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peachywrite · 3 years

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Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

#rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba reader insert #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jjba

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th3atr3phant0m · 4 years

Text

Gender

Perhaps Zim was just missing out on something, but he really didn’t understand why some of their peers treated DIb in the way that they did.

Of course, part of that could have to do with the fact that Zim hadn’t transferred into their school district until a few years ago and hadn’t known everyone there as they knew one another, but that didn’t make things any clearer, in his eyes.

Zim was no stranger to the cruelty of his fellow humans. He had learned a great deal about how people worked and the terror that came with them when he lived in the orphanage, so seeing people treat Dib like garbage wasn’t inherently strange but the way in which they did it certainly was.

Their peers almost constantly belittled Dib for his intense passion for the paranormal and extraterrestrial. Ever since he was a child, he had been incredibly interested in both of them, and that interest had only grown as he did. He put forth seemingly endless amounts of his time and energy into studying his passions. Honestly, Zim found it admirable. Unfortunately, though, many of their peers didn’t feel the same way, claiming that he was obsessed and insane. Considering how frequently Dib ranted about the paranormal and the intensity with which he did it, Zim could understand that, though.

What didn’t make sense to him were the strange things that they said to Dib in regard to his gender.

On more than one occasion, Zim had heard their fellow students refer to Dib as a girl or tell him that he looked or sounded feminine in some way or another. Zim couldn’t understand why. It was very clear to him and anyone who attended school with them that Dib was a guy. It wasn’t just the fact that he wore masculine or androgynous clothes- any idiot knew that clothes didn’t really mean anything- but the fact that Dib exclusively responded to male pronouns. It was obvious that Dib wasn’t a girl and that he wasn’t comfortable with being addressed as such, so why did so many of their peers do so? Even people as ignorant as some of them were had to pick up on the fact that Dib was a man- or so Zim thought. Clearly, he was giving them far too much credit, though.

Sometimes, when Dib got irritated with others, they would make some idiotic comment about him being on his period or something along those lines. It always just worked to piss him off further, but it upset him in a completely different way than their comments about him being a freak did.

Despite the fact that Dib looked incredibly masculine, their peers would frequently tease him about how feminine he looked or acted, invalidating his masculinity almost as an easy insult to fall back on. It was clear that their words had more to do with getting a rise out of Dib than having any actual truth to it, but that didn’t make it any less nonsensical.

Zim had no clue why their peers made those comments towards Dib, nor why they upset him so much. The two of them were far from being friends- Zim would even say that they were enemies, in some ways- but he wasn’t cruel enough to stoop to that level. While he didn’t’ completely understand why that was a sore spot for him, he never harassed him about it like the others sometimes did. It felt wrong in several ways- not to mention the fact that it was a pathetic move.

Not understanding what it was that he was missing out on and wanting some answers, Zim decided to ask Dib about it.

~~~

Dib and Zim were not friends. They fought almost constantly, practically at war in several aspects. They always did everything in their power to beat the other at every turn, refusing to allow the other to have a single success without putting up a fight. They battled for the title of valedictorian, for the highest grade on each assignment, for the most clever and creative insults and comebacks to said insults, and for the best ideas. To the untrained eye, it seemed as though they hated one another with every fibre of their beings.

That didn’t mean that Dib didn’t pick up on things about the other, though. In fact, in many ways, it made him more attentive to changes in Zim than he was to changes in anyone else. Considering how much of his energy and attention Zim had, it only made sense for Dib to notice things.

They were small day-to-day changes, but, considering Dib’s own history, he couldn’t help but pick up on them.

Zim’s style, though very consistently inconsistent and a chaotic mix of anything and everything he liked- something that Dib couldn’t help but admire at least a little but- seemed to change near daily. One day, he would wear a button-down shirt with a clashing vest and the next day he would wear a dress with fishnet stockings underneath. Zim’s style seemed to vary between feminine, masculine, and androgynous regardless of whether he was wearing something formal or casual.

As someone who had gone through the festive experience of attempting to “subtly” switch between masculine and feminine while figuring out how to comfortably express his gender without getting harassed, Dib couldn’t help to liken it to his own experience. While Zim hadn’t gone to their school when Dib was first beginning to realize and attempt to express his gender, the practice of putting forth a lot of effort into presenting a certain gender for a few days before deciding that was too emotionally taxing and giving up for a few days was… familiar. While DIb couldn’t be certain that Zim was doing what Dib had been doing back then, it was incredibly similar, and he couldn’t help but liken the experiences to one another.

It wasn’t an incredibly strange thing- it wasn’t as though Zim acted or spoke any differently depending on the day- but it was something that had Dib curious. Was Zim transgender as well and struggling with coming out? Was he just experimenting with different styles? Was he just being the weird, chaotic person that he was by keeping his style and presentation up in the air?

Whatever it was, Dib wanted to know, but he didn’t exactly have the opportunity to ask.

That is, until Zim brought something up one day at lunch.

“Why is it that our peers sometimes refer to you as a girl?”

Dib nearly choked on the juice he was drinking, “What-?”

“Why is it that-”

“No, I heard you the first time,” Dib shook his head, clearing his throat. He really wasn’t expecting that question- especially so abruptly- and he didn’t really know how to answer it. “Because people are assholes?”

“Obviously,” Zim rolled his eyes disdainfully, though Dib had a feeling that was directed towards their peers rather than him, “Is there a specific reason, though?”

Zim hadn’t been going to school with them when Dib had still been presenting as female or even when he first came out as trans, but he still assumed that Zim just… knew . Considering everything that his peers did and said to him, he assumed that it was obvious that he wasn’t biologically male. According to them, he didn’t pass very well. Did Zim just not understand the concept of transphobia, or did he genuinely just… not know ? Neither seemed likely, all things considered.

Not completely trusting that Zim wasn’t just dicking with him, Dib narrowed his eyes slightly, “Because I’m trans.”

Zim blinked, seemingly taken aback, before some sort of realization began to dawn on him, “Oooh. So you are a trans woman? Then why does it bother you when-?”

“I- no,” Dib face-palmed, “I’m a transgender guy . I’m a man and they’re going out of their way to misgender me to piss me off.”

Zim’s expression changed completely, anger replacing the confusion, “What the fuck is wrong with people? That’s pathetic.”

Zim wasn’t naive- he knew just as well as Dib that people could be absolute assholes and that they didn’t always need to be provoked to do so. He wasn’t a stranger to harassment from their peers, either, and, considering the fact that they weren’t friends , Dib didn’t completely understand why Zim seemed to care. Regardless, it was nice that at least someone didn’t think what they were doing was okay.

Dib propped his chin up against the palm of his hand, “What about you?”

“Eh?”

“Do people ever go out of their way to do that shit to you when you wear dresses and stuff?”

“Misgender me, you mean?”

Dib nodded.

“Not the same way that they do with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Well, when they call me “he” on my femme days, it’s not because they’re trying to be cruel. It’s usually when they actually call me the correct pronouns that they’re intentions are shit.”

“Femme days?” Dib echoed, thinking, “You’re gender-fluid?”

“Was that not obvious?”

“Was it not obvious that I was a trans dude?”

“No, actually.”

Dib blinked, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zim tilted his head to the side, “You know that when people say those things to you, they’re just trying to upset you, right? None of it is true. You look like a normal guy- well, normal for you .”

Dib rolled his eyes at the insult, but he didn’t take it to heart- he never really did when Zim insulted him. At this point, they had lost their bite. He was more focused on the other things that Zim had said, “Thanks.”

Zim seemed to think for a moment before speaking again, “Do you think that I pass well?”

“Assuming I’m actually guessing which days are which for you? Yeah.” Dib leaned back in his seat, “You’re pretty androgynous already, so you can pull off any look, to be honest.” As much as Dib loathed the concept of complimenting his enemy, they were having a peaceful conversation for the first time in a while and Zim had shown him some kindness as well, so it didn’t feel too strange to say it.

Zim nodded but said nothing and they soon lapsed into a comfortable silence.

After everything that he heard from the others they went to school with, it was nice to hear from a few people that Dib looked like a guy. He couldn’t help but feel a little more comfortable now that he knew this about Zim- as though knowing made sharing his own truth with Zim slightly less vulnerable. Somehow, Zim understanding in his own way made it less awkward. It was nice to have someone in their school who understood- it was nice to have something in common with Zim.

~~~

A few weeks had passed since Dib and Zim had discussed their genders and nothing much had changed. One thing that Dib had noticed was that their peers began to mock and misgender Dib less than usual and it was obvious that this was no mere coincidence.

While it wasn’t obvious to Dib immediately, it soon became clear to him that Zim was actually defending him when people attempted to harass him about being trans.

Initially, Dib had no proof that this was actually happening. It was just a theory of his that Zim had been stepping in when the situations arose, but there were a few things that happened here and there and bits and pieces of conversations that he picked up that made him feel fairly confident that his suspicions were correct.

Dib’s hypothesis was finally confirmed weeks later in one of his classes.

Nothing too out of the ordinary happened. Jessica had gone out of her way to misgender Dib on more than one occasion in the past. Regardless of that, hearing her refer to him as a “she” in front of the entire class and being met with snickers from their peers made his stomach twist with anger and distaste. No matter how many times it had happened, it still hurt.

Dib had never been one to stay quiet about something important to him- hell, he had openly yelled about the paranormal in the middle of class several times when they were back in middle school- but before he could say anything, Zim cut in.

“It’s he , actually, and if you had more than half a brain cell, you would know that.”

Dib blinked, taken aback, and so did Jessica- though he was certain they had completely different reasons for doing so.

Jessica turned on Zim immediately, fixing him with a glare, “What did you just say?”

Zim leaned in and narrowed his eyes as well, not at all deterred by her attempted threat, “I said Dib is a he and, if you had-”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” Zim tilted his head, “Your expression is so constantly vacant that it’s almost impossible to tell when anything actually gets through your thick skull.”

Just as Jessica’s boyfriend stood up from his seat to intervene- almost definitely violently- Ms. Bitters cut in, “That’s enough! Everyone sit down and be quiet.”

Both Jessica and her boyfriend shot Zim glares but did as told. Zim just smirked, satisfied with how things had turned out.

Dib couldn’t help but gape at the entire scene before him. Zim- his rival and archenemy- had just stood up for him publicly . While Dib had had a hunch that Zim had been trying to help somehow, he hadn’t expected to see such an open expression of it- especially not against one of the more popular and easily agitated people they went to school with. Dib was genuinely surprised.

When Zim caught his gaze, he gave Dib a pleased, somewhat smug grin- probably at least a little proud of himself for shocking Dib so genuinely. Dib could practically hear Zim teasing him about the “stupid look” on his face.

Dib rolled his eyes, trying to seem nonchalant. It was hard to pretend that what happened hadn’t been a big deal, though, when the warmth spreading through Dib’s chest was so pleasant and prominant.

~~~

Zim hadn’t expected Dib’s reaction to seeing him correct Jessica in front of their class, but he would be lying if he said that the look on Dib’s face didn’t make him happy. There was something about bringing Dib joy that made Zim feel good as well, regardless of their stance as foes… plus the stupid look on Dib’s face was perfect .

That wasn’t the only thing that Zim hadn’t anticipated coming out of the situation, though.

A few days after the incident with Jessica, Zim twisted in the correct combination for his locker to gather some of the books he would need for his next class. When he did so, though, he was met with something that hadn’t been there the previous day.

Sitting atop his other belongings was an envelope labelled with his name on the front. There was a small bulge in the package, showing that there was something more than just a note hidden within the crumpled paper.

Raising an eyebrow curiously, Zim picked up the envelope, books forgotten.

He peeled back the seal before shaking the contents out into his hands. The colourful beads that tumbled from the paper almost slipped through Zim’s fingers and clattered to the ground, but he managed to catch them to avoid that disaster. Alongside them was a small slip of paper.

Setting aside the note and the envelope, Zim unclenched his fist, revealing the beads so he could take a closer look at them.

They were not, in fact, loose beads. Instead, they were three different bracelets, each made of differently coloured glass and stone beads with a single silver bead on each of them. One bracelet was fuchsia and rose quartz with a silver space ship on it, another made of amethyst and violet stones with a single rocket bead, and the last a bright mix of chartreuse and emerald beads with an alien charm.

Zim blinked, holding them up to the light so he could get a better look at them. The glass beads shone pleasantly and the silver charms on each one shimmered happily. He couldn’t deny that they were beautifully crafted.

After a moment of examining and admiring them, Zim turned his attention back to the slip of paper that had accompanied the pieces of jewellery within the envelope.

Hey, Space Boy. I saw something online about some gender-fluid people wear different bracelets corresponding to what pronouns they want people to use for them on certain days and I thought these could be helpful for you. I wasn’t sure what colours to use, but you wear pink, purple, and green a lot, so I figured they would be a safe bet. If you want to use them, tell me which ones correspond to which pronouns or whatever so I get it right.

- D.M.

Zim couldn’t help but grin. He’d thought about doing something similar in the past, but hadn’t acted on it, not really anticipating anyone actually respecting it. This gift from Dib, though, proved that at least one person would and, as ridiculous as that seemed, it brightened Zim’s day.

Smile still playing across his lips, Zim slipped on the green bracelet before carefully tucking away the other two in the front pocket of his backpack, irritation briefly dissipating at the thought that someone did care.

The beautiful cover art for this story was draw by @sams-art-shit!

I originally posted the fic here on Archive of Our Own. If you liked this, it’s part of a small series, so please check it out, if you’re interested!

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eliegloryofficial · 6 years

Text

Chasing Stars

summary: Once a world-renowned musician, Lucy Heartfilia put her violin away for the last time when she was seventeen. Five years later, she finds herself drawn back into the world of music after meeting a pianist with a fiery style of playing.

fandom and pairing(s): Fairy Tail, Natsu Dragneel / Lucy Heartfilia, others to be listed as they appear

Chapter One: An Unexpected Call

ff.net | ao3 | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

“The second Lucy Heartfilia’s bow touches the strings, the world seems to stand still in patient anticipation for what comes next.”

They meant it as a compliment. It and variations of the phrase were penned in almost every interview, every review no matter how retroactive. It became a model for aspiring musicians to follow, each performance just another attempt to recreate what the judges had already decided only Lucy Heartfilia could accomplish. For her part, she never actually made comment on the frequent review. Smiled and nodded along just as she was supposed to and thanked them for taking the time to speak with her. Exactly as she was supposed to.

The fact of the matter was, however, that it simply wasn’t sure. The world didn’t stop when she started playing. For Lucy, the world could only ever begin when everything else fell silent around her except for the practice perfect draws of her bow. It was the only time she felt safe, the only time she had ever felt alive. Heart pounding in beat of the conductor’s wand and fingers dancing across the neck of her violin as if nothing else mattered – and nothing ever did. Not as much as the music. No, the world only came to an end when her bow was gently lifted off the strings and pointed back to the ground.

But there wasn’t a good way to convey that in a magazine interview.

For years, Lucy thought that all there could ever be in life was the violin. She played until her fingers cracked apart and then bled through the glue meant to hold them together. She perfected every song from every symphony she ever performed until she could play it blind and deaf. There was nothing else; there could be nothing else. It all made so much sense, until the day it didn’t.

Suddenly, at the peak of her career and with no end in sight, she cancelled her upcoming performances. Disappeared from the public eye. Reports went up around the city, asking where she went. People suspected foul play, more than a few suspected she had been murdered. She hadn’t cared what they said, wouldn’t have addressed it at all if not for the insistence in which it was covered. Finally, her father stood before the press and announced that Lucy would be taking a short hiatus from performing so she could focus on her studies.

She was seventeen the last time she picked up a violin.

Friday

(08:17) Hello Lucy. As you must be aware, I will be forced to move the estate soon, and I would like you to come and collect your violin and music collection. Please come by as quickly as possible. Regards, your father.

The phone had just turned dark again when Lucy finally understood the text she had just received. “I’m sorry, what?” she hissed, smashing her thumb against the button to once more unlock it. Levy and Cana both looked up when she spoke, but Lucy was too focused on her phone to notice her friends. Just as before, the words flashed across the screen, caged by the first gray box in their text thread. Part of her expected a follow-up text to appear saying that it was just a joke, but her father rarely joked in person, let alone through a text that was sighed ‘regards’.

As both of her companions asked what was going on, Lucy practically jumped out of the wooden seat, thumbs swiping the screen to call him. Jude answered after only a couple rings, his voice sounding more exhausted than she could recall. “Good morning, Lucy.”

“What do you mean you’re being forced to move the estate?”

The words slipped out of her a little louder than intended, and Lucy quickly moved outside the small coffee shop for privacy. There was the slightest rustle on the other end, a deep sigh. “I’m afraid the Heartfilia Konzern has not been doing well these last several years,” he explained. “Nothing terribly serious, but enough to warrant a change. Something perhaps a bit smaller, more modest.”

Admittedly, she didn’t much follow her family’s business all too much, but it wasn’t much of a surprise. With air travel so readily available these days, it was a wonder any of the old railroad families had stayed profitable. At least he wasn’t totally bankrupt. “What about Mama’s grave?” Lucy asked, swallowing thickly. That was the most important part, to her. Who cared about the acres of land and state of the art restructured mansion? “That won’t be staying behind, right?”

“Of course not. I’ve already arranged to have it moved. I don’t have the address in front of me at the moment, but I’ll be sure to send it you once I do.”

Lucy exhaled shakily, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “Good. Thank you,” she said, leaning against the building. Her friends were still watching her, staring at her back through the window as they formulated questions to bombard her with the second she returned. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to Crocus, I have work every day for the next week or so. Couldn’t you just mail it to me?” Lucy fidgeted slightly, tugging at the bottom of her jacket. The idea of sending her violin through the mail felt repulsive, even after all this time – too many things could go wrong, even in the highest quality case. She might not have any desire to continue playing, but she certainly didn’t want the treasured instrument to return to her in pieces.

Jude huffed. “And risk having such a valuable instrument shattered by a careless postal worker?” he scoffed. “Nonsense. Surely you could speak to your supervisor and request today off.”

Of course she could. It wasn’t a matter of could, it was a matter of wanting to be nowhere near the old family estate. “I have class.”

“You missed class all the time when you were in high school, and I have no recollection of such absence affecting your grades.”

She felt her face flush a little, scowling at the parking lot as if it were to blame. “I didn’t enjoy missing those classes, father,” Lucy snapped, feeling her patience running thin. So typical of her father to expect her to drop everything for his demands! For his part, he seemed to understand the annoyance in her tone and did not push it. Instead, all she could hear was another rustle, a sort of shift in the earpiece as he repositioned the cell phone from one ear to the other. Finally, after a terse few seconds, Lucy sighed. “I will speak to my supervisor and professors. How long will you be at the estate?”

Another rustle. “We’ve planned to leave tomorrow afternoon.”

Tomorrow afternoon.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?!” Lucy cried, pushing off the building. “First you text me out of the blue telling me you’re moving as if I’d have somehow known that all the way over here, and now this? That doesn’t give me a whole lot of time to get back, father.” The last word was practically spit, a deep-seeded resentment surfacing as it so easily did when they spoke.

“I know, and I am sorry.” Jude’s voice dropped a little, and Lucy closed her eyes to calm herself. “Please let me know as quickly as possible if I need to mail it to you.”

And with that, the line disconnected. She pulled the phone away from her cheek in disbelief, watching as the call faded away to her home screen. It had been almost five years since they were last in the same room, and Jude still somehow found a way to dismiss her! This was no better than briskly telling her she had permission to leave the room. Lucy glowered at her phone for a few seconds longer before shoving the device into her jacket pocket and storming back inside to where her friends were waiting. The questions began as soon as she took a seat, groaning loudly and allowing her forehead to smack down against the table. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Lucy whined.

“What is happening to you?” Levy insisted, crossing her arms against her chest. “Did something happen? Who was that you called?”

She groaned again. “My father wants to come back home so I can pick up my violin. Apparently, he’s moving and decided to wait until the literal last opportunity to let me know.” Still pouting, she lifted her head so that her chin was resting against the hard surface. Cana and Levy gave each other curious looks. They knew of her family – it was impossible not to when signs of Heartfilia railroad were still prominent across Magnolia – and her uncomfortable relationship with her father, but something else seemed to pique their interest.

Lucy realized too late what it must be, but they didn’t give her the chance to backtrack. “You played the violin?” Cana asked, dark eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know that.”

“I...yeah, I played a lot as a kid and a teenager,” she replied, glancing at the pattern on the table. There was a coffee stain not far from her that she focused on, shifting a little uncomfortably. “I stopped when I was about sixteen so I could focus more on school.”

“How could playing the violin take away from your studies that much?”

God help me. Lucy rose once more, shoving the textbook she had been attempting to read through into her bag and mumbling some excuse about needing to talk to her professor. “Wait! Lucy!” Levy called, reaching for her bag. Her fingers brushed across the material, but she was faster, already out of arms reach.

“I really need to talk to my supervisor and let my teachers know I might not be in class,” she said, forcing a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

With her name echoing behind her, Lucy was gone. She moved quickly, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure Cana hadn’t decided to go running after her. Her friend was surprisingly agile when she wanted something, but there was no sign of either of them. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she slowed down, reaching into her pocket to find her phone already alight with frantic messages asking what all that had been about. She didn’t bother opening them, flicking the small switch on the side to silence any further texts while she halfheartedly asked her boss for the day off.

The walk to the library was quiet, and the few other students she passed looked like walking zombies. Students who had taken a morning class and had decidedly skipped every other one due to waking up late and then giving up rushing in favor of coffee. It had become familiar over the last few years, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Certainly not a day trip back to Crocus.

Inside the library was even quieter, and she nervously glanced around the front desk to see if her boss would be sitting at his desk. “Hey Hibiki,” Lucy called, pushing the small door open. He looked up at her voice, eyes blinking as if he was still lost in the world of whatever book he had been reading. “Sorry to bother you so early.”

“Not at all!” he said cheerfully, swiveling in the chair to face her. “Though I am a bit surprised to see you here so early. Your shift doesn’t start for another few hours, is everything alright?”

No. “Sort of,” she said with a shrug. “There’s been an unexpected emergency back home, and my father needs me to get over there and pick up the last few things I left behind. Today.” Lucy watched him carefully, hoping her tone would be enough to suggest how very much she’d rather not. Hibiki only watched her carefully, a frown decorating his handsome face so she could continue. “I need the day off. But I’ll make it up to you! I can work a double tomorrow, or come in next Thursday.”

“Nonsense!” Hibiki said, jumping up to his feet. “Of course you can have the day off! Is everything alright back home? It’s nothing too serious, I hope.” His concern was so genuine, it nearly caught the girl off guard, but she carefully rose her hands and softly explained that it was nothing major, just an unexpected relocation. “Well, either way, don’t worry about the shift. I’ll make sure to get it covered soon. Will you need someone to cover your class today, too?”

“I was actually going to just send an email and cancel it.”

He shook his head, frowning at her like the idea was totally outlandish. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Send me the lesson plan for today and I’ll personally see to it.”

After some time going back and forth, Lucy finally relented. Hibiki was a good boss, but he was an even better friend, so after a quick hug as thanks, she was off once more. The ride to Crocus would be about six hours or so with the various stops and personnel changes along the route, so she’d need at least a good book or her laptop to keep her amused. Lucy was a little lost in her own thoughts, half dreading the surprise trip home and half excited to see the older staff she had been close to. Ms. Spetto still sent her flowery emails every year wishing her a good birthday and such, and she knew it’d warm her heart to see for herself that she was doing just fine.

Her apartment was on the other side of campus, and the quickest route would be to cut through the Center for Performing Arts rather than walk the winding pathways around the quad. Lucy knew Magnolia University well, having lived on campus and in the general area ever since she left home in the middle of the night all those years ago.

Jude had been furious. How dare she spit on all the work he’d done for her, he demanded. But Lucy was steadfast in her decision, reminding him that she could finish high school on a laptop and took money only out of her own personal account. Legally, he could call the police and have her returned home since she was a minor (a fact mysteriously changed on her lease), but after three days of screaming at one another, he finally told her that she was on her own. They hadn’t spoken about it or much of anything in the years following, and she’d been a happy resident of Magnolia ever since. Returning home felt like a strange step backwards, a dive into the past she had so willingly abandoned.

But what else could she do?

The CPA was normally quiet this early, as most classes didn’t start until after at least eleven, but as Lucy pushed the heavy doors open, the unmistakable sounds of a piano rang through the halls. She paused in the entrance for a second, trying to name the tune, but while it certainly sounded familiar, there was something about it that escaped her. Pursing her lips, she checked the time on her phone and tried not to pay attention to the line of texts waiting to be read. Surely she had enough time to listen for a little bit, perhaps find the musician and ask them the name. Curiosity eventually won over and she quietly made her way through the maze of a building, following the sound of the piano. Her search eventually led her to the stage entrance of main auditorium, where she found the doors cracked open with a black and a red backpack propped between the doors. Lucy stared at it for a while, still trying to name the melody that was playing. Once or twice she thought she’d got it, but then it would suddenly shift, the notes taking an entirely new direction.

Whatever it was, it was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. And whoever was playing was unlike anyone she’d ever heard before. Trying not to disturb the musician, Lucy carefully squeezed between the doors, finally catching sight of the magnificent grand piano center stage. On the bench sat what appeared to be a young man, his back to her as he swayed and shifted with the music, hands moving across the keys without reserve. Lucy couldn’t help but watch, half of her attention caught on the pretty shade of his pink hair while the other lost itself in the music.

There was no sheet music, she realized after a few minutes. Nothing except the boy with pink hair and the fiery dance his fingers performed across the ivory. It was beautiful, whatever it was. Lucy closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply enjoy the music, foot instinctively tapping to the beat. For a second, she was no longer twenty-three and dreading the rest of her day.

Suddenly, she was thirteen and losing herself in her instrument. Her skin flushed under the lights of the stage, the slightest tremble of her leg as she tried to ignore the hundreds of eyes watching her. Life had been defined by the stage at that point, the clean black wood more a home than any aircraft recliner. It was a constant in a life where few others existed, and Lucy had to remind herself that she had been the one to walk away.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to leave, but her foot was closer to one of the curtain levers than she realized and she swiped across it in the process. The curtain shifted, just enough to make a noise, and the music cut off. “Fuck,” someone hissed, and Lucy watched as the pianist jumped to his feet, hands up and at the ready defensively. “I didn’t think you’d be here…this…early?”

He stared at her, and Lucy stared right back. They were close enough that she could see the olive green flash of his eyes and the matching pink of his cheeks as he flushed a little. Everything around them seemed to still, an empty silence where an audience should have been giving a standing ovation after such a brilliant performance. But there was no audience. “You aren’t Erza,” the boy finally said, relaxing his stance a little. “You aren’t here to, like, report me, are you?”

“Why would I report you?” Far as she was aware, so long as you were a student at the university, the instruments were free to use with professor approval. Perhaps not the grand piano in the main auditorium, but she could understand why a musician would prefer this to one of the public uprights littered across the building and campus.

He blinked, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “If you aren’t, I don’t think I should tell you. Just in case you change your mind,” he finally said, tilting his head to the side. “What’re you doing here anyways? Auditorium is locked.”

Lucy looked around. “Yeah, I know it is,” she said, placing her hands delicately on her hips. “Do you?” He stared at her for a second before laughing.

“Guess you got me there, huh?”

She smiled a little before glancing back at her phone. “I was just passing through and heard the music so I got curious. What were you playing, anyways?”

The boy shrugged. “Whatever I felt like, mostly.” He glanced back at the instrument and lightly dragged his fingers across the edge, expression softening a little. Lucy watched him for a second before turning away, feeling as if she had unintentionally interrupted some private moment. His love of the music was almost physical, exuding off of him in waves. “You play?” The question was soft, uncertain almost but not at all unwarranted. Why else would she have been in the CPA this early if not for practice? Lucy felt her fingers twitch a little, but she shook her head.

“No.”

“Not just piano, I meant. Anything.”

“Still no.”

Lucy cleared her throat, turning once more to leave. “Sorry to have disturbed you. I promise not to tell whoever Erza is that you picked the lock and hijacked the piano,” she called, waving once. The pianist huffed a little in response, but he didn’t stop her from leaving. Lucy stepped over his backpack carefully so as not to disturb the placement or accidentally slam the doors on him and quickly moved back through the building. The tune he had played was still echoing in her thoughts, and by the time she was unlocking the door to her apartment, she had started to hum along.

#wörter #fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #fanfiction #elieg1ory writing #musician au #chasing stars

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