow her development through the plot of the movie. after i left the theater, i realized i'd painted my nails to match mat’s costumes without realizing, and then suddenly WHOOM there she was. almost like magic. :)

enjoy!!

(also. even if the cartel’s offices don’t actually have balconies, THEY DO NOW.)

part two fic masterlist

"Free if you Truly Wish to Be", or, "the Chronicles of the Songbird", being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

Things were…fine.

In a world such as this one, there was very little luxury for a girl such as herself to hatch, nurture, and follow a dream. It would spark up in the purest of fashions and launch onto its way, glittering with promise of a life’s hopes fulfilled, only for the world around it to force it down a path of compromise and disillusionment until the dream’s poor follower found it nearly unrecognizable.

Such was the lot of Mrs. Florence Fickelgruber’s passion for performance. Long before either of these names were attached to her, she knew she longed to spend her life swept up in poetry and music, creating a better world through the arts she loved.

That dream, she often swore to herself, had not died.

It had simply…not turned out as planned.

For now, at least.

For a little over the past two years, more specifically.

It would have been nice to have the means and time to try to make her own fortune, to experience a sweeping romance with someone her own age, to live in a world fair enough that allowed her to both support her now-faraway family and live according to her ideals; it would have been nice indeed.

But for now, life was not quite nice, but fine. The sleekly fonted Fs that monogrammed nearly every surface in the mansion in which she lived had stood during the beginning months for her husband’s, and now her own, alliterative names. Now, she only saw them as golden signifiers of things being nothing more than Fine.

She was currently perched on an emerald-colored fainting couch in her husband’s office that, despite its plush craftsmanship, had lost any semblance of comfort long ago. She sat, and she considered the striking portrait of the two of them that hung over the fireplace, which they’d posed for when she’d still thought this was a good idea: a self-satisfied smirk rested on his face, and her emerald-manicured hand rested on his chest (intended by her to show her devotion, intended by the artist to show her ornate ring). She sat, and she looked into the hall, and she sat, and she stared out the window for a time, and she sat. Eventually, she picked up a set of paper and an emerald-set quill.

“What’s that you’re writing, darling?” came Felix’s voice from across the room, and she nearly sighed in annoyance, a direct contrast to the way her head snapped toward the sound.

There shouldn’t be a melody to that voice, she thought. Not when he only seems to initiate conversation at the exact moments I’ve decided to do something for myself.

“To the opera house,” she responded as he entered the room.

“Again? I thought they’d rejected you.”

“On the grounds that they were scared to hire me, they said, lest they write my role not fully to your liking and lose their concessions wares because of it.”

“Pish, posh.”

“Do you think, my love,” she asked, standing and moving to him, “that…well, would you dictate something I can write here, to reassure them? They’ll take your word over mine.”

“There wouldn’t be a point,” he said flippantly. “Besides, they’re right. Just keep singing for my radio commercials, darling; the customers love it. I can’t imagine you needing anything else. They’re installing our new grand piano next week, you can have all the little fun you’d like on that…”

Throughout this speech, he’d been digging through the pockets of his impeccably tailored blazer, eventually producing a cigarette.

“Give me a light, pet?”

She gritted her teeth as she lit his cigarette, and he brought it to his lips with a smile. She hated when he called her that.

It used to make her feel…wanted, wanted when nobody else did.

Now it just felt…

“I want to share my work,” she said, pushing aside the previous thoughts and pushing forward the previous conversation. “I want to have a genuine impact on the world.”

“And you will, I swear it. Once Fickelgruber Chocolate’s advertisements started using your voice, sales went up nearly twenty percent, and they’re only growing; if that’s not impact, what is?”

With that, he kissed her before she could give an answer-there was a time I would have romanticized that taste of cigarette smoke-took the half-finished letter, folded it so crisply it nearly ripped, and tossed it into the gold-leaf wastebasket.

“Felix-”

“Just wait until the new radio spots are released. It’ll be marvelous, darling.”

She should have known this was how it would be.

It had seemed too good to be true in the moment. To receive, after a performance in her home city, not only the praises of a world-famous chocolatier but also an offer to travel to and perform in his world-famous city, and later a proposal-albeit more businesslike than romantic-to be set for life, to provide for her struggling family; although, she’d come to learn, her husband would have wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her if he had known of her humble origins.

He’d just never bothered to ask.

Well, save for once-

“I assume you come from a good family?”

“Oh, yes, they’re the warmest souls you could ever-”

“Wonderful.”

I grew up nowhere near those obsessions with reputation; how was I to know he meant “good” in that sense?

Before she truly knew him, she had liked him. Felix was undeniably smart, and not unhandsome; she thought him to have a solid wit and an intriguing way of speech, with eyes and hands that would have been attractive on a kinder man. The clean lines and deep green hues that seemed to follow him everywhere suited her well, and she used to have reason to believe that association with him might give her a platform to create positive change, that he saw her as an equal in ambition and intellect.

Once they were married, once she’d seen him with the rest of his Cartel and realized the depth of his disdain, arrogance, classism, and general apathy for anything that was not himself, that reason to believe had dwindled faster than a sweet drop of hot chocolate on a waiting tongue.

…Not to mention that I could practically see him almost rescind his proposal when he learned I’m lactose intolerant.

But she’d suffered through the resulting throataches and occasional days of less-than-stellar singing that came with the barrage of dairy-filled sweets as she was announced to the world as the famed chocolatier’s fiancee, telling their story (which Felix embellished quite often) to the press over and over again.

“Yes, that’s right,” she remembered him saying on the television broadcast that announced the engagement, “my little songbird has finally found her golden cage.”

She had winced, forced to make it seem like a smile in the face of the blinding sea of flashbulbs. That had been the first moment in which she couldn’t ignore the deeper feeling that this was wrong, and she wondered if anyone watching would notice her flash of pain.

What she didn’t know was that, thousands of miles away, in the middle of a far-off ocean, a boy on a ship had been holding a tiny transmission screen (assisted somewhat by magic in order to obtain a stronger signal), eager to see the news about one of his idols, and that, despite his core tendency to give the benefit of the doubt, that idol lost a bit of his respect that day.

I shouldn’t have done this.

But if my family was still starving, all because I wanted to wait for someone kinder, someone who’d support my dreams, I couldn’t forgive myself.

She was startled from her thoughts by a shout calling from below the office, followed by…

A song.

Felix discarded his cigarette and went to the window, posturing into a lean against its frame, and Florence followed. His arm slunk around her waist, so her hand found its way to his chest; it was the portrait pose again, the frozen frame, the unspoken understanding.

I do love acting.

But I don’t know how much longer I can take a life of…offstage performances.

The boy in the center of the Galeria, though, seemed not to be putting on a persona for the crowd, but rather infusing his entire soul into his song to them. He was indeed meaning to sell something, but his passion for it shone brightly in a way she’d never seen from a businessman, present company included. The people that were starting to surround this young man hailed from all walks of life, and he beamed at them all with the same sunlit smile.

With a flourish, he opened the lid of the jar of candy that he held, and-

Oh!-

Each piece of chocolate had flown from its container and flitted into the air, leading to a gasp of delight from the crowd. Florence was able to suppress her own squeal, but couldn’t stop a flex of the hand, involuntarily causing her to grasp her husband’s tie.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Fickelgruber said, clearly misunderstanding his wife’s reaction, and with the tone of his voice clearly opposite of his words. “His charm over them will be…short-lived. Our business is perfectly safe.”

The boy finished his song to rapturous applause, and it took every ounce of Florence’s theatrical training to keep from joining it. She felt a shift next to her, and looked to the side to see her husband making pointed eye contact with his colleagues in their respective offices. The smirk that used to set her soul aflame-before she’d learned what it could mean-formed slowly across his face.

“Florence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Go home.”

“I-”

“We’ll take care of him. Go home.”

Saying this, he left her side and swiftly went out of the office, presumably to join forces with the rest of the Cartel in terrorizing the poor young man.

The moment Felix’s presence could no longer be felt, Florence let out a breath.

Turning back to the window, she considered the boy, who was wholly wrapped up in the joy of his work having an impact on those who witnessed it.

Tentatively, and with the slight smile of a small rebellion, she turned the window’s handle and stepped out onto the office’s balcony.

She wouldn’t let his light be dimmed in the same way she thought hers was.

And she would certainly not go home.

#wonka 2023 #wonka movie #wonka x reader #willy wonka x reader #wonka #willy wonka #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet #mat baynton #mathew baynton #mat baynton x reader #mathew baynton x reader #fiytwtb #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic

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ithaquasbbg · 9 months

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This prompt was like superhero or supervillain au.. left this on an open ending lol.

Hero - Morningstar! Ithaqua x reader

Pairing: morningstar! Ithaqua x reader

Tw: a little violence?? But not bad.

….

Helel sits down with his brows furrowed, watching as his brother dances around with the townsfolk at a celebration aimed for him. Truthfully, it was not just his, But helels as well, though the townspeople had never cared much for anyone other than Nebuchadnezzar, the glorious sun. Helel was viewed as nothing but a radical by the people, losing their support after his brothers coronation.

A sigh escapes the young princes lips as he gets up and walks towards the garden, unaware of his brothers piercing glare from the other side of the ballroom. The air outside is cold, accompanied by one of the first snows of their long winter. It takes only a few seconds for him to notice the sound of footsteps in the far end of the garden, quickly getting up and grabbing a shovel from the fence behind him as he walks towards the source of the sound.

“Show yourself!-” His voice sounds unsure of itself as he holds up the shovel. Not even a moment later he sees a young person, you, dressed in fine clothing, signifying you were one of the guests. “May I help you?” You ask, looking at him as he slowly lowers the shovel, placing it on the ground as he shakes his head, a flush on his cheeks due to the embarrassment of it all.

You know the rumors about the prince being quite a rude person, about him being more entitled than anyone else in the kingdom, but something keeps you near him. Perhaps it was the way his eyes looked at you with a look of genuine interest or the way that he shifts nervously on his feet, much different from the rumors you’d heard. “I thought you were an intruder is all.” He stammered, avoid eye contact with you as if he life depends on it.

“Well…” you laugh, slowly raising one of your gloved hands to grab the princes chin, turning it towards you in order to get a better look. “I’m not an intruder, now am I?” His cheeks flush a deep red, eyes widening as he nods, voice failing him when he opens his mouth to speak.

The moment is not long lived, however as you hear the kings laughter from behind Helel. You knew Nebuchadnezzar well, since a young age a marriage with him had been in discussion, though it doesn’t mean you have any affinity for the king, if anything you saw him as a dirty liar. “Well, brother, don’t you know to not speak to your brothers romantic interests?” Helel pales, avoiding eye contact with his brother as he nods, simply stepping away and whispering a quick “I’m sorry.”

Nebuchadnezzar shoos his brother away while he turns to you, laughing at his brother quietly. “(Name), somebody like Helel isn’t worth your time, really. You know how terrible his attitude is, right my dear?” You’re given no choice but to nod along as you watch Helel trek inside. “Your brother doesn’t seem all that-”

“Bad?” Nebuchadnezzar laughs, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “Must I tell you more about how bratty my brother is?” The silence between the two of you is thick as you nod along, feeling guilt swirling in your chest. “Now, I want you to follow me, I’m sure I’m much more entertaining than my brother ever could be.”

Slowly, you look between the two brothers and step away from the king, shaking your head slowly. “..Actually, he’s done nothing wrong. I’d rather stay in your brothers company.” This takes a lot of nerve for you to say, and it shocks Nebuchadnezzar, anger visible on his face before he takes a breath, simply turning away and walking inside.

You look back at Helel with a smile, seeing how he stares at you with a wide eyes. “Is there something wrong, Helel?-” He shakes his head, taking a second to clear his throat. “No no.. nothings wrong I just didn’t expect anyone to say no to my brother, is all..” there’s a moment of silence before you stop what you’re doing, glaring at where Nebuchadnezzar was a second ago. “Somebody needs to teach him to treat you better, you seem sweet.”

This shocks him, and for a moment you can swear you see his eyes begin to water, only to be stopped a second later as he turns away, taking a moment to work up the courage to speak again. “You.. thank you.” You give Helel a smile back, holding your hand out for him to shake it, a big smile on your face. “I’m (Name), it’s a pleasure to get to meet the prince in person.”

“Please, just call me Helel.” He scratches the back of his neck, offering s small smile for you. “But, everything Nebuchadnezzar has said about me.. why don’t you believe it?” It takes a moment for you to come up with a reply, whispering the answer. “I’ve seen you with your brother, the way your face lights up at any interaction at all.. you don’t seem bratty, honestly.. just like a normal person.” You pause for a second, checking once again for the king. “If anything? Your brother seems more pretty than you, especially after just now.”

….

That night, you find yourself being snuck into the castle by Helel, talking with him for a few more hours, the two of you enjoying each others company. This turns into a routine between you two, speaking together whenever nobody else is awake to witness this, especially Nebuchadnezzar. But despite your best efforts to keep your friendship, and slowly budding relationship hidden from the king, it’s only a matter a time before he finds out.

That night was a harsh one, a blizzard outside as you and Helel lay together, you resting your head on his chest, leaning in for a kiss. Though, the moment is cut short when the kings attendants pull you and Helel apart, Nebuchadnezzar walking into the room with a wide grin. “Ah, it’s a shame this is the scene I walk in on, isn’t it?” He laughs as you and Helel struggle to get out of his attendants grasp, spewing a variety of curses at him until he grabs you by the hair, slamming your head into the wall as Helel screams, eyes wide as he watches in terror.

“Brother, you’re lucky I don’t kill you.” He mumbles, watching as blood trickles down from your nose after the hit, wiping some of it off. “Especially after you continued to pursue them, I thought it was common knowledge to not keep flirting with somebody your brother was interested in after all..”

Helel grits his teeth, lunging at his brother only to get tackled onto the ground, face shoved into the floor as he continues to struggle. “I never want to see you again, Helel, and if I do, rest assured I won’t hesitate to kill you.” Shortly after, Helel feels himself being dragged out of the castle, unable to see due to a blindfold being put on him. He’s taken through the forest before he’s thrown into the snow beneath him and left, presumably to die.

…..

He doesn’t know what keeps him going, what inspires him to seek out revenge on his brother. But he finds himself years later with an army behind him, charging into the place he once called home. The fight is brutal, bloody, Helel being forced to watch some of his most dear friends he’s made over his time in exile pass, all in order to remove Nebuchadnezzar from power.

And when he does, stepping out onto a balcony to greet his new subjects, he’s no longer viewed as a villain by the people, instead he’s viewed as a hero. Instead, his chained up twin brother is jeered at, the world seeing him for the villain he truly is. Despite the way he feels guilty, seeing his brother, his own flesh and blood begging for mercy at the feet of those who he once oppressed, Helel knows this is the only way to restore what is right in the world.

He remembers you though all of this, and searches through the kings records for any idea of if you could still he alive, where you could be. After days of searching, he comes across a room in the cellar of the castle that wasn’t there years prior. It takes him a great deal of courage to walk in there himself, seeing you laying on the floor shivering.

“(Name)..?” He gets on his knees next to you, giving a small smile as he watches you look up at him, eyes widening as you see him. “You came back for me..?” You ask, voice barely audible, though it seems to be enough for Helel, who nods with a smile, slowly unchaining you. “Nobody will ever hurt you again, I promise..”

He holds your shivering body close to him, wrapping you up in his cape in an attempt to warm you. Once you get to his room, he fills a tub of warm water, taking his time to wash you. Slowly, he brings his hand up to rest on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle smile, despite the guilt he still feels. Despite his guilt and fear you wouldn’t still love him after what you had been through, he feels you leaning into his touch, smiling back at him even with your bruised face.

For the next weeks, he takes care of you in any way he could. Though all he had wanted was to hear you speak his name once more, to hear you say you loved him the way you once had. He buries these feelings though, instead choosing to hug you close to him at night, hands running through your hair absentmindedly. But just as he’s about to give up, he hears your voice again. “Helel, you really are my hero, you know that?” His eyes widen as he stares at you, tears welling up in his eyes “no, I couldn’t be- I let this happen to you.” You shake your head, leaning in and kissing him gently. “You saved me.. Helel, I love you more than anything else, you really are a hero. Not just to me, but for all the people you saved.”

He finds himself crying in your arms that night. All he had ever wanted was to be appreciated and loved by those around him, and it seems after years and years of hoping, he finally achieved that. Slowly, his cries slow down as you plant one more kiss on his forehead, smiling at him while he sleeps. “You’re still just as cute as when I met you, all that time ago..”

#idv fandom #idv fanfic #idv headcanons #idv imagines #idv x reader #idv scenarios #idv matchup #idv ithaqua #idv night watch #identity v ithaqua #night watch idv #night watch #ithaqua x reader #ithaqua idv #idv #Ithaqua

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ichinoue · 9 months

Note

"Well guys, it's 2023 and here's another dolt ranting about pronouns in the lust arc, just like the IH Fail essay that ended up being a fail in and of itself."

No its 2023 and people are deciding to keep ot real with you instead of deluding themselves and changing fhe narrtive to cater to a ship.

Respectfully, lets not speak on a language we dont know shit about, lmao.

Ichigo omits the pronoun when he tells rukia 'i've come to save you' in soul society that's because he was literally speaking to her, had been bickering with her from the previous page and had already told her he was there to rescue her back on the bridge - so he didn't need to specify to her 'who' he'd come to save: this is a typical example of "japanese omitting pronouns because they're obvious"

in the lust arc, ichigo is quite literally unconscious and unaware of his surroundings: in order to make it clear to the readers that ichigo recognized orihime, a pronoun (actually not even, he should have used her damn name like ichigo always did when he thought about rukia in ss) **needed** to be there without it, especially coupled with the fact that he speaks in broken japanese from that moment to the end of his transformation (i.e. he uses a mix of kanji and katakana, the latter of which is only used for foreign words, robots or - in bleach's case - hollows, and usually to signify that the speaker is just muttering sounds and doesn't understand the actual meaning of what they're saying), and the fact that he literally quite literally proceeds to throw orihime off the dome with absolutely no care for her well being, it's damn obvious that he had no idea who was yelling at him, he was only aware of the fact that someone was asking for help and got triggered by the word 'save'

"I mean this is just hilarious to me. Here's Orihime and Ichigo, literally placed together in side by side panels as Ichigo continues to chant about protecting...And ichiruki shippers are like, "hmmm well, it's not super clear who he's talking about because there's no pronoun so...I guess we'll never know 🤷‍♀️."

So being places together in panels side by side means he's referring to her? May I remind u he's just raised from the dead, and orihime is shocked as she processes what's happening. Those panels were to emphasise that. Not only have u attempted to educate me on the Japanese language and failed, you've now tried to say side by side panels somehow equates to the fact that he's referring to her? 💀.

"You think Kubo drew this^ entire page, at such a pivotal moment, to show that Orihime's...wrong? Like some sort of gag? She's just *imagining* that Ichigo rose up for her, but it's not actually true? That's...certainly an interesting way to interpret things lmao."

This was orihimes own perception of the situation. Orihime isn't a fact page, she's her own charecter with her own dialogue and thought. The fact she perceived it that way doenst mean its the case. She didn't imagine anything, it jsut looked that way too her, may I remind you she was the one screaming. She knows she's the person the screams belong too, ichigo doesn't. So of course she's gonna think it's here fault, common sense people.

You also proceeded to bring more asspulls and try and say how the databook confirms its about orihime when it was in third person.

"The readers aren't the ones who bound Ichigo to Orihime's screams (especially not you, anon, since you keep insisting it had nothing to do with her lmao). Kubo did that. That's how he meant for this scene to be interpreted: that Ichigo was bound to Orihime's screams. But you're still here fighting against it for some reason lol."

Did kubo tell u that he meant for the scene to be interpretated this way? Or did some angel come to you in ur dream and tell u that? If thats true, kubo wouldve simply added confirmation that hes talking about orihime by adding pronouns or her name. Instead he doesnt do that and has ichigo propell her away

He was bound to her screams, it's just that he didn't know the screams belonged to her, as long as those screams belonged to someone, he's gonna get up... that's who he is. It could've been anyone else screaming there and he would've stood his ass the fuck up, that's his charecter and what he does. Lmao you think this would go without saying, but the lengths ppl go for shipping is hilarious.

"Ichigo did know she was calling out to him. It was part of his internal monologue, as she's screaming, before he hollowfied. Whether the pronoun is there or not (because again, the pronoun for her doesn't *need* to be there to make it clear who he's talking about when she's clearly the only person screaming, placed directly next to a panel of him rising him up...) he could hear her voice. He could hear her calling him. He ruminated over ORIHIME'S screams and was bound to ONLY that purpose. Only her. "

He could hear her voice, he just didn't know it was her. Just that it was somebody, it's not that hard to grasp. There's nothing wrong with ichigo not knowing it's orihime but since shipping has rotten yalls brains, it has to be about the Princess hime, and not about ichigos own charecter, because everything has to be about orihime, right? (💀).

Your opinion on this probably won't change, that's granted as a deluded shipper. What also won't change, is the fact that this isn't an ichihime moment. U attempted to educate me on the japanese language and failed, I recommend doing more research time. I also reccomend not bothering to reply to things like these if ur arguement is just gonna end with "well ichihime is canon, deal with it" because it makes u look silly to say the least, and has nothing to do with the convo.

how i sleep knowing ichigo literally rose up from the dead for his future wife 🥰

#fkljgdfkjglkjgk

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yumimak · 1 year

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Anomaly- Chapter 1

Neteyam

Sky People.

The invasive species that have somehow found themselves on our planet, on our land, and even in our clan.

I’ve known of these people my entire life. My own father used to be one of them and even one of my siblings' closest friends is one of them. The two scientists standing before me were even a part of the species.

Many people in our clan fear the sky people, only accepting Spider since he was raised among us. I can never say I have feared them though, my dad being the man who prevented that. But that does not mean I necessarily like the sky people, or want any more of them around than we already have.

My father feels the same way hence why his ears shoot up alertly when one of the human scientists mentions bringing two more sky people to their lab.

Norm had been trying to convince my dad to meet with him for the past month. Seeing as he is very busy, making the time to be here had been very hard. Had he known what Norm and Max were going to ask he would have said no before even arriving, let alone drag Lo’ak and I along.

I look over at my brother who stands on the opposing side of my dad, he looks annoyed as he brings his face mask up to his face to take a breath. I understand why though, I had been brought here to see how an Olo’eyktan would handle situations with the human scientists, but Lo’ak was here simply as punishment. He had stayed out past the eclipse and seeing as he hated meetings, my father made him join us here.

“You two really begged me here to ask a stupid ass question like that? No, you can not invite any more humans here,” my dad bluntly responds.

“Well they are not exactly humans per say,” Norm corrects. “They are more a mix between humans and na’vi.”

“Okay, so they are avatars? That doesn’t change my decision.” My dad moves to leave but the other scientist, Max, steps in front of his colleague.

“Jake, please fully hear us out.”

My dad sighs before stepping slightly back, signifying he would hear them out. Max nods to Norm, signifying for him to continue. “Okay well,” Norm states, “These two, these siblings, are not avatars as you once were. They are quite literally a genetic mix of both humans and na’vi.”

Lo’ak and I give eachother an interesting look before my dad responds, “Norm, look, I understand how as a scientist you may find that interesting, but they were raised around humans and that mindset. How would we know that this isn’t just some plot to invade us? Contact with that RDA base alone is so dangerous, Norm, let alone bringing them to us, you know that. In fact, how do you know about them at all?”

“Well.. about five years-”

“Five years?!”

“Let him finish,” Max cuts my dad off. Only a few were bold enough to do so, but seeing as they were friends, my dad simply complied.

“About five years ago,” Norm resumes, “Our signal was interrupted by the RDA base.” Those words not only further peak my brother and I’s interest but also my fathers. Norm, Max, and the other human scientists here had apparently spent years perfecting their signal security to keep data away from the RDA.

It had been strong, nobody had been able to get through it. Or, so we thought.

“I thought that was impossible,” my dad states.

“So did we,” Norm responds.

“But one of the two, the girl, was able to get through it like it was nothing,” Max adds. “Not to mention she was only thirteen at the time.”

“Although impressive,” my dad states, “I don’t see why this should make me welcome them here.”

“Well,” Norm starts again, “I had stayed in touch with her after that day. She was young and curious, but most importantly hated everything the RDA had been ingrained into their brains. I taught her about Pandora outside of what I knew the RDA had been saying to her. I taught her that the na’vi were not the ‘animalistic species’ that the humans wanted them to think they were.”

“That sounds great and all, but the clan is not a charity center. We can’t just take in random people because we feel bad.”

“Yes, I know that, Jake,” Norm says, frustration lightly dripping from his tongue. “But frankly I think it’s the least you could do.”

“Oh yeah, what have they done for me that should make me want to let them here?”

“Um, let’s think about how few raids you have had recently.. you think the RDA was just backing off? No, it was them cleverly sabotaging any plan they could have. Or how that girl has spent the past few years manipulating their experiments to avoid scientific developments that could lead to your demise. They risk themselves so often for people they have only heard of and they are only eighteen, Jake.”

“Not to mention all the things they must know,” Max cuts in. “All the info they must take in on the daily that you could benefit from in avoiding the RDA and their restriction. You need to think more strategically, man.”

I look up at my dad, he’s pondering their words yet his demeanor says no, it says that he will not back down on his initial answer.

“Come on, Jake,” Norm says. “These kids just want a normal life, one that they certainly won't get at that lab especially if they stay any longer. You know what it’s like being young and seeking a chance of actually making something of yourself. Don’t deprive them of that chance.”

Before my dad could make up his mind the distant sound of what seemed like the heavy front door shutting from somewhere else in the building sounds. There are two voices, one of a boy who is laughing, and the other of a girl which seems to be telling the boy to ‘shut the fuck up.’

The attention instantly falls back on the two scientists whose faces are both of guilt. “I know you did not bring them here anyway,” my dad mumbles in a mix of anger, annoyance, and just plain frustration.

“Well we thought that you were going to say yes and we just thought that this meeting was going to be three days ago which is how long their trip was,” Norm blurted out.

As the voices of the two get closer, my fathers lowers. “You two realize that as of now they have no set place to go? This was a dumb decision.”

“No, they can stay here until then, Jake, just please don’t push them away. Not yet, not until you’ve at least met them.”

“Fine,” my dad breathes out once more as our attention all draws to the door of the lab we were currently in as the voices draw nearer.

“It can’t possibly be that bad,” the boy laughs.

“Could you just shut up?” the girl asks in annoyance. “Where the hell is Norm?”

“LITTLE SCIENTIST FRIEND!!” the boy calls out. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” The sound of a slap echoes through the halls, “Owww.”

“Stop yelling, dumbass,” the girl mumbles.

My dad sends an unimpressed look to Norm who’s face reddens in embarrassment before he speaks up, “We’re in here!”

The directions of their footsteps seem to change. “Who is ‘we?’” the girl asks as she slightly ducks to make it through the doorway. She pauses though when she sees my father, my brother and I.

Before she can say anything else though, a loud thud sounds from behind her. The boy, who seemed to not have noticed how low the door frames were, holds his head where he had harshly hit it. “Ah shit,” he mumbles, as he ducks to properly enter the lab.

The girl instantly breaks out into laughter, one hand covering her mouth and the other holding on her side. I think at that brief moment we all, excluding Norm and Max, noticed one defining trait of the two. They looked exactly the same, they were twins.

But of course other traits drew our attention, like the fact that despite their obviously human faces, they had tails and the boy had a que falling from the back of his head. Or the fact that they had the same striped marking as us, but instead of blue, their skin was that of a human shade. They had five fingers similarly to half of my family, but the same ears that all na’vi had.

“Would you stop laughing?” the boy asks, his hand still holding his forehead in pain.

The girl still laughs as she mocks previous words that had been heard from down the hall, “Awh, come on. It can’t possibly be that bad.”

The boy grimaces at his twin while I take the chance to look up at my dad once again. His eyes were transfixed on the twins as I had, yet they had fully softened as the same realization that we all had set in.

They truly were just kids.

“Guys,” Norm says, drawing their attention back to our side of the room.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbles as he pulls his hand away from his face, although his eye still narrows from the pain in his head.

The girl still has a slight smile on her face though as the two of them make their way towards our side of the room. As they draw nearer I pick up on the fact that although they are significantly taller than Norm and Max, they are also much shorter than the average na’vi.

“What were you two fussing about in the hallway?” Max asks as the twins simultaneously reach behind them, in between their jacket and their back, removing a small handgun from their respective waist bands. As if heavily coordinated to move in sync, they both unload their guns, sliding the thing that holds the bullets into their left pocket and placing the guns on one of the tables near the entrance.

The boy answers when they finally join the group of us at the center of the lab, “She got hurt and has been complaining about it for the past five hours.”

We all look at the girl but she just grimaces up at her brother before sighing and looking at Norm. “I got stung by like three Zezi’,” she explains, her pronunciation of the na’vi insect rolling off her tongue almost perfectly.

Norm’s face turns into one of concern, “Can I see?”

The girl nods before letting her jacket fall off her shoulders. She wore one of those very small shirts that I've seen pictures of human women wear. With her jacket gone, the marks that scattered over her skin in the same way that bioluminescent marks would scatter over na’vi bodies were now visible. But instead of glowing, the majority of the marks were just a darker shade of her normal skin shade, humans call them freckles.

Besides her marks, the most obvious thing presented on her exposed torso were the three huge, red stings that had definitely been left by the Zezi’. Knowing how bad just one of those stings are; my dad, Lo’ak, and I all wince at even the sight of the three of them. The girl rolls her eyes at our reaction, mumbling, “You’re telling me.”

Norm nods over to one of the lab benches near us before going off to grab something, “Sit up there, I have something that will help.”

The girl moves to the table, her brother in tow. She hops up on to the table where he simply leans against it. Jake looks to Max, expecting something that he was not getting. “um,” Max stumbles out, “Why don’t you two introduce yourself to my good friend Jake.”

“The Olo’eyktan?” the boy asks.

“Mhmm,” Norm hums as he returns. He has a tiny jar in his hands, “he and his children are eager to meet you.”

The twins' eyes flicker to my father who was visibly frustrated. “He doesn’t look eager,” the girl states.

“What’s up with you?” the boy asks.

Norm sighs at their questioning as he opens the jar beside the girl. He removes a leaf that had been soaked in a medicine that my grandmother had made him to help with healing these wounds. “Well, I can’t say that I am excited to be welcoming you too.”

The girl rolled her eyes before mumbling to Norm, “You didn’t tell me he was so rude.”

“Y/n,” Norm warns her away from speaking ill of my father.

“What? I’m just saying tha- ah shit!” The girl, who’s apparently called ‘Y/n,’ sentence is cut short when Norm places the leaf against one of the stings. Her ears fold down and she squeezes her eyes shut. In contrast to her, the boy beside her ears shoots up in alertness as he seems to check on his sister.

“Sorry,” Norm mumbles. The girl brushes him off before she looks back to my dad, expecting him to finish explaining himself.

He does just that. “I am not excited because I had no clue you too were going to be here. Considering you guys are coming from our main enemy, I don’t think I can let you simply join our clan.”

The twins look at my dad as if they have seen a ghost, they are so distracted by his words that Y/n doesn't even seem to notice when Norm placed another leaf, aside from her stifled inhale. “What do you mean you didn’t know?” the boy asks.

The girl looks at Norm, slightly pushing him away before he could place the last leaf. “I thought you said that he was okay with it.”

Norm’s face turns red in guilt, “Well I was expecting him to say yes sooner.” As he explains himself he places the last leaf. This time, when he places the leaf, the girl seems to express the pain by hitting Norm in the arm. “Oww,” he says, holding his arm. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot! You really made Noah and I take that long ass trip without even knowing if he would let us stay or not?”

“I thought he was going to meet with me sooner. I thought that by the time he said yes you would have already been on your way here, my timing just didn’t work out. But, he’s at least thinking about it.”

Y/n looks to my dad hopefully. Norm looks to my dad with the same look, except his begs for my dad to lie for his own sake. Despite either look, my idiot of a brother decides to instigate, “He never said that.”

“Look, kid,” my dad says solemnly. “You have to understand it from my point of view. I am the leader of the clan and me allowing you too to simply join would not be smart on my part. You come from the people that threaten the existence of my very clan. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

The boy's ears are flat against his head when he responds, “Yes.”

My dad looks at the girl next but she has somewhat of a defiant look etched onto her face. “Do you?” my dad questions again.

“Well, I do, but I don’t necessarily agree,” she responds. “I think your logic is flawed.”

With those simple words, the atmosphere shifts. Nobody challenged my dad ever; not on his plans, not on his logic. The only people who had a say were my mother and my grandmother. Definitely not the random girl that had randomly arrived here merely a few minutes ago.

“Y/n,” Max warns this time, taking a step closer to the two.

“No,” my dad says, putting a hand up before looking back at the girl. “What’s wrong with my logic?”

“Well,” the girl starts as she pulls her legs up onto the table and crosses them. “I totally understand you wanting to protect your people. There is nothing wrong with that, but I feel that if you push us away you’d only be harming the clan you’re trying so hard to protect. I mean, you haven’t even considered why we’re even here, because I assure you it’s not just for kicks and giggles.”

My dad sighs, “Why are you here?”

A smug smile covers her face, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“We’re here because we want to help you,” her brother cuts in, getting the conversation back on track.

“Why would I need help?” my dad asks.

“Maybe because the RDA is making plans that you’d most likely never see coming.”

“Plans that my brother and I are very much aware of,” Y/n starts back. “Even with future plans out of the picture, you’ve got to have noticed how little raids you have had. That was us. And in all honesty, if I wanted to bring harm to your people I could've drained every bit of info these scientists had when I had intercepted your lousy signal five years ago. But I didn’t, because I care about your land and your people. We both do. But with the way things are going now, even our attempts at holding them back are faltering. And us being there, with those scientists, will only progress the speed of their progress.”

“What plans?” my dad.

Her mouth almost turns down into a frown before she speaks again, “Well they no longer seek unobtainium as they used to. At this point they seek to make Pandora the new habitat for humans.”

“Which is why we even exist at the moment,” the boy adds.

“What?” Lo’ak asks a question that I know the three of us are all pondering.

“Okay,” the girl restarts. “At first the RDA seeked data and resources from the land. But seeing the downwards spiral that Earth is going through, they are now seeking to make Pandora the new Earth. They no longer want what you can give them, they want your people gone and for being’s like Noah and I to replace the na’vi, making it a new, human conquered and inhabited land.”

“So they’ve just thrown the whole Avatar Program out the window?” My dad asks, heavily hanging on to each of her words.

“And what’s the difference between you two and an avatar?” I ask.

The girl looked between the two of us before answering my dad first, “Yes, they closed down the Avatar Program about three years after you left, Mr. Sully. And to answer your question,” she looks at me, “Avatar are simply bodies that inhabit the mind of a human. Noah and I are genetically bound to these bodies how you are to yours and how humans are to their original form without the Avatar.”

The girl lifts her five-fingered hand, looking at it as she speaks, “Noah and I were born into these bodies.” She drops her hand before looking at my father, “After years of research they’ve found out how to create a perfect mix between na’vi and human traits. It’s a true and honest fact that should scare the shit out of you because if they are able to reproduce our DNA then they are just one step closer to replacing humankind with beings like us. And another step closer to getting rid of your people.”

There is a frighteningly still silence in the air as Noah speaks again, “Not to mention the specific vendetta that Quaritch has against you.”

“Oh yeah, that man hates your guts.”

The name shocks all of us, Lo’ak and I had only ever heard of it from stories of the war that was fought many years ago. We were told that he was dead though, the only living trace of him on this planet being his son Spider. My dads eyes narrow as he steps closer to them, “Where did you hear that name?!”

“Um, most recently..?”

“Probably, five days ago when he got mad at Y/n and I and we were called to his office.”

Y/n laughs as she looks over to her brother and further explains, “He was so pissed because we had missed our training and apparently it was ‘crucial for us to be there.’”

“Your impression of him is so bad,” he laughs.

“I’d like to see you do better.”

“Okay then,” he responds, accepting her challenge as he deepens his voice and mimics the man they speak of. “‘You too were supposed to be there, it was crucial-’”

“Enough!” My dad announces before their games can continue. Their ears drop as they look to my father, an almost fearful expression on each of their faces. Their scared expression dissolves when they turn and see it was just my dad. As if they expected the yell to have come from someone else. “This is not a game, it is not funny to joke about this. Quaritch is dead.”

The girl shakes her head, “The old white man you called ‘Quaritch’ may be dead, but his consciousness is most definitely alive and thriving.”

“They gave him an Avatar?” my dad asks in disbelief.

Noah nods, “Yep, he’s now a tall blue man with lots of guns and a bunch of other Avatars beneath him.”

“And all of them seek the destruction of you and everyone you love,” the girl finishes. Her eyes flickering over to Lo’ak and I, “Which seems to now include more than just Neytiri.” My dad’s jaw clenches yet his ears lower against his face. The twins have just brought all of my dads possible fears to life without even realizing it. Y/n notices this look, “But if you let us stay here a lot of this can be prevented. Recreating our DNA will be difficult if Noah and I aren’t there. And we swear to give you everything we know for the greater good of your clan. We just need you to promise that you’ll protect us in return.”

Her last sentence is one pack with longing. As if out of all the words she had spoken, those twelve words were the only ones that truly mattered to her.

My dad lets out a heavy sigh, “I can’t just let you in to the clan-”

The twins' ears drop and their mouths fall into deep frowns.

“-without speaking to Neytiri and Mo’at. It will take a lot of convincing, but if they say yes then I will allow it.”

They react twice as fast to those words, ears peeking up words and big smiles forming that allow their pointed canines to be revealed, “Really?!”

“Yes, it’s not a promise that they will say yes, but you can stay here even if they say no.”

Swinging tails show their excitement. “Thank you so much, sir,” the boy says.

My dad can’t fight his smile as he nods to the two before excusing us. They wave goodbye as we exit the lab, removing our masks and leaving the building. The second we are back outside, my fathers smile drops and he sighs.

“What’s wrong, dad?” Lo’ak asks.

“Nothing,” he responds, “It’s just..”

“You aren’t going to ask, mom?” I question, my stomach sinking at the idea of my father giving the twins false hope. “No, no. I will ask, I just.. I just fear they will say no.”

#netayam #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam x f!reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #found family #tuk x reader #lo’ak x reader #kiri x reader #fanfics #avatar #avatar fic #avatar way of water #relationship

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glasskey · 8 days

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THT True Love and Double Trouble Remix Part 2.

It’s time for part 2 of our love triangle remixes and let’s not fool ourselves, from the moment we saw this one flexing in the garden in front of June, we knew he was nothing but trouble. He’s the customary “bad boy” portion of this love triangle, as such he’s required to be broody, romantic and pensive. As with all who occupy this coveted position: Black wardrobe IS optional, but preferred.

NICK

From seasons 1-5 Blaine plays the role of the reluctant loyal knight flawlessly, he’s constantly conflicted and repeatedly says that he’s just trying to “survive” and “stay out of trouble”. As such I was instantly reminded of the classic Leia / Luke and Han Solo love triangle, with the loveable, uber-cocky Solo constantly claiming he wants nothing to do with the rebellion and that he urgently owes some cash to a giant space slug. In the end Solo redeems himself, runs away with the girl to join the rebellion, and Luke, well Luke turns out to be her brother…..which was just weird. However in the Handmaids Tale, Nick is far more than simply the “loveable rogue”. He represents part of the masses of America, specifically lower working class males that were manipulated by right wing factions into doing their bidding in order to seize power. He is first introduced as someone of “low status” engaged in manual labor, he dresses in more casual attire and lives above the garage instead of the main house. It’s a statement about separating the wealthy from the working class.

These individuals are usually targeted because they’re vulnerable, disillusioned and therefore easy to recruit and manipulate. They’re searching for any kind of answer to their problems and as such they are susceptible to propaganda. They’re easy to mold in one’s own image due to the absence of sufficient guidance, thus Nick’s unending search for a father figure. Like many others Nick was “groomed” into this cause at a young age, a method tantamount to abuse or cult like programming. Photographs of Nick shown in S4 depict him to be in his early to mid 20’s, during his introduction to the Son’s of Jacob, a highly impressionable and vulnerable age.

These types of individuals are unquestioningly loyal because, having lived in poverty their entire lives, they respond to the slightest reward. Throughout the seasons we witness increasing servitude, as position and thus personal debt rises. Privilege, guilt, fear and incremental freedoms are all effective ways to drive devotion to a cause. When Nick is promoted to Commander, it is done not so much as a reward for service, but rather as a means to tighten the leash for his recent insubordination. Seeing their wayward son’s rebellious act, Gilead’s response is simply to clutch him tighter.

As diminutive as Nick’s role in the current role of Gilead government appears to be, his importance is huge conceptually. His original role is as one in the Sons of Jacob and his journey represents the rise of the next generation of political power. Nick personifies a level of compliance in young men that grows from simply turning up to a rally to military force and deadly violence. Nick, like those around him lives in a state of somewhat coercive control. They’ve been isolated, denied support, monitored, tracked and intimidated. Nick’s given only as much freedom as someone ALLOWS and there are always limits such as curfews, check points, and a heavily patrolled border. Having possessed freedom once before, the memory is still quite vivid, and the lure to return to it is extremely strong. He’s depicted as scared, servile and at times cowardly but despite this, Nick slowly begins to make increasingly impactful decisions of his own accord that signifies a rising tide of rebellion. He’s identified clearly throughout both texts as a member of Mayday, an underground secretive operation that June later leads, and consequently Nick is portrayed as mysterious and irresistibly drawn to June.

To Nick, June is freedom and enlightenment; she is constantly haloed in glowing light and speaks with an unvarnished truth and compassion that shames his fear or ignorance. She represents a choice that he must make between servitude to a dictatorship or freedom and democracy. Throughout the seasons we witness his constant inner conflict as his sense of commitment and fear battle with his heart and his better angels. As such Nick views June as a savior, much like a broken country views the voice of liberation, serving her out of love and conscience rather than obligation or fear. Blaine is constantly shrouded in black, seeping out of the shadows rather than actually ever entering a door. However his moments of connection with June are bathed in a dreamy “golden hour” lighting: the brief and beautiful window of time during sunrise or sunset. It highlights the ethereal romanticism and the inevitable brevity of their precious moments together.

It’s no coincidence that he conceives Holly with June, who leads directly to the downfall of Gilead. During S1 we witness Nick somewhat content to survive within Gilead’s bounds, but when June becomes pregnant with his own daughter, Nick realizes what his involvement with Gilead may personally cost him. The progress of June’s pregnancy and Holly’s presence signify a growing bond between them, and increasing level of loyalty from Blaine. In S5 when Tuello tries to enlist Blaine’s help he specifically asks if he would like to hold his daughter instead of asking about her, an allusion to freedom and an increased commitment to Canada. “Children look to their fathers” June reminds Nick in 5 09, Holly is watching….waiting, so too is his country.

Nick Blaine has continuously displayed the need for a father figure, it’s common trait amongst young recruits of these right wing factions; the desire for a dominant figure to guide them. This longing is a sign of Nick’s lack of self-esteem and personal strength. Throughout the seasons we’ve observed this figures personality changing over time as his loyalties shift and he slowly gathers strength. His break with Lawrence to make a deal with Tuello indicates a transition from a mere subordinate to a respected partner, a bridge to his future family.

In S5, we get a rare glimpse inside Blaine’s mind’s eye, as he fantasizes about a passionate exchange between June and himself. They are flooded with a blinding light, a sign of the intensity of his obsessive love for her. There is almost an uncontainable sense of appetite in the way Blaine physically connects with her, as if constantly waiting for the briefest opportunity to breathe her in, like free air. Blaine is written to be an enigma, he embodies a theme, but defies solid definitions. He’s intentionally elusive, almost impossible to pin down because he’s constantly shifting and wrestling with his inner demons. Contrary to popular belief it is actually June who saves Blaine, for from the beginning we’ve seen him barely keep his head above water. His lack of self-worth constantly tempts him to submit to Gilead’s influence and it is only her presence that keeps him from doing so. Given the themes that these two embody it’s logical to see Gilead thrive when these two are seperated. In S5 we saw him lose hope in June’s absence, fall under Lawrence’s spell and acquiesce to Gilead’s will. In S 5 Blaine appeared like a figure caught in a rushing river, in 5 09 June reached out a hand, only to find him already drowning.

In 5 10 we saw him claw and fight his way out from the murky depths, reborn……and angry. Nick’s words to Tuello on the bridge: “she has a family who cares about her. I’m nothing” echoes the lack of self-worth that made Nick such easy prey for Gilead. “No you’re not Commander, not to her” Tuello replies; Nick is still part of her countries lost masses, she will not forsake him for her own new found freedom. Blaine may have chosen to break his bond with Gilead when he walked across that bridge, but the reality is he’ll need June and her rebellion to truly claim his liberty and pride.

At the risk of drawing some heat, I’ll share some personal thoughts on the Nick we’ve seen thus far; while he’s certainly gone above and beyond to protect June and his own daughter, he’s continued to participate in the goings on of Gilead. It’s important to acknowledge Nick’s role as one that was active and continuously conflicted, and not entirely romanticize his character or simply paint him as a victim. He was intentionally created as a complex and multi-faceted character designed to depict someone with choices, regrets, vulnerabilities and the ability to grow and change. It’s what humanizes him and allows us to connect, because let’s be honest, sometimes as human beings we aren’t our best selves, we fuck up….and Nick Blaine did….and sometimes he still does.

He’s designed to personify an entire section of society, their choices and their role in this regime. As such it’s a mistake to be reductive about who he is and what he’s done. It’s wrong to minimize his incredible journey of personal growth in the face of so much adversity. He’s the perfect “diamond in the rough”, but the nature of this character is that they’re good hearted, seriously flawed, conflicted and take a fair bit of time to get to where they need to go.

He’s the classic enigmatic, noir type character; silent and stoic, but revealing so much with a word, a gesture or even their silence. These characters allow the viewer to project their own perspective upon them based on the smallest of cues. As such the hopeless romantics see him as a lover, the suspicious see him as a traitor, and the pragmatists, like myself, see him as a simple man. Looking back, I see now I have projected so many of my own strengths and vulnerabilities onto Blaine, and I’m left wondering; where does it end and the writer’s intent begin? Perhaps mine and Millers concept of Blaine are an ocean apart. For me the beauty of Nick Blaine, as with most of these characters, is in his journey; he sometimes DOES fail to listen to his better angels, but most of the time he tries.

He’s not an untouchable prince or a pre-packaged hero, he’s real, a fail able human being trying to be better. At times June IS disappointed in him and we do see her call him on his shit because, well to be honest sometimes he deserves it, but deep down Nick Blaine is essentially a good and caring soul who ultimately succeeds. Nick represents a faction of emotionally vulnerable individuals, manipulated and mobilized, through the use of propaganda and fear, by those with a hateful agenda. He’s a young man who falls in love, becomes a father and realizes the personal cost of war. There are “a thousand choices” Lawrence says, and in 5 10 Nick finally makes the one we always knew he would. At the end of the day, June loves Nick because she knows that he is a good man who will ultimately make the right choice, and he loves her because she is the right choice that he always wanted to make.

For part 1 and other bloggy goodness, head over to my page. Back soon with part 3.

#handmaids tale #hulu streaming #june x nick #nick x june #max minghella #june osborne #nick blaine #the handmaids tale hulu #osblaine #elisabeth moss #THTplaylists&mixtapes #love triangle #tv series #analysis #hulu tv

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araneitela · 23 days

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Deception and manipulation. And quite frankly, why I disagree with fanon's vehement inclusion of both for Kafka's character. I've been sitting on this for quite a while now, and I one day want to write a much longer meta on it, but I wanted to "briefly" touch on it for the ones following me, so that you know what to expect, and well, what not to expect.

Nothing within canon inherently thus far to me, has shown Kafka to be dishonest, and it's actually one of the things that further drew me to her character as I continued into HSR, the fact that she isn't. But, I've been re-watching all of her scenes yet again today to see if I can budge myself on this, but I'm still firmly rooted in my belief that Kafka is not deceptive as people make her out to be, and if anything, I feel even stronger about this today than I did yesterday, despite actively trying to find things that would prove the opposite. All I can see, honestly, is that she actively tells the truth when on screen. This entire belief that she's anything akin to deceptive, manipulative, or dishonest is genuinely just an audience's perception that stems from the general, go-to assumption that someone who has been brandished a 'villain' bears every bad trait in existence. And the audience comes to hold that perception because it's what numerous characters on our screen seem to think (one of the earliest examples of this would be Himeko and March 7th, but primarily the latter). She has a bounty of 10.899 billion credits on her head, yes, so far that's the highest that we've seen, but we also know that the Stellaron Hunters have been closely involved with a lot of chaos that's occurred throughout the cosmos (and the other hunters do not possess the ability that she does). But we need to not interlace bad traits where they, in my opinion, don't belong.

Let me elaborate a little bit on my stance here so I don't go haywire in my tags. Also, please note that this touches on her character/dialogue and what we see within the story, her "games" such as the Jepella Rebellion touch on a different element of her character: boredom. That's for another day. Anyway, yes, I will also touch on her spirit whisper, because I know that's also a huge contender into this 'deception' theory.

The first scene that holds proper and deeper nuance that we're witness to, is when she speaks to the Trailblazer in the very beginning after awakening them. We see 'Listen:' at the very beginning, which we know is something she uses to signify the effects of her spirit whisper. Now if one were to simply take her spirit whisper, at its essence, as manipulative and that's that without taking intent and practice into account, then there's nothing I can say, but I will assume that's not the case here. Not anywhere in the lines that follow (and here are the choices), does Kafka insinuate any specific action for the Trailblazer to take, if anything, she insists on the existence of their own choice and will to 'reach the end of their story'. 'Listen' in this entire sequence is a call to attention, in the way that a person can wave their hand in front of your eyes or snap their fingers near you. The Trailblazer in this context is confused, they've just woken up and are unsure where they are, what's happening and perhaps, even who they are exactly. So the call to attention makes total and utter sense. Her spirit whisper isn't merely hypnosis, if you look at its capabilities, it can be used in various ways. Now outside of her SW, you hear the softer and more authentic tone of her voice (for those unaware of what I mean: here) when she speaks to them, and you actively see a change of expression depending on your answer to her that, quite frankly, is too genuine to me alongside the change of voice to take them in any other way than at direct face value. And lastly, she answers every question posed to her by the TB within the time constraints that they are under. Does she answer them elaborately? Not exactly, but there is quite literally, no need for it. She's not being dishonest, she's not being deceptive, she's actually being quite caring, if one dare use the word (and I do).

Second, the Astral Express visit. For starters, not once does she actively use her SW here in any capacity. She reacts to what Himeko says to her, and even entertains the 'accusations' and even gives away a bit of information that by all accounts is true, the Astral Express and Stellaron Hunters both pursue, in their own ways, the most dangerous objects of the universe. They are in some capacity, two sides of the same coin. From thereon out, she doesn't dwindle or waste any time (hers or theirs), she gets to the point of the Xianzhou Luofu, she says where it is, explains what happened, and what she knows will happen if the crew doesn't go there. She also discloses that she wants to retrieve Blade. Does she disclose the entire 'idea' of how they will end up clearing the Stellaron Hunters' reputation? No, but she has no idea on the reliability of any of them, and two (Himeko, and March 7th) seem 'hostile' towards her, and one (Welt) is hesitant at best; there is absolutely zero grounds for her to entrust them with the steps of their plan. Aside from that, the entire plan that we see unfold after that quite literally never endangers any of them, if anything, it only makes them look good, and guess who the Stellaron Hunters would owe a favor to after all of this? The Astral Express. Who would the Xianzhou owe a favor to? The Astral damned Express. The ones going on a limb here, despite having a 'script', is Kafka and the Stellaron Hunters as a whole. Point me at the genuine dishonesty or manipulation in this, and if you want to add a scoop to it, any ill-intent.

And then we get to the actual Luofu. Honestly, I need someone to tell me where she lies. Even before she ever gets captured, and they're chasing after her; right at the beginning, she literally says why the chase continues, and why she's not stopping yet: 'What a hassle, this place is too far for the diviner. See you up ahead.' Take her at face value, it's what she wants from you. Granted, she can profit if you don't (but at this point, I would beg to differ), but she's not trying to get you to believe any lie, if she was, she'd be telling one.

"Best future? Best for who? As if you'd consider anyone but yourself." — March 7th "If I said 'best for the universe', would you believe me? Best for me, naturally." — Kafka

And as much as one might want to try and rub my nose in "it" at this point, I'd like to ask what anyone is trying to rub my nose into. Again, is she not being pretty forthcoming? She's not saying more than she needs to, but that's not being deceptive. If someone doesn't ask for more information, then why should you give them... more information than necessary?

"I have no interest in the words of wanted criminals - especially those skilled in the art of manipulation." — Fu Xuan.

/shakes the bars of my cage. Yes, she uses spirit whisper, we know that she does. But again, this is an audience's perception of a 'villain' at its definition, rather than a judgement call made for one in specific. I understand Fu Xuan, of course, I do, but I'm not taking an 'in-game' stance, I'm sitting in the audience's seat and dissecting what I see.

I just, where is she dishonest? She proceeds to talk to the Trailblazer at length, and goes as far as to admit that the Stellaron Hunters are not entirely innocent. Not once is it claimed that the SH are void of any blame, she takes it, here and during the Jepella Rebellion trailer (even if, yes, it is a mock trial and she's hypnotizing them, yes, I know, "the proof is in the pudding THERE, Sae!", I'm arguing nuance, not a case of 'Kafka is always honest). Guys, she comes clean entirely. I'm starting to go feral, I know, but I just don't understand. I don't get it. /semi-tugs at hair. We're almost at the end of her scenes, and I still don't see it.

I don't understand. I don't understand. And then in 1.2, Waterscale Gorge, she stops them all from fighting, has them stand down. And when Dan Heng asks her what she did, she answers it well enough. And guess who doesn't question it upon his arrival, witnessing it? The 'hotshot General' in question: Jing Yuan.

I understand 'interpretations', but I fail to see how the massive overwhelming part (if not bordering the entirety) of fanon has such a severe attachment to this concept of Kafka being inherently deceptive, or have her whole existence shrouded therein. I don't see where this is the case. We can even look at her trailer, a Dramatic Irony, and look when she speaks at the end to the last guard in question. Some could argue that she lies to him when she offers the flip of the coin, but she doesn't. She never once actually offers him a chance to live, she never once insinuates that if he guesses correctly, that he could live, that is an assumption that the audience makes, rather than it being a choice that she actively presents. 'As for the ending, want to take a guess?' One might try to argue deception with me here, but I'd like to simply fire back: where is her deception? It only exists if you hear something that she never says, that is not something that she puts in your head; that's a choice that you make. A choice, a choice, a choice. The entire thing that she preaches about since the dawn of time when we awoke as the Trailblazer. Where is she lying? It's easy to call someone else out on something that you, yourself, create in your mind. Now do I think an argument can be made, there? Sure, for I absolutely don't make the case for her to be exceptionally and thoroughly 'transparent', but it's all about nuance. It's about, quite honestly, looking at the imagery of a spider. Where is that little quote I came across a while back— ah yes, here:

“The spider's web: She finds an innocuous corner in which to spin her web. The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction. She has no need to chase. She sits quietly, her patience a consummate force; she waits for her prey to come to her on their own, and then she ensnares them, injects them with venom, rendering them unable to escape. Spiders – so needed and yet so misunderstood.” — Donna Lynn Hope

An innocuous corner that can be avoided, she doesn't scheme and try to lure you into a web that would mean your destruction; more often than not, you could see it rather well ahead of you, and the intrigue is that you would walk into it almost willingly. It's alluring, it's tempting to those of curious nature that seek to unravel and explain, it's intricate, it's beautiful, why wouldn't you want to draw yourself into it? But the spider at the center is not the one that coaxes you, even if she's the creator of that ever intricate web. And yet, when you get wrapped up into it, she is all encompassing, and most don't come out alive as we see. And your fate is cruel, just like— well, fate is cruel. But is she, like Kafka, manipulative? Or is she, while you may so strongly want to believe the opposite, much more honest than you wish she was? And is that why she is cruel? Is that not the cruelest?

#[ meta. ] the mara's tether is firmly in her grasp. she will not pull upon it before the designated time; nor shall she relinquish it.#[ i'm tired. i'm so tired. hi hello. i'm so mentally tired that i can't even tag ramble. ]#[ just-- have this. /have this/. i lay it on the table. ]#[ it's incoherent; it's a mess. but it's just. /sighs. ]#[ i blame aven. he told me to do it. entirely his fault. i take zero responsibility for any of this. ]

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scarlettatg · 2 years

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The Handmaid’s Tale

Episode 510 Safe

This episode has quite a lot of stuff to unpack but this small detail really caught my attention. I love this last shot of Nick where you can see a cross reflected on his back. I’m probably looking too much into it but I keep thinking back to it. Crosses signify sacrifice, redemption, salvation and I have always believed that for Nick, June and Nichole are his redemption. Nick basically sacrifices himself for June’s safety and by the end of this season he’s left with nothing. He realizes he can’t let her go and this isn’t the life he wants. Gilead is not the world he wants to live in but it’s the one he feels he has to live in. I remember how in episode 409 Nick is standing in the shadows to the right and a cross can clearly be seen before he walks to June who’s in the light.

The whole sequence in the bridge was so similar to 410, except this time there was no prisoner exchange. He’s pretty much giving himself up in order to see June and to try by any means necessary to keep her safe.

In episode 410 Nick never crosses over to Canada. He simply takes over Fred to transport him to No Man’s Land to hand him over to June. He stays within the world he’s stuck in and throughout season 5 we see him trying to live in that world and trying to do some better in it. In 410 he’s standing behind Lawrence before the exchange with Fred takes place. During season 5 we see the journey of the relationship between Nick and Lawrence that began in season 4 when Nick saves his life. In season 5 the power dynamic favored Lawrence and Nick seemed like someone who was simply aligning himself with Lawrence because he believed in his vision for a better Gilead. That seems to come to an end when Nick realized June wasn’t going to be protected. Nick was clear in episode 403 when he tells Lawrence that he just wants her to stay alive telling Lawrence that he owed him twice. Just like in this episode Nick tells Lawrence twice that June isn’t a target. After all it bears repeating that everything Nick does is to make sure June is safe.

Interesting to me was that in this episode when Nick meets Tuello it looks like they meet right in the middle before Nick finally crosses into Canada, into the world he wishes he could be in but doesn’t seem to think he deserves to be. Once he’s back from seeing June we realize he takes the deal. He is standing in Canada looking back towards Gilead. We realize he makes the deal to go see her and to keep her safe, but he realizes Tuello is only able to give him a promise of trying his best and for Nick it isn’t enough. They’re politicians they don’t care about us, they have their own agenda. This is something Nick knows and told June in season 3. This is the only card he has left to play basically giving up his own safety for hers. When Tuello asks why he didn’t run away before, we finally get confirmation of what we have suspected. He believed June would go back to Luke and have a semblance of the life that was taken away from her. He doesn’t believe he can offer June anything, because as he says he believed he is nothing. To what Tuello thankfully says that he’s not, NOT TO HER.

We finally get to see Nick walk in between those two worlds he lives in and finally (it seems like) he has made a choice. I believe the love he has for June and Nichole have been made clear throughout the whole show but in this episode we clearly and undoubtedly see it.

#the handmaid's tale #june osborne #gilead #nick blaine #osblaine #the handmaids tale season 5 #nick x june

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tracksidequeen · 2 years

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This One Means Forever

Summary: A story about a difficult ‘goodbye’ between two people who are soul-bound for a lifetime.

Pairing: Toto x Assistant!Reader

Words: 2.4K+

A/N: I wrote this as a last piece before I decided to quit writing on Tumblr back in June, but I couldn’t finish it. It meant too much. How ironic that the piece that signified my leaving now announces my return. I hope you like it. This one means a lot, some might say ‘forever.’

*****

There you are for the last time. You enter the doors of the Mercedes Headquarters for one last time to pick up your belongings from your desk. The lobby that once seemed big and intimidating, suddenly looked so small. You look around in admiration, and greet Gloria who had been the hostess for all the six years you’ve been working alongside Toto as his assistant. These people weren’t just your colleagues, they were your family. Mercedes became your family, but sadly enough family is not a prerequisite for staying forever.

With a heavy heart you walk up the stairs, seeing people walk by with smiles on their faces, greeting you and congratulating you for taking on the next adventure in your life, telling you how much they will miss you and how much they had enjoyed their time with you. “Darling, you’ll do amazing, but please don’t forget us!” Walter gave you a strong hug, but instead of saying words of consolidation you merely gave him a little smile. You were the one in need of consolidation.

You were never good at goodbyes. Preferred to skip them, ‘who knows if it’s a goodbye, maybe I’ll see them again,’ you’d always say to your mum when you were younger.

There it was, your beautiful little corner in the office space, close to the window overlooking the pond in the park, close to the window overlooking Toto’s office, and close to the rest of all your colleagues who’d you had spent countless hours with talking about everything and nothing.

With sad smiles your colleagues watch you pack up your stuff. You take the sticky notes off your computer; the ones Toto hated so much because they said they’d made your desk look like a mess, but it was just convenient and he ‘shouldn’t mess with a system that works.’ You take from your drawer the book that Toto gave you ‘the psychology of money’, said it’d give you a peek inside his brain as so you’d not judge him so harshly on a decision he had made, and he was right - like he was with many things, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

“Are you going to be okay?” Janice’s words snap you out of our train of thought and she looks at you with concerned eyes as you’d been staring for must have been a minute at the book you’re still holding in your hand. “Yes, yes, leaving is never easy, but I am okay.” You smile at her, but only half of those words were true. How could you be okay, when the man you’d been working for so closely for the past six years knows of your leaving, and hadn’t said a word to you in the past week. At the time you needed him most, he was nowhere to find. “We’re all here for you darling,” she says with a consoling arm on your shoulder. “Need some help with that?” “No, I got it cov-” Mid-sentence you see Toto walk in with determined steps into your direction but he halts the moment he sees people around you.

As usual, Toto fills up the room with his presence and everyone notices him as they all turn their head and watch him - just stand there looking at you.

“Everybody, out.” Like a herd of sheep you all start moving towards the door, but he looks at you with piercing eyes. “Not you. I need to speak with you.”

The whole room follows his order without asking as much as a question, and they leave you behind with Toto. The distance between you must have been less than a couple of meters, yet he felt so far away and out of reach. The things you felt and wanted to say, yet there was no way you could let them out. Not with him, right here, at this point in time. It was simply too late.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he walks up to you and scans the mess on your desk were cleaning out. “Do you care?” Without waiting for his reply you turn around and start gathering the papers on your desk as he watches you in silence. But his silences always speak a million words, and the frown on his face is noticeable when you look at him in the corner of your eye. “Of course I care. What makes you think otherwise?”

Frustration builds in your body, your stomach feels as if it is in a knot and on the verge of crying you turn to him. “Toto, what do you think? Huh? How do you think I feel.. how I feel when the man I that has been working by my side for the past 6 years, the man that took me under his wing when I was a college graduate, the man that gave me my career, the man that made me realise what I’m worth, the man that saw my potential before I even knew it myself.” The tears are streaming down your face. The salty taste of them coating your lips makes your screams sting even more. You walk up to him, standing right in front of him, invading his sacred personal space; and you look up at him. “How do you think I feel when the man that I love refuses to speak to me moments before I’m about to leave?”

He shakes his head and you notice his eyes getting red, but he turns around.

“NO, Toto!” A desperate yelp escapes your mouth. “This is not fair.”

“Right, this is not fair,” he says as he turns around, and you see the man you’ve called the stone cold Wolff for half a decade lower his walls and the tear streaming down his face hold all the words unsaid. With a fast pace he walks up to you and embraces you in his arms. His head nuzzled in your hair and under his breath he whispers, “I love you too.” Softly you kiss him on his temple and rub your fingers over the nape of his neck to calm him down. “I love you too,” you hear him whisper over and over like a mantra, finally realising what those words can mean when said about the person you hold sacred in your heart.

He emerges from the crook of your neck, eyes watery, nose red, and a sad smile on his face in mockery of himself, but he doesn’t hide it. He’s good at hiding his emotion and keeping a poker face, says it’s what makes him a good business man. But with you- with you he never tried as so much to hide it. He was comfortable enough to show them. To trust you with them, as you did with him.

“It’s painful to say goodbye to someone you don’t want to let go, but even more painful to ask someone to stay when you know they want to leave,” he says with tears in his eyes. “But I will never forgive myself if I won’t try. So, please, please, will you stay?” “Toto, don’t do this,” you cry. “Only if I could, but this is what I need, and it is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He holds your hand, and kisses them over and over. “Toto, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Just leave, without looking back. Rip off the bandaid. I don’t want to say goodbye, because this one means forever.” He stops his kisses on your hands and squeezes them tightly under his grip. “You’re wrong. We’ll meet again. In a moment we’ll least expect it. One day in the future I’ll recognise your face and my heart will feel the same joy as I have the last six years. You and I will meet again, I’m sure of it,” he says while tangling his fingers in yours, pressing the palm of your hand against his. “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

Softy he places a kiss on your forehead and you look up at him. “Would you have changed anything?” He looks at you questioning. “..in the past six years, would you have done anything differently?” “No, they were perfect,” he says softly. “They were, weren’t they?” you smile at him but he tilts his head. “Well, the only thing I would’ve done is find the balls to tell you I loved you a bit sooner, and maybe not in the state of a sobbing mess I am now. But now you know.” “Now I know, and you know too,” you smile. “Oh, I already knew..” “What?!” you ask bewildered and you feel your cheeks become red.

“C’mon, I knew you had a crush on me way back when I was your mentor in college.” He says squeezing your cheek. “Sure, but that was a crush, and there was nothing either of us could’ve done about it.” “Well...” he says teasingly. “There were things I could’ve done-” “Toto!” “No, no true. But then when you started working here, and remember when we had our team dinner in Singapore, about a year after. I asked Gloria to have you seated next to me because I - well, I just wanted to be in your company and Gloria’s immediate reaction was if we finally confessed our love to each other.” He chuckled, “she knew very well that I had no clue what she was talking about and we never spoke a word of it ever since, but I started noticing it in you, very subtly. You’re good at your poker face” “You’ve thought me well,” you joke. “But I always appreciated your professionalism despite the feelings you might’ve had.”

“Better than I did at least,” he chuckles. “Better than you did? How long have you had these feelings?” Somehow it felt easier to talk about this as they held less value for the future, you were leaving anyway. “The summer of 2018, when we all went to the beach... and I disappeared for the rest of the summer. I was scared of how I felt, so I just threw my money at it and rented a yacht for the summer.” “That is the most Toto-esk thing I’ve ever heard, and stupid for that matter as well. Why didn’t you just tell me?” He shook his head, “because I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You see the irony here right?” you joke with a soft voice. “Here we are four years later telling me you love me...” “...moments before I’m about to lose you either way.” He finishes your sentence with pain in his voice, and suddenly the conversation that was easy to have left a bittersweet sting in your heart. “Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love,” he said with a poetic voice. “Well, whoever you’re quoting-” you sigh. “-the asshole was right.”

“I think it’s best if I go and let you pack in peace,” he says as he adjusts his posture and lifts his chin. “I love you, dear. Wherever you find yourself in the world from this moment on, I don’t ever want you to forget that.” You give him a tight hug, and as he presses the air out of your lungs you say “I love you.”

You watch him walk towards the door, and he turns around one last time with a smile on his face. “Don’t forget the top drawer,” he says pointing at it. “It’s the moment that changed my life.” Without having as to what he’s talking about you watch him leave. His footsteps muffling softer and softer away in the hallway until he’s really gone. Just like that.

First thing you walk toward your desk and open the top drawer. In it is an envelope that reads: ‘Yours dearly, Toto.’ Slowly you take it our of the drawer as if it is the most fragile object in the world. His words repeat in your head while you open the envelope, ‘It’s the moment that changed my life.’

What you find in it is a square piece of hard paper, a polaroid, you realise as you take it out. You look at the picture that signifies a pivotal moment of his life. On it is a couple on the beach, a man with the brightest smile on his face looking into the eyes of the woman sitting on his lap, who looks back at him with eyes of admiration. In the backdrop a beautiful sunset painting the ocean warm orange and shades of pink, but they don’t realise it because they find the beauty of a million sunsets in each others’ eyes. You knew it firsthand because that was the summer of 2018. When he chased you throught the sand and pulled you on his lap, and looked at you the way no man had ever before; right at the moment Gloria took a picture of the both of you. Capturing the moment that changed his life, the moment he fell in love with you.

You press the polaroid against your heart and a tear streams down your cheek. You look at it once again, and notice there is something handwritten on the back of it:

“This is not a goodbye, my dear, this is a thank you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and accepting my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. The bond we have created and the love that I feel for you is not broken by this goodbye. It will last for a lifetime, so this is not a goodbye. Merely a ‘till see you again’; and until that moment comes, keep your head up and your heart strong. I will never be far, just look in your heart and I will be there guarding over your soul. I love you forever more. Yours truly, Torgy.”

Sobbing you run to the window in hopes that Toto is making his usual round in the park, and as you hoped you see him. He’s standing by the pond, looking up at the window; waiting for you. You lock eyes, mouth the words, ‘I love you,’ and you see him say it back.

Only if you could hear him say it. Just one more time.

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a/n: Thank you for making it all the way to the end, and thank you for bearing with me - or lack there off - for the past few months. You all mean so much to me, and I saw all the engagement with TSQ even though I was virtually away. I appreciate you all so much <3 I’ll try to write and post more regularly from now on, and consistency is coming back !

Much love, TSQ

#Toto Wolff #toto wolff x reader #Toto Wolff x you #toto wolff fic #toto wolff fics #toto wolff one-shot #toto wolff fluff

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