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wkemeup · 3 years

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The Offer

summary: Zemo offers to sell the Winter Soldier in exchange for information. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 3k warnings: vaguely implied unwanted sexual contact a/n: this is based around the Madripoor scene in TFATWS ep 3, particularly Zemo’s suggestion of “he will do anything you want.”

“You must maintain your cover,” Zemo’s voice rang in your ear, drowning out the heavy bass of loudspeakers from the club down the hall. “If you break character, they will know... and they will kill us.”

You held your breath; arms folded tight across your chest, nails digging into the exposed skin on your biceps. It did little to ease the strain within your muscle as you watched Bucky standing guard at the edge of the room, his eyes overcast in a cold, emotionless haze. Ready for command. Empty of the needs and desire that made him human. Portraying the shadow from his past he was so desperate to escape.

Slowly, you shifted your weight on heels sharp enough to pierce skin. The clothes Zemo had dressed you in were unforgiving, exposing every dip and curve on your body, though you supposed that was his intention. You were meant assume the role of a wealthy arms dealer known only as Lilith, a woman whose reputation for the bedrooms of Madripoor outweighed even that of the weapons at her disposal. An affinity for the finer things in life, Zemo had snickered to himself. Sex, drugs, and power.

Bucky’s eyes shifted to the floor near your feet. You could tell he was watching you from his peripherals though his expression remained vacant. It was shocking to see him like this again, worse that he seemed to fall back into the role of the Winter Soldier so easily – like he’d never truly believed he could put his past to rest at all.

Zemo paced at the center of the room, discussing terms while Selby lounged on the couch. Her brazen comfort in a room of powerful agents on the dark market told you she had more leverage than any of you anticipated. You felt for the slight weight of the gun strapped at your thigh, keeping careful watch of the guards stationed just outside the door. The four of you were easily outnumbered and outgunned, even with Bucky throwing himself back to the Winter Soldier.

Sam caught your eye across the room, his face stern enough to communicate his uncertainty. He didn’t trust Zemo anymore than you did. The man was responsible for dozens of deaths, including the King of Wakanda, and he’d done the Avengers no favors by planting a seed of war between the most powerful people on the planet. You tried not to follow Sam's gaze when his eyes flickered to Bucky, a softening in his brow to see months of progress virtually erased within seconds.

“What’s the offer?” Selby’s voice broke through the haze. You hadn’t realized how focused you’d been on Bucky until you began to notice the music thumping through the walls and the scent of stale beer lining the floors – a disorienting state amongst precious stole artifacts and original paintings.

Zemo stood from his chair, crossing the room. He picked up a relic from the center table, admiring the shiny copper edges as he tossed it in the air. It nearly slipped from his grip and he shuttered out an apologetic wince at Selby before placing it back on the table. You rolled your eyes.

Adjusting the fur lined collar of his jacket, Zemo circled the edges of the room. He came to a pause over Bucky’s shoulder, gaze slowly trailing down his frame, tracing over the lines on Bucky's face as if he were studying for imperfections. A sinister smirk curled at his lips before he turned back to Selby.

“Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum,” Zemo bargained, waiting for her interest to peak before he continued. She shifted in her seat; a brow raised. His lips curved in a devious grin enough to make your stomach twist. “And we’ll give you him. Along with the code words to control him, of course.”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, his stare maintaining the same emptiness you saw the day on the bridge when he’d been muzzled by his captors and made to be a weapon. Nothing in his expression gave way to whatever was going through his mind and part of you wondered if he’d allowed himself so far into this role again, that he’d embraced the cold arms of the numbness it carried. It was easier than allowing himself to feel any of the rage that was rapidly boiling under your skin, you supposed.

But then, Zemo’s knuckles grazed at Bucky’s cheek. Lingering over unshaven stubble, a shadow along his jaw. A delicate touch though it seemed to burn as if steam could rise from the contact alone.

Zemo turned, grinning at Selby. “He will do anything you want.”

It was so impossibly subtle, you weren’t sure anyone else had noticed, but Bucky’s jaw clenched. The muscle shifted the shadows on his face, his breathing coming to a stop as his chest no longer carried the steady rise and fall under layers of leather and Kevlar. Zemo’s hand moved along Bucky’s jaw, fingers dangerously close to his lips, and you felt for the outline of the gun strapped to your thigh.

"Anything?" Selby inquired. Her tone was even though her eyes widened just enough, the dark of her pupils expanding as she glanced over Bucky's frame.

"When he is properly activated, the Soldier is incredibly–" Zemo paused, tapping the edge of Bucky's chin, "–eager to please. There's nothing else inside that brain of his except his mission. What that mission is, is entirely up to whoever recites the triggers."

“Fascinating,” Selby grinned as she slowly stood from her perch.

You followed her stride with every agonizing step towards Bucky. Just as she crossed in front of The Smiling Tiger, Sam’s gaze met yours. He narrowed his eyes, the slight shake in his head barely noticeable. He must have seen you reach for your gun – an instinct to protect Bucky from the demons of his past, a tangible weapon you hadn't been able to use against the monsters in his sleep. It took every ounce of your strength to relax away from the comforting metal.

You watched as Selby’s eyes roamed over Bucky – hungry, and like a vulture, she licked her lips. As she began to circle his frame, gaze trailing down from his shoulders, to his thighs, down to his feet, never once daring to meet his eyes, you found yourself inching closer. Bucky’s hand curled into a fist so tight his nails broke skin in his right hand, blood prickling at his palm. And still—his expression remained stoic, unfeeling. A paralyzing thought crossed your mind and you questioned if this dance was a familiar one – the art of being sold to another human being.

Selby paused as she faced him; examining the features on his face as if he were something other than human – a prize to be won, a possession to own, a trophy to show off.

“And he’s still in working condition? After all these years?” she inquired toward Zemo, standing so dangerously close to Bucky. His stare focused straight ahead, far beyond the wall across the room as if he could burn holes into the plaster.

"He's quite impressive," Selby murmured. Slowly, her hand reached towards his face.

Your grip was around her wrist before anyone realized you’d crossed the room. She flinched, startled by the vice-like hold wrapped around her wrist and a pained sort of whine escaped. She flexed her fingers and still, you held your ground.

“Is there a problem, Lilith?” Selby smirked, curiosity glaring as her eyes flickered between you and Bucky. You said nothing and yet, her lips parted in understanding. “Oh, I see. You control him. Don’t you, dear? He belongs to you.”

You tasted bile on your tongue – the very thought of owning Bucky as if his agency was not even in question made you sick to your stomach. Your grip tightened on Selby’s wrist and you would have broken it clean in two if you had the strength for it. But one look at Zemo and the cautious gaze upon his face, and you forced yourself to swallow back the venom in your mouth. You didn’t allow the disgust to touch your features or the shame to burn hot into your neck. Lilith would not be fazed by the selling of a weapon—even if that weapon were a man with heart so heavy, so full and so kind, he could hardly carry its burden on his own.

“Make your deal, Selby,” you hissed in an accident belonging to the weapons dealer you portrayed, “then, you can play with your toy. Until we have our intel, hands off the product.”

You released Selby’s wrist and she stepped back a few paces. She slid her left hand over the red marks forming over her skim, gingerly massaging at the area and still – the grin did not falter from her cheeks. Impressed, intrigued. She seemed inclined to ask you more about your bond to the Winter Soldier when you stepped in front of Bucky, blocking her view as she unabashedly stared down her hopeful new possession. Sam and Zemo exchanged a glance, though their expressions did not carry the weight their eyes did.

Behind you, you could hear Bucky exhale a heavy a breath, could practically feel as his fists released to be out of the woman’s eye line. It was short lived, of course, as all things in Madripoor were. A gunshot pierced through the window and lodged itself into Selby’s head.

***

You woke with a sudden start, the sticky smell of stale beer still on your skin as you jolted up on an unfamiliar bed. The room was vaguely a blur thanks to the pounding ache in the back of your head, but you could see enough to know it was not a place you recognized. To your left, the bed was untouched; sheets perfectly pressed as if they’d never been laid in at all. Glancing down, you saw you were still wearing the dress from the club, makeup smeared over your face and onto the pillows. You brushed at your cheeks to remove the mascara stains.

At the end of the bed, laid a fresh pair of clothes. Blue jeans and a black pullover. You sighed, pressing a hand over the soft fabric and bringing it to your face. It smelled of lavender and vanilla – fresh and inviting compared to the sweaty stale air of the night club.

The night before was mostly a blur. You didn’t remember much after Selby was killed; only Bucky’s hands on your waist, pulling you back towards the door as you tried to locate the shooter. You’d kicked off your heels and sprinted next to him in your bare feet – a man who could challenge the speed of moving vehicles and he was running in line with you and Sam while gunshots reined from every direction. Self-preservation was not a concept in Bucky’s vocabulary.

Your feet were bloodied by the time you caught your breath again and within the impossibly small moment you took to pause, an assailant had knocked you out from behind. Cold darkness. Instantaneously. After that, you could only catch vague memories of Bucky lifting you into his arms and Sharon Carter’s voice. But you hadn’t seen Sharon in years. Not since the aftermath of Vienna. The theory didn’t make much sense.

You felt along the dresser for your gun, only to find it empty. With a tired groan, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, hoping you could find Bucky or Sam before you found trouble. Your feet were wrapped in bandages carrying a slight pink color on the soles – courteous of Zemo’s ridiculous heels you’d left behind the chaos and the mile worth of pavement you’d run barefoot on.

The chill of the hardwood floors was a relief on the undersides of your feet, but you hadn’t accounted for the dizziness from your concussion to take over once you stood. The room went dark and you began to sway, trying to feel for the bed behind you, when suddenly you hard footsteps rushing into the room.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing out of bed?” Bucky’s arms wrapped at your waist, holding you steady. He guided you back to the bed, helping you to sit on the edge as you regained your vision. He sat down beside you, keeping a hand on your arm to help ground you as you focused on the permanence of the room, the sturdiness of solid ground.

“What happened?” you sighed, pressing your palms to your eyes. Your head was still ringing from the blow you took the night before. When you finally allowed yourself to adjust to the sunlight in the room, you turned to face Bucky. He was dressed in a plan black t-shirt and jeans; his Winter Soldier attire hung in the corner of the room.

“Sharon happened,” Bucky chuckled with a short shake of his head. You thought you might be surprised at his answer, and somehow, you weren’t at all. Bucky softened, his fingers brushing at the hem of your dress. “You should change into something more comfortable. Sharon left some clothes for you but um... you were pretty out of it last night and I didn’t want to... um...”

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled at him as you placed your hand on top of his. You squeezed at his fingers, curling under his palm against your thigh. For a moment, you nearly lost yourself in the sunlit reflection of blue within his eyes – the delicate intricacies of a complex man. So impossibly sweet and kind in the daylight; cold as stone in the night under the guise of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky helped you to stand, giving you time to adjust to the sting of healing wounds on the soles of your feet. He turned his back to give you privacy, though he kept close enough that you could grab hold of his shoulder for support. He pushed the clothes down the bed for you to reach easily.

Slowly, ignoring the ache in your body, you slid the zipper down your spine, letting the dress fall to a heap at your feet. You tried not to notice how Bucky’s shoulders tightened at the sound, his stance a little less balanced at the fallen fabric. Gingerly, you dressed yourself in the jeans and pullover Sharon had provided for you, trying to stifle a wince as you shifted on your feet. Bucky’s head tilted at your whimper, his instinct fighting to turn to you, to help you, but he held himself still.

When you were done, you reached for the necklace at your bedside, one you hadn’t worn on the mission but you carried it with you wherever you went – the last token you had of a distant life before the Avengers. Sam had kept it in his pocket in Madripoor.

“Would you mind?” you called softly, tapping a hand against Bucky’s shoulder. He turned cautiously, almost timid in his movements, and you smiled at him as he held his hand out. The delicate gold chain dropped into his palm – a beautiful contrast to the black metal, in mirror to the detailing work along his shoulder.

Before you could turn your back to him, Bucky stepped closer. He held each side of the necklace in his hands and brought them around the back of your neck. This close, you could smell the bar soap he’d used that morning, you could see the lines of scruff along his jaw he hadn’t been able to shave.

When he clasped the chain, he stepped back slowly, but only enough to admire his work. He brushed your hair away from your collar, a ghosted smile on his lips at he touched the pendent at the center. This wonderful, beautiful man who learned to find comfort in touch again, who sought you out when it felt impossible to reclaim that part of him. Memory of the night before etched into your mind and you swallowed back the lump in your throat.

“Bucky?”

He smiled a little wider, focused on tracing his fingers along your jaw, brushing away your hair. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

Bucky paused, his touch upon you skin turning near to stone before he pulled away. The smile he’d worn slowly faded from his lips, the cold rush of reality piercing through the tender moment, and you hated yourself for being the cause of such pain. Bucky sighed, sinking down onto the bed, his hands gripped tight to the edge of the mattress.

“Not sure there’s much to say, doll,” Bucky exhaled.

You sat beside him, close enough for your thigh to brush in line with his. He looked down at the little space between you, his eyes fluttered closed at the contact – the grounding sensation of welcomed touch.

“You're not him anymore, Bucky,” you said softly, setting your hand over his own. “No one is ever going to control you or... or own you again, okay? They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to... not anymore. You’re free. You know that, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded, though it was slow, almost aching. He squeezed at your hand, pushing out a pained smile as he looked at you. “I do.”

You reached towards him with your free hand, cupping the side of his cheek where Zemo had touched him the night before. You traced your thumb over his jaw line, tingling over the short hairs on his skin. So beautiful and lovely after decades suffering under the hands of cruel men.

“You know I’d kill anyone who tried, right?”

Bucky chuckled at that and you were grateful to see the lines by his eyes again, the smile pushing bright into his cheeks. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know that, too.”

He leaned forward a pressed a kiss to your temple. Short and lingering and not nearly long enough. But it was welcomed and warm and enough.

—

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws spoilers

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whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years

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Could we please get some general tf2 Sniper nsfw headcanons?(please i need a little spice about my favorite string bean💭❤)

General Sweet and Spicy Sniper Thoughts

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, very general lemon content? I more so focus on him than the Reader. Minors DNI.]

[AN: Ofc you can. I ended up doing sweet and spicy because I had some other thoughts I wanted to throw off here.]

Sweet

He's the kind of guy to check in on you by looming in the doorways and blush when you finally notice him. He kinda like observing you, whatever you're doing, I guarantee he wants to watch because you look so fantastic to him in that moment.

He isn't an artist, he can kinda sketch? If you've ever seen John Marston's take on animals in the journal, that. But he's big on photography. He likes being able to capture a moment, and the candid photos of you are no exception.

He likes to talk to you about your day, and then barrel into other bizarre, niche things. He doesn't always like small talk and prefers you get into the thick of it.

He's kinda craft? If you're into vulture culture, he's going to really help with that. Makes you jewelry from the bones of animals he's either found or ethically hunted. Mundy does not hunt for sport, only necessity.

His parents ask about you a lot because they absolutely adore you. His phone calls with them have one block of time dedicated to you.

Spicy

Alright here's the part you were waiting for. Idk if I've ever talked about Mundy's dick before, but here we are. He's pretty long but not entirely thick? I feel that's expected, but he still stretches you out just right. Call him Captain Hook bc it's curved upwards. Also, he does some light grooming? But generally, he's pretty natural. Doesn't care if you shave or not.

Freakishly good at giving head. He likes when you sit on his face. Makes an entire meal out of your body. He loves how you taste, your scent, how soft you are, the moans that come from your lips... He makes you feel like you're the only person in the world when he's between your legs.

Mundy doesn't always have the patience for cockwarming? Sometimes yes. He'll sit you down on his lap and hilt inside of you, but generally, he just wants to fuck. Wants to rut into you and eventually fill you up. If he's not cumming in you, he's going to paint your chest or your ass. He likes the sight of that.

Speaking of chests, Mundy likes them. Doesn't matter if you're afab or amab, he's going to pay attention to your chest. Have a big chest? Beautiful. Have a small chest? Gorgeous. He does not care. Loves to run his fingers over your nipples and pop them in his mouth.

I don't think sex is a very fast thing with him either. It's a long, drawn out affair and leaves you sore and sleepy in the morning. He's pretty big on rough and hard, but never fast. Likes to savor the moment and make you feel every inch of him. His muscles flex just right when he's on top of you. Just watch him as he fucks you.

Haha you can probably suck his dick while he's sniping. Like, he kinda likes it. Your hands on his thighs as he aims, eyes relaxed, brow furrowed as you take his cock deeper and deeper into his mouth, nose just barely tickled by his hair. You feel his thighs tense as he finally pulls the trigger, his precum sliding down your throat. Hot.

#tf2 sniper headcanon #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 x reader #tf2 headcanons #minors dni #lemon

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

Text

hear those bells ring: chapter 3 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo wakes up with his hearing and a bunch of questions.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 3, I had to work over the weekend. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Bakugo woke up confused, disoriented, and pissed off.

He bolted upright, the taste of smoke and ash still on his tongue, but when he whipped his head from side to side, there was no fire, no burning asphalt, no villain, only the empty, dark expanse of his apartment.��

But something was still tugging at him, fucking incessantly, and it took him a moment to realize it was his phone alarm.

Red eyes flicked to the device on his bedside table, and even though its continuous siren was like nails on a chalkboard, Bakugo found himself unable to move, unable to stop it.

Because he could hear the alarm. Clearly. Loudly.

He hadn’t been able to hear his phone alarm in weeks, not really. It was nothing more than a muffled tone that petered out toward the end as it rose in pitch and frequency. Thankfully, Bakugo’s internal alarm got him up most days around the sun, but he’d been late to morning patrols a handful of times.

But now…

Numbly, Bakugo finally reached out and tapped his phone. His ears rang slightly in the ensuing silence, but it was barely perceptible, nothing like the perpetual buzzing he’d been living with, like a hive of bees had taken up residence in his head.

The quiet, after so long, was almost… unsettling.

And it was all because of that woman. He was sure of it.

Bakugo pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought about you, the memories of last night flooding back. The blurry image of your face, crouched over him, splattered in a thin mist of red blood and dusted with white plaster. He couldn’t remember much from right after he blasted that villain into the fucking dirt. He remembered the feel of glass breaking around him, and pain, a lot of fucking pain, but then it was black until you appeared. When he’d opened his eyes and met yours, he recalled thinking he should be in more pain, but then you spoke to him and derailed all coherent thought.

Because he’d heard you. Clear as fucking day.

That immediately drew his attention, and so did the blood all over your hands.

There was a lot of it. Way too fucking much for nicking yourself on some glass or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. And Bakugo knew it was bullshit. You weren’t a convincing liar. Well, maybe to some idiot extras you would be, but not to him. He clocked the way you stuttered, the way you fidgeted and averted your eyes. And when you looked at him… fuck, your face was so goddamn guilty.

Why, he had no idea.

But he did know one thing.

You had a healing quirk. There was no other explanation.

Even if he hadn’t just miraculously recovered the hearing that a doctor told him he would never get back, there were a lot of other little discrepancies. His left arm, for one. Bakugo remembered how it felt when the villain’s asphalt wrapped around his limb, the burning, scalding agony of it. But now, the skin was just pink and barely blistered in some places.

Then there was the blood.

When he’d gotten home after ditching the crime scene, Bakugo had immediately beelined for his bathroom to take a shower. But, when he stripped off his hoodie, he realized it was heavier than it should be right before he noticed it was dripping onto his floor. Dripping blood. Without thinking, he’d wrung the hoodie out on the bathroom floor, and a fuck ton of red liquid seeped out of it.

He had immediately dropped the jacket and started scanning his body in the bathroom mirror, but besides the shallow gash on his abdomen, the burned arm, and a few other minor scrapes and bruises, he was uninjured.

But… his back was coated in red, and so were the seat of his dark jeans and boxer briefs. It was almost like… he’d been lying in a pool of blood.

So, you had to be a healer. You just had to be.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to confirm this since the cops had been circling you like vultures. He also hadn’t wanted to be bitched at by any more heroes, or the fucking media, so he made himself scarce.

But he needed to see you again. Needed to hear the truth from your own mouth.

And maybe he could coax you into a deal.

The doctor Bakugo spoke to yesterday obviously hadn’t known what the hell he was talking about. He had made it sound impossible to fix the blond’s ears, and yet you’d somehow done it easily, in the middle of a fucking battlefield.

With that kind of power, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about going deaf or designing stupid hearing aids with some company.

With that kind of power, Dynamight would become Japan’s Number One Hero in no time.

But first, he had to find you.

Resolved, Bakugo shoved the covers off and slid out of bed, but before he could make it to his bathroom, someone started knocking on his front door.

No, not knocking. Banging. It sounded like they were trying to break the fucking door down.

“Bakubroooooooo!”

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Bakugo grumbled as he padded to his front door. He was only dressed in boxer briefs, but that’s what the idiot got for barging over so early in the damn morning.

The banging persisted, growing louder and more fervent.

“I’m fuckin’ comin!” the blond shouted just before he undid the deadbolt and wrenched open the door.

Eijiro Kirishima, dressed in his Red Riot costume, blinked on the other side of the threshold, his fist still raised to knock.

“What the fuck, bro?” he asked after a moment of just staring at Bakugo.

The blond immediately scowled. “That’s my fuckin’ line. What are you doing breaking down my door at six in the damn morning?”

“Excuse me?” his patrol and agency partner scoffed. “I’m obviously coming to check that you’re not dead since you’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.”

“What?” Bakugo frowned. “I saw you yesterday morning for patrol.”

“Noooooo,” Kirishima drawled like Bakugo was a particularly stupid child. “That was two days ago, bro. Then that night, I see you all over the damn news, and no one could get ahold of you all day yesterday. I would have come to check on you sooner, but I’ve been having to play damage control with the media because someone decided to blow up a residential neighborhood.”

“Two days?” Bakugo echoed with a furrowed brow. He’d slept that long?

“Have you been passed out this whole time, dude?” Kirishima groaned as he shouldered his way into the apartment. “I guess that means you got none of our messages?”

“Our?” the blond grumbled as he closed the door and followed the redhead to the kitchen bar.

“Yeah, Denki, Mina, Sero.” Kirishima waved his hand dismissively, marching over to the counter where Bakugo kept the fruit and selecting an apple from the wire basket. “I even asked Izuku to message you, just to see if he’d actually get a rise and response from you.”

“I don’t need stupid Deku knowing about my problems, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo growled before he stomped over to his fridge to see what he had to eat because he was suddenly starving.

“Well, that would imply I know your problems, Oh Great Lord Dynamight,” Kirishima snorted and took a bite of apple. “So, what the fuck happened the other night?”

“I blew up a residential neighborhood,” the blond deadpanned as he turned on his stove, cracking a few eggs into a skillet.

“Yeah, I saw that. I was more wondering about what led up to it.”

“What the fuck do you think led up to it?” Bakugo snapped, rummaging through his cupboard for seasonings. “I was walking home from getting a drink, and a damn villain just popped up in front of me.”

“From what I heard, there were other heroes there, too,” the redhead mumbled around another bite of apple.

“Yeah, fuckin’ useless extras,” Bakugo sneered as he started to whisk his eggs with a pair of chopsticks, throwing in some leftover white rice and a bit of nori. “They obviously weren’t getting anywhere, and the bastard was tearing up the street, so I stepped in.”

“To finish destroying the street?” Kirishima cocked an eyebrow, chewing noisily.

“Fuck off,” the blond said with an eyeroll.

Internally, though, Bakugo knew the redhead was right. He’d been sloppy, careless, probably still borderline drunk. But he’d just been so angry about the doctor’s appointment, his fucked-up ears, his bleak and silent future. He had just wanted to break something, hurt someone, consequences be damned.

Except now the consequences were catching up to him.

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about what his citizen’s approval rating must be now.

Silence stretched between the two pro heroes for several long minutes, in which Bakugo finished making his breakfast and Kirishima finished gnawing on his apple core. The blond quickly shoveled a few bites of eggs and rice into his mouth, but his scarlet eyes kept flicking over to the redhead.

“How bad?” he finally asked.

Kirishima, to his credit, had learned how to translate Bakugo’s curt grunts years ago.

“Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s not that bad,” he sighed, tossing the apple core in the trash and scratching at the back of his head. “Could be worse. From the reports I read, most of the damage—besides the road—is superficial. Broken windows, charred and peeling paint, a few busted cars that we’re still trying to figure out if our insurance or the city’s will pay for. It also helped that you saved two people. That definitely softened the blow.”

“Two?” Bakugo mumbled around one of his last bites. “I just remember the stupid extra on the street that I shoved out of the way.”

As the memory flashed through his mind, Bakugo frowned. He’d shoved that extra out of the way and got snatched by a giant asphalt hand for his troubles. The blond’s red eyes dropped to his pink and blotchy left arm and then trailed over to his chest. He recalled the sensation of his ribs snapping under pressure, but now only a mild soreness lingered after he took a deep breath. Yet another inconsistency…

“Yeah, two,” Kirishima said and drew Bakugo out of his thoughts. “Do you seriously not even remember your own heroics? And that girl had such nice things to say about you, too.”

“Girl?” Bakugo snapped his head up. “The girl whose… apartment I fell into?”

“Crashed into, dude,” the redhead snorted, but then he narrowed his eyes as a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “But yeah. Sounds like you remember her, huh?”

Bakugo didn’t like the smug look on his friend’s face.

“I remember her fuckin’ yellin’ at me.” The blond scowled. “Like I wrecked her place on purpose and didn’t just save her whole block from a lunatic.”

“I mean, to be fair, if you crashed into my house, bro, I would have yelled at you, too.” Kirishima grinned. “But don’t worry, she’s fine. In fact, when she called the agency yesterday, she asked for you specifically.”

“She did? Why?” Did she want to confess her healing quirk? Fuck, were there side effects Bakugo didn’t know about?

“Bro, seriously.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “You’re Japan’s Number Two Hero, and you saved her life. And, like Mina keeps telling you, you’re not as ugly when you stop scowling.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo flipped him off before he went to dump the dishes in the sink.

“Yes, dear.” The redhead smirked. “But, in all seriousness, she called to figure out how to file a claim with our insurance. Or at least that’s what she said, but she also asked how you were doing, and she actually sounded genuinely worried.”

Worried that a random side effect was going to kill him? Or worried that he would say something about her quirk? She’d obviously hidden it for a reason, tried to lie for a reason.

And Bakugo was determined to find out just what that reason was.

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” he grunted as he rinsed off his plate and put it on the drying rack. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I can see that,” Kirishima said as he eyed the butterfly stitches stretched across the gash on Bakugo’s abdomen. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t find you dead in a pool of your own blood. That woulda been a real bummer way to start the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered before he averted his eyes to the living room window across from him. “So… what did you tell her?”

“The girl?”

“No, you’re fuckin’ mom,” the blond scoffed.

“Oh, speaking of moms, you might want to text Mitsuki. I called her last night after you ignored my billionth text, so she’s probably going crazy wondering where you are.” Kirishima grinned and then immediately dodged out of the way as Bakugo hurled a fork at him.

“You bastard!” Bakugo hissed. “Now, I’m going to have to see that hag this weekend or she’s gonna fuckin’ barge over here.”

“Maybe you should turn the ringer up on your phone.” The other hero shrugged, ducking again when Bakugo chucked an apple in his direction.

The blond scowled at his friend, but he didn’t reply.

If you and your quirk were the real deal, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about missing a call ever again.

When Kirishima realized the projectiles had stopped, he popped his head over the back of the couch and smirked. “But to answer your previous question, I told the girl we would handle the insurance claim on our end if she sent us her info. And I didn’t really have anything to tell her about you since, like I’ve said, I thought you were dead. Kinda. I was at least thirty percent sure.”

“Have you filed the insurance claim?” Bakugo asked.

“No.” Kirishima shook his head. “She hasn’t sent in the info yet.”

“Well… we should go get it from her.”

This caused the redhead’s eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline, and the surprise on his face quickly made Bakugo backtrack.

“I just… want to get this shitshow over with,” he grumbled as he averted his eyes again, but he could feel a traitorous heat crawling across the bridge of his nose. “The longer her apartment’s all fucked up, the longer the press is gonna rake me over the coals. The hero ranking’s aren’t far off, and I’m not going to lose to Deku again over some stupid broken windows.”

“Righttttt,” Kirishima drawled, but his tone was mocking. “Okay, well, I know the hotel the police have set her up at. After we swing by the agency, we can head that way… to get her insurance info.”

He still sounded unconvinced and like he wanted to needle Bakugo more, but the blond changed the subject quickly.

“Why do we have to go to the agency?” Bakugo asked, and he frowned as he glanced back at his partner. “Even if I lost yesterday, my next scheduled patrol isn’t till tonight.”

“Oh, I know.” Kirishima nodded solemnly. “But Nao wanted to have… a word with you ASAP, if I confirmed you weren’t dead.”

“Fuckkkkkkk,” Bakugo groaned as he dropped his head back. If there was anything Bakugo hated more than the press, it was his actual PR manager. That old hag was good at her job, which meant she was always up Bakugo’s ass about something, and he knew she was going to have a field day with this shitfest.

“Yeah, I’d recommend coffee and preemptive painkillers before we head in,” Kirishima said. “Plus, some putting on clothes. Maybe we can stop on the way and get her something sweet as a bribe.”

“No amount of sugar is gonna make that bitch nice to me,” Bakugo grumbled before he spun on heel and started marching to his bedroom.

“Maybe flowers then?” the redhead shouted after him.

Bakugo slammed the door in response.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bakugo growled around his cargo, kicking his foot out at Kirishima. “Why did I listen to you? I’ve had to go shopping twice today now.”

“Come on,” his friend laughed as he dodged the blow, which made the bags in his arms crinkle. “You can’t deny the flowers and cookies sweetened ole’ Nao up.”

“To you,” Bakugo muttered, shifting the package in his arms a bit. “She still yelled at me for fifteen minutes.”

“Well, you kinda deserved i—yow!” Kirishima yelped as Bakugo kicked him squarely in the ass this time. “This isn’t helping your image, bro!”

“No one even knows it’s us,” the blond hissed.

“Yeah, I guess the hoodies and sunglasses help,” the other pro hero mused.

“And the fact that we’re carrying all this stupid shit.”

“It’s not stupid.” Kirishima frowned in that earnest way of his, which made Bakugo roll his eyes. “It’s thoughtful to bring gifts to people who are having a difficult time. Especially when you made that time difficult. You basically kicked her out of her house, dude, not to mention her shop.”

A wave of guilt actually washed through the blond, which he didn’t like. It made his throat feel tight and his stomach churn, and he glanced away from the redhead with a scowl.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s not like we aren’t gonna pay for it.”

The excuse felt flat, even to him.

“Still,” Kirishima said as he shifted the bags in his grip, pulled out his phone, and consulted the map. “It must be stressful. So, we’re going to be nice to her, alright? Which starts with the gifts.”

“And how is a fuckin’ fruit basket supposed to help?” Bakugo asked as he glared around the overflowing mound of crinkling plastic and bright fruit that he held against his chest.

“Uh, one, it’s practical. Her apartment’s all fucked up, the power’s probably still out if not inconsistent on the street, and she’s been living in a hotel for two days, so she probably hasn’t had some nice fresh fruit in a while. And two, it looks nice!”

“We coulda just left this shit at the hotel,” Bakugo grumbled. “She has to go back there eventually, right?”

After old Nao chewed his ass out, Bakugo and Kirishima had gone to the hotel the police said they’d put you up in. Except you weren’t fucking there, and the number you left with Kirishima when you called the agency was going straight to voicemail, so here there were, fucking trekking through the city with a bunch of useless shit.

Bakugo just kept reminding himself it would be worth it when he got the truth about your quirk out of you.

“Nope,” Kirishima said and drew the blond out of his thoughts. “The city only pays the first two days after an emergency, unless the villain caused all the damage, but, uh, that’s not the case here, so we’ll be accommodating her until her apartment gets fixed up.”

“At the agency?” Bakugo asked as his red eyes clicked over to his partner.

As the Number Two and Three Heroes, the two of them had built a solid agency together. Bakugo still didn’t care for a bunch of extras riding on his tailcoats, so they had few sidekicks, all of whom reported to Kirishima and left him the fuck alone for the most part. But they owned a nice, sleek building in a nicer part of town, and one of the floors was dedicated to individual rooms with beds and other amenities. They were usually used when Bakugo, Kirishima, or the other sidekicks wanted to crash after patrol instead of going home—which Bakugo did more often than not—but they’d never had a civilian stay on the premises.

Until now.

“Yessssss, at the agency,” the redhead drawled as a shit-eating smirk crawled across his face. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot of her for the next couple weeks.”

“Wipe that stupid look off your face.” Bakugo scowled and shouldered past the other hero, who snickered as he jogged to catch up.

“Take the next left up ahead.”

“Shut up!” the blond growled, but he followed the instructions.

This was good news, though. Bakugo wouldn’t have to trek to this shitty part of town more than he had to.

And he’d have a healer just down the hall.

They marched along in silence for a few minutes, keeping their heads down, but there wasn’t much foot traffic. Bakugo was lost in his thoughts, planning out the questions he was going to ask you once he could distract Kirishima, but the redhead suddenly stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” Bakugo grunted as the fruit basket crinkled against the other hero’s back. He hadn’t even notice Kiri get in front of him again. “What’s the damn hold up?”

“Holy shit, dude,” Kirishima muttered, staring out at the road he’d just turned onto.

“What?” the blond grumbled, shoving past his friend, but then he stopped, too. “Oh… yeah.”

The street in front of him looked much worse in the bright light of midday. The road was a torn-up mess, more patches of dirt and gravel than actual asphalt. Most of the large-scale debris had been hauled away, but black scorch marks covered the sidewalks in long, dark smears. The walls of several businesses also bore charring along the facades, but most of the damage was focused in the center of the street. A crater nearly six feet deep was carved into the middle of the road, and the buildings on either side were blackened, their broken windows gaping voids.

And then there was the hole in what Bakugo remembered as your second-floor apartment. A tarp hung over the wound, but one of the corners had come undone, flapping in the wind and giving split second glimpses into the darkened room beyond.

Guilt crept up on him again, but Bakugo shoved it down, hunching over the fruit basket and nudging Kirishima.

“Come on,” he muttered before he started moving forward, and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the redhead followed him.

There were more people on this street than on the last several, but Bakugo could immediately tell they weren’t customers just passing through. People swept sidewalks, clearing away the last of the rubble and glass in front of their shops. Then a few old ladies stood under one awning shaking their heads, their hands laden with containers of food or gifts.

Guess Kirishima hadn’t been wrong with this stupid idea.

Then Bakugo realized some of those people were starting to look back at him, so he ducked his head further behind the fruit basket, grateful for his hoodie and sunglasses.

But then suddenly he was there, standing in front of your ruined shop. His red eyes immediately flickered upward, but if there was a sign there before, it was gone now, burnt to ash.

“What kinda shop did you say this was?” the blond asked under his breath as Kirishima paused beside him.

“I’m… not sure,” the redhead said with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think she said on the phone. No time like the present to ask, though.”

Before Bakugo could stop him, Kirishima shifted the bags in his arms, lifted one hand, and knocked on the charred metal frame of the front door.

“Hello?” he called through the broken windows, followed by your name. “Anyone in there?”

“Shit!” The squeaking voice was followed by a crashing sound somewhere in the shadows of the store.

Bakugo didn’t speak a lot of English, but he did know curse words, and the sound of it made his lips twitch in amusement.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima called out. “Can, uh, we come in?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” the voice answered back in flustered Japanese. The words were fluent, though, with barely the hint of an accent. “And, um, I-I guess you can come in, but—”

That was good enough for Bakugo.

The blond shouldered past his partner, boots crunching over glass as he ducked into the darkened shop, and Kirishima sighed as he followed.

The interior, if possible, looked worse than the outside. The room itself wasn’t very big, but it was a mess. Two metal rods had been embedded in the left and right walls at odd angles, obviously caused from the explosions, though Bakugo couldn’t tell what they used to be. Several pieces of blacked mannequins were scattered through the debris, and one wall was a charred mess of shelving and fabric, spots of color peeking through the black ash here and there.

In the back, left corner were the remains of a tri-fold standing mirror, the ones where you could see yourself from different angles. Large shards of glass were missing, though, so the image of Bakugo and Kirishima standing backlit against the street was fractured.

Last but not least, in the rear, right corner of the store was a counter that was half collapsed to the floor, behind which stood an empty doorframe that Bakugo assumed led to the back of the shop and upstairs.

And it was from behind this broken counter that you popped up with a dustpan in one hand and a tiny, handheld broom in the other.

The first thought Bakugo had was your face was rather plain… but in a somehow pleasing way. Like if his eyes had scanned over you in a crowd, something about the line of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the delicate quirk of your mouth would give him pause.

His second thought was that his first one was stupid. You were just some extra, of course you would be plain and unmemorable.

But his third thought was something about the color of your eyes was captivating, in a way that was damn fucking annoying.

“Sorry, I was just… cleaning… up,” you said, slowly trailing off as your eyes met Bakugo’s.

He saw the recognition flare in them immediately, followed by fear, and he couldn’t help the frown that twisted his face.

Why were you afraid of him?

“No, we’re sorry for barging in here like this,” Kirishima barreled on, oblivious to the stare off the other two occupants of the room were engaged in. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Oh! I’m being so rude. My name is Eijiro Kirishima, or you might know me as—”

“Red Riot,” you breathed, finally tearing your eyes from Bakugo’s, and you flashed the redhead a half-smile that trembled along the edges. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes.” Kirishima grinned, pointed teeth flashing in the dim light of the shop, before his gaze flickered over to the blond beside him. “And this is—”

“Dynamight,” you finished once again, and you looked like you were trying desperately to maintain eye contact with the hardening hero, but then your eyes clicked back to Bakugo. You didn’t flash him a smile. “We’ve met.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Kiri chuckled awkwardly, and his arm jerked like he was going to rub the back of his neck, but the bags in his hands crinkled and stopped him.

“What… do you have there?” you asked, frowning at the bags and the fruit basket the heroes were carrying.

“Gifts!” the redhead declared as he hefted his arms up, and then he shuffled forward over charred fabric and glass and extended the bags to you.

You blinked at him for a second, but you set the dustpan and handheld broom on the counter, where they promptly slid to the floor since the whole surface was slanted. You winced at the loud clatter and tried to cover it up by taking the bags from Kirishima, which crinkled loudly again as they transferred hands.

Bakugo would be annoyed if he wasn’t more grateful that he could actually hear the innocuous little noise.

“O-Oh, um, you shouldn’t have, really,” you started as you peeked into the bags, and then Bakugo swore he saw your eyebrow twitch once you saw what was inside.

“It’s not much,” Kirishima said, and he was finally free to rub the back of his head and neck as his smile turned a little sheepish. “But, what with the state of your… apartment, we thought you might need some new clothes! And comfy clothes are the best after stressful days. These especially are super soft, we made sure of it. And, if you don’t like them, you could always sell them for a good chunk of change.”

The redhead winked at you, not in an overly flirty manner, that was just how he was, but your cheeks flared as crimson as his hair, and your eyes dropped to the floor.

Bakugo took the split instant to get a better look at you and noted you were wearing patched, faded jeans, solid boots, and a bleach-stained orange sweatshirt with some English writing he couldn’t read. Usually, he didn’t really see what other people wore because he couldn’t give less of a shit, but somehow he found your obvious cleaning clothes… endearing. The orange looked good on you, too.

Fuck, maybe you didn’t heal him as well as he thought. He had to be hemorrhaging into his brain to be thinking this stupid shit. Or maybe it was a side effect of your quirk?

He needed to get you alone and get answers.

“Well… thank you, this was very thoughtf—oh, wow, that is soft,” you murmured as you partially drew a sweatshirt out of the bag.

Bakugo instantly recognized the forest green and orange color scheme, and apparently so did you, because your face twitched, and you dropped the garment back into the bag and traded it for fuzzy socks with Red Riot’s signature gears stitched into them.

“These will definitely come in handy, my feet are always cold,” you said with an awkward giggle. Then you cleared your throat to cover up the sound. “Thank you, um, Red Riot.”

“You can call me Eijiro, or Kirishima, whatever you’re comfortable with,” the redhead said with another easy grin. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, after all. Oh! We also got you a fruit basket, and I think there might be a few other sweets tucked in there.”

Kirishima nudged Bakugo forward, and your face rippled through a range of emotions, like your brain was taking a second to catch up to everything the pro hero just spewed. First, flustered embarrassment colored your cheeks, then confusion buckled your brow, and your eyes widened before they looked at the fruit basket Bakugo was extending at you.

“Oh, you can just put it down… um…” you trailed off as you turned to the counter and remembered it was half destroyed. Then your eyes jumped around frantically for some kind of flat surface, but the ruined shop didn’t offer any solutions.

“Told ya we shouldn’t of brought this shit,” Bakugo grunted, shooting a scowl at Kirishima.

“Yeahhhhh, we probably could have just delivered it to your room at the agency, my bad,” the redhead laughed. “But don’t worry, we’ll carry it back for you, along with any of your other things.”

“My… things?” you echoed, sounding out the words like a child, and a frown marred your face. “I-I think I must be misunderstanding you, I’m sorry, I’m American. But did you say my room at the agency? As in… your hero agency?”

“You’re American?” Kirishima asked with wide red eyes. “I wouldn’t have even guessed! Your accent is almost perfect, I thought you were maybe just from like the countryside or something.”

“I thought you said we were supposed to be nice to her,” Bakugo snorted at his partner like you weren’t in the room, and he saw you frown at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, shit, no, that wasn’t what I meant!” Japan’s Number Three Hero immediately began waving his hands in front of his face, his mouth moving twice as fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I really think your accent sounds nice! It’s very cute!”

Now, not only did your cheeks flush again, but the red hue traveled down your throat and across your collarbones, peeking out the stretched collar of your orange sweatshirt.

Bakugo found himself half distracted by the sight, but the other half was wondering why he suddenly felt irritation flare up in his gut.

“Okay, you don’t have to take her out on a date now,” the blond snapped, shifting his burden of fruit and plastic.

“I-I think we might have gotten off track,” you stuttered as you clutched the bag of Dynamight and Red Riot merch to your chest. “You said something about your agency.”

“Yes, right.” Kirishima cleared his throat. “We would have mentioned this in our follow up email after you sent in your insurance info, but—”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” you cut him off with a grimace, and you actually dipped your head and shoulders into a bow. “I meant to send that yesterday, but my laptop is broken, and my cell service isn’t great—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” the redhead interrupted this time. “You obviously have a lot on your plate. I just meant that this might seem kind of sudden, but—”

Fucking hell, this was taking too long.

“You’re staying at our agency until we can pay for the repairs to your apartment and shop,” Bakugo said bluntly. If he didn’t step in, the two of you were just going to stammer circles around each other all day. “Starting tonight. We have rooms with beds and shit, so pack whatever clothes or crap you need.”

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at Bakugo. “I… what?”

“You deaf or something?” The words rocketed from his mouth before he could stop them, before he could even think about what he was saying, and he saw the way the question struck you like a physical blow. You flinched, your cheeks paling, and he saw dawning, guilty horror glint at the back of your eyes.

He’d been right. You did do something to his ears.

“Bro, you were just talking about being nice.” Kirishima frowned at Bakugo before he turned back to you. “Ignore him. We’re really sorry about the inconvenience this whole… incident has caused for you, but we’ll take care of everything you need until your shop’s grand reopening, so you don’t have to worry about a thing, okay?”

You continued to stare at the two heroes in shocked silence, your wide eyes clicking back and forth between the two of them as you clutched the bags to your chest like a lifeline.

“That is… all so generous,” you finally breathed, your tone rising in pitch like you were growing increasingly flustered. “It’s, um, a lot to take in.”

“Of course.” Kirishima nodded fervently. “What else can we do to help?”

“Could you leave?”

Bakugo blinked in surprise and then had to stifle his snort.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” you quickly followed up when you saw the redhead’s falling expression. “I didn’t mean… I just meant, could I have some time to process this? Um, alone? L-Like Dynamight said, I need to pack a few things, a-and there are some people I need to speak to before, uh… well, is it okay if I tell someone where I’ll be? Like, at your agency?”

“Yessss?” Kirishima said with a confused frown. “Why wouldn’t that be okay?”

“O-Oh, I just don’t really know how the whole hero and media thing works here,” you quickly lied, and Bakugo clocked the way you averted your eyes, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “I-I wasn’t going to post on social media or anything, I barely use that stuff anyway, but one of my customers, Mrs. Kojima, would be upset if I disappeared without saying anything.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” The redhead grinned before he glanced at the shadowed ruins around him. “What kind of shop is this by the way? I don’t think you mentioned.”

“A-Alterations,” you said, ducking your face in embarrassment again. “My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited this place from them.”

“I thought you said you were American?” Kirishima asked, but not in an accusatory way. He was just too curious for his own good and didn’t possess much of a filter.

Bakugo usually didn’t care for small talk, fucking waste of time if you asked him, but he found himself focusing intently on you, awaiting a response.

“I am.” You nodded. “My parents were both born here, but they moved to the States after they married, and I was born there. After my grandparents passed, my dad was going to sell the shop, but I was looking for something… new, so I decided to move here instead about a year ago.”

Bakugo pursed his lips at this new information. If you had a healing quirk, why were you patching up clothes in some little shop all the way across the world from your surviving family? Could it be because your quirk was dangerous?

“Wow, that’s cool,” Kirishima said with an impressed expression that quickly turned sheepish. “Except about your grandparent’s passing. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips, but then you quickly shook your head. “I-I’m sorry, didn’t mean to give you my whole life story, I tend to talk when I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Red Riot laughed like he did when he was meeting shy little kids on the street, flashing his sharpened teeth jokingly and winking in an overexaggerated fashion. “I promise, we look scarier than we are.”

“Speak for yourself, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo scoffed, which made you jump, like you’d forgotten he was there.

And that rubbed him the wrong way for some reason.

Kirishima merely smirked before he partially covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his voice into a stage whisper directed at you. “All bark, no bite, I’m telling you.”

“Stop making me seem lame, you bastard!” the blond growled, but the effect was kind of ruined by the fruit basket crinkling in his hands again.

This actually seemed to startle a giggle out of you, and the two heroes whipped around, one with a grin and the other a scowl.

“See, you don’t need to be nervous,” Kirishima said before he slung an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “But we’ll get out of your hair for now so you can have some time to pack and everything. Don’t worry about picking up too much, though, we’ll have cleaning crews in here before we start the remodel, and we don’t want you to get hurt in here. If there’s stuff up in your apartment that you don’t want to bring with you to the agency but don’t want thrown out, make a list, and we’ll be sure to keep everything safe.”

“O-Okay,” you said, still standing there with the hero merch clenched to your chest and a dumbstruck expression on your face. “T-Thank you again, Red--, erm, Kirishima.”

“Of course!” He grinned. “I have patrol tonight, but we’ll send a car to pick you up—”

“No,” Bakugo cut in as he locked eyes with you. “I’ll pick you up. What time?”

The blond could see Kirishima shoot him a look in his peripherals—probably because they both had patrol tonight—but Bakugo ignored his partner, maintaining eye contact with you.

You, meanwhile, squirmed under the explosive hero’s intense scrutiny, your face paling and flushing in turns. “I… no, you don’t have to do that, I can take the train—”

“I insist,” he interrupted again, narrowing his eyes so you would realize he wasn’t going to back down. “Like Shitty Hair said, we caused this… inconvenience, so I’ll pick you up. What. Time?”

You swallowed thickly, your throat audibly clicking. “S-Seven?”

“I’ll be here at seven sharp,” Bakugo said. “And you better be out front or at least answer your phone this time.”

You better not run, he didn’t say, but by the look on your face, you understood.

“Seven sharp.” You nodded, biting your lip as a resigned expression settled over your features. “Got it.”

“Great. See you then.”

With that, Bakugo turned on heel and crunched his way out of your store, leaving Kirishima stuttering apologies in his wake.

But that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was, tonight, he’d finally get you alone and get to the bottom of your damn quirk.

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 3 years

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Real Dinosaurs Versus Reel Dinosaurs: Film’s Fictionalization of the Prehistoric World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

What better way can you spend a quiet evening at home than by having a good old-fashioned movie night? You dim the lights, cozily snuggle up on your sofa with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, and pick out a movie that you’ve always wanted to see: the 1948 classic Unknown Island. Mindlessly munching away on your snacks, your eyes are glued to the screen as the story unfolds. You reach a key scene in the movie: a towering, T. rex-sized Ceratosaurus and an equally enormous Megatherium ground sloth are locked in mortal combat. And you think to yourself, “I’m pretty sure something like this never actually happened.” And you know what? Your prehistorically inclined instincts are correct.

From the time that the first dinosaur fossils were identified in the early 1800s, society has been fascinated by these “terrible lizards.” When, where, and how did they live? And why did they (except for their modern descendants, birds) die out so suddenly? We’ve always been hungry to find out more about the mysteries behind the dinosaurs’ existence. The public’s hunger for answers was first satisfied by newspapers, books, and scientific journals. But then a whole new, sensational medium was invented: motion pictures. And with its creation came a new, exciting way to explore the primeval world of these ancient creatures. But cinema is art, not science. And from the very beginning, scientific inaccuracies abounded. You might be surprised to learn that these filmic faux pas not only exist in movies from the early days of cinema. They pervade essentially every dinosaur movie that has ever been made.

One Million Years B.C.

Another film that can easily be identified as more fiction than fact is 1966’s One Million Years B.C. It tells the story of conflicts between members of two tribes of cave people as well as their dangerous dealings with a host of hostile dinosaurs (such as Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Ceratosaurus). However, neither modern-looking humans nor dinosaurs (again, except birds) existed one million years ago. In the case of dinosaurs, the movie was about 65 million years too late. Non-avian dinosaurs disappeared 66 million years ago during a mass extinction known as the K/Pg (which stands for “Cretaceous/Paleogene”) event. An asteroid measuring around six miles in diameter and traveling at an estimated speed of ten miles per second slammed into the Earth at what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The effects of this giant impact were so devastating that over 75% of the world’s species became extinct. But the dinosaurs’ misfortunes were a lucky break for Cretaceous Period mammals. They were able to gain a stronger foothold and flourish in the challenging and inhospitable post-impact environment.

Cut to approximately 65 million, 700 thousand years later, when modern-looking humans finally arrived on the chronological scene. Until recently, the oldest known fossils of our species, Homo sapiens, dated back to just 195,000 years ago (which is, in geological terms, akin to the blink of an eye). And for many years, these fossils have been widely accepted to be the oldest members of our species. But this theory was challenged in June of 2017 when paleoanthropologists from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology reported that they had discovered what they thought may be the oldest known remains of Homo sapiens on a desert hillside at Jebel Irhoud in Morocco. The 315,000-year-old fossils included skull bones that, when pieced together, indicated that these humans had faces that looked very much like ours, but their brains did differ. Being long and low, their brains did not have the distinctively round shape of those of present-day humans. This noticeable difference in brain shape has led some scientists to wonder: perhaps these people were just close relatives of Homo sapiens. On the other hand, maybe they could be near the root of the Homo sapien lineage, a sort of protomodern Homo sapien as opposed to the modern Homo sapien. One thing is for certain, the discovery at Jebel Irhoud reminds us that the story of human evolution is long and complex with many questions that are yet to be answered.

The Land Before Time

Another movie that misplaces its characters in the prehistoric timeline is 1988’s The Land Before Time. The stars of this animated motion picture are Littlefoot the Apatosaurus, Cera the Triceratops, Ducky the Saurolophus, Petrie the Pteranodon, and Spike the Stegosaurus. As their world is ravaged by constant earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the hungry and scared young dinosaurs make a perilous journey to the lush and green Great Valley where they’ll reunite with their families and never want for food again. In their on-screen imagined story, these five make a great team. But, assuming that the movie is set at the very end of the Cretaceous (intense volcanic activity was a characteristic of this time), the quintet’s trip would have actually been just a solo trek. Ducky and Petrie’s species had become extinct several million years earlier, and Littlefoot and Spike would have lived way back in the Jurassic Period (201– 145 million years ago). Cera alone would have had to experience several harrowing encounters with the movie’s other latest Cretaceous creature, the ferocious and relentless Sharptooth, a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Speaking of Sharptooth, The Land Before Time’s animators made a scientifically accurate choice when they decided to draw him with a two-fingered hand, as opposed to the three fingers traditionally embraced by other movie makers. For 1933’s King Kong, the creators mistakenly modeled their T. rex after a scientifically outdated 1906 museum painting. Many other directors knowingly dismissed the science-backed evidence and used three digits because they thought this type of hand was more aesthetically pleasing. By the 1920s, paleontologists had already hypothesized that these predators were two-fingered because an earlier relative of Tyrannosaurus, Gorgosaurus, was known to have had only two functional digits. Scientists had to make an educated guess because the first T. rex (and many subsequent specimens) to be found had no hands preserved. It wasn’t until 1988 that it was officially confirmed that T. rex was two-fingered when the first specimen with an intact hand was discovered. Then, in 1997, Peck’s Rex, the first T. rex specimen with hands preserving a third metacarpal (hand bone), was unearthed. Paleontologists agree that, in life, the third metacarpal of Peck’s Rex would not have been part of a distinct, externally visible third finger, but instead would have been embedded in the flesh of the rest of the hand. But still, was this third hand segment vestigial, no longer serving any apparent purpose? Or could it have possibly been used as a buttressing structure, helping the two fully formed fingers to withstand forces and stresses on the hand? Peck’s Rex’s bones do display evidence that strongly supports arm use. You can ponder this paleo-puzzle yourself when you visit Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s Dinosaurs in Their Time exhibition, where you can see a life-sized cast of Peck’s Rex facing off with the holotype (= name-bearing) T. rex, which was the first specimen of the species to be recognized (by definition, the world’s first fossil of the world’s most famous dinosaur!).

T. rex in Dinosaurs in Their Time. Image credit: Joshua Franzos, Treehouse Media

Jurassic Park

One motion picture that did take artistic liberties with T. rex for the sake of suspense was 1993’s Jurassic Park. In one memorable, hair-raising scene, several of the movie’s stars are saved from becoming this dinosaur’s savory snack by standing completely still. According to the film’s paleontological protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, the theropod can’t see humans if they don’t move. Does this theory have any credence, or was it just a clever plot device that made for a great movie moment? In 2006, the results of ongoing research at the University of Oregon were published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, providing a surprising answer. The study involved using perimetry (an ophthalmic technique used for measuring and assessing visual fields) and a scale model T. rex head to determine the creature’s binocular range (the area that could be viewed at the same time by both eyes). Generally speaking, the wider an animal’s binocular range, the better its depth perception and overall vision. It was determined that the binocular range of T. rex was 55 degrees, which is greater than that of a modern-day hawk! This theropod may have even had visual clarity up to 13 times greater than a person. That’s extremely impressive, considering an eagle only has up to 3.6 times the clarity of a human! Another study that examined the senses of T. rex determined that the dinosaur had unusually large olfactory bulbs (the areas of the brain dedicated to scent) that would have given it the ability to smell as well as a present-day vulture! So, in Jurassic Park, even if the eyes of T. rex had been blurred by the raindrops in this dark and stormy scene, its nose would have still homed-in on Dr. Grant and the others, providing the predator with some tasty midnight treats.

Now, it may seem that this blog post might be a bit critical of dinosaur movies. But, truly, I appreciate them just as much as the next filmophile. They do a magnificent job of providing all of us with some pretty thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment. But, somewhere along the way, their purpose has serendipitously become twofold. They have also inspired some of us to pursue paleontology as a lifelong career. So, in a way, dinosaur movies have been of immense benefit to both the cinematic and scientific worlds. And for that great service, they all deserve a huge round of applause.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Dinosaurs #Dinosaur Movies #Jurassic Park #Jurassic #Land Before Time #Paleontology

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

#danny phantom #loved #eldritch abomination AU #dannymay #dannymay 2021 #dannymay day 3: portal

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Nasty

Summary: August is going to hell and he is dragging you down with him. Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person Pov)

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Serious smut, GRAPHIC depictions of sexual intercourse, auto-voyeurism (Is that a thing?)

A/N: @luclittlepond made this request! I obliged. Honestly, I feel like it’s the dirtiest thing I’ve ever written and I want to thank @agniavateira for being my beta and @wondersofdreaming for giving me feedback since it was not an easy write for some reason.

Please leave feedback 💖🥺 and more importantly, enjoy.

Title: Nasty

“Unlock the door, my balls are freezing,” August urges while his hands survey the plains of your body possessively. A sharp, languid hiss caresses the sensitive skin of your neck, his deep voice chanting sweet profanities as he grinds himself against you for the sake of heat and lust-filled friction.

The temperature at the narrow corridor must be 10 degrees below zero, quite ordinary for January at St. Petersburg, Russia. Another successful mission came to end; the target was eliminated and sweep-up had been ordered. Now, all August wants to do after a triumphant assassination is to fuck like a deranged animal.

You never doubted the idea that murder gets him hard.

Breathing in fumes, you try to twist the key inside the lock, motoric functions reduced to jitters and tremors as August shoves a finger between your legs, rough and invasive, he journeys from your mound to your ass and presses it crudely. His rock-hard erection nudges at your lower back, reducing your concentration to scattered specks of dust.

“Don’t make me fuck you right here in the hallway,” he warns and slides down to his knees with his talons lifting both your heavy coat and skirt, exposing the round curve of your behind. Teeth as sharp as blades pierce the ample flesh of your cheek and you give out a high-pitched yip of pain which echoes through the entire hallway.

Crying for him to stop would do no good. August doesn’t give an inch. The cold man lacks any sense of tenderness and he has a thing for leaving his marks all over your body, just the way he would brand his livestock. The agent stretches to stand up, shoving himself against your ass while his hands hike the thick hem of your skirt all the way up to your torso.

“If you keep doing that I won’t be able to get it open!” You complain angrily and then finally manage to twist the key inside. The moment the rusty cylinder spins, August whirls the both of you into the apartment and kicks the door shut with his foot.

The small rental smells like wet newspaper and mould. The dusty air becomes saturated with the humidity of sweat and heated pants. Stumbling further inside, you kiss furiously and claw at each other’s throats like two hungry vultures. Your coats fall to the floor, the tight skirt gathers around your abdomen and August’s hand reaches to cup the heat between your legs with the elegance of a raging bull.

Pathetic puny whimpers disappear into the hot cavern of his mouth, impassioned, you writhe against his almost-aggressive intrusion, letting his thumb graze over your covered clit. August Walker’s treatment is borderline degrading, making you feel dirty, baptized in the black bathwater of sin.

You would never let any other manhandle you like this; a tender woman such as yourself requires a gentle hand, not whatever twisted games August wants to play with your body. And still, he brings you closer to heaven than you’d ever wish to admit and those little moments of rapture are worth every bit of shame.

Taking your shoulders in his grip, August pulls you down, knees hitting the stone-cold floor. He follows below, his tongue violating your mouth within moments, low hums singing into your throat while his fingers make quick work at the buttons of your blouse. His breath still tastes of the wine he had earlier, inhaling him is enough to reach intoxication. Tugging his shirt from his trousers, you try to undress him. Buttons fly everywhere as you rip it open with extreme force.

August breaks the kiss with a quick bite on your lip, enough to cause a sharp sting at the soft plush of flesh. Wringing your shoulder, he turns you around and rests a hand on the snake of your spine to bend you over at his will.

“Bitch,” he grunts, shuffling to stand on his knees and fumbling with his belt. Tendrils of shivers coarse through your nerves spiralling cold and eclectic as the distinguished click of metal and husky brush of leather rustle from behind.

“That was my favourite shirt.”

“They all look the same,” you mock him and turn your head back, staring at the focused expression on his face. His brows knit together, a deep scowl forming long creases on his forehead. August gawks at the wet patch in your underwear with dark fascination, his tongue flaking over his lips before his hand reaches to peel them down and collect the arousal that drips between your thighs with long ardent fingers.

A desperate moan escapes the trenches of your throat. His fingers ascending to pry between your folds, pushing inside to test the mysteries of your heat. The callous pads of his fingers stroke the damp, plump flesh, making room for his odious inspection.

“Look at you,” he mocks, corrupting and stretching your desire, pumping in and out until his knuckles glisten with the juices of arousal. “You want my cock badly, don’t you sweetheart?” He murmurs, snapping his fingers to engulf at his thick, endowed erection.

Short spasms of tremoring delights shudder through every cell as he grabs his shaft and slaps it against your swollen lips, grinding rough and vulgar while you buck with harrowing need against the ridges of his cock. He paints himself in your sweet nectar, teasing both your womanhood and the puckered hole that clenches in fear from his monstrous girth.

This fearful reaction never ceases to make him laugh with malice. “Don’t worry, pet, I'm not going in there tonight unless you really want to...”

“Fuck you, Walker,” you spit out, squirming back and forth as August tames your body into submission.

“Oh I’m about to…” he murmurs, dipping the tip of his erection inside you, eliciting powerless mewls as a violent throb gushes through your centre. “I wish you could see how beautiful your pussy looks with my cock entering you.”

Bracing yourself on your arms and knees, you take a deep breath. August indulges what he sees in front of him, taking his time, teasing, torturing and savouring the small hisses that kick out of your chest with every single provoking touch.

“Jesus August, take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Letting out a guttural growl, August pauses his ministrations and you hear a soft ruffle behind you as he seeks for something in his coat which are thrown next to him on the floor. Peering over your shoulder, you indeed see him holding his phone in his hand.

“Are you really taking pictures again?! Walker, just fuck me already!”

“Take your phone and answer,” he commands, ignoring your demand.

Naturally, they mean nothing to him.

You glare at him puzzled when the soft hum of your phone buzzing cuts into your attention. The pale blue light dances on the wooden floor beneath the wool jacket and you reach a hand for it.

Incoming video call from August.

“August wha….?”

“Answer, so I can fuck you already,” he chides, hovering his phone right above your behind with eyes that sparkle with a dark impulse.

Holding the device in front of you, you accept the call. A shiver ticks at your muscles, your limbs shake at the sight of your dripping cunt as it appears on the bright screen. The sensation is vaguely obscene yet August growls with pure excitement, holding his heavy cock in front of the glassy lense. He lines himself against your wanting entrance, making you see through his eyes how he pushes inside, inch by inch, slowly spreading your petals with the width of his velvet pistol and claiming what belongs to him.

The luscious symphony of your moans unearths melodically into the musty atmosphere as the wet friction of your union strikes madness through your bodies. The oxygen gradually drains from your squeezing lungs, mouth agape at the spectacle of August driving large and long through your narrow crevice with an unusually sluggish pace.

Your memories wander for a split second, falling back to the first time you have discovered porn as a teenager and had the same fury burn between your thighs. Only that you didn’t have August to fill that needy void inside your body.

And damn if he doesn’t fill you just right, plunging into your warm lake of Eden, his girth suffocating between your lush cavern, forcing your walls to expand and make room for his huge, pulsating cock.

“See how tight you are?” August asks breathlessly and gives your ass a sharp smack while he bursts into cold, arrogant laughter, amused at the way your cheeks ripple from the might of his slap. “Look at yourself, so small yet taking me like a needy little slut.”

You swallow a gasp, the device dropping from your sweaty palm and landing flat on the ground. Leaning on your elbows you watch with sick fascination at the way August sinks deeper and deeper, delving through your taut cave until his balls press against your clit with an appeased hum that losses from his lips. Your entire body is attacked by spasms of ecstasy, the heights of your desire brought to unearthly plains as August plays with each of your senses.

“Arch your back,” he demands, razing a hand over your spine to force you to a position which serves him a better path. Obediently, you stick your ass higher, head falling between your shoulder-blades with eyes that never dare to shut, too mesmerized by the forbidden image of him sheathed in your depth.

Enthralled by the vision on the screen, you lean with fist clenched tightly, unable to sustain the pathetic little whimpers. Greedy fingers dig into your hip, leaving a parade of purple bruises for August to later be proud, his possessive legacy. He positions your ass on display, his nimble fingers running over the curve with appreciation, squeezing roughly and groaning. Something inside you clicks, as if playing a role in a film, you stir for him, swaying yourself to the eye of the camera and watching the succulent honeyed flower between your legs as it’s pierced raw by August’s hefty cock. It glistens with filth as it exits your body at an agonizing speed.

“August…. Please,” the moans that roll on your tongue are downright pathetic, making August croon at you patronizingly and tick his tongue as if you’ve been misbehaving. Gripping your waist, he restrains you and pulls himself out until nothing but the arrowhead of his cock rests between your folds, he lingers, breath heavy and firm, chest puffing with power as he sinks all the way in with an alarming change of pace until his balls slap rigid against your wetness.

“Do you like watching yourself, being fucked?” he demands to know, beginning to rails you, snarling at the way you are clenching around his shaft, your silken walls welcome him, calling to his body like a siren drawing a sailor to the abyss. And with vamping passion he complies, finding that hidden spot that no one has ever sought inside you, the one that makes you howl out in ecstasy.

“Yes!!! Fuck!” You cry out with shock, knowing you will definitely not last having to witness every dirty act and details in the vista of your eyes. This is August’s doing, forcing pleasure on you in the vilest way possible, overstimulating both body and mind. He is a man free of boundaries, unchained, but he sure as hell shackles you to the darkness that thrives inside him.

He pushes into you raw and steady, grunting low, as he moves with long-lasting thrusts that serve a point of showing you just how fucked you are. Every now and then he pulls nearly completely out and slams painfully back in, just for the sake of entertainment.

Lewd squelching and blunt sounds of skin slapping against skin take over the acoustic of the room, accompanied by the clattering sound of his belt that dangles from his trousers. His pace turns into punishing rhythm, his testicles brushing briefly with your clit, causing you to haul against him with desperate screams. Begging, a whimpering mess, your muscles give in, shuddering and convulsing until your cunt finally tightens around him firmly and the fire engulfs you from within, spreading through you like a burning field as you climax with astonishment.

“Keep your eyes open,” August rasps, watching how you collapse in front of him, trembling and jolting on your knees meekly with tears blurring your eyes while you sob. He ignores your body’s defiance, grunting like a bull as he jackhammers you, going at an impossible speed.

His cock is but a quick smudge as he rails in yet the swelling of his erection and the thick tendons that runs from the base through his length are undoubtfully clear. You see him and feel his thickness between your convulsing walls, your womb welcoming the hot surge that sprouts inside you while August cries out with divine ecstasy.

He continues to pound inside you even after he comes, letting his thick, white juice coat his length and trickle milky drops from your seam down your inner thigh until he is completely drained.

Panting heavily, he collapses on top of your spine, the stubble of his cheek grazing your supple skin while basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. His mobile device drops from his hand, landing with a soft thud as August fights to catch his breath.

“Enjoyed the show, pet?” He asks, kissing the salty sweat off your skin.

You answer with a deep sigh, too ashamed to admit you just had the most intense orgasm you ever experienced.

Lazy fingers trail up to grasp your neck, squeezing it lightly and kneading the strained muscles. He gathers your hair to one side and leans to nibble at your ear with a devious hum.

“So, are you willing to reconsider making a sex tape now?”

___________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or Mission Impossible.

DM me if you want to be removed or add <3

#August Walker #August Walker x Reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #august walker fanfiction

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heyovivi · 3 years

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ACOTAR 6? (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACOSF)

Okay! I just finished A Court of Silver Flames and absolutely love Nesta’s journey and this is coming from a person who didn’t really like Nesta from the beginning. Her journey of healing and finding herself was beautiful and her journey with Cassian was heart-wrenching and sexy and I just loved it all! But anyways, more on that later, I have some predictions for the next book.

So I usually don’t go into anything without spoiling myself so before I even picked up ACOSF from a bookshelf at Target (don’t worry I was able to read both bonus chapters; meaning Azriel’s and the Feyre and Rhys’ chapters) I knew a little about ACOSF already. Now, ACOSF wasn’t deeply plotted and there wasn’t any world building like there was when we read the first three book--although it didn’t really matter to me I still enjoyed the book. ACOSF was all about Nesta and her journey and an insight to her thoughts and why she is the way she is and although I felt that at some points I hated Nesta I could still understand her frustrations and I could understand that she was deeply flawed as a character--which is fine.

Now, even if ACOSF didn’t have a huge plot there were some key elements that will probably be very important in the next book such as Koschei, the remaining Mortal Queens, the Band of Exiles, Azriel’s journey, and Elain’s journey. But one key thing I noticed was Eris. Now he didn’t appear that much in the book and if he did it was during moments where his presence was essential to the plot (such as being kidnapped by Queen Brialynn and Koschei), but in that last chapter he appeared in it seemed like there was more to the story, to his story specifically. I think that maybe we might be getting a book on Eris.

A lot of people say that ACOSF is reminiscent of Tower of Dawn from the Throne of Glass series, where instead of following Aelin in her quest to free her kingdom and stop Maeve, we instead venture into a Chaol-centered book where we kind of try to understand his point of view and character growth. So maybe, and this is just a theory or prediction, maybe we’ll get a similar thing with Eris.

From that one little conversation we get with Cassian and Eris, it appears that Eris is kind’ve jealous of the Night Court and it’s relationships with the other courts in Prythian. A lot of people have already pointed how much Eris could be a lot like Rhys in the manner that Eris wants the Autumn Court to be seen not as the fiery court of rage and misery, but instead wants to be a beacon for those who dwell there. And you do see some parallels between Rhys and Eris and their upbringing with their fathers being very strict figures in their lives but with Eris there was an emphasize of abuse somewhere along the line.

Now I’m not saying that Eris is getting a book or that his book even next, but I think that we have not heard the full story of what happened between both him and Mor, and I really want to know the entire story of what had happened in Eris’ life to make him seem like such a conniving person. But if I’m being honest I would much rather read a book about Eris’ efforts to lift the Autumn Court than a book about Mor--just my preference you don’t have to agree with me.

Now here are my runner ups for who could be the possible voice of ACOTAR 6.

Azriel

Elain

No, not Azriel and Elain, but Azriel or Elain. Now there were a lot of people saying that the book is either about Elain and Azriel, or Azriel and Gwyn, or Elain and Lucien--and I’m not going to shut down anyone’s theories but I’m going to share my own. Again, if you feel peeved about what sides or ships I support then stop reading when you get pissed because I can live with the fact that not everyone is going to agree with my theories.

First off, Azriel.

I’m going to be honest, from what I read on Tumblr mainly I thought Azriel’s role in ACOSF was going to be way bigger, but I still enjoyed his dry humor and presence when he was there. Though when it comes to Miss Sarah J Mass we have to pay attention to every little detail in her books and if you caught onto his distance from Mor during the Solstice party or his reluctance to hold baby Nyx because of his scarred hands then I think it’s pretty telling that the next book could be about Azriel and his journey with coming face to face with his trauma, his past, and maybe his unsteady relationship with the Illyrians; not to mention his five century one-sided love with Mor.

If you know me, or looked at any of my content, you should know that I am a hardcore Gwynriel shipper. I love Gwyn and fell in love with the ship almost immediately so much so that I’m embarrassed that I entertained the idea of shipping Azriel with Emerie or Clotho. I think that she might play a pivotal role in his journey to healing and that he might also play a large role in hers as well. Through his bonus chapter we can kind of see the sparks of something starting between them, I’m guessing it’s tied to theories that they are mates or to the theory that Gwyn could be a possibly lightsinger. All I know for sure right now is that Gwyn’s story is definitely not over with and I except see more of her in the future along with the other Valkyries as well.

Finally, Elain.

Now I don’t think the next book is about Elain but I do feel that out of all of the other characters her story is in the making? I’ve been told numerous times that Elain will be getting a book of her own, but we don’t know when and we don’t know what it is going to be about. Now, I’m not the hugest fan of Elain and it all goes back to her and Nesta just sitting around when Feyre was in the woods fighting for her life and there's as well. I know that she apologized and felt guilty afterwards but her excuse was “we gave up and she didn’t” just did not do it for me.

It was in this passage from A Court of Thorns and Roses, where my distaste for Elain blossomed:

The mercenary transferred the coins to my waiting palm, and I tucked them into my pocket, their weight as heavy as milestone. There was no possible chance that my sisters hadn’t spotted the money--no chance they weren’t already wondering how they might persuade me to give them some.

...I felt my sisters sweep closer, like vultures circling a carcass.

Like at least we knew Nesta was the “wolf” as she described herself. We knew she had a sharp-tongue and we knew she could be a bitch with her words. But Elain, she was described as innocent and nice, and yes when you paint her in a garden with flowers and frilly dresses she does just seem like some Cinderella-like character but after five books, especially after ACOSF my hate for Elain has just grown. Like after ACOWAR, I just thought she was boring--yes, she had a hand in killing the king of Hybern but that hype was kind’ve stolen away when Nesta ripped his head from his body.

Since then, we haven’t really, really got a full look through with Elain and a large part of that is because we haven’t gotten her point of view, like not even in A Court of Frost and Starlight. From what we know about her, canonically, no theories or anything, she likes to garden, she likes to cook, her friends are Cerridwen and Nuala, she doesn’t want to confront that bond she has with Lucien, and she has an attraction to Azriel. But beyond that we don’t know anything--there were things that I kept out even though they were mentioned in ACOSF but there is also a lot of mystery around the things she said and claimed to do--even Cassian questioned them but didn’t approach her about the topic.

I don’t think we have enough of a story to build up on Elain. For the most part I feel like her presence in ACOSF was mostly there to just piss Nesta off. Literally, in every scene she has with Nesta, she is pissing her off, setting her off, making her yell or scream, or making the silver flames ignite. And this is extremely out of character for Elain. Yes, we don’t get enough of her, but from what we can gather, Elain usually is not one to push buttons but I wonder why she did with Nesta.

Here are a few passages that I just found beguiling while reading Nesta’s interactions with Elain:

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness. “It’s the truth. We did this because we love you, and we worry for you, and if Father were here--”

“Don’t ever mention him.” Nesta bared her teeth, but kept her voice low. “Never fucking mention him again.”

Mentioning their father? A very taboo subject for Nesta. And Elain stans like to argue that Elain is quiet and docile because she is an observer. She takes things in and she tucks them away in her memory, but if she’d paid so much attention then why would she mention their father to Nesta? Feyre noted Nesta’s relationship with their father in book one, so there is no way that Elain herself didn’t know about it.

Here is another line from their conversation I thought were very weird to read about and I’ll explain why:

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

Bullseye. Nesta doesn’t like to be talked about, to be judged. We learned that in ACOSF and again if Elain was this person who sees and pays attention she should’ve known this or caught on.

I think in this scene, Elain was purposely trying to set off Nesta.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Cassian said it might be good if I came.”

Elain’s eyes flickered. “Did Feyre pay you, like last year?”

“No,” shame washed over her.

Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta’s shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, first of all. And in her state--”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked.

Nesta was actually trying to get better at this point. She even risked going to a party despite not feeling welcomed just because Cassian told her it might be good for her to be surrounded by her family and for her not be alone on the holiday. You could even tell how by the way Nesta is keeping herself away she is still uncomfortable but the thing is she still showed up which is a sure sign she is improving.

I don’t know why Elain started talking about the year before or about upsetting Feyre--literally wanted to slap the bitch in this scene. Like I just want to know why Elain pressed so hard. Then afterwards she waved it off as if she hadn’t just said what she said and acted normally. I can not tell you how mad I was at this--like especially for a sensitive character like Nesta who is ALWAYS In her thoughts and always takes things to a deep level. Like what Elain said could’ve just broken a vital part of Nesta and caused her to relapse.

Anyways, I think Elain’s behavior in ACOSF could hint at the Evil Elain theory. Although I don’t think it’s going to come in the next book--it might build in the next book but at most I think Elain’s story will come to fruition in ACOTAR 7 or 8 and isn’t going to be about her journey or soul searching but maybe we’ll be getting the point of view of a villain. Like there were many mysterious hints dropped in ACOSF and the way I interpreted them is that Elain is planning something and if her behavior matches her actions, it’s something that could possibly affect her sisters.

Plus, you have to wonder how Brialynn and Koschei knew everything. They knew all the IC’s moves and all of Nesta’s moves...but how? A lot of the time when Nesta was given a mission by Rhys it was in the River House and we also know that Elain has been getting better at sneaking around without being detected so it’s not too farfetched that Elain could be the spy. You don’t have to agree with me but I think it’s a pretty solid theory as far as they go.

But do tell me your thoughts I would love to hear them. I’m sorry if I offended anyone in the end but we all have to just respect everyone’s opinion so no fights or slander, especially in my comment section.

#eris vanserra #azriel #elain archeron #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #evil elain #cassian #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acosf spoilers #acosf #acotar6

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hoodoo12 · 3 years

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The Ties That Bind (And How To Follow Them) 1/?

Heave ho, here we go!

@werwulfy @rainingpaint @bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @mel-time @heresathreebee @sweetcat-666 @turtlepated @infptarius

Pate was dreaming, and this time she knew it.

For weeks she had been checking her reflection in mirrors, examining her hands to make sure they were normal, asking herself while awake “Am I dreaming?”, all in preparation for when she was actually dreaming.

“I am dreaming,” she told herself matter-of-factly.

In the months since her encounters with the demons Beetlejuice and his brother Rigel, Pate had apparently had many, deeply unpleasant dreams from what Beetlejuice told her afterwards; moaning and tossing in her sleep, desperate to escape something. She never remembered when she woke, which might be a blessing but was mostly annoying.

Now she had developed the ability to take control.

“I am dreaming,” she repeated to herself in the same, flat tone.

She looked around herself to see where she was. In her mind’s eye, she was standing amidst the hazy impression of a coniferous forest, the sky overhead gray like it was threatening rain. The road she stood on (and she felt sure it was a road, it was hard underfoot) was a rainbow of colors all splotched and running together like an impressionist painting.

Everything was slightly fuzzy around the edges, as though it was all out of focus and if she could just tune in her mental binoculars she could see it clearly. But already the dream was beginning to unravel and she felt herself waking up. She opened her eyes, finding herself reclining on a squashy pleather couch where she’d lain down to fall asleep. With a sigh, she sat up.

“Did you see anything?” asked the older woman sitting in a worn wingback chair across from her. Pate nodded and relayed the muddled details of the rainbow road in the watercolor woods. “Don’t forget to write it down,” she advised. Pate had begun keeping a dream journal for the purposes of trying to remember as much as she could from her dreams, carrying it with her to add details if and when they came back to her.

“It’s been the same pieces and fragments for weeks now,” Pate griped. “And I don’t know what any of it means.”

“You will,” assured her mentor, shrugging absently. “Or you won’t. It might not mean anything. The important thing is learning how to take control of what’s inside your head.” Pate grumbled, her face in her hands, but privately acknowledged that maybe the other woman had a point.

It was sheer happenstance, or maybe fate, that had brought Pate into Lillian Borden’s second-hand shop. She liked antique stores and sometimes used goods stores had interesting or rare finds. Pate had probably passed the shop a hundred times without ever going in, but Mrs. Borden had recognized something in her from the moment they met. Whatever Pate had, Lillian Borden had it, too.

At Beetlejuice’s urging, Pate had asked Mrs. Borden to teach her how to manage her . . . whatever it was she was having. Psychic episodes? Recurring nightmares? Visions? Either way, his concern had prodded her to seek outside help and Lillian had agreed to do what she could.

“Try to go back to it,” Lillian was saying. “See if you can make anything else out.”

With a sigh Pate shut her eyes and willed her mind to revisit her dream. It was overcast but not raining, and as she focused the irregular splotches of color on the rainbow road became brighter, the details of the surrounding woods more defined. They were definitely cone bearing trees.

The beginnings of a headache were making their appearance behind her eyes and in her temples and Pate checked the time. They’d been in the back room of Lillian’s shop for over an hour, and she still had to do something about dinner and get ready for work tomorrow.

“I guess we’d better call it a night,” she said.

Lillian hummed noncommittally, then said, “You burn that sage I gave you?”

Pate hesitated, only for the briefest second because, no, she hadn’t used the smudging tools. “Yeah,” she lied, hoping it was more convincing than it felt. Lillian’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didn’t believe her.

“There’s a presence around you, girl,” she said. “A dark presence, a powerful presence. The smart thing to do would be to get rid of it.” Pate nodded her understanding, but immediately dismissed the idea.

There was only one dark, powerful presence she knew of that would be around her, and she had no intention of sending him away. In fact, he would be waiting on her to come home.

⁂

Puttering around Pate’s apartment, Beetlejuice couldn’t find a thing to do. He’d already read ad nauseum the graphic novels Pate had gotten from the library for him. She’d expressly forbidden him to shove any dirty kitchen towels back into the drawer he found them in; he was permitted to use them--her nose had wrinkled at the word “used”--but if one was “used”, she made him promise to wash it. The birds on the birdfeeder were just dumb sparrows and starlings, nothing fun like crows or vultures. He had the brilliant idea to put scraps of meat out to attract them which worked to draw in the acceptable alternative of raccoons, until Pate got a letter from the landlord that made her yell because it threatened eviction, so raw meat outside was even less allowed than using the towels to wipe his junk and putting them back where they belonged.

Seeming to realize that a bored Beetlejuice was a potentially destructive one, she did concede to purchase the streaming Disney channel. He spent some of the time she was gone flipping from The Muppet Show and documentaries about animals. He promised not to watch WandaVision without her. Sometimes she allowed him to go to work with her, if she knew no one else would be there. During her visits to Lillian’s, however, he was not invited. “I have to concentrate,” she told him, “and you hanging around distracts me.” She didn’t say it, but one time he’d chased a pesky minor poltergeist out of a chest of drawers in the older woman’s antique shop. It caused a racket and broke the drawers, and he knew that was more likely the reason he wasn’t to go back. He lazed around and watched TV and practiced card tricks in front of her mirror. He didn’t need to practice card tricks; he had his own sleight of hand better than any stage magician, but it gave him something to do to fill the time. Like a dog, he was tuned to when Pate returned. In a quick movement he made the deck he was holding disappear faster than humanly possible, and was beside the door waiting for her to open it the next second. Tonight was taco night! He took the bags of food the moment she was in the door. It was a move more greedy than gracious, but she didn’t seem to mind because she asked him how his day was and told him not to eat the raw ingredients in the same breath as she hung up her jacket. The specter waited for her to come into the kitchen before hugging her. “You look tired, baby,” he announced, eyeing her critically. “Are you sure Lillian is helping you? It seems like she’s just making everything worse.” He wanted Pate well and whole, but wasn’t pleased that although Pate had faith in this woman, it didn’t seem to be doing much good. He had to admit, however, that nothing he’d done had been able to help alleviate her nightmares either.

⁂

Having never had a live-in partner before, Pate had never given much thought to what it would be like to actually have someone waiting for her at home. But she found that she liked it. For the most part, anyway.

Despite the few hiccups like the incident with the racoons and the time he’d ruined her good skillet melting marbles in it on the stovetop, they had a pretty good thing going she thought. The way he always appeared at the door the second she walked in, like an overlarge, excitable, slightly moldy golden retriever never failed to make her smile. Tonight was no exception.

Pate gratefully allowed him to take her bags through to the kitchen while she deposited her keys and purse and jacket in their usual spots, following him and sighing contentedly as he wrapped her in his arms. She smiled against his chest, wishing she could simply live there and not have to worry about work or training or anything else. At his proclamation, she drew back enough to look him in the eye, smiling wanly.

“I kinda am tired, Beej,” she admitted. It had been some time since she’d gotten a decent night’s sleep, the dreams and nightmares taking turns with a general sense of unease and restlessness that kept her awake.

“The dreams may not be getting better, but she’s helped me enough that I can remember them when I wake up. Maybe that’s the key to figuring out what they’re all about. And if I keep practicing the lucid dreaming thing, maybe I could even stop them myself.”

Raising herself on tip-toe to press a quick peck on his lips, Pate then set his destructive proclivities to chopping up the tomatoes and jalapenos and other toppings while she browned and seasoned the meat for their tacos. It filled her with a cozy, domestic feeling as Beetlejuice jabbered absently about whatever had come into his head, interspersed with the ambiance of sizzling hamburger and the clacking of the knife against the cutting board.

She considered telling him about Lillian’s insistence that she cleanse her apartment and dismiss him, but she had a good idea how he’d respond to that and didn’t want to upset him. Besides, if she had anything to say about it he wasn’t going anywhere he didn’t want to. He was here because they both wanted him to be, and that was the end of it.

Instead she removed the pan from the burner, turned off the eye and moved to stand beside him at the island and the heaps of thoroughly massacred vegetables. “What’re we watching tonight?” she asked, opening the taco shells and arranging them on the plates.

⁂

She made him use a knife--knife tricks! He should practice knife tricks!--on the tomatoes since on the first taco night he’d simply crushed them to pulp, but she did say it was okay to rip the lettuce with his hands. Beej did that with relish, managing to fling bits into the air. Like he was imparting a secret, he told Pate that they recorded the noise of breaking lettuce and celery to substitute for bones breaking in movies.

Pate reminded him he told her that every time they had tacos, but softened her chiding with a kiss.

There was a Nicolas Cage movie he was interested in seeing, Color Out of Space, but maybe that wasn’t Pate’s idea of a good time. It was Friday, so the decision was easy: what was with the recasting of Pietro? Did it mean there was finally going to be a connection between the X-men and the Avengers? They settled on the couch to catch up on the latest episode of WandaVision. For the entirety of the show, with the exception of once or twice having to rewind because it was hard to hear over the crunch of the taco shells, they ate without interruptions. Once it was over, the dishes had been cleared, and Pate changed into pajamas, Beetlejuice escorted her back to the couch. Sometimes she had emails to answer from work or simple tasks to complete from Lillian, but tonight she seemed more tired than normal, so he held her while she told him about her day. She said something about wanting to . . . Beetlejuice waited a moment for the rest of the sentence, but Pate had dozed off without completing it. Despite what they’d been through, he still marveled at how easily she gave her trust to someone like him. It would be easy enough to get her into her bed, but he liked being her pillow, so he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over them, and turned that Nic Cage movie on low to watch it while she slept. Maybe it was the different location, maybe it was because she had just had a lesson with Lillian--maybe it was Nic Cage!--but Pate didn’t stir while they were on the couch. Smiling and hopeful that maybe her nighttime dreams were getting under control, Beetlejuice carried her to bed. It was in the darkest part of the night that she kicked and cried out against him, lost in her head. ⁂

Pate sat bolt upright with a gasp, chest heaving and heart racing. After taking a moment to orient herself, she buried her face in her hands. The same dream, the same tantalizing images, the same mounting sense of dread that grew worse and worse as the dream wore on, pressing between her shoulder blades and against her breastbone, constricting her chest.

The scenes flashes behind her eyelids again: standing on the rainbow road in the middle of the misty forest; the strange red brick tower that stood like a transplanted European castle turret on top of a hill; the sound of rushing water; and standing the in center of a round room with no roof, the starry sky overhead, surrounded by figures that all looked exactly like her.

And the overwhelming notion that something was coming, something unfathomable and indescribable, something powerful and ravenous, drawing closer and closer.

Sighing into her fingers, Pate dropped her hands, sure that she must’ve roused Beej from his restive state, but before she could turn to him another figure appeared in her periphery. Standing by the side of the bed was a strange woman, tumbles of auburn waves falling over her shoulders, her eyes glinting like a cat’s in the darkness.

“Hello, dear,” she purred at Pate, a friendly yet unsettling smile on her pretty heart-shaped face. “You have something I want.”

Without taking her eyes off the intruder, Pate fumbled behind her for Beetlejuice, to wake him, to warn him, but her hand found only empty air. Jolted by this realization, Pate turned to find his place in the bed vacant. Jerking back around to face the smiling woman with her strange eyes, panic surged through Pate’s chest and propelled her heart into her throat.

“Where is he?” she demanded, somehow knowing the woman was responsible for her vanished demon lover.

“Where he belongs,” the woman responded, her smile widening into a predatory grin that froze Pate’s blood in her veins. The terrible foreboding she felt quickly grew into abject terror that she would never see him again.

Then, blessedly, her eyes snapped open to find herself wrapped in Beetlejuice’s arms as he cooed and whispered into her hair that everything was okay, she was just dreaming. Shaking, she clung to him to assure herself that he really was there, feeling the wetness of tears on her cheeks.

“You were gone!” she croaked against him. “There was this woman, her eyes were wrong and she took you!”

She said this with the certainty that comes with dreams, where you simply know something to be true. That certainty told her that something, be it the strange red-haired woman with the glowing eyes or the unknowable presence that stalked ever nearer in her nightmares, was going to try and take him from her. She couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let it happen.

⁂

His lover’s abrupt startle awake after twisting and turning and being unable to be roused made him feel worse. What use was he if he couldn’t help her? During her struggles he held her as best he could and soothed her, even though he wasn’t sure Pate even heard him. The tears weren’t uncommon, but specifics about what her mind conjured up were. Beej brushed it off as simple lingering fear, and assured her he wasn’t going anywhere and there was no woman. A weak joke that if she wanted to invite another woman in he wouldn’t object was summarily chewed up and spit out by the rational portion of his brain, the one that had a slightly better understanding of what may and may not be appropriate. It was small, but getting larger. It also nixed allowing him to say, “I guess Nic Cage isn’t the answer.” So he continued to whisper to her and let her cling to him, and because she’d requested it before, asked open-ended questions to help her try and recall as much of the dream as possible. He didn’t understand why that seemed to be important to her mentor, but it was easy and maybe if Pate talked through it, she’d be less frightened.

Mostly he hoped she would just be able to go back to sleep, and vowed to let her stay in bed as long as she would like the next morning.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties that Bind

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shyrose57 · 2 years

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Admittedly, you have outstamina'd me on the long posts, hahaha. Your creativity and organizational skills are most impressive! Good call on the read more, and thank you for patience! Might not be able to reply paragraph-for-paragraph, but know that all your thoughts are so cool and inspiring to read, my word.

Man, that final confrontation is so fun to think about. You totally hit the nail on the head - all of 3rd Life, it was the greens and yellows vs the reds (and Grian), with everyone in their factions pitted against each other. And once they were free of the corruption, they still had to fight against Tubbo to save him. So when, this time, they all have their memories and their wits about them at once, of course they cling to the fact that all they have to do is escape and beat the server together! That wither fight is such a chilling shock - Grian and Tubbo telling everyone they've found some crucial breakthrough, maybe, gathering everyone together at the center of the server, and then not even giving so much as a goodbye, let alone an explanation, before setting the wither loose.

Also the idea of the server always wanting to kill Tubbo in the end, that is so good. Of course it'd favor its creator and champion over the one who almost destroyed it! Ahhhh, such a cool insight. The second season of Last Life almost certainly results in a huge bunk-together for all the participants to rest and recover, to learn how to trust and care for each other again,, but especially for Tubbo and Grian. Falling so deep to the corruption left its mark on them, too, the awareness of how far they're really willing to go if they're only properly motivated. Lots of midnight talks for those two, I think.

And gosh, this AU and the way you think and talk about it just resonate with me in so many ways - like, everyone is so irrevocably and undeniably changed by their experiences in Last Life! And no matter how much they may want to, they can't go back to how they were before, to who they were. So instead, they all have to move forward, learn how to exist in a world that hasn't changed as much as they were forced to. But they're all in it together, so they always have that to fall back on, despite what the game would have them believe.

That whole thing, with Ranboo being a new fae and how that affects how everyone sees him and how he values the tiny things Tommy gave him because they were from Tommy? I would like to wrap that up as a full ficlet, please, I'm taking it to-go and consulting it later, because it's!! Lovely!!

Oh, gosh, Tommy protecting Ranboo from Tubbo? What a fantastic inversion, especially in the time where Tubbo is still charming the heck out of everyone he meets! Ranboo would just be so happy that Tubbo seems so normal, so well-adjusted, somehow, apparently unaffected by the paranoia and bloodlust that's gripped so many on the server? It's a side to Tubbo Ranboo has seen so infrequently, of course he'd take the chance to be around him more - and then with Tommy's mistrust of Tubbo, Ranboo would have such a hard time reconciling that, trying to figure out why on earth they aren't just clicking? Tubbo seems open, so why isn't Tommy?

That makes Seablings content!! Even when neither of them have anything to do with the sea at the moment, Lizzie would have to feel so right getting Jimmy into the Court. Lizzie and Grian would really end up with sort of a rivalry, huh? From Grian's perspective, she keeps taking in his strays, picking scraps from his table like some kind of vulture and then throwing them back at him. He could definitely point the Southlands as very anti-Fairy Fort because of it - if he could paint them as negatively impacting Tommy, he might even be able to win Puffy back over! Oh, imagine if it led to a quiet, early schism of the Southlands; Grian vocally against the Fairy Fort, Martyn secretly with them, both trying to win over as many as they can for when it inevitably falls apart.

Make that two to-go boxes now, my gosh, your exploration of Pearl struggling with her apathy?? I would read a whole fic of just, Last Life but in this AU, you talking about what they'd all feel. Makes me want to give her a big, grounding hug - she definitely gets lots of Hermit Huddles once they all escape.

Hmmm... My first thought, based on what you said, is actually that Boogey!Tommy might go for Grian. He's got the same sense of wrongness as Tubbo without the same closeness, and he's actively wronged Tommy. And no way is Tommy risking going down to red, so I can see him making the calculation - get rid of Grian, a threat to his new home and to the whole server, cure himself, win-win! I... do also feel like he'd definitely win against Grian, though, so maybe it would have to be early enough that Grian isn't red, or someone is able to stop/redirect him somehow?

Ooooooh, getting all the fake memories crammed into their head is such a good idea!! That makes tons of sense, too - the corruption gets a foothold and tries to shape them into what it wanted them to be, but it still can't actually remove anything. So, say, Ranboo still knows everything he came here for, but he also knows he's fae in a way he didn't before - remembers a lifetime, short for a fae but so much longer than he knew before, of being with the Court. Possible to overcome, but definitely a much stronger struggle than it was when it was all foreign instinct. Now, they've got the muscle memory to go with it, so to speak.

What can I say, it's really fun bouncing off what you've got!

Oh, can you?? Imagine?? That'd be so devastating, like, morally? It'd be one hell of a blow. Tubbo and Grian, the ones who kinda did the most to defeat the server last time, calling the others in for a 'breakthrough'? Like, they'd be so hopeful, excited, and just ready.

And then it just turns out to be a trap? The wither(the one they swore they would keep from being used, promised to guard for them, just let them take some of the load off, they can help-), unleashed upon them, in an area where it's likely all the harder to fight in, while they're all so very unprepared, nearly led to their deaths by the very trust they placed in their friends.

And those friends just leave?? Not a word, not a glance. No explanation for it, just. Nothing.

Then again, they don't really need to say anything, do they? Their actions speak for themselves.

And the aftermaths effect on those two, especially, is a very good point. Like, logically, they know that they're both dangerous. Forces of nature, brilliant and vicious should it be needed.

But they were never supposed to be that to their friends. And maybe they'll forgive them, but it'll be a long time before they can forgive themselves-can trust themselves again, knowing how close they came to destroying the people they care for, for nothing but hollow crown, with smiles on their faces.

The clashes with the before and the after?? Are just?? Gonna be so interesting?? Not just for each other(with who they used to be, what they thought they were, and what they've all become), but also for those outside of it all. Empires, Dsmp, Hermitcraft, ect. They see all their friends returning, and, everything they thought they knew to expect, is ripped apart when they find them.

Like, just the aftermaths of it all?? Literally so good. Everyone readjusting to the changes, from the game and from out of it. Inside and outside perspectives, close and far. Pixl's allies seem so strangely tight-knit, and though the protection extends to him, their trust does not. Michael's parents come back to him so strange, and new. Fiercer, sharper, bigger.

Ranboo goes from enemy number one to exploitable number one, and it probably gives him whiplash when it happens. Also, just?? It's adorable?? Imagine that coming out? Everyone probably originally assuming Ranboo was working around his instincts, but no, those things were genuinely considered valuable to him because Tommy gave them to him, and just!!!

Ranboo just wants his friends to be happy! Like, he's not pleased with the whole thing in general, but seeing Tubbo seem to genuinely relaxed and trusting, so genuinely happy and cared for is a rare silver lining in this whole mess, and one he clings to wholeheartedly. And Tommy seems a bit lighter-not as much as the other, but still somewhat, and-

And he is dead set on keeping them apart?? Tommy seems to bristle at the mere mention of the person who should be his best friend-who's regarded as one of the kindest people on this server.

Makes you wonder how he didn't catch on earlier-but then again, ignorance is bliss, and he had to have something to hold onto, right?

And oooohhh, that'd be so cool? Like, Grian and Lizzie?? They're totally rival courts. Though I don't know what Court Grian actually is from-Summer, or Sun, perhaps? Or maybe something a bit more subtle? Would Grian's group be considered his Court, even if he's just using them? Because that would absolutely amp up the tension for when Lizzie seemingly starts stealing his Court members from under his nose.

Even if he thinks of them as you've said-would that make it even more infuriating? Lizzie steals the things he threw away, and they thrive. They become some of her greatest assets. Not even just Jimmy or Tommy, but Ren too, even, seeing as he turned him away when he originally sought to join them. Oh, and when it comes out that Martyn's with them? Puffy doing who knows what, wavering between sides? Mumbo, who was technically with them from the very start? The people who he actually kept at his side? Willingly straying?

He must've been furious, a slight like that.

Pearl needs so many hugs, and a good couple of blankets too. With dragons on them. She's going through it, and it's not easy to deal with when the idea of doing so just keeps getting shoved further and further back.

Oooh, Tommy going after Grian?? So very fun? Someone to stop or redirect him sounds cool, but who?? Puffy, maybe? Impulse? Someone from his new alliance?

A whole new life of memories makes them even more Other in ways they weren't quite before. Close, but not quite. That's just going to be so confusing for them-because, in these lives that never were, they're still them!! But shaped by different circumstances, changed by different factors.

And those memories, well.

I don't think they exactly go away when they defeat the game.

#Your Eyes Are Flashing All Again AU #dream smp x last life smp au #dream smp x last life smp #pearlescentmoon #grian #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo

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ladycatofwinterfell · 3 years

Text

Raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, part 4

Summary: Catelyn meets a northern boy in her algebra class during one of London’s many rainy days. Initially she doesn’t expect much, but this boy brings her a surprising amount of sunlight.

@leialannister and I discussed Scandinavian Starks and I realized I really wanted to write a fic so that’s what I did. Swedes depicted in media makes this Swede happy, and NedCat also makes me happy so why not combine it and publish him for everyone to see?

A sigh escaped her when she finally put the cookies in the oven. That had taken a lot longer than she had expected it to. She glanced at the clock, maybe she would have to message Ned and tell him that she would be a bit late.

“What are you baking?”

Elia came into the kitchen and opened a cupboard to take out a glass.

“Chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter” Catelyn replied.

“Any chance I can get one when they’re finished?”

“Absolutely. I made too many anyway.”

Either she was baking for a country or for one small child, she could never make anything in the right amount. That day she had apparently decided to bake for all of London. But that was good, then she could leave some at home and bring some to Ned. Taking up her phone she quickly wrote him a message about that she would be a bit late. She had planned on starting to bake earlier, but then there had been some obstacles. The obstacles were that she had promised Cersei to paint her nails and do her hair for her date. Which she didn’t regret, Cersei had looked awesome when she was done.

“Can you make too many cookies?” Elia asked.

She opened the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice.

“I can only bring so many to Ned without looking like a crazy person.”

“Who’s Ned?”

Had she never told Elia his actual name? She guessed not. He was known as the Swede in their household, Ashara and Cersei exclusively called him by that name.

“The Swede.”

“Ah, I guess your date went well, then” Elia said, smiling.

“It wasn’t a date, we’re not dating.”

“Whatever you say. Ash told me you wouldn’t talk much about it, so I figured it didn’t go well but if you’re baking for him it can’t have been too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all, he’s really nice. I like him.”

“So why not date him?”

Catelyn sat in a chair at the kitchen table while Elia poured her juice.

“Because I’m not interested in him in that way. He’s cute, I can admit that, but no.”

Elia just shrugged and put the juice back into the fridge before leaving the kitchen again. Catelyn wasn’t baking because she was interested in him, she had just been walking around feeling guilty about that she had nothing to give in return for him teaching her to draw. So she had decided that the least she could do was bring him some homemade cookies. It didn’t feel enough, but it was something. She started gathering up all the things she had used so that she could clean them, but just after she had filled the sink with water her phone started buzzing. She cleaned her hands and walked to take her phone, expecting it to be Ned, but instead her uncle’s name was on the screen.

“Hello, Uncle” she said.

She had been calling him twice a day all week to find out what that phone call from Edmure had been about, but he hadn’t answered her. She had almost believed he had got into an accident, but her father had assured her that Uncle Brynden was just fine. He hadn’t known what it was about though, and he hadn't known why Brynden wasn't answering his phone.

“Little Cat, good to hear your voice!”

She put the phone on speaker and picked up the dish brush, beginning to scrub away remains of cookie dough.

“You could have heard my voice much earlier if you had taken my calls” she responded.

“My phone died and I lost it, but my husband found it behind a shelf earlier today so now I could call you” Brynden said.

Catelyn had to keep herself from laughing.

“How did it end up behind a shelf?”

“Believe me, I would also like to know that.”

“Alright. Edmure said you wanted to know if I would be home for Christmas, can I ask why you wanted to know that? You know I always come home for Christmas.”

“I thought of visiting you soon if not, but now when you’re coming home for Christmas I can wait until spring.”

None of her family members had come to visit her in London, she had just gone back home. Which made sense, but she still wanted to show them her life there. She would have insisted he come before Christmas if she had not had an exam coming up. She wouldn’t have much time to spare, and if he was coming to London she actually wanted to be able to see him and do things.

“You’ll have to promise you’ll come this spring. I would love to finally get to show you how I have it here.”

“I promise. Might bring Edmure too, the boy is eager to see London.”

Edmure had never been to London. When she thought of it she didn’t think he had ever been outside of Ireland.

“You should bring Edmure. It’s about time he gets to see something different.”

“A shame it’s London and not a good city.”

She didn’t like Britain, and she hated what they had done to her country. What they had put her people through. But she had nothing against London in particular. It was a okay place to live and she had made great friends there.

“London isn’t bad, he’ll like it.”

“Of course he will, the boy has no taste.”

“He’s a child” Catelyn chuckled.

“He’ll always be like this. You're a lot like your younger self, I can still see much of little Catelyn Tully in you.”

“Well, you still call me Little Cat so I figured that.”

She stopped what she was doing when her Uncle didn’t answer her. She waited a few seconds to see if he would, but her phone was silent.

“Hello?” she called.

Then she heard Brynden’s voice. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, he clearly wasn’t talking to her. Had to be his husband, he probably had to go. She didn’t have time for a long phone call anyway, so that didn't bother her at all.

“The husband insists it’s time for dinner” he informed her. “So this is farewell for now.”

“There’s no need to talk like it’s the 18th century and you’re going on an adventure at sea, just say goodbye like a normal person.”

“Life is a lot more fun if you see it as an adventure. Therefore I’m telling you farewell for now. Until next time, Little Cat.”

A smile appeared on her face.

“Goodbye, Uncle.”

The phone clicked as Brynden ended the call. Catelyn finished the dishes in silence, listening to the music coming from the living room and Ashara and Elia’s laughter. Often she dreamed of getting her own place, but in moments like those she really liked sharing a flat. Despite that it didn’t have a balcony. She took the cookies out of the oven to let them cool before she would put some in a jar for Ned. And as expected the two other women swept in like vultures.

“Don’t touch them, you’ll burn yourselves” Catelyn warned as she turned her back on the cookies to see if she could find a jar.

She was sure if that she had at least one somewhere in the back of a cupboard. Behind all that other crap they never used. She dragged a chair over and stepped up on it to be able to reach the top shelf.

“Ouch, fuck, goddamnit!”

Catelyn didn’t have to turn around to know that Ashara was jumping around, holding her burned hand to her chest. Her first words were followed by a sentence in Arabic that Catelyn strongly suspected just consisted of more swear words. Elia was laughing and a moment later the tap was running.

“Oh my poor darling” Elia chuckled.

“Told you” Catelyn said calmly.

To her triumph she found a jar. It was ugly as sin, the psychedelic flower pattern was enough to give her a headache, but it was what she had and it was a lot better than nothing.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think they were so fucking hot!” Ashara howled.

“I just took them out of the oven, what did you expect?”

“Not this!”

She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first time it happened and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Every time she baked either Cersei or Ashara burned a hand. No matter how many times she warned them of the heat.

“Leave the kitchen and come back in fifteen minutes when they have cooled down a bit, I promise they’ll still be here.”

“Sounds like something someone who’s planning to take the cookies away would say.”

“Just go.”

Ashara pulled a face at her before leaving the room closely followed by her girlfriend. Finally, inner peace. Half an hour later Catelyn left with half of the cookies. She had a suspicion of that the rest would be gone by the time she was back. If Cersei came home before her they would definitely be gone. But she was happy that liked what she made them. That was all she could contribute when it came to food. She didn’t even bother swearing over that the lift was still broken. She just took the stairs. It had already been dark for two hours when she stepped outside the building. She hated it. Autumn was nice, things were very pretty during autumn, but the cold and the darkness she could do without. Catelyn had been surprised when he asked if she wanted to come over to his place. They had been talking about meeting up again, and Catelyn had assumed maybe they would go for another walk or something like it. But then Ned had said that she could come to him if she wanted to, so that he could honor his promise. She was breaking a lot of safety rules when it came to meeting new people by seeing him in a private area so soon, so she hoped he wasn’t a serial killer. She had given both Cersei and Ashara his address so if she went missing they would know where to start looking. But she was very sure of that she would be fine, he was a good person. She was still nervous when she arrived at his building though, but for a completely different reason. She didn’t know what reason, but she sure was nervous. What was up with her? Why couldn’t she just go over to her friend’s place without feeling like her heart would make it’s way out of her chest. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. All of it was ridiculous. The building’s door required a code to be opened. She didn’t know the code, Ned hadn’t said anything about that. She took up her phone and texted him.

Code?

His answer came just a second later. It made her happy to know he had been waiting for her.

I’ll be down in a minute

Less than a minute later she saw him come down the stairs through the glass panels in the door.

“Hey” he said after having opened the door.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

“No need to apologize. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

They began walking up the stairs.

“The house doesn’t have a lift” Ned said. “Sucks when you have groceries.”

Catelyn couldn’t hold back a smile at that. The house had four floors, how bad could it be? She guessed it was sort of a problem if he lived on the top floor, but that was still less than what she was used to.

“What floor do you live on?”

“The third.”

“Not to belittle your struggles or anything, but I live on the sixth floor and we have a lift, but it never works. That sucks.”

“Wow, I take back everything I said.”

When they reached the third floor there were three doors. One to the left, one to the right, and one right ahead of them. He opened the right one and then gestured for her to enter before him. He held the door open for her as she walked inside and she found herself in a small hall. Only a shoe rack and a coat hanger fit in there. Past that was a small flat, consisting of only one room and door that lead to what Catelyn guessed was a bathroom. Directly to her left was a very clean kitchen, across from it, on her right was a neatly made bed. Ahead of her on the right was a couch and a TV, and across of that was a round table with five chairs around it. On almost every flat surface there was a plant, on the window sills more than one, giving life to the otherwise white and grey room. A lamp above the table was on, but apart from that the place was only dimly lit up by smaller table lamps and fairy lights. All the walls had some sort of art on them, ranging from sketches to full paintings, the only exception was where the bookshelf was. The bookshelf didn’t seem as organized as the rest of the flat, she found no pattern, and books that didn’t fit in it had been placed in piles on top of it. The scent of coffee and something sweeter filled the air. Maybe it came from one or several of the flowers, maybe it was the laundry detergent he used, maybe it was something completely different. She didn’t know, but she liked it. It wasn’t large, but it felt so much like a home. One was immediately hit with the feeling that someone had made that small area their own. She had been in homes where it was clear that the owner only used it as a place to sleep, but so was very much not the case with Ned’s home. And best of all, he had a balcony. She would have killed for a balcony.

“Welcome to my humble home” he said, closing the door behind them.

“I love it” she responded in complete honesty.

“It turned out a lot better than I initially thought, it didn’t look very nice when I moved in.”

“One has to trust the process. And that balcony can’t have made things worse.”

“It faces an alleyway, the view is terrible.”

She didn’t care what the view was, it was the balcony itself that made her happy. Though of course she wanted her future balcony to have a nice view if it wasn’t too much to ask for. She put her bag down, and took off her shoes and her coat. She liked the shoe rack, she would have to raise the question of getting one for her own home with Cersei and Ashara.

“We don’t have to draw if you don’t want to, but I thought I would at least present the option" he said when he went inside before her.

She noticed that there was a bunch of papers and pens on the table. She also noticed that Oden was sleeping underneath it. She hadn’t seen him at first, but she smiled when she did. She didn’t think she had ever smiled at a dog.

“I’m eager to learn every little thing you have to teach me.”

“Amazing, where would you like to start?”

A class where she got to make her own curriculum, how nice.

“You said you’re good at drawing people, right? Can you teach me to draw a face?”

He sat by the table and pulled out the chair on his right.

“That shouldn’t be impossible.”

Catelyn sat next to him and they began. She believed he had said that he wasn’t a very good teacher or something close to that the previous time they had met, but she heavily disagreed. With patience he guided her through everything, redid stuff half a hundred times just so she could see it and understand. After a while the table was covered in drawings of facial features and faces from different angles. It was easy to tell which ones were his and which were hers, but she wanted to believe she was improving. And Ned said she was, he came with much encouragement. But she came to a point where it didn’t feel like it. She had trouble getting lines straight, it looked very shaky.

“I can’t get it straight” she sighed in frustration when she tried for what had to be the tenth time to get a nose right.

Ned studied her drawing and her hand for a moment before answering.

“You need to relax your hand, you’re too tense. It makes you shake.”

“I am relaxing my hand!”

He put his pen down and scooted his chair closer to her. At first she didn’t understand what he was doing but then he put his left hand over hers, gently helping her adjust her hold in order to relax her hand. Maybe she should have been focused on trying to get it right, but she was mostly focused on keeping her breathing steady. He was close to her. He was very close to her. She could smell his cologne. And he was essentially holding her hand. She kept her eyes downwards, tried to do what he wanted her to do, but she was positive her heart was going to stop.

“There you go” he said. “Try now.”

“Okay” she said, hearing that her voice was a higher pitch than usual.

She hoped he didn’t notice. She tried to keep her hand steady despite that she was shaking a lot more than she had been before.

“It looks better now, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Both of them jumped in their chairs when the door opened. In stepped a man who somewhat resembled Ned, they had the same hair color and the same facial features, but he was taller. And very attractive. Catelyn had to stop herself from looking at him too much and instead turned her gaze to the dog he had with him, another German shepherd, who seemingly didn’t have Oden’s calm temper. He pulled on his leash, wanting to come over to where they sat. She hoped he would stay right where he was with that dog, she had a feeling of that she wouldn’t like it as much as she liked Oden. Oden immediately left his spot at their feet and walked to lie down in a corner of the room, clearly wanting nothing to do with the other dog. Catelyn realized that she had instinctively tensed up, so she took a deep breath and forced her shoulders down. It was just a dog. Except for that it wasn’t. It was a scary dog, and she could feel her pulse go up.

“Vad gör du här?” Ned sighed, scooting his chair away from her again.

It made a loud, scraping noise. Not like when he had came closer to her.

”Jag skrev att jag tänkte komma förbi, men du svarade inte” the man said with a shrug.

Catelyn wasn’t sure of what she was going to do, and as usual she didn’t understand a word of Swedish. She assumed he was Ned’s older brother, as they looked alike and both spoke Swedish.

“Det fanns en anledning till det” Ned said, annoyed by whatever it was that his brother had said.

But the brother didn’t seem to hear him, he instead looked at Catelyn and smiled.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again” he said.

She had never seen him before, what was he talking about?

“You must be mistaking me for someone else, we haven’t met” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed.

“I’m not mistaking you for someone else, you don’t forget hair like that. You have nice hair.”

She tried to remember when and where she could have seen him. They didn’t have class together, she would have known if she was in the same class as Ned’s brother. Had she met him at a pub? She never got drunk enough to not remember people she had met. Was he a friend of a friend? That seemed like the most plausible explanation. She would have to ask around about that.

“Thank you, I suppose, but I have to apologize, I don’t remember you.”

It was embarrassing. She didn’t believe that had ever happened to her before, she usually remembered people. Though at least she wasn’t blushing.

“Then I won’t be the one to remind you, let’s start over” he chuckled. “I’m Brandon, the better looking one. I never got your name last time so what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Men för fan, Brandon, bete dig!” Ned said firmly.

“Language, little brother” Brandon said. "And I am behaving."

She assumed Ned had told him to behave with a swearword thrown in somewhere. She didn't know which word it was though.

“He has a point, you’re being a bit of an arse. So please replace sweetheart with Catelyn next time, that’s my name.”

“That’s prettier than sweetheart anyway.”

He didn’t seem to be that sharpest knife in the drawer, it sounded like something out of a book on how to compliment women. But he was good looking, and maybe he was better after one got to know him.

“Thank you” she said once more, twirling her pen between her fingers.

“Vill du ha henne eller kan jag ta henne?” Brandon then said to Ned. “Hon är snygg.”

”Vad är det för fel på dig?” he responded in an exasperated voice. “If you didn’t want something important can you please take your dog and leave?”

“Du behöver inte bli sur” Brandon said, raising his free hand into the air.

“I’m not, but you’re being inappropriate towards my friend and Tor really upsets Oden. So can you leave and come back tomorrow?”

“Varför på engelska?”

“Because Catelyn doesn’t understand Swedish.”

“Du pratar inte med henne.”

“No, but she’s here.”

Catelyn certainly was there. She was also thoroughly confused. She had no idea about what Brandon was saying, and she had no idea about why Ned was talking about her. It almost would have been better if she didn’t understand anything at all instead of only getting bits and pieces.

“Look, I’m free tomorrow, you can come back then. Men nu skulle jag uppskatta om du lämnade oss.”

Brandon studied his brother for a moment, then he grinned.

“Absolutely. Godnatt.”

”Godnatt, Brandon.”

Brandon and his dog, who she assumed was named Tor, left and the door shut behind them. She had to do a lot of assuming as she didn't understand much. Oden stayed right where he was, his gaze fixated on the door like he was expecting Tor to break back in. She understood him.

“He’s most often not like that, I’m sorry” Ned said as he got up from his chair and walked over to sit by Oden on the floor. “I won’t excuse his behavior, but I want you to know that he can be nice.”

Oden immediately placed his head in Ned’s lap, but kept his eyes on the door.

“Mind if I sit with him for a bit?” he asked. “He gets stressed around Tor. They’re from the same litter and Tor partook in the puppy bullying that went one when they were little.”

“Puppies are so small and cute, how are they capable of bullying?” she said.

“Kids are small too, and they still bully each other.”

“I guess. Still hard to wrap your head around it. I mean I get it now, that was a scary dog, but a puppy?”

“Are you afraid of dogs?” he asked, surprised.

How could he be surprised about that? She had believed that she had clearly shown him that she was afraid of dogs.

“They have lots of sharp teeth, they make loud and sudden noises, large ones can easily kill you, it’s not really my thing. Oden is fine though, he’s very polite.”

Ned chuckled.

“More of a cat person, huh?”

Catelyn looked him dead in the eye.

“If you make one single cat pun I will get up and leave” she threatened.

“Based on the look on your face it feels like you have heard them all already.”

“I have heard them all. Multiple times. I doubt anyone can come up with a new one at this point. They aren’t worse than the fact that an ex used ‘Kitty’ as a nickname for me through.”

She had learned to accept KitKat, she would never learn to accept Kitty. She hated it, she was a grown woman and didn’t want to be referred to the same way one referred to a cute kitten. Luckily no one else had used that nickname and she thoroughly hoped it would stay that way.

“I take it you prefer just Catelyn, then?”

“Or Cat. I don’t mind Cat, it’s short and easy to spell.”

People never seemed to spell her name correctly on the first try. There were simply too many ways to spell the way her name was said. People often replaced the C with a K and threw in a couple of i’s for good measure. So sometimes it was easier to just go by Cat.

“I get it, often it’s easier to go by a shortened name.”

She snorted.

“Your name is three letters and super easy to spell, you don’t get to complain.”

Ned laughed at that.

“I always go by Ned, but it’s not actually my name. My name’s Eddard.”

So she had been right, Ned was short for something.

“It’s a nice name.”

“You said that about my dog too, so I don’t know what to believe.”

Had she? She had no memory of what she had said upon learning Oden’s name. It had been weeks since that. But he was probably right.

“You both have nice names, that’s all there is.”

“Thank you.”

She left her pen on the table and stood up.

“Do you want cookies?”

He shrugged.

“Cookies are good, but I unfortunately don’t have any. I would have got some if you had said you wanted it.”

“No worries, Eddard Stark” she said as she went to get her bag from the coat hanger. “I can supply the cookies.”

She pulled out the jar and went back to the table.

“Did you bake?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

He got up from the floor.

“I hope you don’t have any severe allergies because I really don’t want to kill you, and I also hope you like chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter because that’s what I baked.”

“Sounds amazing. Can I make you some tea to go with the cookies?”

“Absolutely.”

Catelyn sat at the table again while Ned walked to the small kitchen.

“You know you didn’t have to bake” he said as he took two mugs out of a cupboard.

“I wanted to give something back to you for inviting me into your home and trying to teach me to draw. And I’m good at baking, so I thought I would bake you something” she explained.

She picked up her pen again, once more put it to the paper and tried to get the shading on the nose right so that it didn’t look so flat. Very softly she moved the tip of the pen, and found that she managed to keep her hand steady while doing so. Maybe he had managed to get something into her head, after all.

“I really appreciate it, thank you” he said and she heard him fill a kettle with water.

“It was the least I could do.”

She stopped for a moment to look at the paper in front of her. That actually looked like a nose. It wasn’t nearly as good as what he had done, but it was the best nose she had ever managed to draw. Maybe her pride was childish, it wasn’t a big accomplishment, but she really hadn’t expected to do so well. She could feel herself smile.

“What kind of tea do you want?”

“Uhm, preferably something fruity, if you have it. I like sweet teas.”

High on the feeling of success she moved onto the eyes of the person on her paper.

“Fruity? That’s not very British of you” he responded.

“I know, it’s a conscious choice. Drives one of my flatmates mad.”

Cersei refused to drink sweet teas. She only drank black tea and Earl Grey. Nothing disgusted Catelyn more than Earl Grey. She was also sure of that Cersei only refused to drink other teas out of spite. She was a very proud Brit when it came to tea.

“Is she British?”

“Yes, a born and bred Londoner. My other flatmate is from Morocco, so the British are outnumbered in my home. She’s very strict on the tea though. We’re working on humbling her, but our attempts so far have been unsuccessful.”

“It’s very hard to humble a Brit, I’ve tried.”

“Do you have any advice for me?”

“No, because I failed in epic proportions. He’s still the same.”

She looked up at him. He stood with his back to her, pouring the hot water into the mugs. She wondered who he was talking about. She would have liked to ask, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. Whoever it was was probably a lot like Cersei. She loved Cersei, but she sure was a handful at times. Especially when it came to her Earl Grey.

“We have a word for this in Swedish” Ned said.

“You have a word for trying to humble Brits?”

That was unreasonable and way too specific. He laughed.

“That would be ‘försöka göra en brittisk person ödmjukare’, which is a sentence and not a word, but that’s not what I meant. I meant we have a word for sitting down with someone to eat a pastry or something like it and maybe drink something.”

That mad a lot more sense.

“And what’s this word?”

“Fika. Most people do it daily. We have breaks at work for fika.”

"Is that a verb or a noun?"

"Works as both. You can fika, but you can also sit down for a fika."

“That’s brilliant, there should be an English word for that.”

“One of many things I miss from Sweden.”

She turned her gaze downwards again, but found that she didn’t have the same luck with the eyes that she had had with the nose. She tried to do what he had showed her, and she looked at everything he had drawn out for her on a different paper, but she just couldn’t get it to work.

“You’re doing very well.”

Turning her head up she found him standing right behind her, leaning forward slightly to see better. And for some reason she could once more feel her heart racing in her chest. And that time he wasn’t even touching her. What was wrong with her?

“Thank you” she said.

That time she managed to keep her voice normal, so that was always something. Ned put her mug down and sat next to her again. Catelyn opened the jar and offered him a cookie before taking one herself.

“I hope you like them.”

She raised her cookie in a cheers before taking a bite. She couldn’t know what he thought, but she was more than happy with the result. Those were some tasty cookies, if she could say so herself. And based on his reaction he seemed to like them as well.

“These are really good” he said. “Like, really, really good. Screw drawing, can you teach me to do this?”

Catelyn tried to keep herself from smiling as she had her mouth full, but found that she was unable to do so and raised a hand to hide her mouth.

“This isn’t even my best, you should taste my carrot cake. I make a killer carrot cake.”

“I love carrot cake.”

“Me too.”

He paused for a moment before smiling.

“Do you want to hear a word that’s even more brilliant, but that doesn’t exist in English?”

“Definitely, share your Swedish wisdom with me.”

“Lagom. It means just the right amount of something. Not too much and not too little. It doesn’t matter what it is, anything can be lagom.”

Her phone started buzzing and she threw a glance at it. She planned on not answering, whoever it was that demanded her attention could wait, but when she picked it up to put it on silence and saw that it was Cersei she quickly changed her mind. Cersei was out with some guy Catelyn didn’t know, and maybe something had happened or she needed an out. Helping her friend was way more important than not having a small interruption.

“I’m sorry this keeps happening, but my friend’s out and I really don’t want something to happen to her” Catelyn said before taking the phone.

“You don’t need to apologize, make sure your friend is okay.”

“Hey, is everything alright?” Catelyn said after having accepted the call.

“Yeah, it’s alright, thanks for asking. And you, are you alright?”

There was nothing in Cersei’s voice that suggested otherwise and Catelyn was instantly relieved. She was okay.

“I’m good.”

“Great, I was just wondering if you and the Swede would like to come to a Christmas party?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Robert hosts these large Christmas parties every year and he’s in the bathroom at the moment so I thought I’d call you and see if you wanted to come.”

So that was the name of her boyfriend. Robert. Catelyn would have to remember that. And if she went to the Christmas party she would get to meet him too. From nothing to both a name and an opportunity to meet him in person in a matter of just a few seconds, how nice.

“Can we talk more about it when we’re both home?” she said.

There was no need to talk about it right then, both of them had other things to do. And it wasn’t like the party would be anytime soon, there was still awhile until December, they had time to talk about it later.

“Of course, I just didn’t want to forget, you know how I am. But check with the Swede, will you?”

“I’ll check with him” Catelyn promised.

“Good, I’ll se you at home.”

“See you at home.”

Ned was quite obviously pretending not to be curious, but she saw right through it. She had noticed he wasn't very good at pretending.

“My friend’s boyfriend is having a Christmas party and she wondered if we would like to go.”

He didn’t try to hide his surprise though.

“We? As in me, too?”

“She asked for you specifically, so yeah.”

She didn’t know if it was because she wanted to meet Ned or because she didn’t want to make Catelyn feel lonely. Catelyn didn’t feel lonely. She was fine on her own and it didn’t bother her that her flat mates were in relationships.

“Unless I have something else I guess I can go.”

Catelyn smiled. Before starting to speak she realized how much she had been smiling since arriving there. He made her smile a lot, he made her feel good. She liked that about him. She liked him.

“Yay! It’ll be much more fun with you there.”

“I’m not the biggest fan of parties, and I won’t know anyone. But I can try for you.”

Oh God, he was sweet. Really really sweet. Boyfriend material. Husband material. Perhaps even father material. Catelyn wished she had been interested in him. He could try for her.

“I’m not sure I’ll know anyone either. I’ve never even met her boyfriend, and I learned his name just now. So we’ll be in it together.”

“What is his name?”

It made her think of Cersei demanding names every time Catelyn met a new person and teasing her over it. But Ned didn’t know about that, he just asked a polite question.

“Robert.”

A frown appeared on his face and that, and he turned his eyes downwards for a moment.

“Robert? Robert Baratheon?” he asked.

“I don’t know, why?”

“I used to know a Robert who hosted yearly Christmas parties, that’s all. But most likely it’s just a funny coincidence. Many people have Christmas parties, there has to be more than one Robert.”

“London is a large city and Robert is not an uncommon name, the probability of it being the same person is very small.”

She would have been able to figure out the exact probability for it being the same person if she had got a bit of time. But that was unnecessary, it wasn’t hard to understand that it was low.

“You’re the one who knows math, I’ll have to trust you.”

“It doesn’t take much math to figure that out.”

“I’ll just have to trust you in general then.”

She felt like her math skills were more trustworthy than her general knowledge on stuff, but that was unnecessary information to share.

“I hope you’re not going to regret it” she said instead.

“How nice of you.”

Ned sipped his tea and finished his cookie. Then he picked up his pen again, but instead of continuing on the drawing he had started while she did hers he took a blank paper. With an incredible speed he began moving the pen over the paper, and it left Catelyn somewhat confused as it didn't look like anything he had shown her.

“What are you drawing?” she asked curiously, stretching to see better.

He glanced up at her, his gaze focused in a way that made it seem like he was studying her. It didn’t make her wonder what he was doing any less.

“Could you be still, please?” he asked gently. “Or, well, you can move, but it would be good if you remained in the same position for a bit so that I can do a quick sketch.”

Catelyn hadn’t even reflected over how she was sitting until he said it. She had pulled her legs up and was sitting cross legged on the chair, as she always sat at home. In one hand she held her half eaten cookie, and the other was fiddling with her pen. When had she picked the pen up? None of that mattered even a little though. Because he was drawing her. And she was immensely flattered, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around why.

“Why are you drawing me?”

“I just liked the setting, and thought it would make for a good drawing” he responded casually. “Och du är vacker.”

She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she believed she had heard that last word before. And the more she thought of it, the more she grew sure of that he had said it to her before.

“You’ve said this to me before, right?”

He paused for a moment, as if he hadn’t believed she would notice that. But she had noticed. And she wanted to know what the hell it was that he was saying to her.

“Might be that I have.”

“What does it mean?” she asked, putting on her most charming smile in order to convince him to tell her.

“Nothing.”

“Then there’s no reason you can’t tell me. Come on, I thought we liked each other enough for you to translate for me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not because of his beard, but something gave her the feeling that he was. She didn’t know exactly what that word meant, but she had somewhat of an idea about what it could be.

“If you’re flirting with me it’s okay to do so in a language we both understand.”

Not even a second after the words had left her mouth she regretted having ever been born. She shoved what remained of her cookie into her mouth before taking her mug and raising it to her lips, drinking the tea despite that it was still too hot for taking more than a little sip. She would rather burn her tongue than look at him after whatever the hell that had been. He was quiet and she wondered what was going through his mind. Did he think she was stupid? Or did he think she was flirting? Was she flirting? No, that hadn’t been flirting. She wasn’t even interested in him, he was just her friend. She liked him as a friend. And still she had heavily implied that he was flirting with her. She didn’t even know if that was what he had said. She knew no Swedish at all. Fuck.

“It means you’re beautiful” he finally said. “‘Vacker’ means ‘beautiful’.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“You probably think I’m a total weirdo right now, and I really don’t blame you, because this was very weird. And I want you to know that I would understand if you wouldn’t want to see me anymore” Ned said, and she had never heard him talk as fast as he did in that moment. “Not that we’re seeing each other in that sense, we’re not dating, och helvete, jag gör bara det här värre för mig själv, I’m so sorry.”

He had that miserable look on his face again. The same one he had had when they spilled coffee over themselves. But all Catelyn could do was laugh. Laugh at how he felt the exact same panic that she had felt just seconds earlier. Laugh at how they were both nervous wrecks pretending to be calm.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“No, I’m not, I just think the whole situation is funny.”

“How nice, I just feel like an idiot.”

“Believe me, so do I.”

“Once again, I’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“You didn’t, Ned” she assured him. “Nothing‘s ruined. At least I don’t think so.”

Did he think so?

“So we’re fine?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re fine.”

He looked at her for a moment before sighing. Then he kept on drawing. And so did she. They didn’t say much more, just sat in silence except for an occasional exchange of words. And even though it had started very awkwardly Catelyn soon found that it was a quite comfortable silence. She could sit with him and be quiet.

“There” he said after a while. “It’s not my best work, the colors are a bit off, and your hands look awful, but it’s okay.”

She looked at his drawing and was left speechless, wondering what his best work was if that was just okay. Because she was looking at a drawing that was very clearly her. Sitting cross legged on a chair with half a cookie in one hand and a pen in the other, smiling. So what if the color of her hair wasn’t exactly right and her fingers looked a bit weird, it didn’t matter. It was still good. It looked good.

“What was that word you called me?” she asked.

He frowned.

“What?”

“Beautiful in Swedish.”

“Uhm, ‘vacker’, why?”

Catelyn wouldn’t have been able to pronounce that correctly if so her life had depended upon it, but she could give it a try. And she would give it a try.

“Because this drawing is vacker.”

Ned smiled at that.

“You think so?”

“Definitely, I love it.”

He slid it over the table to her.

“If that is so you can have it.”

She left not much later with the drawing in her bag, her head so full of things that she two times almost tripped and fell down the stairs because she forgot to watch where she was going. Most of all she thought about Ned. Everything about him, from the way he smiled to how he had thrown in a sentence of Swedish when he was embarrassed. She also thought about how he had called her beautiful. She hadn’t known it before, but Ned believed she was beautiful. That knowledge made her chest flutter. Maybe she was interested in him after all. Just a little bit though, it would most likely pass.

#catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #ashara dayne #elia martell #brandon stark #brynden tully #cersei lannister #ned x cat #my fic #raindrops snowflakes sunshine #after almost two weeks of promises it's here #its also a birthday gift from me to myself #a very late birthday gift but a birthday gift all the same #i hope you like it too

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thr-333 · 4 years

Text

Mismatch- Part 12

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Lila’s starting to fall, amazing what saving your classmates lives can do for their opinion of you

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Marinette furiously scrunches up another failed sketch. Using her non dominant hand to start another design. It's a good thing she doesn't have any upcoming commissions because of the tour. Even so the distraction, no matter how infuriating, beats watching Marion's ragged breaths.

Tikki is resting on his chest, something they had learnt helps them heal faster. This meant that Plagg was forced to sulk in the corner. Pretending to enjoy the cheese, sneaking worried looks at his holder.

“Marinette look!” Tikki squeaks, as she throws another sketch away.

Marion eyelids start to flutter, Marinette leans over him, sketchbook hitting the ground. He opens his eyes and groans before rolling to his side, followed by a hiss of pain.

“Stay still you stupid cat!” Marinette gently but firmly forces him to sit back.

“Not stupid,” Marion sleepily slurs, sinking into the hospital bed.

“Reckless then,” Marinette schools the smile off her face as Plagg zips over to him.

“No I’m not,” He glares with sudden clarity, “Day?”

She rolls her eyes standing to open the curtains.

“Why yes it is,” Marinette smirks as he cringes at the light.

“What day?” His cringe turns back to a glare, completely unintimidating with the small Kwami curled against him.

“Don’t worry, they put you under for the night, for your system to work out all the fear toxin,” Marinette closes the curtains slightly, coming to sit on the chair next to him.

“Akuma?” Marion tries to bring his hands up to pet Plagg,

“Nope, I finally got some rest without you,” Plagg huffs, not moving away from Marion's touch.

“Arm?” Marion turns to Marinette, still smothering Plagg.

“Fine, it’s probably mostly healed, clean break,” That was probably stretching it, but it doesn't make much difference.

“Scarecrow?” Marion's expression turns dark.

“Prison,” Marinette probably mirrors his expression.

“... anything else I need to know?” He asks, shifting a little higher.

“Still and idiot,” Marinette picks her sketchbook back up, smoothing out the pages.

“Well it's great to see you accepting your-”

“Marion! You're awake!” Aunt Selina is standing in the doorway, she covers the distance in the blink of an eye. Almost as fast as their Kwami’s manage to hide.

“-fault,” Marion glares over their Aunts shoulder at Marinette.

“What was that?” Selina leans back, a slight smirk.

“Nothing,” Marion doesn’t stop giving the stink eye.

“Are you ok?” Their Aunt asks, checking Marion over.

“Yeah I feel fine,” Marion pushes her away gently, but it’s enough for her to lean back. Looking over him with a more cool expression.

“Hmm… I suppose bullet proof armour under your clothes would lessen the damage,” She says casually.

“Well yeah obvious-” Marion starts, stopping as they both realise at the same time;

“It’s a fashion statement!”

“This is Gotham?”

Their Aunt raises a brow. Their panic, wide eyes and wild gestures obviously painting the picture of innocence.

“Alright then, I won't press, already told the doctors your parents are just paranoid,” She leans back on her arms propping her up on Marion’s bed.

“Maman! Papa! Are they-”

“It’s fine, I called them,” Selina holds up a hand to calm his outburst, “Convinced them not to ship you back to Paris, told them they had nothing to worry about,”

“Unfortunately that is a lie,” Bruce Wayne walks in, a pensive frown aimed at his fiance's casual shrug.

“Hello Mr Wayne,” Marinette greets formally, standing.

“Bruce, please, how are you two feeling?” He gestures Marinette to sit back down, standing by her chair.

“A-ok” Marion gives the thumbs up, far too quickly for someone with broken ribs, “Ow,”

“Don’t worry I checked with the doctors there's no brain damage this is just unfortunately how he usually is,” Marinette deadpans, hoping to ease his worry.

“I must apologise, I didn’t expect these rumours to get so out of hand,” Bruce's expression is twisted with guilt, as Marion slowly brings his arms back down.

“It’s not your fault, kind of strange they took that risk for a rumour,” Marion shrugs, not unlike how their Aunt did, who is now forcing him to lie back down.

“Not really considering you basically confirmed it,” Marinette rolls her eyes.

“I did no such thing,” Marion gasps dramatically as if she insulted his very honour. Something, in her opinion, he gave up a long time ago to make puns.

“Here,” Marinette brings out her phone, pulling up a clip from the previous morning. Fast forwarding to the part where Marion tells the camera; “Bruce Wayne is our Father,”

“Oh,” Marion blinks at the screen a few times before turning to Bruce, “I’d like the record to state that was taken out of context,”

“Doesn’t matter to the press, their vultures, the attack is all they care to talk about,” Aunt Selina spits venomously, eyes honing in on Marinette's cast.

“I’ve held off on making an official statement without your approval,” Bruce informs, undercurrents of anger almost undetectable, “If you’d like I can organise our lawyers to come visit you here,”

“Thank you, that would be great,” Marinette beams, taking him aback, “Or um, not great, but-uh… appreciated- yeah that,”

“I’ll send them over whenever suits you,” Bruce gives a slight smile back, making hers beam brighter.

“Thanks, wait a minute- how long am I going to be in the hospital!” Marion whips around to Marinette.

“Hopefully long enough to stay out of trouble,” Selina ruffles his hair, not that it makes much difference at this point.

“My whole life!?” Marion shouts, only half joking.

“Not if you don’t keep running into dangerous situations,” Selina retorts, booping his nose.

“Technically this one came running at me,” Marion grouches, entering a staring contest with their Aunt.

“Ah-ha,” She mocks, meeting his challenge, as always, winning.

“Sooo- what's everyone been doing,” Marion turns to Marinette, eyes only slightly watery.

“I basically had to push Kagami out of the hospital this morning to go on todays tour,” Marinette smiles, willing to give Marion this out, “Chloe texted me a bit ago saying they were heading here,”

“They’re going to kill me for almost getting killed, aren't they,” Marion whines, Marinette is sure he catches Bruce’s flinch.

“Yep,”

“Make sure my gravestone says ‘living it up’,” Marion says as seriously as, well, death.

“I’d rather throw your body in the river,” Marinette inspects her nails, leaning back in her seat.

“If I go missing tell Batman she's the primes suspect,” Marion turns to their Aunt, not learning his lesson, and pointing at Marinette with a hiss of pain.

“I will,” Selina chuckles, and Marinette swears she sees Bruce's lips quirk.

“Mari!” Chloe runs through the door in a blonde blur, which splits, and oh that's Adrien. Both basically tackle Marion.

“Ow! No! That is the opposite of making me feel better,” Marion curses, both latching on either side.

“Deal with it I saved your ass,” Chloe snaps, Marinette sees her grip loosen slightly.

“I thought that was Kagami?” Marion looks over at her, Kagami was standing inside the room, behind her waiting at the door stood the rest of the class, “Or at least a Yokai that looked like her,”

“Pssh, I helped too, I was Queen Bee after all,” Chloe sits up, flicking her hair out.

“Yeah with the train-” Marinette begins.

“Enough about the train!” Chloe explodes, releasing Marion.

“I think this is our cue to leave,” Their Aunt stands, leaning over Marion and giving his forehead kiss, “I love you two so much, be good my little adorable munchkins! I’ll be back later”

“I wuv you sooooo much too Aunty,” Marion teases her right back in an overly cutesy voice.

“You’re no fun,” She sighs, smirk still firmly in place, “See ya,”

She and Bruce walk out the door, class making way for them.

“You are sure you are quite alright,” Kagami comes to stand by the head of the bed, opposite side to Marinette.

“Yes Kags I’m fine,” Marion smiles brightly, still being smothered by Adrien.

“Good,” She hits him over the head, making him yelp, “That was well deserved,”

“Yeah, probably,” Marion grumbles, hand instinctively raising to his head, followed by a grimace.

“Come on Kagami he’s already been hurt enough,” Adrien frets over Marion, letting him go.

“Thank you Adrien! My one true friend! In my time of need, you're always there for me!” Marion bring his arms around Adrien, smothering the other.

“I fought Scarecrow for you!” Chloe roars, Adrien not trying to get free from Marion.

“Adrien was moral support,” Marion pouts, hugging him closer.

“You’re impossible,” Chloe throws her hands up, falling back on the bed.

“Why thank you,” Marion does a mock bow as much as he is able.

Someone clears their throat, Marinette looking over at the door. The rest of the class were still standing at the door. Alix holding up a bag of chips, awkwardly waving. Everyone else also holding some sort of snack, minus Lila. Marinette glances at Marion, who just shrugs, releasing Adrien.

“You can come in, but it might be a bit squished,” Marinette smiles amicably.

“That's fine, dude,” Nino smiles back, ushering the class inside.

The class all take their seats, most having to perch on armrests or the edge of the bed. Each dropping snacks at the foot of it.

“I meant what I said and won't take it back, we aren’t friends,” Marion fixes those in the class that apply with a stern look.

Marinette could tell he wasn't angry, but a few snacks was not enough to mend the bridges burnt. Marion won’t let them forget that. The class shifts awkwardly, sharing glances. What do you say to that?

“Then why did you protect us?” Kim speaks up, apparently that.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Marion fixes them with an intense gaze, making it clear he meant every word. Alix clears her throat.

“Well then this is a meeting as a class, and a thanks for saving our butts, both of you,” Alix gives a smile from her perch on the bed railing.

“Alright then,” Marion says seriously, before taking on a joking tone, “Mostly cause I just realised I haven't eaten anything since that horrible cereal yesterday,”

“Hey!” Adrien exclaims, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Marion, Chloe squeezed in on Marion's other side. Both leaning off the edge slightly to not put pressure on his ribs.

“Sorry Adrien, but your taste buds have the intelligence of a two year old mistaking pure sugar as an actually good taste,” Marion sneers, as if he can still taste it.

“You’re a bakery snob, you know that?” Adrien grumbles, crossing his arms and sinking down further.

“Sure do,” Marion teases, the rest of the class shifting uncomfortably.

Marinette had to guess they didn’t realise just how far they had drifted apart, the divide now startlingly clear.

“Well hopefully these please your majesties pallet,” Nathaniel tries to break into the banter.

Marion playfully sneers down at the pile, getting a few giggles. Alix starts throwing snacks to everyone. Giving Marinette a bag of cookies, she can’t help but smile, especially at Marion's downright insulted look as he’s passed a wheel of camembert.

“Such peasant food,” He tries to offload the cheese on Adrien, who practically falls off the bed to avoid it.

“That's ok, Lila said she was bringing a specially prepared dish by the top chef of the most popular restaurant in Gotham,” Rose squeals excitedly, unintentionally running both their moods.

“I did but just outside the hospital was a poor, sick, homeless man, he begged me for any food I had," translated from Lila speak roughly means; I ate it, "I thought Marion would understand that some people actually needed food enough to not turn the nose up at anything,”

The class gives their assurance and praise. Marion's eyes narrow, unwrapping the cheese and just straight up taking a bite. Marinette spots Plagg being held back by Klakki and Tikki, hiding behind their bags. He chews on it bitterly downright glaring at Lila.

“Dude you were totally badass!” Nino breaks into Marion's brooding.

“Was I? Everything's kinda a blur, especially after the fear toxin,” Marion directs Nino's attention elsewhere, dropping the wheel of cheese off the edge of the bed, into Plaggs waiting arms.

“You were so cool, it was all bam! and swoop!” Kim stands up, badly reenacting punching the air.

“Ah yes, that clears it up, thank you,” Marion says sarcastically, letting Adrien pass him a bag of chips to drown out the taste of camembert.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Alix leans forward, interest sparking in her eyes.

“Ah- Maman taught us of course,” Marinette answers, it was sort of true.

“She can be scary,” Kim shivers, having a selection of memories to choose from.

“Bring her to Gotham, we wouldn’t have problems like this anymore,” Nino lightly pouches Adrien's shoulder in place of Marion, leaning against the wall next to them.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was Ladybug,” Chloe muses, well they were both people she truly respected.

“Haha… yeah,” Marinette sweat drops, trying(and failing) to look unfazed.

“I have to say,” No you really don’t Lila, “I was surprised to see you two fight, you usually just up and run away whenever there's an Akuma attack, I guess you had no choice but to act brave this time,”

“They’ve helped out plenty of times during Akuma attacks,” Nino looks puzzled, oblivious to Lila's glowering.

“Yeah didn’t we tell you about how Marinette became class president?” Mylene asks, eating a snack that was probably organic contrast to the sugary monstrosities before them.

“Oh of course, but if they could fight this well all this time then they should be helping Ladybug and Chat Noir, god knows they need it,” Lila’s malice hinting at her own mention of the heroes.

“Nah, the dudes can handle themselves, it’s better not to get in their way,” Nino shrugs, hitting himself in the face with a snack he was trying to catch.

“Well unless they ask,” No one else catches the moment realisation(scheming) crosses Lila’s face “And I know for a fact Ladybug did,”

“Really!” Alya turns to Lila before whirling around to Marinette.

“Um, yeah! Ladybug once asked me to be Multimouse, to help beat Kwami buster,” Marinette answers before Alya can take out her phone.

“That is so cool! Why didn’t you tell me!” Alya’s enthusiasm is not nearly as potent as Lila’s malice.

“Because she asked me not to tell, but if Lila is going to tell everyone anyway there isn’t much point,” Marinette shrugs, her brother hiding a grin, Lila started this war but she could win this battle. “Marion saw me detransform so Ladybug can’t give me a miraculous ever again,”

“Well no wonder she chose you, you were so brave and cool, you were beating Scarecrow with a broken arm, even before Batman showed up!” Nathaniel speaks up, always the fan of superheroes.

“Didn’t he seem rather mad at you?” Lila asks(not so) innocently. ‘Wow she's really giving this her all’ Marinette muses, trying even when they are put in the hospital.

“I think it was likely aimed more at the guy holding us hostage,” Max states like a fact, slightly condescending.

“Of course, but it would have never happened if they didn’t spread the rumour in the first place,” Lila pushes as if they need a reminder.

“Uh, Lila I don’t think they did,” Rose says sweetly, pink frosting somehow ends up on her nose.

“What!” Lila snaps, making poor Rose jump, and others look surprised.

“Well they said they didn't, and Marinette's really smart,” Juleka mumbles, glaring at Lila.

“Hey!” Marion exclaims, getting a giggle from Rose.

“And Marion!” Juleka quickly amends.

“Now you just sound insincere,” Marion slouches down, sniffing theatrically. Juleka relaxes as Chloe teasingly patronises him in her own loving way.

“Something like that is really dangerous,” Mylene tells Lila gently. As if trying to explain to a child what they did wrong.

“No one would wish it on themselves,” Ivan backs up his girlfriend. Lila clearly looking for an opening to try and gain the advantage back.

“Marion almost died,” Kim says bluntly, honestly.

There is a long silence. They were all thinking it but none dared speak it. Even Lila lets the silence loom, nothing she could say would make them look worse and her better.

“So… what did you all do today?” Marinette tries to cut the uneasy silence.

“We went to the city library,” She of course knew that.

“That reminds me, I got out some books I thought you’d like, since your stuck in bed and everything,” Nino passes a book to each twin.

“Thanks,” Marion lets Adrien take the book for him, leaning over to look at the cover Marinette couldn’t see.

“Oh actually I did too!” Rose reaches into her pink bag.

“Me too,” Alix laughs, passing Marinette a history book.

Then everyone else reaches into their bags pulling out more books, giggling sheepishly.

“Oh no, I am going to be here forever aren’t I?” Marion stares in dismay at the accumulated pile, flopping miserably against Adrien.

“We’ll try our best,” Adrien promises, patting his head.

“Selina, do you want to explain to me why your Nephew was able to go toe to toe with Scarecrow, while under fear toxin,” Bruce asks in his, I already know the answer but for some reason I want you to say it, tone. Not even a minute after talking with the doctor.

“Do you want to explain to me how neither you or Robin realised he was under fear of toxin?” She deflects, heels clicking down the halls quickly.

“I believe this circles back to how he can operate under fear toxin,” Bruce growls.

“I don’t know Bruce!” She explodes, more dramatically to get him to drop it, but none the less true, “I taught them a thing or two sure! Some martial arts, parkour, stealing under the guise of magic!”

“What was that last one?” He asks, stopping.

“Not important!” She snaps, continuing on her rant, turning fully towards him, “But I never thought they could do something like that! How and why are they acting like it’s no big deal!”

“Selina, it’s ok,” He pulls her into a hug. She lets her lips curl slightly, that might be the quickest she’s been able to end an argument, short of jumping off a roof. “I’ll find out,”

“... They’re too much like you Bruce,” Selina leans into her fiance's chest, she could swear everyday the children looked more like him.

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, obliviously.

“In this case? It's dangerous,” She answers honestly, pausing before stepping back, “I need to call their parents,”

He nods, giving a chaste kiss before leaving her alone in the hall. She sits down, staring down at her phone for a long time.

“Aunt Selina?” Her chest twists painfully.

“Whats up Kitten, where are your friends,” She smiles at her so-called Niece, a word she avoided like the plague. That is to say, she tries but there's always a rat around to ruin everything.

“Oh I told them I had to go to the bathroom,” Marinette's bright smile betraying her.

“But,” Selina prompts as Marinette sits next to her.

“I’m actually celebrating,” She practically squeals.

“Why's that?” She asks, amused and warmed by her daughter's excitement.

“The kingdoms crashing down and the queens still inside,” Marinette says in a sing song voice.

“Should I be worried you sound so joyful?” Not that she actually would be.

“It’s a wicked Queen who abuses her power and makes her subjects miserable,” It’s teasing, but there is nothing artificial about the words.

“Party away,” Selina leans back, flipping her wrist.

“Knew you’d understand,” Marinette hugs her, letting her lean into it.

“I’ll always be here for you Kitten,” Selina brushes the hair out of her daughters face, “Now go, you don’t want to miss the show,”

Her smile is nothing compared to the one plastered on Marinette's face as she bounces away with a small wave. With a sigh Selina leans back, staring down at her phone. It could’ve been minutes, it could of been hours, but she hits call eventually.

“Hey there,” She greets, betraying nothing about the conversation to come. “Just wanted to let you know Marion is awake, just as sassy as usual,”

“Sassy, I just beat you at mecha strike three? Or you started the banter and he’s just matching you,” Tom asks, dusting flour off his hands as Sabine holds the phone.

“Brother dearest, how little do you think of me?” She asks in mock hurt, Tom raises an eyebrow, “Great, thanks,”

“Do you think we can call them?” Sabine asks.

“They’re with their friends right now so I wouldn’t, I think this has been a long time coming,” She thinks back to what Marinette said, the rude girl from their reunion at the Wayne tower coming to mind, “And it's not the only thing... look, I lied,”

“The shock of the century,”

“Tom!” Sabine swats at her husband, from past sparring matches with Sabine she knows she can do a lot worse.

“No, no he’s right, as much as it pains me to say it,” She sneers playfully at her brother, getting one in return. She hesitate before sharing, “The twins were actually specifically attacked by Scarecrow,”

“Why!?” They both burst out.

“Because everyone thinks Bruce Wayne is their Father…” Selina cringes at their surprised expressions, which are about to get a lot worse. “And their right,”

“I thought you didn’t know the Father?” Tom asks after a long pause, not accusingly but eerily calm.

“... I lied,” She shrugs, letting the awkwardness she usually keeps leashed leak through. Gina had practically raised them together, he knows how to see right through her better than most.

“This might actually be the shock of the century,” Tom nods, he doesn't seem mad, great thing about him reading her it works both ways.

“... Yeah,” She shrugs, letting the silence hang, long enough for them to process.

“You should tell them,” Sabine declares, so much assurance in such a small woman.

“What!” Selina stands in shock, making jerking gestures, “Sabine that not what I-”

“Hush now, let me speak,” Sabine chides, actually making her pause, “We will always be their parents, but that's only because of you,”

Selina goes to argue, but a stern glare is all the discouragement she needs. Tom is nodding along, of course! They’ve probably discussed this before

“It’s only right that you don’t have to look in pain every time they call you Aunt,” Apparently she was able to read Selina just as well as her husband, “It’s your choice, but they have enough love in their heart for more than just us,”

She tries, dammit she tries, but it’s not enough to stop the flood of emotions manifesting in tears.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #pop star au #bio dad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #mlb

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

To the anon who requested the school prompts; I attempted to write something about a parent-teacher meeting, but I couldn’t come up with a believable way for both Freddie and Jim to attend, given that Freddie would draw way too much attention. I hope you don’t mind if I skip that one. Here’s your request for Freddie picking up Khaleel from school!

Part 36 of Jimercury Kid series

‘Fucking vultures.’ Freddie muttered under his breath, as he sat with Kashmira in her car and observed the small group of journalists who had gathered at the corner of the street opposite Khaleel’s school.

They always hung around there, holding out hope that the little boy might walk through the gates, and they would finally be able to snap a picture of his face to put on the front page of their shitty tabloids. But they were wasting their time. Special arrangements had been made to ensure that Khaleel always exited the school from the back of the building, where Jim or Terry would be waiting to pick him up. By the time the vermin from News of the World had set up their cameras, their target was long gone.

The school run was something that Freddie had always longed to be involved in. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he just couldn’t help it. He wanted to be able to sit in the car and wait for his little boy to come bouncing through the back doors and into his arms. He wanted to help Khaleel put his seatbelt on and laugh when the child insisted he was a big boy and could do it himself. He wanted to sit in the passenger seat, Khaleel’s bookbag and lunchbox balanced on his lap while his bijou excitedly chatted away about what he got up to in class that day, while Jim turned on the radio and made faces at their son through the rear-view mirror.

He wanted to do what every other parent did. But he couldn’t, because he knew wherever he went the paparazzi would be hot on his tail. All sorts of rumours were still circulating in the press about Kenny’s origins. Some still believed he was the secret lovechild of Freddie and Mary, others reported that he was the result of a one-night stand with a fan and perhaps the worst was a statement made by an anonymous “inside source,” who claimed Freddie had purchased him from the Middle East for over fifty million Indian rupees.

He had resigned himself to the reality that there were some things in Khaleel’s life that he would just have to miss out on. Like end-of-year plays, and parent-teacher meetings, and taking the boy to and from school.

That was until Kash had came up with a rather genius idea.

Freddie’s private car would be easily noticed by the paparazzi. But hers wouldn’t.

‘There he goes.’ Freddie said as the Volvo in front of them pulled away from the pavement and began driving towards the back entrance of the school. ‘Be ready, Kash.’

‘Feels like bloody Mission Impossible.’ Kash laughed, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. ‘I don’t know how you put up with this every day. Why didn’t you just save yourself the trouble and stick to painting?’

Freddie chuckled despite himself. ‘Sometimes I wonder.’

He was glad they could still have conversations like this. They had briefly fallen out of contact after the whole ordeal with social services, but Freddie quickly realised that Kashmira wasn’t the one at fault and she had proved her loyalty to him by telling the truth. Even if they weren’t children anymore, defying their parents was no easy feat and poor Kash was withstanding the worst of the fallout.

‘How are they?’ Freddie asked quietly, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear him. But he should have known better; nothing got past his sister.

‘Not good.’ She replied, still looking out towards the road. ‘They keep asking after you, wanting to know if you’re alright. They ask about Khaleel a lot as well. I never know what to say.’

Freddie felt his jaw clench instinctively. ‘Tell them the truth. It’s been two years and he still has nightmares about what happened. He’s still scared to be left alone and can’t stand to be away from us for too long. It was months before he would go into school without clinging to Jim and begging him not to leave. Dr Atkinson says it may affect him for the rest of his life. You tell them that next time they have the nerve to ask you how Khaleel is doing.’

Kash sighed, glancing down at her hands which were gripping the steering wheel. ‘They really regret what they did, Freddie.’

Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t start, Kash. If you expect me to forgive them-’

‘No, I don’t.’ His sister cut in, her voice eerily calm. ‘If they had done that to Nathalie and Jamal, I wouldn’t forgive them either. I’m not questioning your decision. I just…’ her hands tightened around the wheel a moment as she lost herself in thought, ‘…I need you to know that they’re truly sorry. I know their apologies mean nothing at this point, but they’re not trying to justify their decisions anymore. They’ve accepted that they did a terrible thing and brought everything that’s happened upon themselves. They’re not asking for forgiveness; they just need you to know that they realise they were wrong.’

Freddie hadn’t anticipated such an answer. He was dumbstruck for a moment, tongue retreating behind his teeth as he allowed her words to sink in. As much as he would deny it, there was still a part of him that longed for the company of his mother and father again; he still found himself lingering by the phone on occasion, half hoping they might call or listening for the buzz of the intercom in case they decided to drop by. Knowing that they were truly sorry didn’t make the pain go away but it did give him an odd sense of comfort.

Before he could respond, he saw the Volvo pulling out onto the road ahead, slowly turning the corner until it was out of sight.

‘Here we go.’ A grin spread across Kash’s face as she belted herself in. ‘Keep your head down.’

Freddie ducked out of view as they passed the huddle of reporters, raising his hand to flip them off before sitting up straight in his seat while Kash cackled like a hyena. They drove up the street and turned the corner where the Volvo was sitting waiting for them.

‘Thank you, Kash.’ Freddie said gently, knowing they only had a limited amount of time before the rest of the students came pouring out onto the street. The last thing he needed was to be chased by a gang of schoolchildren at his age. ‘For this, and for telling me how Mama and Papa are. I appreciate it.’

Kashmira smiled at him, though it looked rather strained. ‘You’re welcome.’ Then she added, almost nervously. ‘You know I love you, right?’

‘Yes.’ Freddie replied, voice almost catching in his throat. ‘I know. I love you too.’

He opened the car door and went to step out, glancing over at the Volvo where Khaleel was sitting in the backseat, bouncing excitedly at the sight of his Baba. Freddie hesitated a moment, before turning to Kash again. ‘Why don’t you and Roger come over for dinner tonight? Bring the kids with you?’

Kashmira’s dark eyes batted in surprise, but she didn’t look displeased. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Jim’s making shepherd's pie tonight and he always makes too much, so…’ He shrugged in a rather lukewarm effort to display indifference, when in fact his heart was hammering painfully. To his relief, Kash smiled.

‘That sounds perfect. I’d love to come.’

‘About six ’clock?’

‘We’ll be there.’

Freddie nodded, the tightness in his chest finally ceasing to be. He wandered if he should embrace her, but decided he wasn’t quite ready for that step and simply said, ‘see you later,’ before shutting the door and making his way over to the Volvo.

‘Baba!’ Khaleel cried as soon as Freddie was near, and he rolled his window down so Freddie could poke his head through and start covering him in kisses. ‘You came, you came!’

‘Yes, I did!’ Freddie blew a raspberry into the child’s neck, making him squeal. ‘We better take you home and get your homework finished – Auntie Kash and your cousins are coming over for dinner.’

Khaleel’s blue-green eyes went wide with joy. ‘Are Dādī and Dādā coming too?’

Freddie’s smile disappeared and he briefly made eye contact with Jim, before saying, ‘I’m sorry, darling. Dādī and Dādā are very busy.’

Khaleel crossed his arms and pouted, ‘they’re always busy.’

‘I know…’ That familiar tightness returned to Freddie's chest, squeezing until it almost hurt to breathe. ‘But let’s not think about that now. Daddy’s making shepherd’s pie, and if you finish your homework on time, you can help him stir the pot.’

This seemed to put the boy in good spirits again and he spent the majority of the car ride chatting away to Freddie about his day as Jim drove them home, careful to keep themselves scarce from any prying eyes. When Khaleel eventually trailed off and turned his attention to the contents of his bookbag, Jim glanced at his husband in the passenger seat and murmured, ‘are you sure you’re okay having Kash over tonight?’

Freddie took a deep breath, staring out the window at the people passing by, not really caring if he was recognised. ‘I can hardly go about the rest of my life pretending she doesn’t exist.’

When this didn’t earn the chuckle he had anticipated, he sighed. ‘None of this is Kash's fault. I know she could have told me sooner about Mama and Papa calling social services, but what matters is that she did tell me. She chose me over them, which must have been the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. I’ve already lost most of my family, I don’t need to lose anymore. It's time to make peace.’

Jim nodded wordlessly, reaching over and gently grasping Freddie’s hand. ‘I’m really proud of you, sweetheart.’

Freddie lifted the Irishman's hand to kiss his knuckles. ‘Thank God somebody is, darling.’

This was a perfect mix of sweet and angsty. Lol at the beginning I thought it'll be about our dads picking their baby up from school and being all cute and adorable, then BAM, came the angst. But I absolutely loved it!

Someone recently asked in the notes of one your drabbles about any lingering trauma that Khaleel feels at this point in the series. I think they've got their answer now. It's plausible really, for a child to experience the after-effects of being so harshly separated from his parents. I can only imagine how painful it must've been for the real Freddie to be isolated from his parents at such a young age. Poor baby.

I am glad Kash and Freddie are mending their relationship. I often get the feeling that Kash was never too involved in Freddie's life, but had Freddie survived his illness, it's possible that they may have grown closer. In the context of what has happened in this universe specifically, it'll be a while before they're completely comfortable with each other. But I am glad that Freddie is making an effort.

The end was so sweet, my heart. The perfect end to all the angst💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #anon writing #freddie and jim and their baby

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