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twistedbloodstain · 1 year

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vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: because i dropped your hand while dancing left you out there standing. | the marquis catches a glimpse through you.

plot: the one where the marquis saw right through you.

warning: violence, gunshot, gunshot wound, doting

masterlist

12:00 AM

you got into the right side of the passenger backseat, usually it was the marquis’ place but he’d gotten into the left side and god knows he’s not scooting over for you.

it was his car after all. you sighed to yourself, attempting to veil the proof of your exhaustion. you had gotten up at 3 AM that morning for work and now it was midnight and the work was still unfinished.

“one last meeting, then the both of you can go home. you can welcome your plush bed and the warm purrs of your sweet fluffy cat.” you assure yourself. the man beside you seems worn out as well, the pair of you had been chasing meetings and appointments all day long. each meeting took at least 1-2 hours but with the marquis’ firm insistence to see an opera play which took about four hours, you can’t help but feel annoyed that this man’s taste had gotten in the way of your sleeping schedule.

the two of you were on the way to an estate of a newly made ally of the marquis. it would take at least thirty minutes or an hour to get there, you pondered what time you’d be able to finally rest.

you glanced at the marquis, gazing at the car window with a drink in hand. he appears to be holding on to the cusps of consciousness, he needs to appear sharp and alert with the help of an alcoholic drink. he kept quiet and the roaring of the engine was heard inside the vehicle. and it’s going to remain that way, you tell yourself.

god what you’d give for a quick power nap for this very hour, although you’re quite sure you’d sleep through the next day. however, sleep shouldn’t be your priority right now, the marquis needs you to be vigilant and sharp as well, no matter how tempting it is to sleep through this entire car ride.

“fuck, i feel like i’m about to pass out.” you complain to yourself, the temptation presenting itself more sweeter than it had been a few seconds ago.

you steal a quick glance at the marquis and he’s still..occupied looking through the car window. you might as well indulge in a quick nap, hopefully he won’t mind…right? and even if he does mind, no amount of verbal chastisement can amount to a quick rest.

you lean your head against the window, catching glimpses of the city lights and few pedestrians on the street. your eyelids fluttering from the sudden burst of light from other cars, tucking your hands on your lap. you drift to the sleep you’ve been yearning for.

a shaking wakes you up from your slumber, jolting from the action, you open your eyes wide open and see the driver shaking your knee.

“we’ve arrived” he announces.

you fix yourself sheepish from your unconsciousness, you quickly glance at the marquis to make sure he isn’t annoyed and thankfully he doesn’t seem displeased. the alcoholic drink was absent from his hand and he was checking something on his phone. you glance at your watch to check the time.

1:20 AM

you hope that arrival time was only a few minutes before that and it didn’t take several minutes shaking you conscious. realizing that you dropped your journal on the flooring of the car, you hastily pick it up and fix your sleeved shirt into place.

“shall we go inside, sir?” you meekly inquire to the marquis.

he slowly faces himself to you then checks his watch. he meets your eyes then clicks his tongue.

“yes.” he shortly answers before unlocking the door.

you follow his lead and you unlock the door of your side of the car, you get out of the vehicle. the estate was rather grand but not as grand as any of the marquis’ properties. the entrance was classy and elegant, with a staircase leading to the main entrance of the grand mansion and the lights were numerous but weren’t all illuminated; you could count at least five working lamps in the round plaza. out of your instinct, you look back at the marquis to see if he was out of the car as well.

“christ i feel like a doting mother to her child.” you mutter to yourself.

you let him lead the way, waiting for him to walk in front of you before you continue walking. the tiredness seeps into your body and senses again. you wonder if this would take an hour or two. but before the marquis trudges in front of you. a gunshot echoes through the plaza, the bullet bounces off the ground next to where the marquis is positioned, missing its intended target.

your voice shrieks, filled with dread and volume. one of the guards screams for the marquis to get down but he doesn’t, he looks astounded from what’s just happened, that someone is attempting to kill him. instead, you are the one who folds onto the ground scared for your life, yanking the marquis through his coat to get down on the ground with you.

“jesus christ, get down! are you trying to get yourself killed?!” you screech at his face, forgetting yourself, the weight of how dire the situation was pulling your senses down. in a different circumstance, he might’ve screamed back at you but right now he was silent. from shock or he didn’t care at what you just said to him but he remained stuck to the ground.

more bullets begin to shoot from every direction, some of them you can hear bouncing off the ground and some hitting the car, where you and the marquis are taking cover from the line of fire. great, now you’d either die being shot by a ricochet bullet or just get shot point blank. amazing.

“oh god. oh god. i’m going to fucking die. i’m going to die here.” you begin to ramble, tears are pricking your eyes and the sound of gunshots overwhelming your senses. you lean your back against the car and ball up weeping.

you could hear the heavy sigh the marquis made beside you, feeling shame fill your gut because you’d displeased him. oh fucking god, you’re about to die and you’re concerned about the irritation your boss has for you right now, that you’ve shown yourself weak in this very moment. this is fucking stupid, i should’ve never applied for this job. you slightly glare at him because of that.

“not everyone goes through this, you fucking asshole! sorry if i look fucking weak right now because i think i might die right now?! screw you and your french operas! screw that fucking painting you stare at the louvre! you can go fuck yourself if you think less of me right now?!” you wanted to scream at him, but decided not to, taking into measure it would only irritate him even more and wouldn’t do anything to help you.

your boss remained low to prevent stray bullets, he wasn’t sitting on the ground anymore but one of his feet was planted on the ground and his knee knelt on the floor. he looked at you, your face pale from fear and full of dread.

“you’re not going to die. we only have to wait this out. i assure you nothing bad will happen to you.” he attempts to reassure you but the tone of his voice is nothing but not assuring, it remains cold and firm as if stating a well-known fact. he was so sure that nothing bad would happen.

“you better be right, because if we die i’m going to search through the depths of hell just to strangle you for being wrong.” you think to yourself, “i might be dead but i can heal in hell.”

it continues on for several more minutes, you find it hard to know whether the gunfight was turning to your favor, considering you saw a few of the marquis’ guards dead on the ground but fewer enemies seem to shoot back as time progresses. finally, the gunshots start to dwindle until none remains, you look at the marquis wondering if it was safe to stand up. the marquis leans his hand against the car then calls out.

“thomas, are we clear?” your boss calls out, expecting the familiar voice of the captain of his bodyguards to immediately reply but there is none. silence ensues and dread slowly cements itself in your stomach, you pondered if thomas was already dead to answer the marquis.

“yes sir, the opening's clear. we’re good to get out of here.” thomas replies, his breath labored from the previous encounter.

relief floods your head and you let out a relieved sigh, glad that it is over. the marquis gets on both of his feet and looks around, his brain likely coming up with punishments for his new enemy for what he did tonight. you sniff then slowly rise in front of your boss, thankful the horrible occurrence was over.

for a moment you thought that everything was finally okay, but as you rose up, you caught a sight of your boss’ face stunned and alarmed while looking at you…except he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the person behind you.

before you could turn around to react, a final gunshot rang through the plaza and this time you couldn’t hear the sound of a ricocheting bullet to compensate for it. fuck, fuck, fuck. god please no. please no, a frail prayer to the above.

you look down and you notice a bright red spreading through your torso, the blood’s seeping through my shirt, you thought. you grasp your body and sink into the ground once again. god, it fucking hurts, you panic in your head. you hear another gunshot ring into the air, you pray that it wasn’t directed to you, when you look up you see the marquis wielding a gun, you assume he has shot the perpetrator, hopefully dead. you don’t often wish someone ill will, but right now it’s not fair for me to die and him to live. you let out a labored sigh and groan from the pain, as you try to lessen the blood loss. whimpering and tearing from the immense agony you felt from your wound, suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders. you look up and it’s the marquis, unscathed and safe.

well that’s not fair. i’m definitely hunting him through hell. you promise to yourself, trying to find amusement for this situation. the marquis on the other hand was someone you’ve never seen before.

he has repositioned your head against himself, attempting to find comfort for you whilst you bled on the ground. you could hear bouts of shouts from the guards that survived but couldn’t understand what they’d been saying. the marquis gazes at you with concern. an odd thought to your head, you must be imagining this with the both of you locked in a daze.

“you’ll be okay, mon amour. hold on for a little, it will be safe for you soon. you will live.” he utters to you, one of his palms rubbing circles to the pulse on your arm. it sounds like a promise, like a vow. an oath made during his frail moments. this sounded much more assuring than what he’d said earlier and it…

it sounded like he cared, like he actually cared about you because he does. not because of any loyal service you’ve given him but because he can’t seem to bear the idea of you gone. it almost sounded like he was assuring himself that you wouldn’t die right now, that he wouldn’t let it happen.

oh what has the world become? in a short span of time you’ve been scared for your life, relieved for safety, basically a clusterfuck of emotions, got shot by a dude that’s more dead than you are right now, slowly bleeding to death and most peculiar of all you’re dying in the arms of your boss and it seems like he cares about you.

you could feel black spots appearing in your vision, blocking the very lovely face of the marquis and the glimmer of the night sky. with your bones weary from work and your blood soaking through your clothes, slowly you flutter your eyes shut. the last thing you hear is the marquis barking an order, for you or for someone else, you could not tell. right now it didn’t matter, not when you’ve embraced the arms of death.

a sudden burst of light shines through your eyelids.

you open your eyes and it’s welcomed by the bright sunlight coming from the windowsill. you’re laid on a plush bed, likely not yours. you could only dream of having this bed. the room you’re situated in is regal and glamourous, you figure out that you’re in one of the rooms of the marquis’ home. wait, what?

then it all starts surging back to you, the gunshots from foe and ally, dragging the marquis to the ground with you and bleeding on the ground of the plaza. oh my god, i’m alive. i’m alive.

you thank whatever god that might exist out there, grateful that they’d spared you from dying. a gasp exists your mouth but rather labored, my throat is hoarse. i need water. a gleam beams at the end of your eyes, you look at glass and pitcher of water beside the bed, on the nightstand. you suddenly sit up and pain pierces through your body

“fuck!” you curse, wincing you lift your shirt and see bandages wrapped around your torso. it was bandaged properly but soon you’d need to get wrapped again, the blood was starting to show on the fabric.

slowly you scoot to the end of the large elegant bed, trying to minimize the movement that your torso might’ve done in normal condition. once your feet hanged over the bed, the nightstand was a bit farther than you expected from the bed, i’ll have to talk to the housekeeper about this, it’s called a nightstand for a reason. it’s supposed to be beside the bed not half a meter away from it! thankfully, there was a chair nearby you could grasp onto. you grabbed the pitcher and poured it on the glass, filling it to the brim. you drank it, greedily gulping the smooth liquid that served remedy for your dry throat. after finishing all of it, you set the glass back at the nightstand then scoot back to the headboard of the comfy bed, which was bombarded with pillows. the bed looked sweet enough for a princess like sleeping beauty, thankfully you woke up sooner than later compared to the fairytale princess.

you contemplate how long you’ve been out ever since you got shot, with the sleepiness and the severity of your wound, you pray it didn’t take longer than a few days, you had duties to fulfill and tasks to accomplish, of course but going home seemed more pleasant than doing some work. you missed the warm fluffy pet you had at home, you pray that the automatic feeder had provided enough food for your cat.

you decided to head home, you didn’t want to over-welcome your stay at the marquis’, surprisingly you’ve never spent a single night here for sleep. the only people who slept in the manor was the marquis, himself in addition to the household staff and his security team. sometimes the guests the marquis invited were offered to stay but it happened rarely and mostly out of ill contempt. you’ve entered some of the bedrooms but never laid on one, your boss’ home seemed more like palace than house and you often speculated he was picky with who stayed in his home.

you opt to get out of here, right now. maybe call for the person who bandaged you up, to get your wound treated again. you get up from the bed again and weakly trudge to the door, holding on to pieces of furniture nearby in case you fell.

you pull the door with all your strength, i did not realize how fucking heavy this thing was, how did the guards open it in such an easy manner? you might never tell. when the door was slightly ajar, peeking your head through the opening. you notice two men guarding the door, weird you think to yourself, but before you could say anything one of them notices you and jolt, his eyes wide,

“ma’am, good to see you awake. do you need anything?” thomas, the guard inquires to you.

now this is weird beyond levels, they’ve never spoken that polite to you. sometimes you occasionally joked with them but it was never this…formal. not to mention, this was thomas. he’s supposed to be protecting the marquis 24/7 not watching over the assistant.

“um…i need adeline, the senior housekeeper? i was just about to go to her for my stuff and then head home.” you answer to him, also weirdly polite.

“afraid, you can’t ma’am.” he replies, this perplexes you. why in the world not? a silence answers thomas, hopefully this wasn’t the marquis’ doing. you literally almost died and he won’t even let you leave…the recovery room? much less let you leave the manor and go home? anyways, it has rendered you temporarily speechless and annoyed,

“can i ask why, thomas?” you question him, trying not let your annoyance show.

“doctor’s orders. also out of experience, you just took a bullet to the torso, think you might need to be under observation for a while to make sure your gunshot wound doesn’t get worse, would hate it for you to die right now, ma’am.” he explains to you, it sounds just right but it feels weird the way he says it. normally there’d be a tinge of humor when he entertained your questions but it was nonexistent right now.

god what in the world happened?

“uh..okay. i appreciate that thomas, could you please send for adeline here then? and if it’s possible, the doctor too.” you reply to him with a weak smile. he simply hums in return and leaves you.

you let out a tired sigh and walk back to bed, you were getting out of here one way or another. right now, you need to process what the fuck just happened to you. you need to think if the amount of money the marquis pays you was worth dying for to stay under his employ. you sit on the edge of the bed and bury your face in your hands, hoping that adeline arrived first before the doctor.

you anticipated that adeline might help you get out of here through the back door of the house. the marquis’ house as armed and protected it was didn’t seem safe to you. i need the comfort of my home and a new job.

no matter how protected the marquis was, if you were going to die working for him. it might now be worth it, you might consider leaving france and heading back to your country. i also need a vacation. the only rest i got from him was 3-5 hours at best and therapy. i need therapy, preferably retail therapy. a cat works too.

a knock erupts from the door, you face the door and urge for the person to come in. thankfully, it was adeline. you slowly get on your feet as adeline approaches you.

“hey adeline, it’s so nice to see you.” you smile at her.

a moment of hesitation appears on her face, as if contemplating if she should’ve gone here or speak to you.

“it’s nice to see you, alive and safe ma’am.” she doesn't return a smile and meekly answers.

why was everyone so polite? adeline always welcomed whenever she spoke to you, is this usually what happens when you get shot? or do they know something i don’t? god did the bullet hit something fragile in my body? am i living on borrowed time?

you kept quiet, unsure how to continue the conversation. adeline doesn’t even meet your eyes. you feel upset and empty, this has never happened between the both of you. the last time you spoke to her, it was on good terms. both of you chattering gossip about the people in the manor. it was always good to talk to her and you presumed she felt the same. maybe it was entirely one sided.

“is there something you need? something to eat?” she probes to you.

“no, i think i’m good.” you quietly answer her. from what you’ve experienced with her, adeline had a soft heart and she had opened it you, why had she shut it close now?

“do you need someone to rebandage you? i can call the doctor for you.” she asks again.

“i already did.”

she looked up and you could feel her stare all over you. likely confused why you asked for her.

“then why did you ask the guard to call for me?” she demands. her voice felt harsh, she’d never spoken like this to you. cold and sharp enough to cut through skin.

“i was going to ask if you knew where my stuff were.”

“it’s safely stored in your locker downstairs. is there anything else? we placed some lemon water beside the bed in case you woke up.”

you hesitate, the last sentence pricked your skin. “how…how long was i out?”

“almost two weeks.”

“fuck.”

well that’s not good. you definitely need to get home to see if your cat’s still alive. hopefully he didn’t stay waiting for you at the door, you’d rather he escaped than have him starve.

“that sounds like a long time for a gunshot wound.” you mutter.

“it’s actually not.” she states matter of factly.

“oh.” you realize. “i think i need to get home right now, my family’s probably worried sick that i haven’t talk to them for weeks. any chance you could sneak me out?” you tinge your voice with concern and softness at the end.

she stays quiet, before answering to you. she’s hesitating what she’d normally say to me, she’s choosing her words carefully.

“i can’t. i assume you’ve been told what thomas knows about being shot? you need to recover.”

“adeline, i really need to go home right now…i-i don’t feel safe right here. i want to go home.” you reason with her, she had a hard exterior you prayed it could soften right now.

“i can’t.” she replies. clearly you were going nowhere when she’s firm in her decision. you decide to get petty in a way that often annoys her.

“adeline please, i need time to think, preferably away from this place.”

“you won’t get that. you’re staying here.”

“is that so? under whose orders did that come from? you’re being unreasonable here adeline, if it’s from the doctor or thomas who is sort of unreliable by the way, i’ve seen him get shot thrice but managed to beat up at least three dudes. i can get a doctor to help me treat this wound. so for god’s sake adeline who told you i can’t leave?!”

“the marqu-“ she screeches at you before cutting short. realizing she almost said that, she arranges herself and changes her answer. “the doctor. the doctor says you need to stay here.”

but you had heard it before it was finishes. the marquis. the marquis doesn’t want you to leave yet. why? god knows. likely he wants to speak to you, something about punishment or consequences if you ratted him out or something. you’re too tired to think something logical.

“no. you said the marquis. why does the marquis want me to stay here?”

she stays silent. as if her tongue had been cut at that very moment. you try to understand, but it’s hard to tell without the why.

“adeline…why? please answer me.” you pleaded.

she doesn’t say anything but looks at you. then at something behind you, like the answer was always in the room all along. you don’t follow her gaze too exhausted to play a guessing game.

“you can go now adeline. thank you.” you said feeling resigned.

adeline leaves the room and shuts the door. you slowly walk back to the nightstand pour another glass of water. your throat was still hoarse and dry from the lack of water for two weeks. you sipped the liquid, tasting a lemony flavor in the water. you remembered how the marquis wouldn’t drink anything but lemon water, he preferred it because of something about it’s health benefits but it always annoyed you because he would suddenly need a glass of it in the middle of nowhere. the first time he ordered you to fetch him one was in the middle of a meeting, he had refused to drink the bottled water on the table. you ran down for fresh lemons and plunged it into a glass filled with bottled water just to spite him. you chuckle at yourself at that, remembering the times you’d taken a shortcut at some of his orders.

wait. wait. you pondered why did they give you lemon water? you’ve never drank it here. hot water usually satisfied you, and adeline knew this. not to mention, when there was lemon water, either the marquis was near or he just left the room. it’s like he spawns out of nowhere. nevertheless, it was odd. the marquis ordering to keep you here and his precious lemon water in your room?

this is getting weird and suspicious. you decide to just call for the doctor, maybe once he clears me i can go home. odd he hasn’t arrived yet, deciding to either go to him or ask thomas to call for him again. the doors of your room burst open, you see a pair of medical professionals, a nurse and a doctor. not surprising, but what makes your forehead wrinkle in confusion and makes you frown was that the marquis was following right behind them.

you couldn’t bother to hide your shock from the marquis and stare at him as if he was the most eerie thing you’ve ever seen.

you sat on the luxurious chair, trying to listen to what the doctor was saying. he had mentioned something about avoiding vigorous exercise and constant movements to avoid ripping your stitches. while he lectured you on what to do, the nurse changed your bandages and by the end of his disquisition, the nurse was finished treating your wound.

the doctor gave you a bottle of painkillers in case you felt a sudden intense pain before he and the nurse left. you thanked the both of them for treating you before they left the door.

now, it’s time to face the elephant in the room.

the marquis.

he had sat there the entire time while the doctor rambled about the do’s and don’ts for your safety. he hadn’t spoken a single word ever since he entered the room, he sat across you on a refined cushioned chair. he seemed calm as ever, you wondered why had come here. if he was here to order you to appoint a reservation for an opera at 3 PM, you might strangle him right away wounded or not.

then again, the memory is still fresh in your mind. he had saved you, sort of. he didn’t get to prevent the perpetrator from shooting you but he did provide the medical treatment to keep you alive plus he shot the dude who shot you, so points for that.

as usual, he was staring at you. it’s become some ritual of his whenever you enter the room to the point you just ignore it. it hinted that it was harmless as you’ve observed for the past two years. but there was something different about it this time.

before, you’ve assumed that he stared to invoke submission and resilience from you, to establish himself as higher than you, but now his gaze wants to invoke a word from you. why? you wouldn’t know. the enigma that is your boss, is a puzzle too difficult to solve.

“how are you feeling?” he breaks the silence, gladly you look up wanting to get the conversation over with.

“i’m fine, sir.” you reply amiably.

“that’s good to hear.” he mutters. there was also something weird about the tone of his voice, he kept quiet after as if reliantly expecting a reply from you. but you don’t so he speaks up again.

“you’ve been asleep for almost two weeks, some of us have feared you might never wake up again.” he claims.

“glad that’s not the case for me sir.” you respond.

“yes, god was kind to you that night. the bullet missed any vital organs but you bled out, too much i might add.” he conveys as if it’s something humorous, you notice a slight tugging at the corner of his lips.

“yeah, that was really lucky.” you agree with him.

this needs to end. you could tell he was just being polite, his words were simply pleasantries as your employer. he might see this as a semblance of duty as your boss and maybe because he feels bad you took a bullet for him. emphasis on the “maybe”.

“i just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for me. getting me treated until i woke up. so..thank you. thank you for saving my life. i owe you for it.” you graciously thank him, thinking of every event that you might have to thank him for. just to lay the foundation before you say what you actually want to say.

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, his eyes not meeting yours. you don’t know what’s going in that pretty head of his but..was he ashamed? ashamed. that word associated with your boss tastes different on the tongue. no, he can’t be.

“um..in addition to what i just said, i think i might head home now. like you said i’ve been gone for two weeks, my family’s probably going crazy worried about how i am right now. plus i think i got the wound covered, thank you for your hospitality.” you state to him in a gentle way, careful not to let your tone insult him in some way.

your effort to hide your weariness to achieve that polite demeanor in front him somehow fails, because after you said that the marquis looks back at you again and doesn’t say anything. was there something wrong with what i said?

he stares at you and doesn’t reply, he suddenly gets on his feet and walks to the larged illuminated window in the room. you follow your eyes on his frame, you’d assumed that he might’ve just agreed with you and left. you thought his visit was a mere courtesy so why had he stopped talking?

“sir?” you call out to him, the ticking on the clock appearing more dire than before. the same feeling you got during the car ride to the louvre two years ago, surges back to you.

but silence greets you.

“did you hear what i said?” growing more anxious by the second, you try a firm approach. still you were apprehensive on what he might have to say.

but no words answer you.

“is there something wrong with what i said?” you question, your tone laced with worry. this is bad. a quiet marquis is a pondering marquis. whatever thought he’s got cooked up was never good.

“you cannot.” he declares.

finally he answered, although not what you wished to hear.

“why? is there something wrong with me?” you firmly ask.

“sir?” you add, then the silent treatment flows into the room again. he stays quiet while you prod him with questions.

“it’s not…safe.” he states.

“for…who? for you or for them?” you reflect, someone might be out for his death right now, and perhaps torturing the assistant might get the required information they need, it’s also a possibility the marquis has sent out a bloodbath. it’s happened before and the times it occurred you’ve opted to reside a few hours in the manor, also to prevent being tortured for information, repercussions are still plausible. retaliation was always in mind.

“it’s not safe for you.” he faces you, the statement was like moisture on a window, blurry and murky. difficult to see what’s through.

your mouth falls open, “what? it’s you they were aiming for, not me. they wanted to kill you. it was you they wanted to shoot. you were the target. i honestly don’t think they’d go after the assistant to finish the job. right?” you begin to ramble.

“yes, you’re right. they wouldn’t.” he disclosed to you, “i know that bullet was intended for me, the man was supposed to shoot me. god knows i know.” he whispers.

“and look what happened to you. what they..did to you.” he says as he slowly walks towards you. “you…you weren’t supposed to get hurt. i don’t think i can forgive myself for that.” he says softly as he looks back at you.

everything in your body shuts down. what the fuck is happening? you remember the concern he had when he cradled you into his arms, assuming it was because he’d seen you as a work friend that’s really helpful to him. even if he could easily replace you with a few seconds whether you were alive or dead. but this? what was he saying? this is different. it doesn’t feel right but it’s happening.

it all starts to dawn upon you. the fancy bedroom. he wanted me to be comfortable, even if the selection of people he would’ve accepted to stay were little to none. the lemon water. he visited me while i was recovering, he sat by my bed waiting for me to wake up. what he called you that night while you bled on the pavement, on his arms.

“you’ll be okay, mon amour. hold on for a little, it will be safe for you soon. you will live.”

mon amour.

my love.

he called you his love that night.

you realize.

he leans down in front of you, you lean back from your realization. more questions are popping into your head, so many you want to ask but nothing leaves your throat. you look up at him and he’s been doing the same, looking into your eyes. you can see the regret,concern and affection that’s festering in his eyes.

“you’re right. it was meant for me, but you had it instead. you…you took a bullet for me. who does that for someone? how many people in the world can say that they’ve taken a bullet for me? one. there’s only one. and she’s sitting right in front of me.” he divulges to you, he says it like he’s been keeping it for thousands of years while he kept his mouth shut in anguish, like he was itching to confess to you the tender words as if they were the most sacred secrets known to man.

as if the words kept him trapped in a prison with no way out, but now he’d said it and he was free.

you were shocked. too speechless to say anything. this might be the most difficult thing to process so far into your life,that your boss is fostering affection for you, because you took a bullet for him.

“believe it or not, mon amour. you’ve become more precious to me than anything this life has to offer, i want to keep you safe and right now the only way is to keep you here.” with him he firmly states to you with affection and devotion which you could sense in his tone.

you wanted to object but he continued.

“for a while, until you regain your strength. do you understand, mon coeur?”

mon coeur.

a french endearment.

my heart.

he called you his heart.

author’s note: first time posting a fic that isn’t a bunch of headcanons, with this being posted the upcoming fics may vary from the reader’s pov or the marquis’. this took me at least three days and a cold to finish, (no regrets) but how come part two took three days but part three, a whole nighter?? ;) the next one’s a bit interesting. feel free to share your thoughts!

part one part 3 part four part five

taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re

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improbable-outset · 6 months

Text

📂 𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧-𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

↳ 📂 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Memory loss, heavy angst

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Miguel grapples with the complex emotions surrounding your memory loss and the events that caused it. Jess offers advice that paves the way to the challenge he faces ahead.

𝐀/𝐍: Header from @bloodandthestars

The first rays of Neuva York’s sunlight beamed through the slits of the window, casting a warm hue across the room. The distant sound of the city was slowly coming to life through the window with occasional car honking and pedestrians murmuring. Miguel couldn’t help but squinted at the sudden bright light that almost burnt his sockets, still sensitive to direct sunlight due to his genetic alteration. With his large hands, he shielded his vision as he sat up, the bed squeaked as he moved.

“Lyla, darken the windows. The sun is killing my eyes.” He demanded in a hushed voice so he wouldn’t wake you. Lyla’s digital presence appeared on his shoulder as a golden holographic projection.

“Good morning boss, windows are darken now.” The bedroom was now bathed in a comfortable semi-darkness but still had it’s comfortable warmth from the suns heat, with Lyla’s soothing voice filling the room. “You’ve got several priority calls waiting for you from HQ. Shall I connect you now?” She added.

Miguel was hesitant for a moment before his gaze fell on your peaceful sleeping form, completely obvious to what’s going on around you. To him you looked like a cherished masterpiece, serene and vulnerable, that he feared might slip away from his fingers. It already felt like you’ve disappeared from him even though you were physically here. It had only been a day since you were discharged from the hospital but it still felt like a perpetual dream for Miguel.

He couldn’t help the apprehension he was feeling as he watched you sleep, knowing that you could no longer recall the life you shared together and memories and milestones you’ve reached as husband and wife. It was a complex situation that he couldn’t quite put into words.

“In a bit.” He replied to Lyla finally, his voice woven with reluctance. His fingers brushed lightly against your cheek as he watched the gentle rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you slept.

Being the sophisticated AI that she is, Lyla quickly understood the reason behind Miguel’s hesitancy when her digital gaze shifted to the bed.

“I see. Take your time Miguel, your wife is lucky that you’re here.” She said. He could tell there was a hint of urgency hidden in her voice but was grateful she didn’t push him further. He was fully aware of the duties he needed to fulfill back in HQ but right now being with you felt like a higher priority especially during these trying times. It was the first morning in a year that he woke up next to you in your shared bed, so he wanted to make the most of it before he had to go.

Miguel continued to stoke your cheeks and ear. He knew he should be grateful that you just about made it alive and things didn’t turn out horribly wrong. But he still couldn’t shake off the nagging fear that you’d wake up and realise the extent of what had been taking from both of you.

For a fleeting moment, he was torn between his heroic responsibilities and his role as a devoted husband. The conflict raged in his mind like a battle between love and duty. With a heavy heart, he leaned in and kissed your brow and lingered there for a moment longer.

“I’ll be back mi vida. I promise.” He whispered before he reluctantly tore himself away from your side.

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone, not when you needed him the most. He didn’t want to imagine how you would feel when you woke up to an empty bed without him and in a home that you couldn’t even remember. But duty calls, as it always did, and he couldn’t neglect them especially with the multiverse hanging in its balance.

He stripped away his night outfit and engaged his digital Spider-Man suit with his watch. With a final glance at your sleeping form, Miguel left the room with the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him and the tightening feeling in his chest. He had to navigate this new reality carefully for both of your sakes.

Miguel was usually renowned for keeping a tight lid on his feelings, a skill he’s mastered from leading a diverse group of Spider People over the years through thick and thin.

He rarely lets his vulnerable emotions surface, except for the occasional burst of temper when the multiverse was at stake or being tampered with by anomalies.

However, with his utmost perfectionism and the cool exterior, there was always going to be wavering cracks in his cold emotional armour. Most of the Spider Team wouldn’t notice, but Jessica Drew had a knack for picking up the hairline fractures in his stoic facade.

“I heard your wife woke up from her coma” Jess commented. Miguel was in his familiar digital suit, scanning every monitor surrounding him that showed an insight of different dimensions with his back to her.

Words and rumours spread throughout the Spider-Society like wildfire, whether he liked it or not, so he wasn’t surprised by the slightest that Jess picked up on the news. Miguel sighed, shoulders visibly tensing at the mention of his wife.

“She has,” he admitted. “But she doesn’t remember anything, about me or about our marriage.” Even without spider senses, Miguel could still sense Jess drawing herself close on the platform as she probed him further.

“Does she remember about the accident?” She asked.

His eyes were still glued to the holograms in front of him but he could tell that Jess was studying his subtle body language. “No, nothing at all.”

“Have you told her?” Miguel remained silent with an icy sensation running down his spine. He’d been dreading to hear that question, despite knowing it was inevitably going to be brought up. Unfortunately for him, his silence spoke volume. “Miguel…” Jess continued, she was standing beside him now, the marigold glow of the monitors reflecting on her goggles. “You’re gonna need to tell her eventually. Keeping secrets won’t help either of you. Sooner or later, she will find out.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Jess was right. It was one of the reasons she was recruited to the Spider-Society and was part of his inner circle. Even though she possessed a sympathetic nature, she was still firm and strict when she needed to be. The perfect maternal mentor and role model.

Miguel stayed silent for a moment, allowing the weight of Jess’ words to sink in. Despite the fact that she had a valid point, the fear of your reaction and the pain it might bring held him back. Will you forgive him? Will you even look at him the same? His mind swirled the further he thought about it.

He couldn’t bring himself to even imagine how you would react— he couldn’t bear to see you hurt, especially if it was caused by him. The blank expression you gave him the moment you opened your eyes from your coma was already unbearable enough.

He longed for those eyes to look up at him with admiration and love. He missed those moments where you would surprise him mid-duty and how your laugh would echo in the HQ building. Will he ever hear your melodious laughs again?

You were just rebuilding your trust with him and he didn’t want to shatter that fragile connection you had by bringing up the night of the incident that caused this whole mess. But the truth will come out and by then, Miguel will have no control over the situation. He had to tread through this with you carefully if he wanted a sensible outcome.

Finally, he turned to look at her with a deep sigh. “I know Jess, it’s just…it’s complicated. I don’t want to hurt her or put anything on her more than she can handle.” His voice faltered and he couldn’t uphold the cold demeanour any longer.

“I understand, Miguel. But sometimes the truth, no matter how painful, is the only way forward. I know you’ll figure it out. And I’ll be here for both of you when you do.” Miguel's shoulders relaxed a little as he willingly allowed himself to take her word for it.

As a married woman herself, she has had her own relationship experience and struggles so it was easy to trust her.

Before the incident, you and Jess were pretty close. Whenever she was off the clock, you would always spend hours chatting, sharing stories and offering each other advice on relationships and family. She was like a sister to you and was always readily available whenever you wanted fo vent. She even gave advice about motherhood when you and Miguel were discussing about having a baby in the future.

Miguel hoped that despite your memory loss, the deep and unique friendship you shared with Jess could eventually be rekindled.

His eyes drift back to the multiple screens, swiping his fingers over the golden holograms that displayed data from each dimension. Part of him wondered about an alternate dimension, one where you hadn’t suffered from memory loss and the accident never happened— a dimension where you were a content family.

But he knew he couldn’t change his timeline no matter how desperately he wanted to. The memory of witnessing the collapse of Gabriella’s demension after he disrupted the canon event by replacing his deceased variant replayed in his memory. After watching Gabi dissolve into nothingness, he carried that burden and had worked tooth and nail making sure nothing like that ever happened again.

Now, he had been granted the second chance in rebuilding a new family with you. But the parallel between your memory loss and Gabriella’s disappearance triggered a painful relapse of his grief, yet this time, there was a tinge of hope. Unlike Gabi’s dissolution, you remained tangible and he could still hold you him his arms. There was still a chance to recover what was lost.

“Thank you Jess…” he murmured with genuine gratitude in his tone, “It really means a lot.”

Miguel’s attention shifted back to the holograms, his thoughts still lingering about the complexity of the situation while Jess quietly left him to his thoughts.

#SoundCloud #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #Miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o’hara spiderverse #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #★— ayrus writes

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pyro-chaos · 10 months

Text

Miguel O’hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel meets you for the first time. Then, he gets to know you, but the upcoming mission will show him a new side of you.

Word count: 3,253

The anomaly didn’t seem to have intelligent thought.

It moved impulsively, like it didn’t have a plan. To Miguel, the anomaly’s behavior suggested the creature must’ve been confused, scared and angry, like a fly stuck behind a window screen.

Unfortunately, the billionaires that engineered the frog-turtle anomaly decided they absolutely needed the creature to be the size of an SUV, with enough strength behind its scales to flip cars and shatter concrete. The city’s infrastructure couldn’t afford the frog creature’s tantrum. Not only that, but it smelled rancid.

“Any time now,” Jess’s voice cut through the soft wind, breaking Miguel from his…plotting.

Rather than answer Jess, Miguel shot his webs into the top of a building parallel to the frog creature. He used the anchor to swing himself onto a building with a better vantage point.

Jess scoffed.

Miguel liked to keep in the shadows when he fought. Lucky for him, the creature started its rampage before the sun rose. Miguel just needed an opening.

Before Miguel could continue plotting, ropes of web stuck onto the building he’d settled on. You nearly made him jump.

Before the mission, Miguel thoroughly reviewed this Earth’s Spiderwoman. He’d originally assigned the relocation of the frog-turtle anomaly to Jess, but after seeing your age, history, and effect on this universe, Miguel decided it’d be best to attend this mission personally, because he intended on recruiting you.

You only slightly annoyed him by arriving late.

Miguel’s eyebrow quirked up. You seemed…scattered. On one end, you kept trying to preserve public and private property. On the other end, you had to pursue the creature to stop it from destroying things. There were also pedestrians.

Most people understood that running away from the creature would keep them alive, but a few oddballs froze in place while the anomaly flipped cars and shattered glass. You prioritized the oddballs. You’d shoot webs into their midsections before yanking them behind the brigade the police had conjured up behind congested intersections.

You tried to assign cleaning the creature’s mess as your second priority. With every car the creature flipped, you scrambled behind to web it back onto the asphalt.

Miguel could find it in himself to at least acknowledge your multitasking.

“We should help her,” Jess interrupted his thoughts. Again.

“Not yet”

You shot a web onto the creature's back. You used the web to propel yourself onto its shoulders.

“Why?” Jess asked

Miguel tried not to growl at her, “Wanna have a conversation or wanna complete this mission before dinner?”

He could practically hear her eye-roll.

From the rooftops, Miguel and Jess watched you wrangle the creature like a bull-rider. Except you weren’t good at bull-riding.

After a good backward body slam into the side of a brick building, the creature knocked you off of its back, but you’d kept hold of the webbing that allowed you to wrangle the creature in the first place.

The newly free frog monster ran up a building, dragging you along with it.

Good, the farther away from the public, the better.

By the time the anomaly reached the roof, you’d used your opposite hand to anchor a second web rope on the sidewalk. With one hand, you gripped the web attached to the creature. With the other, you held the web that kept you tethered to the concrete.

The frog monster’s ascent caused the sidewalk web to pull taut. You used the tension to find your footing on the side of the building. Then, you yanked the frog-monsters web hard enough to disrupt its balance.

Miguel hummed in... not approval, but not distaste.

You abandoned the side-walk web but replaced it with a web anchored on a skyscraper's antenna. You used the skyscraper web to slingshot yourself above the anomaly.

From there, you dropped the skyscraper web in favor of swinging circles around the frog-monster. Miguel would compare the sight to an electron circling its nucleus. Except rather than gravity attracting you to the creature, it was your web.

Miguel’s eye twitched. The police sirens had gotten uncomfortably close. Guess your arrival prompted a chase.

“I’ll take the anomaly; keep the police occupied?” Miguel asked Jess. However, his tone implied that he wasn’t asking.

The Spiderwoman nodded before zooming towards the sirens.

That left Miguel with you.

Your circles around the frog-monster caused a cocoon-like structure to build around its waist and one of its arms. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like it would last. The creature had claws.

Miguel shot into action before the creature could begin scratching at your cocoon.

The Spiderman entered the fight from above. Without acknowledging you, Miguel smashed the creature into the roof. Hoping to stun it. He succeeded

“Holy shit, who- ” The creature’s pained shrieks cut you off - are you!?”

Miguel winced; he needed to invest in some sort of earplugs or something. He’d run into louder situations at some point.

For now, Miguel ignored you, but you didn’t seem to like that.

“Hey! Uh, sir! I appreciate the help, but with all due respect, you shouldn’t be here!”

You’re not wrong, Miguel thought, but he didn’t answer. He’d hoped within the time it took him to bite the frog creature, you’d recognize his suit.

Miguel let his arachnid instincts take control of his movements. He could feel the venom slide onto his fangs as he unequipped his helm.

The creature writhed, knocking Miguel off balance. You responded by shooting a web on the creature's snout and pulling it towards you.

Between your less-than-weak tug and Miguel’s hold on its free arm, the anomaly’s neck pulled taut. The Spider saw the perfect opening and reacted. The creature went still, and Miguel hoped that the putrid-tasting liquid included only blood.

Ew Ew Ew, the half-spider jumped off of the creature's back while spitting on the roof of the building. The anomaly tasted worse than it smelled. Miguel licked his lips and spit again - Ew - then a third time - Ew -and a fourth. By the fifth spit, you made your presence known, “Why does your…outfit have a Spider on it?”

Oh yeah. You

“I’m Spiderman,” Miguel replied, spitting a sixth time, “Lyla, scan the area, please, and do it fast.”

Lyla flashed to life, “On it boss.”

Your head reared back like you’d been hit while your eyes followed his digital assistant. However, your body language went from relaxed to apprehensive almost immediately.

“What? Uh, sorry, I mean - yeah, What?”

Miguel stopped his spitting and turned his full attention to you, “I’d like to offer you a position within our organization.”

Miguel hired you on the spot for two main reasons. One, you were an adult. The sheer amount of teenagers that made up the spider-people population surprised and slightly annoyed Miguel. With the kind of delicate work he needed to complete, Miguel would much rather hire adults.

Two, he desperately needed employees. Preferably with field work experience. However, between the importance of upkeeping the entire universe, and the newness of Spider-society, Miguel couldn’t afford to be picky with his employees yet.

The half-spider could only think of one reason why he shouldn’t have hired you; he couldn’t accurately predict how you’d react when he informed you of the importance of allowing the bad cannon events to happen.

Sometimes spider-people didn’t react well to hearing about the necessity of allowing some to die to save the rest. That fact alone made up most of Miguel’s reasoning for reviewing the history of a spider-person before recruiting them. Most of his recruits had already overcome the worst of their cannon. So, they understood why allowing the cannon events to occur meant so much to the fabric of the multiverse. But if they hadn’t had the worst of their trauma? If they felt they had the time to prevent their loved ones from dying? Miguel would place money on the fact that some would try to disrupt their cannon.

Whatever, he’d do what he needed to do to keep the universe safe.

Throughout the tour, you wouldn’t stop talking. Miguel didn’t mind because Jess answered most of your questions, but being introduced to the arachnohumanoidpolymultiverse quieted you down. Your quips didn’t have the same life as they did before, and you asked less frequent questions.

Miguel knew you’d already experienced most of your traumatic cannon events. But seeing your gaze linger on the upside-down kiss another Spiderman shared with a woman reminded him of how much spider-people had to sacrifice for heroism. Miguel saw the same flashes of emotion within every recruit. The sadness in their posture always reminded him of how much he truly wished he could find another way.

“Why can’t we stop it?” You asked no one in particular. Jess put a hand on your shoulder.

Miguel softened his tone, “If we do, the entire version of that universe falls apart,” you clenched your fists. Miguel continued, “Stopping one death will result in billions more.”

“But that can’t be on us,” you argued, but you sounded tired like you’d made this argument with yourself thousands of times before, “we have to…save people; we can’t just let people die because we think it’ll save everybody else-”

“-We don’t think, we know.” Miguel spoke. His tone almost pleading

Your eyes found Miguel’s. The pain he saw in your irises made him uncomfortable. He hoped you couldn’t see a similar pain in him.

“I’ve tried,” Miguel uttered, “I’ve tried to change the - the cannon. But breaking it results in entire universes falling apart.”

Your breath hitched, and your eyes moved to the polished floor.

“You can’t save everyone,” Miguel finished softly.

At Miguel’s words, the tension left your shoulders and your fists unclenched, but your gaze remained on the floor, “So, is there like an orientation or a training day I’ll need to attend?”

To be totally honest, Miguel expected to hate you.

When he first got to know you, you rubbed him the wrong way. He hated how much you talked, how you always had something to say.

But just like the day he met you - when you almost made him jump as you entered the fight - you surprised him.

“Mornin’ Miguel,” You greeted unenthusiastically.

He hmphed in response. You’d webbed up to his desk rather than wait for him to get down to you.

“So I sent you last week's mission debriefs last night-“

“-They weren’t due until midnight on Friday-“

“- but I had some trouble understanding the mission Lyla assigned to me this morning, which I thought was weird because I figured they’d have the same overarching theme as the missions I’ve had since last week?”

That got his attention, “I personally assigned you that mission, but don’t worry, we’ll go over it in our next meeting. Anyways, I assume you saw my last email? Regarding overtime pay?”

You nodded; Miguel wanted to roll his eyes, “Well, your time cards don’t reflect that.”

“I fell asleep on my desk on one of the dates you used as an example, and I figured logging that time without knowing how late I actually worked would’ve been …unethical.”

This time Miguel actually rolled his eyes, “but you still worked overtime.”

You shrugged, “Honestly, there’s no way to tell.”

Cameras. He wanted to tell you, but that probably would’ve sounded creepy, “I could ask Lyla.”

“My pay doesn’t really matter as long as I’m provided proper housing and amenities.”

Miguel cringed. He’d figured that out by now, but he didn’t know how else to repay you. He didn’t know what else was appropriate.

When Jess needed positive reinforcement, he let her have extra time off or a bonus.

Peter usually needed a “good work” with a vacation and longer deadlines for assigned tasks.

It made Spiderman from Earth-13122 happy when Miguel assigned him more challenging missions, and he especially liked the large Checks and added trust Miguel gave him as a result.

Miguel… hadn’t figured you out yet.

Should he tell you that you’ve done well? How would he say it? Did you want to hear that from him?

Whatever, Miguel just knew he needed to keep you happy. As one of his best, Miguel needed to make sure no emotions could inhibit his work.

“Would you like…better housing?” Miguel asked. Albeit awkwardly.

You tilted your head, “is there something wrong with my current housing?”

Miguel huffed, he liked you, but he did hate you sometimes. Just a little bit, “Nevermind, just - just take the morning off.”

You stopped talking, but you didn’t leave.

Miguel tensed. Did he say something wrong?

“Uh, thanks? But it’s Wednesday morning? We have that meeting soon. Are you sure I should be…missing from that?”

Miguel smiled at your…admittedly mocking tone; it was all he could do to keep from cringing, “No, take the afternoon off instead.”

Great save, Miguel thought.

“Ok? ,Well thanks. Do you need anything before I get back to work?”

Ay dios mio Before I get back to work, Miguel thought, you never left work

“No, but thanks.”

You come to the meeting equipped with a notepad, a pen, and breakfast for Miguel, yourself and Jess. Breakfast burritos with eggs, bacon, potatoes, and just a dash of hot sauce-

See, it’s moments like these when Miguel just wants to smile at you, fangs and all, and nod in approval. He really hates how you make him feel that feeling.

Miguel’s happy with Jess, too; she brought coffee.

“Ok yeah, all this makes sense, but are we sure it’s a good idea?” You ask, sounding more serious than you have for the past twenty minutes.

Everyone present looks at you. No one you don’t know; Miguel, Jess and Lyla.

The meeting mostly pertains to Lyla and Jess because they’ll be the pair running Spider-society while you and Miguel do the fieldwork.

“All the logistics are covered,” Lyla chimes in, “and based on the risk calculation models, it’ll be a relatively low-risk mission. At least compared to what you’ve completed in the past. It’ll be like taking candy from a baby.”

“Yeah, the benefits technically outweigh the cons here,” Jess adds.

“It just feels like we’re sticking our noses in a universe where we don’t belong. Isn’t that bad? Can’t it make things worse for that universe?” Miguel already thought of that, but he likes how you take the multiverse into consideration before missions.

“It’s mostly recon,” Miguel reassures, “Even if we see direct combat, our interference won’t screw up an entire dimension.”

You nod, but you don’t look entirely convinced, “What if we find something we don’t like?”

Jess addresses your question, “That depends on how much we don’t like what we find.”

You nod again, but you lean away from the table, and your hands begin fidgeting with each other.

Miguel leans back in his chair. He trusts Jess, and he’s left Lyla in charge before, so he’s not worried about leaving Spider-society unattended. But he’s - well, not worried - more like aware of the unusualness of your reaction. Usually, you’re less…jittery.

“Anyone have any other questions?” Miguel asks. When no one pipes up, he concludes the meeting, but he just needs to address one more thing before you leave for the afternoon.

“(Y/N), meet me in my office for lunch; there’s more we’ll need to go over before we depart tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod, smiling at Miguel on your way out, “See you at lunch.”

You bring Miguel food again. When he smells the empanada, Miguel almost trips over himself, trying to toss the lunch he’d brought from home. He’s glad he can smell you from across the hallway. He would’ve killed himself if you saw him scramble.

You web up to his desk again; he tries not to scoff.

“So, what did you need to talk to me about?” you ask, placing not one but two empanadas on his desk.

You. Miguel thought, and your weird reaction about this mission, “I assume you saw the dress code? For uh…the mission?” Miguel asks while seating himself on his rolling desk chair. He rolls to a clean part of his desk before taking a bite of the empanada. It’s ground beef and vegetables. He wants to give you a promotion, but he’s already done that.

You sit on the visitor's chair across from Miguel and finish your bite of the burger before answering him, “Yeah -” You wipe your mouth, “- speaking of that, I was wondering if you’d be willing to give Jess the afternoon off?” you take a sip of his water, “I wanted to ask her to go dress shopping with me after work, but it’s her turn to cook tonight.”

Miguel wants to say no. The multiverse matters more than going dress shopping with Jess. But, for the next four days, Jess will have to endure double the normal amount of work. He needs to keep his employees happy. So, if it’ll make you both happy.

But Miguel wonders, “Can’t you go dress shopping alone?”

“Is that a no?”

Miguel scoffs, “If you ask her to go shopping, and she says yes, then she can have the afternoon off.”

You smile, “thank you.”

He hums, taking another bite of the empanada.

“Do you have your outfit for the mission?” you question, genuine curiosity in your tone.

The half-arachnid sighs. He doesn’t actually want to talk about the mission, even though he brought it up. He hates how the hardest part will be a gala. A gala tainted with superficiality. He hates how many horrible people he will have to shake hands with.

He would’ve loved to leave this mission to Jess and you, but no. Layla’s calculations predicted an easy mission because Miguel assigned you and him as the operators. Better to not mess with perfection,

“I already own a suit,” He answers.

“What about dress pants? and polished leather shoes and jewelry-”

“- I just said I own a suit; a suit includes pants - wait, Jewelry? Why do I need Jewelry?”

You look at him like he’s the dumb one, “We’re gonna be around billionaires.”

Miguel shrugs. In return, you raise your eyebrows and shake your head before returning to your food. The silence holds tension. Miguel thinks it’s because you can tell he’s not addressing what he wanted to address. Maybe he’s being paranoid.

He didn’t want to talk about the gala, he wanted to talk to you about why you seemed off in the meeting, but If he asked, would he be breaching some unspoken boundary that the two of you shared as co-workers?

He’s glad for the smell of empanadas and burgers; it keeps him from dwelling in his indecision.

“I can find another person for this mission. If you’re uncomfortable with…the risks of it,” Miguel offers. He doesn’t like the way the words taste on his lips. He doesn’t like how you swallowed because of them.

“It’s fine, “You begin, “It’s just…” Miguel stops chewing, “Well I don’t know,” You finish.

Miguel doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like how it sounded like you were going to tell him but decided against it.

He drops the subject. But you don’t, “I’m not uncomfortable with the mission. I can do it.”

You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Miguel wants to say, but you wouldn’t find comfort in that. After all, you’re Spiderwoman; you do things you don’t want to do all the time. Miguel can’t decide if he admires you or empathizes with you for that.

#miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader

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teecupangel · 3 months

Note

oh man as someone who has been in an isekai/transmigrator binge and as someone who ADORES throwing desmond in various eras/dimensions/worlds/universes the isekai desmond thing tickles both my fancies (and the ridiculously longass title made me cackle because thats too on point with isekai).

but i got to ask: would they have an isekai system? would there be a kind of animus-like game system for desmond to help him? would it appear with the other poor unfortunate assassins who got isekaid?

also i'm now having brainworms thinking that the soul swap round robin happened because it's, like, minerva's calculations trying to keep the timeline in check because it's a timeline where the solar flare was kept in check. and maybe one of desmond's ancestors died too soon (bets on altair) and the system scrambled and tried to ctrl+z it but plopped the wrong soul and now *another* assassin is accidentally dead so they plop another soul (the wrong one, of course) which all leads to desmond being plopped in ezio's body

I’m glad you enjoyed the longass title. It really gives off a Japanese isekai lightnovel vibe, doesn’t it? XD

I would like to include this addition from @seelezeit from the LegAss idea:

Ok but consider: Desmond -> Ezio -> Altair, Ezio's slot was open bc he went into Altair's slot. Or even Desmond -> Connor -> Ezio -> Altair but thats more a stretch

Desmond transmigrated to Ratonhnhaké:ton’s ‘story’ just screams:

But this could work?

Desmond gets transmigrated into Ratonhnhaké:ton after he got hit by Truck-kun, trying to cross the pedestrian lane (the light was green!) while looking at his phone because he got a notification that Abstergo is releasing a DLC for their latest game “Washington and the Wolf”.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gets transmigrated to Ezio Auditore’s life while he was asleep after finishing a book chronicling Ezio Auditore’s accomplishments as an Assassin (possibly written by Claudia Auditore but Achilles can’t be sure).

Ezio gets transmigrated as Altaïr after he lost consciousness while reading Altaïr’s journal before going to the ship that will sail him as close to Masyaf as possible.

To make it harder for them to not get involved and care for the people around them, they get transmigrated as children around 4ish years old after a fever that threatened their life. This way, there will be time for them to start to love the people around them and try to change their fates.

What happened to Altaïr?

He is the origin of the isekai system that appears before the Assassins and Desmond similar to the Architect from Solo Leveling or the Tower Master from SSS Class Revival Hunter. Or maybe he would be in a position similar to the Oldest Dream with the three being his sponsored ‘incarnation’? How about both? Let's go with both XD

Regardless, Altaïr appears before them by using the game mechanics that Desmond is more familiar with. To be more exact, he used the games as his basis to ‘communicate’ with the three he had unintentionally pulled from the future.

How?

Well… During the last few years of Altaïr’s life, he learns of the Isus’ plan to use his descendant to save the world. He would have left it alone since he learned the plan was to ‘guide and nurture’ his descendant and reward him after saving the world by letting him choose the future he wishes humanity to have, believing his descendant would do the right thing and give humanity the chance to make their own future.

Then he learned of the glitching probabilities of the future because the Isus did not take in consideration the actions of other humans, only focusing on ensuring that certain humans take specific actions.

Two names are given the highest priority to stay the course:

Ezio Auditore.

Ratonhnhaké:ton.

The more Altaïr finds out about these Isus and their plan, of how they played with the lives of people like puppets forced to play a tragedy over and over again, only to end in failure because they didn't care about the thoughts and desires of other humans…

Altaïr decided to destroy the Calculations.

The Calculations isn’t time itself nor is it destiny.

It is a shackle.

It is the barriers on the roads that promises that death lies beyond but lies, hiding alternative routes.

Would those routes be better than the Calculation being used by the Isus?

Altaïr didn’t know.

But, at least, this way…

They would all be free to choose their own future.

They would have what Altaïr didn’t have.

“Choice”.

Unfortunately, this ‘wish’ contradicted itself.

Because if one was to give them complete freedom to do what they wished, to be unshackled by the Calculations...

They risk the possibility of not being born in the first place.

Ezio’s actions, free from the Calculations, could lead him to not having Flavia, destroying the bloodline that Ratonhnhaké:ton would have been part of.

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s action, in turn, could lead to destroying the bloodline that Desmond would become part of.

Altaïr’s wish to ‘free’ them contradicts itself because that freedom could cause the disappearance of the people he wished to be ‘free’.

This causes an ERROR in the very fabric of time and space and Altaïr paid the price.

His very existence was wrenched from time and now he sits in an empty throne as the Overseer. Of course, his disappearance in the timeline must be fixed and that is how Ezio gets transmigrated into his time. This would cause Ezio to disappear in his original time so Ratonhnhaké:ton was pulled to take up his empty space. Desmond was pulled to fill up Ratonhnhaké:ton’s place.

And Desmond Miles’ place?

That future is no longer available. Everything after the day Desmond wakes up in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s place no longer exist.

It has been sacrificed.

To give Altaïr enough power over time and space to help the three men he had unintentionally taken out of their proper place.

A system similar to a video game interface was his only way of communication. A way to help them without taking too much power from 252 years-worth of history and probability that had been given to him.

The quests given to them lessen the price necessary to give them the rewards.

The calculation of their stats and the necessity of experience to level up creates a way to quantify how many ‘seconds’ would be taken from his reserve of history and probability to be given to them.

The ‘in-game’ shop they can access with points they receive from doing quests or even just doing mundane things have items that are priced by how many seconds they would take from Altaïr’s reserve of history and probability to materialized in their time. The points they get? They’re from the same reserve and the points are returned to the reserve when they buy something.

Unless… they use those points to add more stats instead.

Altaïr is playing a dangerous games, making the shop have objects that they would want in an attempt to ensure that he would have enough reserves to continue to help them while giving them the option to make themselves stronger faster than doing any quests he gives.

He cannot give a direct message. It would take years off the reserve just to send a short message.

So all he can do is use the system to help them.

To guide them.

To nurture them.

For them to choose a future for themselves in this new life they have been given.

#okay I call altaïr overseer but we can totally change that into something grander #like…#idk #the first sinner?#the origin?#just something that has the same feel as the title the oldest dream ig #assassin's creed #altaïr ibn la'ahad #desmond miles #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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vg-commentary · 9 months

Text

Some interesting tidbits about district assignments

Each underboss starts with one district, their "home" district, if you will. You get to decide which additional districts they get, but there's some assignments that some underbosses might like more than the others.

Southdowns - Vito/Cassandra

Pedestrian chatter indicate it had a large, if almost exclusive Italian presence before.

Vito comments on having a "favorite diner in Southdowns."

If you assign Cassandra to Southdowns, some pedestrians are concerned about the Italians and Haitians not getting along. Some pedestrians say they're getting along.

Cassandra says, "Laundry Machines, cigarettes and stereos. Southdowns knows how to turn a dollar out of everyday items. This is real good for us."

In contrast, Burke doesn't have anything interesting to say.

Barclay Mills - Cassandra

The other two comment on Barclay Mills being garbage, but Cassandra has dreams of revitalizing Barclay Mills. Curiously, Emmanuel says that that's because "she never has to go there."

Vito and Alma admit to having little experience with trains and factories.

Tickfaw Harbor - Cassandra/Vito/Burke

Emmanuel comments on the harbor being good for the marijuana business, and Cassandra likes it for general import/export.

Vito and Alma mention that the harbor would make their smuggling operation easier.

Burke and Nicki seems to be more interested in the car rackets.

Downtown - Cassandra

Burke and Vito seem more focused on the money while Cassandra's top priority is power and City Hall.

There's the usual talk about rising crime if Burke or Vito get the district, but with Cassandra, people comment on protests and clashes with the police.

Frisco Fields

All the underbosses seem to like Frisco Fields as a way to spite the wealthy, white residents there, and they don't seem too disappointed if they don't get the district.

Alma is a bit surprised if you give Frisco Fields to Vito.

Nicki dislikes Frisco Fields. It might be because she was in their ER once.

French Ward - Cassandra/Burke

Cassandra and Emmanuel mentions taking care of the sex workers there.

Burke likes vice and the rackets but Nicki seems more exasperated because of him.

Vito has little experience with the rackets there, but he seems to want to run it. Alma has no desire to run the sex rackets.

There's also some common themes in the chatter around each underboss's assignment.

Vito: Increased Italian presence, crime, protection rackets. People also comment on increased Italian cuisine. Memorable quote: "Guess what's at every crime scene lately in Frisco Fields? Marinara."

Burke: Increased Irish presence, moonshine, robberies.

Cassandra: Increased Haitian and black presence. The commentary is usually just racist remarks, but black pedestrians comment on increased black businesses and diversity.

#please correct me if i'm wrong!#im basing this off of their lines if they did or didnt get the district #without the in-game context #mafia 3 #cassandra mafia #thomas burke #vito scaletta #emmanuel lazare #nicki burke #alma diaz #all in all it seems cassandra has lots of dreams and plans that she needs money and power for #while burke seems to be going through the motions #and vito just sees it as money and business #cassandra and emmanuel are most aligned #vito and alma are next but occasionally vito surprises alma #and obviously burke and nicki are in conflict #or nicki comments more on the history of the district #i am confused that he thought lincoln would give him french ward though #and it's interesting that both vito and burke dont really care about politics

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liaromancewriter · 9 months

Text

What Could Have Been (5/?)

Series Premise: When Ethan breaks his promise, Cassie is forced to accept they’re not inevitable after all.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst Words: 1,560

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5: Risky Moves. Romance Rekindled. One is filled with remorse, but jealousy soon rears its ugly head.

A/N: I'm using @choicesflashfics week 44, prompt 3. Also, using prompts "dating" & "break-up" from the @choicesmonthlychallenge January 2023 editing. Set during 2x03.

Ethan Ramsey marched down the street. His long legs eating up the pavement, uncaring of other pedestrians, his scowl a deterrent to anyone bold enough to get in his way.

In his head, he replayed the conversation with his father, the look on Cassie Valentine’s face when he dismissed his mother and the complicated emotions swirling inside him for a woman that had abandoned him twenty-five years ago.

He should hate Louise. God knows he wanted to. But a part of him clung to a memory of a sunflower yellow dress and a tinkling laugh that had once made his world bright.

Who knew better than him that love didn’t last? That the world was too often a dark, lonely place. That people didn’t stay. It was better to leave them before they left you.

Like he’d done to Cassie.

Ethan cursed loudly and detoured into the alley behind Donahue’s. He kicked his foot against the brick wall, angry and frustrated with himself, his life and the world in general.

He thought he’d figured his shit out last spring. And yet, here he was again, spiraling out of control.

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He needed to rein in his emotions and focus on the facts to do his job well. And the truth was he had a patient waiting for him, which had to be his priority now.

Feeling calmer, Ethan exited the alley near Edenbrook’s back entrance and parking structure. His mask was firmly in place as he got off the elevator on the second floor, only to bump into Cassie, who rushed in through the stairwell door.

“Oops,” she said with a half-laugh. “Sorry, Dr. Ramsey. I didn’t see you.”

“Maybe if you didn’t run around the hospital like a child, you’d pay better attention,” he muttered, annoyed all over again when her scent hit his nostrils.

He felt Cassie stop and stare at him, but he dismissed her as he stomped down the hallway to Lamar’s room. She followed quietly, practically running to keep pace with his long strides.

The day went from bad to worse when they found an empty room, and their patient was nowhere in sight.

“Where the hell is my patient?” Ethan barked at the nurse on duty at the station across from the hospital room.

“Ethan…” Cassie nudged his arm urgently. “In his condition, Lamar’s a danger to himself. We’ve gotta find him.”

“We didn’t see him back there,” he pointed at the hallway from where they’d come, “so he must have headed toward the atrium stairs.”

Knowing there was no time to waste, he quickly called security and issued a Code Green.

They sprinted through the halls, scanning patient rooms and corridors for signs of Lamar or his wife. They were almost at the balcony overlooking the soaring glass-domed atrium when they heard a scream.

Ethan’s heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of Lamar climbing over the railing on the fourth floor. The fifty-sixty-foot drop to the atrium below would likely maim him for life if not kill him outright.

“That fall will kill him. Dammit, come on!”

Before he could finish issuing the command, he glimpsed a trail of blonde hair flying past him like a sprinter coming off the block. Cassie pounded up the stairs, her white coat flapping behind her.

That shook him out of his inertia, and he raced up behind her, taking the steps two at a time. She was faster, though and reached Lamar first. The other man grinned broadly as if it was all a game, and Ethan knew he would be too late to stop him from jumping.

Just a few more seconds, Ethan prayed, pushing himself faster and ignoring the shocked faces that had stopped to watch the spectacle.

He saw Lamar let go of the railing and lean forward as if in slow motion. Cassie lunged at him, her hand grabbing Lamar’s just in time as he dangled in the air. She almost toppled over the edge of the railing as the other man’s weight pulled her forward.

“Cassie!” Ethan shouted hoarsely, fear for her life made his mouth turn dry.

Her shoes dug into the tight space between the floor and the bottom of the railing. Balancing herself, she leaned forward and locked one hand around Lamar’s wrist. Ethan saw her wince as her shoulders and arms strained from the pressure.

“Ethan…” she pleaded, her terrified green eyes meeting his as he rushed to her aid.

“I’m coming, Cassie,” he called out, letting his mask drop.

Ethan reached them before the security guard. Leaning around her, he hauled Lamar back over to safety and pinned him to the floor.

The weight suddenly gone, Cassie lost her balance and toppled backward, her elbow hitting the concrete floor with a loud crack.

“Goddammit,” Ethan cursed.

He left the security guard to restrain Lamar. His wife, Liz, watched with worry and confusion at the words her husband was saying.

Ethan started to check on Cassie when Naveen called out his name.

Still crouched on the floor, Ethan glanced up to see Naveen, some of the senior staff and the hospital’s board watching from one story above with a mix of horror and morbid curiosity.

He’d forgotten the board was meeting today, and Naveen had promised them a tour.

A man in a dark suit broke off from the group and dashed down the stairs. Ethan’s brows knitted in annoyance. He didn’t recognize the stranger and opened his mouth to tell him to get the hell away from his patient.

But the man rushed past him to where Cassie sat on the floor, protectively hunched over her, clutching her elbow. Her face was scrunched in pain, and tears tracked down her cheeks.

“Cassie, look at me,” the other man said, tenderly placing two fingers under her chin to lift her face. “Dislocation?”

Cassie shook her head and paused, taking stock. “I felt something tear when his weight pulled at me. Could be a sprain or torn ligament. Pain is six. Limited mobility. Nate, please help me up.”

He slid one arm around her back, supporting her weight. Cassie pushed her knees off the floor and started to rise.

“Can I just say?” Nate commented in awe. “You, Cassie Valentine, are more awesome than Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel combined.”

“Oh wow. Must have really impressed you if I get compared to DC and Marvel heavyweights?” Cassie chuckled, sniffing back the tears, and leaned against him briefly before straightening.

“I want to be a gentleman, tell you it’s okay to raincheck on our date tonight,” Nate said pleasantly. “But the woman that just saved a man’s life is much too strong-willed to retire with her smelling salts. And I really want to celebrate her in style.”

He smirked. “Maybe even challenge her to a mini-golf rematch since my chances of winning have suddenly improved.”

Cassie burst into laughter. The sound was like a stiletto piercing Ethan’s heart because the laugh wasn’t for him.

Ethan’s initial concern changed to bewilderment at the friendly ease between Cassie and Nate, and he wondered how they knew each other. The confusion quickly turned to red-hot jealousy when he heard about their date.

Uncertainty about wanting to care for Cassie and the rumors that would fly if he shoved the other man aside to do just that had Ethan rooted to the spot.

He was positive Nate wasn’t on the hospital board. He presented to that group often enough to know all its members. He looked vaguely familiar, but Ethan was hard-pressed to place him.

He shook off this new mystery to focus on the existing one. Lamar’s incomprehensible actions. Cassie was talking to Liz now, and Ethan needed to be part of that conversation.

But first, he had to reassure Naveen and clear the hall of spectators.

“Naveen, it’s okay. The situation is under control,” Ethan said when the older man stood before him, eyes narrowed in consternation.

“How am I supposed to be calm at a time like this?” Naveen said quietly, but Ethan could hear the subtle anger in his mentor’s voice.

“Ethan, a patient almost died in front of a hospital full of board members, staff and visitors. Why wasn’t security protocol followed if the patient was a danger to himself?”

“He wasn’t—” Ethan bit off when Cassie approached them cautiously, Lamar’s wife trailing behind her.

“Ethan. Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie amended. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to question Lamar. We’re running out of time.”

With a quick nod at Naveen, Ethan followed Cassie and Liz to the other side of the hall. Lamar was still pushing against the security guard, talking about people no one knew.

He absently glanced over his shoulder to see Nate and Naveen talking seriously, heads close together.

How long had Nate and Cassie been dating, he speculated as ugly thoughts clouded his brain. The intimacy he had just witnessed between her and Nate didn’t happen overnight.

So, had she really waited for him while he was in the Amazon? Or was that one more lie he wanted to believe, just like the one about his mother returning out of love for her forgotten son?

---------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @youlookappropriate

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfics #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

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jazziesanura · 2 months

Text

Silent Electric

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Kyoka Jiro, Fumikage Tokoyami, Katsuki Bakugo, Hitoshi Shinso, {Y/N}

Pairing: Shinkami + GN Reader

Summary: Hyper Denki has moments of silence and unexpected prowess throughout the years.

Word Count: 8,228

Warnings: Fluff, mental angst, Katsuki is a meanie tsundere, he's nice though, promise, character comfort, poly couple, insomnia much?, pop culture, Spider-man?, Jojo reference??!, Prince

A/N: I've been listening to Prince a ton lately and a big BIG part of me was like, hm, Denki likes American things, he plays guitar, hm. He'd probably admire The High Priest of Funk and his amazing guitar solos. And one thing led to another and here we are.

There are only a few times when Denki Kaminari is silent.

After their concert in U.A, it was difficult for him to put his guitar down. It was his hyper-fixation for months and soon became his hobby before he realized it himself. Kyoka and Fumikage taught him the basics and exposed him to genres he'd never experienced. In turn, he constantly pestered them daily to show them his steady growth.

"Hey, hey Fumi-! You've got to check this out. Am I doing this right?" Denki would say, demonstrating a few notes on the strings with his tongue stuck out in scattered concentration. "These first few shifts around have got my fingers all jumbled, Kyo, but gosh it sounds so pretty. I've got it now though, see?" His cheeks would be rosy as he rambled and the moment his fingers began to fly along the strings, all of that would shut down.

His grin would turn into a lax smile as he would present to them a cover of Roundabout, by Yes. It was obvious he had practiced, but no one was ever perfect. From time to time, Denki's fingers would pluck the wrong note, but he'd continue on.

"All your hard work is really paying off”. Kyoka would say, pinching his cheek. "If you keep up like this, you'll surpass me."

"I'll say," Fumikage would chuckle, ruffling his feathers. "How long did it take you?"

Denki's mouth would open to answer, but Fumikage continued.

"Until you finished listening to it on loop," Fumikage would add with a knowing blink of his eyes.

"Most of the day actually. Oh, you think I'll have enough time to study for our exams? I completely forgot, dammiiit." Denki would throw his head back with a groan.

Katsuki would be the first to say, "You blabber too much, Dunceface. Use your only two brain cells and think for two goddamn minutes, tsk. Get your damn priorities straight."

He means well, honest. He's bad at conveying it. His finger often jabs between Denki's brows when he tends to make obvious mistakes that take only a few minutes to analyze.

“Look, meet me at my room in ten minutes.” Katsuki’s finger would emphasize the time with another poke to Denki’s forehead. “Ten minutes. So don't be fuckin' late. We’ll do a cram study session. If you’re gonna be a pro hero one of these days, you’ve got to keep your grades up.” He would turn his face away from the group. “I’m not letting any of ya fall behind.”

Denki’s mouth opened and closed, struck speechless. A grin plastered on his face as he practically tackles Katsuki to the ground.

“Ehehe, I knew I could count on you, Kacchan.”

“Ugh, would you quit callin’ me that for fuck’s sake.”

This is not to say that Denki is incapable of processing situations--he's smarter than he looks, graduating as one of the highest ranking in his class. As a pro hero, fans, villains, and his classmates especially have come to point out when Denki is in the zone.

“What?” A villain would jeer. “You’re too good to play around with me anymore, freak~?”

Denki would meet the villain’s words with silence, his eyes flick to each side of the street. No pedestrians, he could go all out now. A punch would fly to his cheek, knocking him down to the concrete. With the searing pain, Denki would wobble in an attempt to find his balance. In return, his hand would clamp down on the villain’s shoulder, tilting his head to the side with a lopsided grin.

In times like these no thunderclap sounded when Chargebolt strikes.

When the villain crashes to the ground jittering from the numbing pulse of electricity, he would pout and speak aloud to himself. “Aww, maan. I forgot to say the line like Miles Morales. This is the second time now. Had it all planned out and everything. Eheh, at least no one saw.”

That afternoon, Chargebolt’s shoulder touch take down was trending on the internet by his fanbase where they gushed proudly about their cute blonde hero and his sugary sweet, boyish grin.

“He’s so careful.”

“When I see his smile I know that I am safe.”

“Whoever marries him one day will be so freaking lucky ahfahgaahf”

“Chargebolt, the number five hero!”

“Teehee, he was trying to mimic the American hero.”

But then, that's only what the public sees.

Behind closed doors, Denki is in a poly relationship with Hitoshi Shinso and {Y/N}. He found it oh so difficult to not show them both off, but he understood that their privacy was the most important thing they had. Hitoshi would often return home from a long night’s patrol to find Denki wide awake, propped on his guitar, gazing down at his phone--the soft blue light illuminating his face as {Y/N}’s head laid on his thigh.

“What’re you both still doing up?” Hitoshi’s voice would collide with the sounds of the performance blasting through the speakers. {Y/N} turned to him with a sleepy chirp, too comfortable to move.

“Waiting for you, Tosh.” {Y/N} said as Hitoshi drew near to them both, gently cradling the top of their head, watching as he planted a kiss on Denki’s head. Hitoshi’s eyes would look Denki up and down as the young man made no response to his affection. He raises a brow and looks down at {Y/N} for an answer, at least they were communicating with him. “You don’t recognize the song?” They’d say with a soft giggle, pressing their cheek further against Hitoshi’s hand. “He’s watching Prince’s guitar solo again.”

Hitoshi’s eyes shift to look over Denki’s shoulder, slowly recognizing the video playing. He’d chuckle, shaking his head in amusement, echoing {Y/N}. “Again. That time of the month, hm.”

“You know he’s obsessed with His Royal Badness.” {Y/N} gently tickled Denki’s side with their fingertips, smiling at the sound of his giggle.

“{Y/N}, babee~” He’d whine between laughter. “I’m trying not to miss it, come, come, look!”

Both of his lovers would lean in close to Denki’s sides as he pointed down at his phone.

“See, see, there, right there! His guitar defies even gravity.” He’d sigh in pure awe as if he'd never seen it before .

“There’s got to be a string or something.” Hitoshi would squint, rewinding the video again. “That or someone caught it.”

“Oh, don’t kill the magic being so critical, Toshi.” Denki speaks with a teasing voice, nearly bridging seriousness. “He’s magic, his fingers are magic. If he didn’t want his guitar to fall back down to the ground, well--it didn’t. She's floating around somewhere maybe.” His nod would be firm, awfully sure of himself. Then he would disappear in front of them once again, lost in the strings of his own guitar. Hitoshi and {Y/N} spare each other a knowing glance before looking at their partner in silent adoration. He sat there in the middle of them both, comfortable without a word on his lips as he filled the silence trying to copy the legendary musician, Prince.

Minutes would turn into hours and Denki was still at it, groaning more and more as he could never get it exactly right. Hitoshi would gently clear his throat to remind him of their sleeping lover that was curled up at his side.

“I don’t get what I’m doin’ wrong, Beau.” His hands hold his face as his hair fans around his face, staring down at his phone. Denki sighs and props his chin on the base of his guitar, slumping over. “I wish I was talented like him…”

Hitoshi’s brows furrow tight. He sounded perfectly fine to him, each note sounded like it was wailing with the pain of someone who had been vastly hurt, and the years of practice had him on par in ways that he considered talented. Hitoshi sets aside his homemade mug that {Y/N} had made for him with a low hum.

“Have you ever made something of your own?”

Denki’s golden eyes flick upward and it was his turn to furrow his brows and his nose. When Hitoshi doesn’t further press on with his question it leaves Denki with the chance to analyze himself. He knew the reason why his fingers would fumble whenever he played music he knew by heart. He’d been battling with himself to branch off in ways that he knew would work just as well as the original piece and staying true to what was already considered perfect. Denki twirls his plectrum between his fingers, staring into the eyes of the late musician, Prince. It felt like he was staring right back at him.

“I-...” Denki bites down on his bottom lip, not having realized that he was quiet for ten minutes now, passing his fingers over the strings to keep his hands busy. Even still, Hitoshi’s eyes never drifted away from his boyfriend-gentle and patient. “I never--is it silly to say that I thought--no, no, that I think I’m not good enough to make anything of my own? It’s already wild to me that I’ve even gotten so high in the hero ranking. It’s--it’s gotta be impossible for me to be any good at anything else too.”

Hitoshi stands from the other side of the room and sits down beside Denki. His chin tilts down.

“Look at yourself.”

Denki squints his eyes, crinkling his face as he looks at his boyfriend like he was vastly crazy. Hitoshi chuckles and lays a kiss on his cheek.

“Listen to yourself.”

He drops his gaze to his instrument in his arms. His fingers moved on their own, he hadn’t even realized it. The tune floating into his ears was simple and something he didn’t recognize playing before. Just as he began to feel excitement welling in his chest, electricity sparked at his fingertips, scaring him out of his unconscious state.

“That-That was just--that was one time.” Denki sputtered, placing the guitar down quickly as if he’d been burned by it.

Hitoshi hums to himself and turns on his phone to the first app he had opened already. In it were videos of his boyfriend chatting to {Y/N} as they retold their entire day at work. At the beginning of the video {Y/N} shoulders were tense as their face was fiery with annoyed anger. By the end of the video their voice has become softer as their body relaxed like melted butter on the kitchen table. Denki blinks fast as Hitoshi slides to more and more videos of him absentmindedly playing original tunes. When Denki didn't speak, Hitoshi's baritone voice filled the silence, silencing the storm raging in the blond’s mind.

“You're more capable than you think, Kaminari.”

A/N Pt. 2: The songs mentioned, each extensively long like most good songs are in the good old days.

youtube

#denki kaminari #kyoka jiro #fumikage tokoyami #katsuki bakugou #hitoshi shinsou #[Y/N]#shinkami #x reader #bnha #mha #Youtube

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legobiwan · 5 months

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How would count bleck's minions react to seeing Culex in your crossover?

omg, anon, I didn't know Culex was a thing until you sent me this. I might or might not have immediately picked up my Switch to go find him for the first battle.

But! This ask got me thinking about my crossover idea. What if...the Bleck minions were on a mission to stop Culex, but on the way, they end up running into Mario and the gang?

And now I've created a whooole bunch of lore tying together the two games. Buckle in friends. I'm feeling talkative today.

Culex states he traverses dimensions, is antimatter and matter, both, which is a key characteristic of the Chaos Heart, which is able to both destroy and remake worlds in its wielder's image. Maybe Bleck has hit a roadblock as he's conjuring spells to bring the Chaos Heart to fruition, and the presence of Culex is one of the major impediments to his plans.

So he send his minions after him.

Now, I would argue that the meeting between Mario and friends and the minions occurs before their confrontation with Culex and that Mario and the gang are too busy with Smithy and his associates to take this on. (Although the thought is troubling. Nastasia explains that this Culex claims to eat time, that he is matter and antimatter but cannot inhabit their dimension for very long. Geno shakes his head at this, stating if such a being existed, he would know of it, as his people are the keepers of time itself, which is writ, measured and meted out in the cosmos from which he comes. If this Culex is an abnormality, a kind of...Geno searches for the right word, black hole, or void, he is not threat enough to alter his primary objective of restoring the Star Road, whose failure would have far greater ramifications than a single dark entity).

Of course, what the Bleck gang doesn't tell Geno or anyone else is that the possibility of Culex being a void incarnate is the exact reason they are pursuing him. Because, and this is mostly Dimentio piecing things together, a being that is matter and antimatter, that traverses dimensions for time to eat might well be a fragment of the Chaos Heart Bleck has yet to be able to bring under his will, as Bleck has spent the last two years piecing together the broken shards of the heart that had been scattered across the multiverse the last time all worlds came to end, so many millenia ago (an event Geno would rather forget, and one of the reasons the restoration of the Star Road is so important. Wishes are hope, and hope, in its most basic form, is love - a love which can balance out the incursions of nihilism and the likes of Culex. A love, that we, the reader, might also associate with the Pure Hearts, which was this love in concentrated form).

So, eventually the Mario gang and the Bleck gang part ways (stay tuned for some writing about that, as the concept has burrowed into my brain). They finally find Culex and at first, they don't think it will be a huge ordeal. Sure, he's large, with chiseled abdominal muscles, long hair, the body of a lifeguard...well, at least, that's Mimi's first impression, before Nastasia elbows her in the gut and tells her to get her priorities straight. O'Chunks is less than impressed, stating that he encountered men twice his size on the bloodied battlefields of the Andaal plains. Dimentio, for once, is quiet, hanging back, observing the strange, billowing creature.

Of course, that initial hubris is quickly wiped away when Culex summons the elemental crystals, the first hit sending O'Chunks flying with a pitiful, "I might 've been wrong abou'im."

Mimi is enamored, and envious of, the elemental crystals, which hold far more power than her more pedestrian Rubees. But even she knows this isn't the time to barter and that this is a fight she won't win, same as Nastasia, who quickly comes to the conclusion that brainwashing is not going to work.

But Dimentio just floats forward, chuckling. "Elemental crystals," he sings, "how droll. Take away your little baubles and you are nothing but an echo, a parasite with no host."

"Dimentio, be serious!" Nastasia scolds, dodging around a deluge of small, sharpened petals.

"Oh, but I am, my dear Nassy," Dimentio replies, his voice muted by the translucent box he has conjured around himself. "He is nothing more than a puzzle piece escaped from the box. Destroy the crystals, destroy the spirit," he says with a lazy snap of fingers, a bright fireball exploding over a cerulean ice crystal.

"Certainly we have enough potions in our stores to create a counter-effect to each element? It is, after all, the most basic of magics."

"The most basic of magics," O'Chunks grumbles, limping over to join the others.

"A strong punch along the grain might also do the trick, for those of us more inclined to use brutish force over subtelty."

"I'll punch those crystals inta' next year.''

"That's the spirit, my large friend."

Suffice it to say that the Bleck gang makes short work of Culex at this point, and while his defeat does not end in his disintegration, his shield is now permanently destroyed, meaning that Bleck will be able to assimilate him into the rest of the Chaos Heart as he pushes forward with his plans to end all worlds.

Ironic, though, that Dimentio would see the flaw in Culix's plan in relying on the crystals as a shield. It would be the same mistake Dimentio himself would make in assuming the Pure Hearts could not be conjured more than once.

#hello there #ask legobiwan #culex #dimentio #o'chunks #mimi #nastasia #geno #spm #sm: rpg #this got out of hand but i kept getting IDEAS for tying the lore together

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atlurbanist · 4 months

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I had a nice meeting this week with Jon Birdsong, who's part of the new ownership team of the vast South Downtown properties previously owned by Newport.

I'm really impressed with his ideas for creating pedestrian oriented, human-scale urbanism here. When he told me that he'd just been reading a post by PhilVeasley.com I knew South Downtown was in good hands.

This team also owns Atlanta Tech Village and they're planning to open some offices for that venture in South Downtown.

As per usual, I made my pitch for making residential development a huge priority for these properties. I know that's easier said than done, but I truly believe it's the most important element for the area's future success.

#atlanta #urbanism #downtown atlanta

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maaarine · 2 years

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Brussels breaks up with the car (Aitor Hernández-Morales, Politico, Aug 11 2022)

"We're leaving behind the Brussels of the 1960s and '70s, when everything was built for cars, and moving toward a completely different direction in which the city is for people," Bart Dhondt, the city's alderman for mobility, said in an interview with POLITICO.

The plan — which fits into the Brussels region's larger Good Move plan to reduce car traffic by 24 percent by 2030 — is designed to prevent cars from crossing the city center, instead diverting them to the ring road.

Some major roads will become one-way streets; others will only allow public transport and priority vehicles such as ambulances.

A handful of streets will ban cars altogether and become pedestrianized. (…)

Brussels' ambitious regional mobility plan is a result of the so-called Green wave in the 2018 local elections that led the party to gain representation — and key mobility posts — in 11 of the region's 19 municipalities.

Schaerbeek, the Brussels region's second-largest municipality, in January became the first to present its plan to take measures to slash traffic and redirect cars away from its townhouse-lined streets.

The municipality of Anderlecht unveiled a similar scheme shortly after, and its Cureghem neighorhood debuted its plan to reduce congestion last month.

"Many of the people that were elected [in 2018] had been part of the grassroots movement for clean air and safe streets," said Dhondt, a Green party member who was sworn in as alderman for mobility in Brussels that year. (…)

"As we rearrange the streets we are going to drastically reduce the number of spots for cars on our streets," said Dhondt.

"Let's recover spaces for the people coming to the city, let's give them green areas."”

#belgium #environment #politics #article

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heartsmadeofbooks · 2 years

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New Fic: Underneath it All [Preview]

Hi everyone!

It’s been a while since I finished posting my last fic, Sleepless in Brooklyn. My plan was to start writing and sharing a new fic right away, but life got in the way. It’s been a few difficult months, with lots of up and downs, and writing was sort of relegated to the last spot in my list of priorities. But a few weeks ago I finally managed to find some balance in my life again, and I’m now in a much better, much more creative and much happier place.

And nothing makes me happier than announcing that my new story, Underneath it All, will start on August 3rd. This fic is a book!AU that I’ve wanted to write for the longest time. It’s been a bit challenging, because it’s based on the first romance novel I’ve ever read, Wildest Hearts by Jayne Ann Krentz, a book that was written and published in the late 80s/early 90s, so it was quite challenging to adapt the story to our times and for a gay couple. But I had lots of fun with it, and I hope you guys will enjoy the ride.

Without further ado, here’s a preview of the first chapter, plus the cover art made by the amazing @nerdishedits. My beta for this story is once again the one and only @christinejaneanderson, who’s been my partner in crime for a decade now. I’d be lost without her ♥

See you on August 3rd!

The first time Blaine saw Kurt Hummel was at his older brother’s engagement party.

It was a very lovely night, still warm for the end of September, and both drinks and food were flowing freely in the cozy yet expensive restaurant Cooper and Joanna had chosen for the occasion, the one where they’d had their first date a few years ago, where Cooper had stopped, just outside the doors after dinner, and kissed her as pedestrians swerved around them, as the Manhattan traffic played for them like a symphony. He hadn’t been able to wait until they were at her doorstep, Cooper had told Blaine the next day. He just knew he had to kiss her right then and there, afraid there wouldn’t be another chance, afraid the magic would be spoiled.

There was music playing and a space had been cleared amongst the tables to allow for some dancing. For a few minutes, Blaine stood with his champagne glass and watched as couples danced, a little smile on his face, maybe a wisp of wistfulness behind his hazel eyes. But there would be time for that, he told himself as he turned to find his brother.

For a while, Blaine was distracted, chatting amicably with friends and colleagues, making sure everyone was having a nice time. It felt like it was his duty as best man to make sure this night went wonderfully for both Cooper and Joanna.

And then he was there.

It was hard not to notice his arrival, because the crowd suddenly grew very, very quiet. It was eerie. Blaine had been talking to his future sister-in-law, and hesitated, unsure. He spun around to see what the problem was and saw a man walking in.

He was tall and lean, but even from a distance Blaine could tell that under that designer suit he was wearing, he was deceptively strong. His chestnut hair was swept off his face, not a single strand out of place, and his eyes seemed to morph from blue to grey, an icy quality to them that seemed enough to make people part as he walked. He was so handsome it was impossible not to stare, but the set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw, the way he moved told Blaine there was something about this man that was unlike anyone he had ever met before – he seemed powerful, and in complete control of the room within a second or two.

Cooper had warned Blaine and Joanna, when they were working on the invitations for the engagement party, that it was more than likely that Hummel wouldn’t make an appearance. He was rarely out in public, let alone social affairs, and when he did choose to attend one, it was in much higher circles than the ones the Anderson brothers moved in.

Cooper had met him five years before then. Hummel had hired Cooper, who had always been sort of a tech genius, to set up and strengthen the security systems in his extensive business empire. When Cooper had left the company he had been working at a few years later, wanting to start his own firm, Hummel had invested heavily to help him get started, becoming his biggest financial backer. They had done business together a few more times since then but, as Cooper had said to his brother and future bride, it didn’t matter how much time he spent with Kurt Hummel, he didn’t become less of a mystery.

Despite Cooper’s warning, here he was. Blaine saw his brother from across the room, the obvious surprise and pleasure at seeing him arrive. He immediately made his way to him, his arms open in welcome, a bright grin on his face. Hummel hadn’t smiled, only recognized Cooper’s joy with a brief nod. There was something about him, some sort of dark fierceness that made it hard to look away.

As he followed Cooper, who no doubt had just told him he wanted to introduce his fiancé to him, people once again parted to make way for him. Blaine was at once impressed and slightly struck by this – the way he moved, so in control, so determined, like he knew what he wanted and nothing would stop him from reaching it, made Blaine think of a leopard gliding through a flock of sheep.

“Hummel, I want you to meet my family,” Cooper said, grin still intact, when he reached them. “This is Joanna, my fiancé.”

“Nice to meet you,” Joanna said, but there was hesitation in her voice as she looked at Kurt Hummel, her brown eyes filled with uncertainty. She shook his hand so briefly they barely even touched.

“And this,” Cooper said and reached to squeeze Blaine’s shoulder, “is my little brother, Blaine.”

When Hummel’s eyes turned to him, Blaine felt torn between wanting to run and hide from that deep, steady gaze, and a much louder, larger part of him that wanted to get closer to Kurt Hummel, regardless of the risks.

A shiver went down his spine as they shook hands and Hummel’s fingers settled, very briefly, on the pulse point at his wrist.

He didn’t stay long. He stood in a corner by himself, sipping champagne absentmindedly, for less than half an hour. Except for the brief minutes he spent talking to Cooper, he held himself apart from the crowd, and no one dared approach him, as if there was a magic invisible border between him and the rest of the party.

Blaine had been intensely aware of the way Hummel’s cold eyes followed him as he danced with some of Cooper’s college friends. He could feel it, like a tickle on the back of his neck, but Hummel never stepped away from his little corner to ask him to dance.

He didn’t dance with anyone else, either.

He left as quietly as it was possible for a man that couldn’t help but pull everyone’s focus, only Cooper trailing behind to see him out. Blaine couldn’t deny the peculiar disappointment that went through him at seeing him leave. Discretely, he made his way to one of the windows and took a look outside. There was a slick black limousine parked at the curb and Kurt Hummel stood right beside it, chatting quietly with Cooper. His brother was gesticulating wildly, explaining something in that very Cooper way of his. It was such a stark contrast, seeing them side by side – while Cooper was light and breezy, always smiling, always laughing, always trying to make whoever was with him have a great time, Hummel was dark and heavy like a rain cloud, his lips set in a straight line, his posture one that showed he was always alert, that he didn’t let himself relax, not here, not now, maybe not ever.

Just as he was about to get into the limousine, once Cooper had patted his back in a friendly farewell, he turned and stared right at the window where Blaine was standing, looking at him, like he had known all along that Blaine had been there. His only acknowledgement was a small, court inclination of his head, before he got into the car and disappeared.

Blaine stood at the window for another minute, feeling, strangely, like he needed to catch his breath.

#Fic: Underneath it All #SO FUCKING EXCITED YOU GUYS #Can't wait to share this one #Klaine #Klaine fic #Klaine fanfic #Klaine fanfiction

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