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capt-spooki3 · 3 years

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By The Witch's Grace

Chapter One

A Sbi "choose your own story" fanfiction

It seems Y/n, a known and hated magic user in their small town, has a lot to deal with after the rowdy bunch that is Philza, Wilbur, Technoblade, and Tommy, show up at their door step in the midst of a giant snow storm...

Warning: Cursing, talk of hate/discrimination

2.6k words

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“Alright, we need flour, milk, apples... Uh no no stop meowing, please. Shit okay, flour, milk, apples, and what? Oh god, was it- oh! Bottles! Of course, geez.” Y/n laughs at themself before kneeling down, and pets the head of their cat who was demanding their attention. The little feline, who looked like a little toasted marshmallow, purred and meowed as she was happy with the much-needed attention.

“Alright Poppy, I’ll be back. Be a good little girl for me, okay? I’ll be back in time to give you supper I promise.” They baby talked to the cat with little forehead kisses before getting back up to their feet and reaching toward the wall where a large cloak was hung on a large nail next to the door. They threw on the heavy fabric and clasped the small glass button to keep it on their shoulders, their hand lingering as it passed over the glassy eye that permanently stayed on a chain around their neck. The result of a curse placed, not too long ago, that bound it to their person until death. Just the luck of someone who often plays with magic that they can barely comprehend.

The piece would pass as a decoration to any untrained eye, but to those who delved into the arts of magic, any one of them could tell you what this object was. With the deep and light greens with accents of blue and a cat-eye pupil that was forever staring, there was no mistaking an eye of ender. The object was rich in stored-up mana, but it was no joke. Even with the most skilled of mages, they had to be most cautious and limit their time interacting with the eye. The sooner they distanced themself from it the better as the eye has been heavily rumored to take possession of people who use its magic for too long. Mages long past wrote notes in books, Y/n as read countless times, on how the eye has influenced beings to cause great harm and destruction. Its motives are still unknown.

With the object on their person 24/7, they take caution every moment in case the eye decides it's time to take control. They hope it isn't any time soon.

Tucking the eye of ender under the latch of the cloak, they peeked outside to be met with chilled air kissing their cheeks. The bitter promise of snow.

More the reason to get their errands done as soon as they could to get back home. As if their life being in danger wasn’t the biggest reason to rush so they could hide again. They carefully pulled on their hood and hid as much of their features as they could within the cloak before stashing a satchel that jingled with coins and setting off through the door.

Being able to leave their distant home was always a treat, but also a constant threat to their life. They were never positive if they would return home after each venture. As a magic user, thoughtfully given the nickname of ‘Witch’ from the townsfolk, they weren’t liked much. They made the mistake of trying to show off their powers once before learning quickly that magic was despised among these people. It was only associated with the rich who treated people lower than them like they were dirt under their shiny boots. Luckily they still had a vendor in the town that sold to them, it was the only thing keeping them going.

After about a hour walk down a few winding forest paths that they carved out by themself after years of taking the same route, the port town was in view. Snow littered the ground to the sides of the dirt roads that they walked along and the small breeze that was present ran cold, the overcast sky promised a harsh amount of snow. That is bound to make next week fun. They sure were lucky to bring extra coins so they can stock up.

Once reaching the main town, they made sure to keep their head down and slip through the hundreds of bodies at the markets. It was all routine now, sadly. They took a turn down an alley that harbored a few stray cats and even a dog that scattered when they pressed on down the alley. Softly, they knocked a code to the shopkeep on the old wooden door.

The door just barely creaked open and an old green eye peered out. Y/n looked down to meet the weary eye peeking out at them and couldn't fight a smile. An old cackle rang out and the door opened up wide to an older woman. She was small and had all gray and white hair that was long and braided over her shoulder, but her eyes were alive and she was brimming with joy.

“Oh my little bird, how are you doing?” She said fondly with a slight German accent and Y/n knelt for the woman when she reached to hold their cheeks and look them over.

“I’m well Oma, thank you. You look as young as ever.” The kind words made the woman laugh and she put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh of contentment.

“So what do you need today? I just got in a big order of sugar if you want some.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful actually. I need flour, milk, and is Opa at his shop today? I need apples and he always has those bottles that I need.”

“Actually, he is home sick today,” She started and she walked into the shop to retrieve what Y/n needed. “He caught a small cold but he’ll be better soon. Wait just a moment and I’ll go grab everything.”

The lady went off on her way and Y/n sat on the doorstep, waiting and watching the people walk past the end of the alley. They cringed to themselves whenever they caught the word witch in some distant conversations, they seemed to be a tall tale at this point. At least they weren’t being actively hunted down anymore.

A few long minutes passed and there was a small thump that caught their attention in the shop, when they looked back there were two large sacks and no sign of the woman. Rest assured, after a few moments, the old lady was just barely managing to carry two more large sacks filled to the brim with the few things they had asked for plus much more as they usually only bring one sack home each trip.

“Oma! Oh no, I don’t have enough for all of this! Besides, I can’t possibly carry this all back home.”

“I know, I know. You’ll need it with the weather we have coming on tonight, as payment you can show me that magic you talked about last time. You know that… carrying magic..” She gestured wildly, trying her hardest to remember the word as Y/n stood back up.

“Oh, my spatial magic? I’m not too good at it, but I am sure I can manage this. Alright, are you ready?” They checked the alley for possible watching eyes before holding their hands out with their palms toward the bags.

The old woman stepped back and watched with excitement, her eyes practically sparkling already. Y/n closed their eyes and sucked in a deep breath, their hand flexing a bit and opening wider. A soft purple light began to emit from their hands and two thin, long arms that seemed to be made from the night sky itself stretched out and each hand touched the sack and engulfed it in darkness before retreating back within Y/n’s hands. They let out their held and concentrated breath with a deep sigh, their muscles and bones feeling heavy as they held some of the weight of the sacks within their being.

“That was amazing! Oh, you are so talented, I am so proud of you.” The woman said happily and walked forward, pulling Y/n down and kissing the head of the young mage she seemed to love. “Please hurry home now, stay safe. Opa and I love you and I hope to see you again soon.”

She waved them off and Y/n waved back, pulling their hood down more for precaution, and slipped into the crowd toward the road they took back home. They felt rather blessed they were able to make it home without even a scare.

They walked along the road, waiting to see their well-worn path as the heaviness of their body grew with walking uphill. Using magic like this weighed on the body and the soul with however much the individual was carrying. They reached up, pulling down the clasp to their cloak to reveal the eye of ender to the world. As much as they didn't want to rely on its power, it was the only way they would confidently make it home. Grasping the warm object tight, it pulsed with magic beneath their fingers as if it were alive, they sent their mana into the eye to mix and grant them a magic boost. They knew quite well the item was evil and no good to toy with, what else should one do when it's bound to them for life? With a soft purple glow to their eyes now, their body felt lighter and the strain to keep their goodies in a personal pocket in the dimension lifted almost completely. They shook off their bits of anxiety with the gain of power and picked up the pace to get home as small flurries were filling the air around them.

The walk back home was fast and they were beyond relieved upon opening the door and feeling the hug of the warm cottage and a string of excited meows when their familiar raced to greet them.

“Hey Poppy, miss me?” They stroked the cat before kneeling on the ground to perform the same technique of magic for consuming the sacks to spit them back out onto the ground in front of them and hummed a soft tune while they went through the goodies and put them in their respected places around the three stories of the home. Before they noticed it, the world outside had grown dark and they lit the lanterns around the house and peered through a window to see the snow blowing strongly and the wind howling, they hadn’t even gotten a chance to see the sunset. This was turning out to be a real blizzard, they did a silent prayer that it wouldn’t last long.

Just as Y/n was trying to put the last of the sugar away there was a heavy thump on the door followed by a hurried couple of knocks of which were all inconsistent but did the job of grabbing their attention. They fumbled with the sugar but safely put it down before hurrying to the door, their fast movements spooked the cat and caused her to scramble away to go hide.

Once getting the locks undone they opened up the door to see four individuals standing there, waiting. Two of the larger individuals there stood on the sides to frame the group in a way. The one on the left most who had shoulder-length pink hair and noticeable tusks sticking out from his bottom lip and inhuman down pointed ears, was using his large, red cloak to hold a blond boy who was about to his shoulder, against him and shield him from the snow. The two both had on heavy armor, though, the blond’s armor was a bit more leather than metal. On the other end stood a taller man with brown hair who also was in armor and was hunched over to be able to get covered by a large dark grey wing that held him. Said wings belonging to a man who was shorter than the brunette and had on expensive-looking mage robes and messy blond hair. The winged man looked to Y/n in desperation as he began to speak.

“Please let us stay for the night. We will leave as the sun rises, please just-”

“Stop talking- just come in. Hurry! It’s got to be below zero out there.” Y/n hurriedly ushered the bunch inside as they held the door open for them.

The burly pink-haired man was the first to make a move as he pushed the blond boy off of him and through the doorway and was already reaching over to push the brown-haired man next. He made sure the winged individual made his way in before going in. He looked at Y/n who was still holding the door and adjusted his jaw, a nervous habit it seemed, eyes darting around a bit before he returned his eyes to them and gave a nod of appreciation.

Y/n barley was able to get the door closed after him before they turned around and was assaulted with a hug from the winged man, he was incredibly cold. They hugged the man back, rubbing his back a little as he said many soft thank yous to them, though they watched the other three who stood close and looked around at the bottom portion of their home. The blond boy hugged himself close, shivering and the brunette rubbed his back as he looked around.

They hope they wouldn’t regret not thinking it through before letting a bunch of strange people into their home.

“I truly cannot thank you enough for this. We would have died out there.” The man said as he finally let go of Y/n and studied their face for a moment, looking for words it seemed. “We should introduce ourselves. I’m Phil and the big guy back there is Technoblade. The lanky one is Wilbur and the blond one between them is Tommy. They are my sons.”

Y/n watched them as Phil introduced them, each of them giving them some sort of little greeting when they were called. Whether it was a head nod or a little wave or a smile. They seemed nice.

“One hell of a family..” Y/n mumbled which Phil seemed quite funny and even Wilbur chuckled a bit.

“Oh yeah, but they are my boys.” He said while looking at the three with fondness.

The sweet moment was caught a little short when Technoblade crossed his arms, his body language screaming distrust. He looked down at Y/n and sized them up as he grumbled out a question that sounded more like a command. “What is your name. Who are you.”

“Techno- for god’s sake be a little nicer could ya? Bloody hell, they just saved us.” Wilbur retorted and Technoblade huffed a little growl and looked away. Wilbur gave a short and annoyed sigh, looking back at Y/n as he pulled his hand away from Tommy and instead rested a hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. It wasn’t meant to be seen as a threat, but the gesture did make Y/n a bit uneasy as they shuffled back a tad. Instead, he just spoke kindly with an inviting hand gesture.

“What is your name?” He stated and he and Phil looked at them expectantly.

They hesitated for a moment with the eyes on them and cleared their throat, standing taller. “My name is Y/n... it’s nice to meet all of you.” They thought for a moment about what they should say to these people who stood awkwardly, warming up from the cold. “How about I uh… go get some blankets for you all. Blankets and I’ll set up my two spare rooms.” They added as more of a side note to themselves than the group and hurried up the stairs to get things together.

This was going to be a long night. They can only hope the snow stops soon.

[Chapter Two]

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brittledame · 3 years

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Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori, Yamagata Hayato, Reon Oohira, Semi Eita, Shirabu Kenjirou, Kawanishi Taichi, Goshiki Tsutomu

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags: SFW, gender neutral reader, first date nerves, fluff, ages not specified

Notes: I did this instead of working on the other projects bc I wanted some fluff and here it is!

Ushijima:

On a visit with his grandmother is when he’s told about a local pottery masterclass happening the following weekend, piquing his interest

After some research, he comes to learnt that pottery is the perfect relaxing hobby with the added benefit of fine tuning his dexterity

It didn’t take much else to convince him to go

It was only after talking to a friend that he realises he should probably invite someone to tag along

After his grandmother politely declines, he follows her coy suggestion of inviting someone he likes

He invites you seemingly out of the blue

You’ve known him for a great deal of time and done some activities with him that could be construed as “romantic” and only started dating when Ushijima stated your relationship status to his team nearly a month ago

The look on your face when you found out at the exact moment as his team was priceless

After that, Ushijima left your relationship status on no uncertain terms and practically broadcasted it in his own unique way

This pottery class serves as another way to spend more time with you

After a few minutes of the pottery teacher painstakingly going through the motions to make a basic pot, a whirring noise followed by wet splattering steals your attention away from the clump of clay that is slowly taking form.

You glance over to find Ushijima looking at you, nonplussed at the mess of what was his pot now decorating his mock and forearms, his face is not left unmarked with the few splotches painting his cheek

You gape at him as he blinks as if coming out of a daze and looks down at the poor clump of clay and murmurs a small, “Oh.”

You didn’t mean to laugh, not really, but the utter surprise in his tone topped you over

After a mild scolding from the teacher and a new clump of clay, the two of you were good to go once again

The both of you took longer than most of the class, you with fussing about the tiny bumps you just couldn’t seem to smooth out and Ushijima with his second try

The class seemed to have unlocked his innate mastery of the ancient craft, as the pot looked near store-quality, you note with an ounce of envy

The group takes a break over some snacks and drinks as the pots are loaded into the kiln

Ushijima meticulously picks through the various glazes they had to offer, seeking your assistance after you picked your own out

You suggest the purple as homage to Shiratorizawa, where you two met, and the dark-rich brown, claiming it reminded you of his eyes

He considers you for a moment, a long enough pause for you to think over your words and begin to regret them before he nods decidedly and proudly presents the glazes he picked to the lady

With the class wrapping up, the lady running the class pops up as you two inspect your creations.

“Do you mind if I take a picture to post on our social media?”

Ushijima shakes his head as you answer, “We don’t mind.”

She flashes a wide smile and aims her phone in your direction. “Great! Say ‘pottery’.”

On cue you plaster on smile and brandish the clay creation as the camera clicks.

The lady, who is somehow even more dirtied than Ushijima, inspects the picture.

“You two are so cute together!” She fawns over the two of you. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your date together.”

She disappears before either of you can correct her.

You blurt out, "Is this a date?"

A pause. Then a hum, "I suppose it is."

A shared smile, you leave the studio with linked hands.

When you get home, you prowl through the studio’s page and find the picture and break out into gut-clutching laughter at the almost-pained looking smile Ushijima makes, tiny pot perched in his large hands adding a comedic effect.

After you recover, you end up saving it and making it your screen saver.

Tendou:

For all his casual confidence, you’re the one to ask him out and he’s the one to officially declare it the “big” first date

The plan was to go manga/book shopping and eat at the in-store cafe

It sounded like a pretty cut-and-dry standard date but with Tendou anything can turn into an adventure

Ecstatic is an understatement on how excited Tendou was for the weekend

He was nearly berated a dozen times for not paying enough attention to what he was doing and almost caused a small fire at one stage

You didn’t fare much better, either

The pair of you got a great deal of laughter from relaying it to one another in the late night hours before meeting up

Although underneath it all lurked the residual anxiety he tried to fight away, so he reminds you during the call, just to check that you didn’t regret inviting him out

As much as he despised the thought, the dark voice whispering at him that you would stand him up were quickly silenced when you show up with a bright smile and his name on your lips

Tendou reckons it’s the sweetest noise he’s ever heard, right after your laughter that he coaxes out with the little melodies he sings to himself as the two of you make way to the popular bookstore

After arriving, you wonder apart to check out separate sections and end up meeting at again the in-store café with books in hand

Over the chocolate cake slice Tendou brought to share, you take turns to gush over the selected choices spread across the tabletop

“I mean it isn’t that over done.” You argue, popping another forkful of the overly-sweet cake into your mouth.

Tendou throws his hands into the air. “Are you serious? Hero meets bad guy, then they fight a whole bunch, bad guy kills a bunch of people and the hero never kills the guy because he ‘doesn’t want to stoop to their level’,” You don’t mask your laughter at the overexaggerated deep voice Tendou imitates. “It’s not fair to the people that the bad guy goes to hurt later on.”

“Oh, I entirely agree with you there.” You take a moment to wonder how Tendou has eaten nearly half the thing to himself already, you’ve barely been seated for longer than a few minutes. “When done wrong, the whole ‘taking the high ground’ troupe is really tacky.”

Tendou blinks at you like he didn’t expect you to respond. You raise a brow at him as a toothy grin spreads over his face, a slight pink painted across his pale cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing. I like talking to someone that knows their stuff, is all. Don’t get me wrong, miracle boy is great company, but I can only try to convince him to read more than the ads they run for so long before I go insane.” He chuckles under his breath, words heartfelt enough that a matching heat spreads across your cheeks.

“I enjoy this too.”

A wide grin overtakes his face at your admittance.

“Well then, let’s not stop!” He offers, stretching his hand towards yours. You clasp it, feeling delicate against his larger one. “I still have to tell you about the whole ‘boy is given power he doesn’t know how to control and needs to find a grumpy mentor’ troupe next!”

You squeeze his hand. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on that one.”

Tendou clicks his tongue and wags his finger at you. “It’s not necessarily about my thoughts, it’s the conspiracy I think the troupe ties into.”

The seriousness in his tone made you pause, looks like you were in for a long one.

Amongst him linking the heroes journey and the innate desire for power over others, you marvel at the way his whole body comes alive when talking about something he loves.

It’s much later on, when he’s introducing you to his friends at a reunion, that you notice the bubbly and animated way he presents you to his friends, love evident in each and every word.

Semi:

Now you would think he’d be the calm and collected one after knowing each other for half a decade and dating for a month

Nope.

He's the type to plan to ask you at the perfect time, and will be in a pissy mood if he misses the "perfect" opportunity to ask

When he does finally pose the question, you’ll say yes and he’s ecstatic

Though, he will play it cool and be like, "Ok I'll text you the details later." And flash you the biggest smile that has you melting inside just a little

When he's trying to sleep that night it finally hits him

Oh shit he has to plan a date with the girl he’s been hopelessly pining for

After one text from you confirming you don’t mind where he picks, he’s both relieved and more stressed because now he has to analyse every little thing he knows about you and eventually starts doubting himself

In the end, he decides to play it safe and go with the popular, family owned cafe that plays live music Saturday afternoons

It was perfect, the music act would be quiet enough to still talk if you two wanted or serve as a mediator to break any awkward silence should it pop up

It is honestly the perfect date, in his mind

Comes the day and he swings around your place after agreeing to walk to the café together

The walk is characterised with the brisk autumn wind and catching each other up on what’s been going on during the week

The conversation doesn’t stop from there – something Semi could cry happily over

After ordering and grabbing a seat close to a stage set-up to the side, you note how bright and talkative Semi is and vow to yourself to see this more often

As he takes a sip in the middle of explaining the difference pick positions affects plucking sounds, you comment on his excitement

Even with the flush on his cheeks, he holds a suave facade and merely says that it’s hard to unwind when his friends can be so chaotic when they get together

From there he starts opening up and imparting little facts about himself that you commit to memory

You come to learn that his favourite colour was corn-silk yellow before he went to Shiratorizawa, now it’s royal purple. He loves tekka maki and boasts his mum’s hand-made ones to be the best in the world and offers to share it with you next time she makes them

All of these things slot into what you know about Semi, filed alongside the nuance’s you’ve noticed yourself.

When he’s unsure or embarrassed, he tousles his hair. And when he talks about something he’s passionate with, his hands start gesturing all about the place

You could’ve spent the whole afternoon like that, in the intimately-lit café, hidden amongst the dull chatter of the surrounding patrons, just listening to Semi’s soothing timbre

But life had other plans

The lights on the stage brighten as someone wearing comfortable clothes strolls on and perches up on the stool set-up in front of a lone microphone. She didn’t give off any signs of discomfort at being stared at as she sets up her guitar, giving a few testing strums before introducing herself and launching into her music.

It was only then that conversation broke and ushered in a lilting voice floating on gentle notes.

“They’re amazing.” You breath, eyes not leaving the stage until the musician dismounts from the stage.

“That’s what I want to do one day.”

You turn to him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” The corner of Semi’s lips quirk up a bit, a secret shared unto himself.

“Why?”

Genuine curiosity spurs you to ask, to know. While you could picture Semi perched on the same stool with a guitar all too easy, you never really thought Semi would pursue a career in the industry.

Semi finally turns to you, a fire in his eyes that was normally caused by volleyball and a good challenge. “I want to make people happy and sad - all the emotions really. I want someone to look at me like you did to that girl.”

Tilting your head you say, “Looking at her like what?”

Semi audible swallows. “Like someone that loves the music I make.”

Reaching over the table, you run your thumb over the backs of his knuckles, a comforting gesture. “Semi, I already love talking to you and hanging out, so why wouldn’t I like the music you write?”

The resultant blush on Semi’s face was answer enough to that, even though he tries to hide it behind his cup.

After that, meeting up at the café ends up becoming a weekly occurrence, an oasis that you both look forward to in the midst of life’s chaos.

Yamagata:

Yamagata actually is the smoothest out of them all

After a two weeks of dating, he bounces up to you after a particularly hard day and offers to take you somewhere fun the next day

Your definition of ‘fun’ varies from his, as you soon find out

Where Yamagata believes the best way to get to know someone and have fun simultaneously is putting them through challenges, whereas you believe sitting down and chatting to be the most optimal method

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you, the paint ball range is closed

Amusement park it is

He leaves it as a surprise and doesn’t tell you until you question the sign of the park he visited frequently as a kid

Overall, you have an absolute ball with him, never a dull moment

Especially after the ferris wheel when Hayato goes to reach for his phone to check the time and finds it missing

The only reason he had it out in the plastic swinging booth was to take a sneaky picture of you looking carefree and relaxed as you gazed down at the park – not that he admitted to that when you asked just how it escaped his pocket

Obviously, it was a very slippery phone since this was the third time this week alone he lost it

After tracking it down with the help of the kind but tired ride operator, the two of you were on your merry way to the next ride, but not without a few light-hearted digs at Yamagata’s forgetfulness

You get to learn a lot about each other personally while waiting in line and over lunch after recovering

At the end of the day, your cheeks ache from much smiled

“I don’t remember it being that crazy as a kid.” Yamagata says, looking pale and breathing shallowly, as if to keep himself from being sick.

You couldn’t blame him, the rollercoaster he convinced you to go on under the guise of “This was my favourite one as a kid! You wouldn’t deny a man from reliving his childhood, would you?”

And like a fool you caved under the pout like a badly cooked soufflé. Now you wished you put up a bit of a fight against going on it. The screams of the riders before you were not exaggerated in the slightest.

“I don’t know how they allow kids on that.” Is all you supply, feeling a little green as well.

Yamagata directs you to the nearest bench and you follow his lead and slump into the seat.

“I don’t know how I forgot how much that thing threw me around. I must’ve just about fell off as a tiny kid. Remind me to thank my dad for coming on with me.”

You try not to laugh at the image of a tiny Yamagata ecstatically cheering as the ride swings around corners at full speed as his dad frantically tries to keep his clueless son from getting tossed out of the cart.

“Your dad is a brave man to go on that thing wilfully.”

Yamagata grimaces. “Brave is a nice way of putting it. I’d call it being insane to put up with me wanting to ride it eight times over.”

This time you do laugh.

“It must be hard saying no to your own kid, though, so cut him some slack.” You joke, knocking your elbow against his side.

He playfully pushes you away, widely grinning once again. The heat from the sun blaring ahead suddenly floods into your cheeks. The sensation of your heart feeling too large for your ribcage seizes you.

And the feeling doesn’t leave, it sticks with you as he laughs, as he drops his ice cream and pouts like a child. It intensifies as a dreamy look enters his eyes as he recalls a fond memory associated with a ride.

You hope that one day that he makes the same expression when he recalls this day spent with you.

Reon:

For some reason, Reon seems like the kind of guy to be inherently talented with gardening

He’s the resident green thumb alongside Ushijima, people pass their dying plants into Reon’s hands for magical resurrection

So it was a no-brainer for him to take you to the local botanical gardens

Rife with both native and exotic flora, there were many scenic walks available, thus was the perfect place for a first date to Reon

Reon meets you at the gates with a soft greeting and an outstretched hand – you two walk through the park with your hand intertwined like that for the rest of the day

Throughout the walk, he points out flowers and gives you their common name and their meanings, along with the meanings he gave them as a kid

It was entirely too cute for your poor heart

“And those are yellow carnation.” He points to a patch of bright yellow flowers with soft-looking ruffled petals. “They represent dislike and disappointment towards the person you give them to, but as a kid I thought they meant that she was my sunshine because of the colour. My mum got quite the kick out of it when I gave them to her for her birthday.”

You burst into laughter, unable to smother it even with Reon’s apparent embarrassment at the event

If your allergies start to play up too badly, Reon will take you to his favourite part, a densely packed section of the gardens filled with trees, concealing a secluded tiny red bridge stretched across a large koi pond with the largest and most colourful koi you’ve seen

Everything within you wanted to stretch this moment out, you could easily live in this moment forever. The buzzing of cicadas in the distance, the grass blades tickling the palms of your hands from where you sat, the soothing rumble of Reon’s voice – this is your personal slice Elysian peace

You did not want to give this up

It’s there that he finally unlinks your hands and brings out the packed lunch he made.

“You made all this?” You gape, taking in the diverse range of food he brought out of his bag.

From seared fish placed neatly atop seasoned rice, to perfectly rounded onigiri. In the next box he opens sat seasoned chicken and beef slices that made your mouth water. Not to mention the salad of rich greens, reds, and yellows that called your name.

Reon chuckles at your awe. “Yeah, I did. I thought it would be nice to eat something home-made while out here, but if you wan to grab something else-“

You cut him off immediately. “Definitely not! This looks and smells amazing. It would be a crime not to eat it.”

The corners of Reon’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I did try not to burn it, so I hope it tastes nice.”

“If it tastes even half as good as it smells, you’ll have to fight me to stop eating.” You reply, accepting the plate he holds out and give thanks as he starts loading your plate.

“I’d never stop you from eating,” he clicks his tongue in false sternness, to which you grin at. “If you’re hungry, I’ll feed you until your happy.”

“I’m happy right now, but I definitely still want the food.” You cheekily fire back.

Reon shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well then, eat to your heart’s content.”

Taking a bite, you startle Reon with your enthusiastic reaction.

“This tastes better than I imagined.” You gush after swallowing, immediately scooping up another forkful and eating it.

Reon brushes off your compliment in favour for leaning forward and brushing some crumbs off your face. The proximity as your breath stalling in your throat as he lingers for a heartbeat longer, then withdraws.

“I hope we can do this more often. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.” He quietly admits, the mood taking an intimate turn even with the shouts of kids playing in the distance.

“Me too. I don’t want this date to end.”

Shirabu:

This man prides himself on being observant and not oblivious like how his friends are

And yet, contrary to this, it takes him several trips to realise that he’s been on what would count as a date with you

You'll talk about needing a new jumper for winter and Shirabu will ask to tag along. You wanted to watch a movie? Shirabu is coming too. Like having someone besides you while studying? Shirabu was your go-to study buddy, whether in silence or as a conversation partner when your brain was overloaded

Out of the blue, he asks with no certain amount of panic, "Were those trips I went on with you dates?"

"I never really gave it much thought…” You match Shirabu’s expression as you consider his question. "I didn’t want to be presumptuous and assume that they were, and you never brought it up, so I left it be."

"Let me have a re-do." Determination flares in his usually guarded eyes and you couldn't refute.

“Gladly.”

Shirabu glances away from your face, unable to bear looking at the fond expression you wore for too long without his heart suffering. “I want to take you somewhere nice.”

“Everywhere I go with you is nice, Shirabu. It’s less about the place and more about the person.” You rebuke.

Shirabu looks away before you catch the full extent of his blush at your words. “No, I mean I want to take you somewhere that can become special for the both of us.”

You catch his hand in yours, tugging it for him to turn back towards you. Gone was the characteristic impassive façade, now replaced with a tenderness that makes you near melt.

Your first official date with him is a picnic in a park on top a hill to watch the sunset

Something he thinks is extremely cheesy and overdone but the look of excitement on your face immediately silenced his rebuttals

There was no way in hell that he was going to be the reason for your disappointment if he can help it

As such, he went all out

Hiring the gazebo and ordering food to be delivered from a restaurant he knows that you’ve wanted to try out for the longest time

Not that he actually tells you, but it wasn’t hard to deduce his excitement when he waits for you at the gazebo with a small smile, dressed nicely in pressed slacks and a dress shirt with a bundle of flowers

Upon the wide-eyed stare he receives from you, he spends the first minutes of the date describing what the florist thought best for him

A bunch of camellias ranging from a deep and vivid red to the first blush of love pink to the innocence of white gathered in a golden ribbon. He doesn’t exactly tell you their meanings other than a short, “Flowers are flowers, all I want them to show is that I love you.”

What he didn’t know was that the florist had the foresight to hide a card detailing the meaning of each flower amongst the paper holding them

White camellias meaning “You’re adorable” to red camellias meaning “You’re a flame in my heart” (something you blush at in the security of your own home) and the pink one representing longing

As the meal arrives and the two of you eat, the conversation drifts from current events to bits and pieces of everything and anything

The highlight of conversation was Kenjirou’s answer to the question “What do you think you’ll see first: a ghost or an alien?”

Apparently Kenjirou was secretly a space-lover

From the lecture he launched into about the statistics of it all and you come away from that conversation with more knowledge of possibility of E.T's versus spectres than you would’ve thought

The afternoon starts fading into dusk quicker than you realised, too wrapped up trading short anecdotes of your respective families

Shirabu only realises the fading light once the fairy lights decorating the space become brighter, and it is only then that Shirabu like a gentleman, brings out a blanket and escorts you to the grassy knoll besides the gazebo

Laying out the blanket, you notice it’s the perfect position to watch the sun set and you can’t help but give him a quick hug in gratitude before you sit down and make yourself comfortable

It floored you how much effort and consideration he put into this one afternoon amongst all his classes and assignments – it made you feel incredibly warm against the cool night air creeping in

As you shift to get comfortable, your hand lands on top of his. You’re just about to whisk it away, but he shoots you a soft smile and twists his hand in your grasp and gives it a squeeze

Your hands stayed intertwined as the blues faded into pinks and oranges, then into purples and the deep satiny blue of the night sky

The sunny photos with matching smiles from that afternoon soon decorate your wall

Kawanishi:

Unlike the others, Taichi really doesn’t care about being seen as “basic” for taking you out to watch a movie and grab dinner afterwards

He asked you out so casually, you agreed without it even hitting you that it was a date until he grinned at you and cheekily replied, “Great, it’s a date then.”

The movie in question was one you’ve been waiting forward for its release and Taichi was interested in it as well, so really it was an excuse for the both of you to watch the movie together instead of alone.

It went great, asides from the old couple staring the two of you in line, not so quietly reminiscing their first date

Embarrassment aside, Taichi was sweet throughout the entirety of it

Arguing to pay until reluctantly splitting the bill when you argued that it wasn’t fair

Waiting outside for it to start, Taichi and yourself bide the time by guessing what the other movies were about by their posters and making each other laugh

Once the movie starts, the chatter between you two dies down, yet the casual intimacy doesn’t fade in the slightest

Sharing an arm rest, the both of you exchange glances at one another throughout the movie, and bump elbows when something interesting or funny happens

It was a far-cry from the intimacy of the other’s dates, but it was perfect for the two of you

By now, the two of you have been friends much longer than you have been dating

Neither of you wanted to rush things, happy to take it as it comes and retain that familiarity from years of friendship stay untainted from the innate awkwardness of new love

Coming out of the theatre, Taichi is the most talkative you’ve seen him yet as he offers his opinion on the film

You avidly listen without a word of complaint

It was nice to hear what went through Taichi’s mind when he always kept his emotions close to his heart, you felt damn-near jubilant over him coming out of his shell – even after all the years of friendship

He offers to grab dinner and after a mild debate over which place is better, you end up flipping a coin and grabbing some fast food and eating it at a near-by park

Eating the meal in relative silence, it was only broken to point out the ducks and giving them names. It was laid-back and you were enjoying yourself, yet Taichi remained stiff by your side.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly the most romantic date.” Taichi rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

You quirk a brow at him. “How isn’t this a romantic date?”

Taichi finally looks at you, although in confusion. “Because I should’ve taken you to a nice, fancy restaurant for our first date.”

“I work on the belief that anywhere is romantic if you make it so. It depends on the company.” You shrug.

Taichi’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Oh? So you wouldn’t mind having our next one at a cemetery?”

You dig an elbow into his side and roll your eyes at the performance he puts on.

“That’s not what I meant, smartass.”

Taichi stops the pouting and slumps into the seat. Hating the sombre mood he’s in, you curl your arm through his and tuck into his side.

“Besides, you can always make it up to me in the future. I want the place to be so expensive that the proportions are baby-sized.”

Taichi’s rich laugh rumbles through you. It was a losing battle against the rapid thrum of your heart and the thoughts of warmth that consume you with his proximity.

You also didn’t try to fight the urge to cuddle further into his side, something he gladly accepted as he wraps his arm even tighter around you.

“I promise.” He sighs, a happy noise as he rests his head against yours, two bodies becoming one whole on that one spring afternoon.

Goshiki:

Not everything in life is a competition, yet Goshiki couldn’t thrive without it

Besides, if he thought too long and hard about it (which he did) an arcade date was the best option

It presented the perfect chance to show off his skills and impress you

When he finally works up the courage to ask you, it had been a while since you’ve been, so you were more than happy to accept

Goshiki deflated with relief because a back-up option didn’t exist

Even after dating for over a month by this point, this would be the first official date he’s taken you out on

After worrying that it was too childish or not at all romantic for a first date, you spent the better half of the afternoon before it convincing him otherwise

At the arcade, Goshiki takes your hand and guides you around the place, pointing out games he bested as a teenager before finally settling on war-cross-zombie two player shooting game

With the growing win streak, the two of you continue playing the game until Goshiki accidentally gets his player killed

Pouting, he suggests a different game to soothe his bruised ego

The pout disappears as he finds a different game he’s decent at, tickets flying out as the points rack up

He glows as you praise his skill

It was too easy to bait him into playing hoop games, which he surprisingly sucked at

You discovered him to be especially gifted at reflex games, where the both of you won the most tickets

With each claw game he stubbornly refuses to “eat his hard-earned money”, he proudly passes off each plushie to you

Goshiki wins whatever prize your eyes linger over, no matter how frustrated it makes him

With each one, you promise to keep and inwardly muse that you’ll have to install a new shelf for them

A few hours deep, you had managed to win him an eagle. It’s the only prize you had won big enough to portray the amount of affection you held towards the bowl-cut male.

It was a bit mishappen and looked more fit to be the mascot for a horror game than a children’s show, however you still offered it to him.

His eyes grow wide. “Really?”

“I mean, I can get you something better if you give me a few minutes…” You frown at the plushie as Goshiki holds it up. It’s even uglier in the light. Why the hell would they have this as a prize?

You reach out to grab it from him and Goshiki snatches it away from your grasp, pressing it into his chest and curling around it protectively. “No!”

You stand there, stunned, as Goshiki flushes at the looks he got from the shout and starts stumbling over his words.

“I mean, it’s fine and not creepy at all – No, I mean it’s cute,” he unconvincingly amends at your wince. “It’s something that you worked hard to get. I’ll treasure it forever, I swear.”

The conviction in his voice was enough to ease your concern.

“I could get you a better one, though. One that’s less creepy.” You offer, gesturing towards the wide array of claw machines boasting figurines and cuter plushies.

“No thank you. I like this one.” Goshiki is stubborn and you should’ve expected that.

You sigh, lips unsurely pulling upwards. “If you’re sure?”

Goshiki gives a sharp nod, and you know that that’s the end of that. He would not budge.

Yet you couldn’t find it within yourself to be exasperated at the awe-filled look he gives the plushie as you two leave the arcade, holding it like it was made of expensive finery instead of cheap thread and fabric.

Months later you got to see the monstrosity again, tucked up on the shelf above his bed, proudly sitting between medals he’s won through the years.

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years

Text

Miracle Queen Aftermath

Because there is a disappointing lack of focus or depth for the aftermath of Miracle Queen in canon, I have made my own.

Be warned of: Chloe salt. A lot of it. Chloe faces consequences for things.

Some Bustier salt. Some Adrien being called out on things (but he gets better).

Enjoy!

In the weeks following the Miracle Queen incident, a lot had happened.

Hawk Moth had increased his power, and was now able to summon akumas and amoks at the same time.

Master Fu was gone and now Ladybug found herself the official Guardian of the Miraculous—along with the Miracle Box, kwamis, and duties that entails.

Marinette had resolved to let go of her crush on Adrien, and to support him and Kagami in their new relationship together.

And Chloe had been arrested and would now be going on trial for assisting a terrorist.

It was that last bit of news that had caused the most commotion in Paris and the world at large. What people would have dismissed as simply another akuma attack turned into a much greater matter when accusations started to be made about Chloe helping the super villain intentionally. This was soon backed by multiple eyewitness accounts and further proven by leaked video evidence showing Chloe not only attempting to grab a butterfly for herself after she was de-akumatized but even negotiating with the terrorist before the incident in which she betrayed the heroes of Paris and revealed the identities of most of the team.

To say that the people of Paris were outraged was putting it mildly. People were akumatized over it. Chloe was in a secured facility where she had armed guards around to watch her just as much as they were there to protect her. New legislation was being considered to specifically address willingly aiding supervillains. The backlash was so severe that many were calling the mayor’s own position into question.

After all, if his daughter could do all of that, who was to say that he wasn’t also in Hawk Moth’s pocket?

For Mayor Andre, his hands were tied. While he had covered for his daughter and her selfishness in the past, this was one thing he couldn’t overlook. Not when it brought his position as mayor under scrutiny. And certainly not when it opened a probe into his own dealings.

None of this was helped either by the multitude of witnesses of Chloe‘s past behavior. In particular, her many victims over the years.

And there were a lot.

Now that Chloe was actually being held accountable for something, it seemed to have opened a floodgate of outcries as the many people she tormented finally felt able to air their grievances. They came out on TV, on social media, on radio. Stories littered the air and internet of the horrors of dealing with this single teenage girl.

“She tried to cheat during this designing competition. She apparently stole some other girl’s hat design and tried to pass it off as her own.”

“She was the reason the mayor tried to shut down my ice skating rink! To build another gym! Paris has enough gyms! Why couldn’t she just go to one of those?”

“She had her dad shut down Clara Nightingale’s music video and got her akumatized just because she didn’t get to play Ladybug. We waited in that line for HOURS and didn’t get chosen either, but no one else threw a fit over it.”

“She shoved a giant signed poster of Adrien Agreste professing his love to her in my friend’s face just to make her cry! I found out after the fact that he didn’t even know about it!”

“Our entire school was punished for someone pulling the fire alarm except for her because she threatened our principal. So while the rest of us were having to clean up the school, she spent the entire time insulting and making fun of us.“

“Knowing her, she probably pulled the fire alarm in the first place.”

“She tried to crash a train! I don’t think I can emphasize that enough: she tried to crash a train!“

“Chloe Bourgeois joined up with Hawk Moth? Can’t say it’s a shock.”

“Yeah, given how many akumas she caused, I’d been wondering if she hadn’t been working with him all along.”

It wasn’t that unbelievable to the populous. Nor did anyone feel particularly sympathetic towards her for her current situation. Some might have for lack of knowing her, but Chloe had carved herself a special place in the memories and hearts of nearly every Parisian. There was nobody who didn’t know of her or have some experience with her by this point. So when it came out that she was arrested and facing criminal charges, the response was…rather telling.

Practically everyone was calling loved ones as soon as they heard, resulting in high phone and internet traffic. The Ladyblog crashed after making the announcement. Several people threw parties. People over the internet started coming up with a list of “Things We Will Be Allowed To Do Once Chloe Is In Prison”, with a count that currently rested at 139 and was rising quickly. One guy bought 500 cupcakes and just started passing them out to people on the street singing a jaunty little tune from some late 1930’s cult classic American movie. The school had closed down for a couple of days due to several teachers calling out sick—possibly with hangovers from celebrating a bit too hard. Various Queen-related hashtags and memes were trending with each seeming to fight for the top spot of most used. #let her eat cake was currently in the lead. And Mr. Ramier somehow orchestrated a 21 pigeon salute. On Chloe’s rooftop.

As it was, nobody expressed surprise when it came out that she worked with a supervillain. Many were disappointed, shaking their heads and saying “if only something had been done sooner” or blaming the parents and teachers and other adults in her life. Most were angry, mainly that things had been allowed to get this far and that they hadn’t been acted on earlier—particularly after the train incident.

But no. Nobody was surprised.

Except, perhaps, Marinette herself.

Still reeling from the events of Miracle Queen and the aftermath of…well…everything involved, Marinette had been questioning herself. Constantly. Incessantly. Going over and over in her mind all the things she could have done differently. Blaming herself for all the major blows to their team.

She lost her mentor. Her allies have been compromised. Chloe, one of her former allies, chose to betray them all. Hawk Moth had the grimoire now. Marinette didn’t have a grimoire. Fu had no memories.

And it was all because of her mistakes.

Last time, the prospect of never having to deal with Chloe again had been a relief.

Now…it was background static to her.

She could barely hear the announcements and cheers over the endless cycle of her own thoughts.

I should have tried harder. I should have been more aware. I failed them all. This is because of me.

So while everyone else in Paris was celebrating, de-stressing, or just outright reveling in the news, Marinette was grieving. With the help of the kwamis and Chat Noir, she had been trying to come to terms with what happened and figure out the next plan of action.

Hawk Moth had changed the game, so she needed to step up hers.

The days seemed to have passed in a blur. Between working with the kwamis, trying to recreate and retranslate the grimoire, and simply trying to deal with the remnants of Fu’s life that he had left to her, Marinette had barely even kept up with the current state of things in Paris. Or in particular, Chloe.

Not until the day came when Bustier made an announcement.

Chloe‘s trial date was finally decided. And though she didn’t say as such, it was clear that the case against her was pretty solid. There was video evidence. Eye witness accounts. And Chloe’s own words and actions working against her.

The odds were not in her favor on this. Even if her parents did try to help her, she wasn’t going to get off this time. Aside from getting the best lawyers money by, there really wasn’t much they could do.

Maybe that was why Bustier had tried to step in?

“Now class, I have received word that they are moving to the next step with Chloe’s hearing. Right now, they are looking for character witnesses for Chloe’s defense.” The kind teacher explained, causing Marinette to snap to awareness and realize just what was going on. Partly because of the mention of Chloe and her court case.

But mostly because of the sudden dead silence in the class…

To be fair, she wasn’t sure she could say anything either. Marinette felt her throat go dry and her muscles tense. There was a sudden tightness in her lungs that while she could breathe, it felt like she was suffocating. Why was Bustier bringing this up now?

The teacher smiled, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension and Marinette’s slow drowning. “I know this has been a difficult experience knowing that one of your classmates is facing such a trial. And Chloe will certainly need support. So I thought it would be kind if everyone wrote a letter supporting her for the hearing coming up, so the courts can hear about Chloe and understand more about who she is.”

Silence. Dead silence.

Maybe Bustier herself picked up on the growing tension, as she proceeded to move to passing out papers to the class. “I thought it would make for a nice project, so I will give you all the forms explaining the requirements. Take some time to think over what positive things you want to say about Chloe. If you have any questions, please feel free to come talk to me.”

After that, she quickly left the room, citing the desire to let them have this free time to work on the letters.

The class remained silent for a good minute after she left. Almost as if they were questioning if she would return. Or perhaps if she was listening.

Then—

“‘Think about what positive things we want to say about Chloe?’ Well that’s easy!” Alix spoke blithely, curling the paper she received into a ball. “Nothing!” She shouted and tossed it over her shoulder. “Assignment done!”

Murmurs filled the classroom. Some sounded uncertain, but most seemed to be in agreement. Or at least expressing distaste for the assignment.

“Is she serious?”

“Does she really expect us to?”

“Of all the worst ideas...”

Marinette could hear them, but couldn’t seem to acknowledge anything around her. And furthermore, she couldn’t make herself respond.

Chloe‘s trial was set for a point in the next few weeks, and at this point there was no denying just what type of person she was. If anything, this was probably the first time that anyone was allowed to actually speak their mind about the girl, and they were all reveling in it. Her classmates in particular.

Marinette couldn’t quite bring herself to.

Sure, Chloe has tried to blackmail her more than once.

And damaged her gift to their teacher.

And attempted to frame her a few times.

And stolen her hat design.

And her diary.

And a Miraculous.

And all of the other Miraculous.

But...she had been doing better for a while there, hadn’t she?

Didn’t she only betray them all in the end because Marinette had chosen Kagami over her for her own selfish reasons? Didn’t Hawk Moth only capture Fu because of her own mistake? Hadn’t Chloe only revealed everyone else because she felt betrayed? Couldn’t Marinette have done more to prevent Chloe turning?

Wasn’t a simple letter on Chloe’s virtues the least she could do?

So why...

Why couldn’t she seem to bring herself to?

Kim frowned, looking at his paper in worry. “We’re not going to get graded on this, are we?”

Nathaniel huffed. “I’ll willingly take the failing grade any day.”

“Hear hear!”

“But if it’s a grade…” Max murmured to himself. Out of everyone in the class, he took his grades the most seriously, so this was no doubt a difficult choice for him. He looked at his paper with a rather conflicted expression for a minute before sighing and turning it face-down on the desk. “No. It’s an impossible task in the first place.”

Kim rested a hand on Max’s shoulder in sympathy. It wasn’t that he cared as much about grades as Max did, but it was clear that the fallout of refusing could be more troubling for the genius who took his academic performance so seriously. If Bustier did make it a mandatory assignment with a grade, it’d be horribly unfair of her.

“What was it Chloe said before?” Ivan asked, looking over his page with a glare. “Once a monster, always a monster? I guess she’d know more than anyone.”

Mylene hugged him. “You’re not a monster. You never chose to be.”

“None of us did.” Nino agreed.

“Nobody did except her.” Alix bit out.

Mumbles of agreement came from the rest of the class. It was clear that none of them were on board with having anything to do with Chloe, much less try to help her with her current legal woes.

There was a large part of Marinette that agreed with them. But even so, there was also a large part of her that insisted she had to do the right thing and help.

She knew she should say something. She was supposed to say something here. Because it was her fault, after all. She was Ladybug. She had to be the better person. Shouldn’t she?

“Marinette? Girl, are you okay?” Alya asked, drawing her attention. “You look a bit pale.”

It was too much. It was suffocating.

“I think I need some air. Excuse me.”

She didn’t know if anyone watched her leave the classroom. She hadn’t even noticed if anyone had chosen to follow her.

Not until…

“Marinette, are you all right?”

She spun around in surprise.

“Oh! Adrien! Hey! Hi! Hello!” She blabbered. Why was he here? Did he come out after her? Why? She didn’t need this right now! She struggled enough with him under normal circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with him now. Her stress over everything was bad enough, but having him approach her set her anxiety skyrocketing.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at her—and oh, what a beautiful smile. On any other day, it would ease her worries and make her want to swoon, but right now, it just made her more nervous.

“Are you all right?” He asked again. “You didn’t look so well in class.”

“Y-yeah. Just…” she sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind. With…you know…everything.”

He nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean.”

She smiled. She could always count on Adrien to be a calming supportive friend. He was always so sweet and reliable. If anyone could understand or relate to the chaotic mix of emotions she was feeling, he could.

He sighed in sympathy. “Poor Chloe.”

She froze.

“Chloe?”

“Well, yeah.” He replied, like it was obvious. “I mean, she did a bad thing, but now she’s going through the worst experience of her life. One that could ruin her future. And people are glad about it!” He shook his head. “It’s just too cruel.”

Marinette just stared.

He wasn’t wrong. But…that was what he was worried about?

She couldn’t fault him of course, because Adrien was always so kind and considerate and of course he’d feel for Chloe but…something about this just…pulled at something inside of her and was choking it.

“Chloe is already suffering enough and it feels like no one wants to help her. You heard them.” He gestured back to the classroom. “We’re being given an opportunity to make a difference for her and they’re all just saying she deserves it. Chloe is alone and hurting and they want her to hurt more.”

She felt a denial on her lips but couldn’t give voice to it.

“Everyone is so great with each other. It’s always just Chloe who is kind of on the outside. I know you’ve seen it.”

She hadn’t, actually. Because it was never Chloe on the outside looking in, it was Chloe looking down on them. Whether it was because she genuinely thought she was better or because it made her feel better to do so.

He hesitated for a moment before looking at her. And there was something in his expression that told her he was about to ask something. A gut feeling told her that it was going to be something she wouldn’t like.

“Do you think you could talk to them?” He asked her, looking so sad and despondent that she just wanted to hug him and agree to anything to make that look go away.

“M-me?”

He wanted her to convince her classmates to help Chloe?

“I know you and Chloe have had your differences, but you’ve been able to see past her front. And you’ve done a lot to help her before.” He smiled. “Like the party you threw for her after she became Queen Bee.”

A traitorous voice asked if giving her a second chance with the Miraculous she had previously stolen wasn’t enough? Why did she have to feel bad for her leaving and throw her a party to make her feel special?

“Chloe really needs the help right now. And you’re always so good about that sort of thing.” He looked to her imploringly. “Do you think you could try to get them to at least give Chloe a hand? I don’t know what impact it’ll have in her hearing, but any little bit helps, right?”

Go back in there? With the tension and the suffocation to try and convince her classmates to help when she was questioning whether to herself?

But she had to, right? After all, couldn’t she have prevented this if she had acted sooner? Couldn’t she have helped sooner instead of being focused on her own petty problems? Isn’t that what Ladybug should do?

“Please, Marinette? They listen to you. If you asked them to, I’m sure they’d be willing to at least try.”

Her vision started to dim, seeming to tunnel in on Adrien and his sad and hopeful expression. Her thoughts crying about CHLOE and poor CHLOE and how hurt CHLOE was and how it was her fault for CHLOE—

“I—”

“Oh no! No, you do NOT.”

Marinette suddenly found herself torn away from Adrien by a sudden grab of her arm and pulling sensation. She felt as if she was pushed out of the way by a fierce gale. Like a raging whirlwind had spun her around and behind it.

That whirlwind’s name was Alya.

“How dare you? How dare you try to make my girl be responsible for this!”

Marinette floundered because she had not expected this and oh no now her best friend looked ready to tear her crush’s head off!

“Alya, we don’t have to do this!” She pleaded, trying to calm the other girl down.

“Oh, we most certainly do.” Came another voice. And sure enough, the rest of the class had stepped out as well. All of them looked in varying ranges of frustrated and that frustration was clearly directed at her and Adrien.

Or rather just Adrien, as Marinette discovered when Rose and Juleka pulled her aside and out of their direct line of sight. They were all looking at Adrien, and those were not nice or understanding expressions.

Oh no! This was a disaster! Now everyone was upset and she should have just agreed or said something sooner!

Completely unaware of Marinette’s inner turmoil, Alya stepped forward and jabbed at Adrien in the chest. “You are not going to make my girl feel bad and try to help someone who has never done a single nice thing for her or anyone.” She spat out, forcing him to back away.

Adrien held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Come on, Chloe is not that bad.“

“Not that bad?” Nino exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s words. “Adrien, Chloe betrayed us!“

“She took over Paris!”

“She turned us into her servants!“

“Not to mention the other things…”

“Do we really have to name each time?” Alya started to count on her fingers. “Chloe CHOSE to take the Miraculous for herself instead of returning it. She CHOSE to transform in front of everyone and reveal her identity to the world. She CHOSE to try and crash a train, risking the lives of EVERYONE on board just to show off. She CHOSE to run off with it when Ladybug tried to take it back.”

“She also chose to continue being horrible to everyone even after Ladybug gave her a second chance.” Nathaniel added, bitterly. “She didn’t get better after becoming Queen Bee. It just became another thing for her to lord over people.”

Alya nodded. “And when Ladybug made it clear to her that she wasn’t going to be Queen Bee again, she felt ENTITLED to something that was never hers in the first place. And because of that, she made the active, knowing, and willful choice to work with Hawk Moth.”

“And out all of us while she was at it.” Kim added. “Turning us into her personal ‘guard’. Making us fight our heroes against our will.” He shuddered. “I don’t know if you were hit by those things, Adrien, but it was NOT a pleasant experience having your body turned into a puppet.”

Adrien wanted to argue that he understood full well, but that was only as Chat. He couldn’t say that here.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Alya continued. “So no, we are not going to forgive Chloe. We are not going to try and ‘get along’ with her because her own poor choices have led her to have a ‘rough time’.”

Adrien grew nervous at the way the others drew closer to Alya as she spoke, clearly backing her statements as she continued.

“We are not going to defend her or speak up on her behalf to the entirety of Paris she ALSO betrayed. Whatever consequences Chloe has to face—quite possibly the first ones she will EVER have faced in her LIFE—are nothing less than what she deserves.”

“Yeah!” Came the exclamations from the rest of the crowd.

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Adrien argued.

“Not know what she was doing?! Adrien, she willingly accepted an akuma! She used it to take control of us and revealed us to Hawk Moth!” Alya exclaimed. “That’s just—how can you even justify that?”

With as angry as Alya was, any lesser or wiser man would have backed off.

Adrien…well, she certainly would never call him unwise, so it had to be because he was more strong-willed than that to be willing to stand his ground here.

“Hawk Moth was the one who manipulated Chloe!” He insisted. “And he’s the one who got away scott free and left Chloe to take the fall.”

“And whose fault was that?” Alya countered. “Chloe HELPED him. He only got as far as he did because of her and he only got away because she helped him!”

“Don’t you think this is cruel?” He argued back. “Yes, Chloe was wrong, but she was already called out for what she did by Ladybug and Chat Noir. The entire city hates her. Isn’t that enough?”

“NO!” Alya shouted. “No, it isn’t! Because Chloe has always gotten away with her antics in the past but you’re actually trying to get us to let Chloe off for a legitimate crime here! If Chloe is going to prison, it’s only because she deserves it!”

Around them, several of the others in the class nodded in agreement.

“How can you say that?” Adrien demanded. “Chloe made a mistake and she’s suffering for it! All this time, she’s felt left out and cut off and this only further emphasizes that for her! She’s been alone all this time and now she’s alone and miserable!”

“Then why should that be OUR problem?” Alya questioned, raising her hands in exasperation. “Why are you trying to MAKE it our problem?!”

Adrien drew back, looking genuinely hurt.

"But treating someone badly never made them become a good person."

"Yeah, because letting Chloe have her way all this time has totally made strides in her path to becoming a good person." Alix called out sarcastically.

"If anything, it's made her worse." Max added. "She's gone from simply causing akumas to intentionally becoming one."

“But—”

Alya cut him off. “But nothing, Adrien! You have to have some gall to be trying to get us to make nice with Chloe after she betrayed us all! And here I thought your little lecture to Marinette to make her feel bad for being relieved that Chloe was leaving Paris was pretty hard to beat.”

Nino blanched at that. “You did what?” He turned on Adrien. “Dude! You know that happened after Chloe tried to crash that train!”

“She was just trying to prove herself.” Adrien weakly argued.

“PEOPLE were on there!” Nino bit out. “They could have DIED because Chloe was showing off! And you got on to MARINETTE? Where was this attitude with Chloe?”

“I’ve called her out!”

“Yeah, one time.” Alya groused. “AFTER the rest of us had spent the better part of the day cleaning up after HER mess. Which she never apologized for or admitted to doing, by the way.”

“And in response, she threw a party.” Juleka muttered.

“It was a nice party, sure.” Rose added quickly.

Alya though shook her head. “But being a good hostess is nowhere near the same thing as being a good person. And before the night was over, you rolled over for her and she went RIGHT back to acting as she always had.”

“She made Mylene cry.” Ivan glared. “She made Mylene cry and you just laughed.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You said it yourself: ‘she’ll never change’. Except you said that like it was a good thing.”

Marinette looked back and forth between the two, everything inside her screaming at her to help. But she was completely lost on which one she was supposed to help. Because Adrien had a point about what Chloe’s going through but Alya was right about what Chloe did and she needed to do the “right thing” and help Chloe but why did everything Alya say resonate so strongly with her and bring such a feeling of vindication—

No. She was getting distracted. She needed to help. And right now, it was Adrien against the rest of the class.

But Alya was worked up. And Adrien was looking past her to Marinette, eyes begging for help and still so hopeful that she would step in. And Chloe was still in prison and Marinette could fix everything if she just tried so why can’t she try?

“Alya,” Marinette tried. “You told me to give Chloe a chance before after the fire alarm incident, remember? You said we were a lot alike.”

“That was to get you to go to a party!” Alya shouted, making Marinette step back in surprise. “I never meant it like this!”

She stepped forward and took Marinette by the shoulders, holding her sternly.

“Marinette, you are nothing like Chloe! Not where it counts! Yeah, you both can be short sighted when it comes to trying for what you want, but you at least notice and CARE how other people feel! And when you make a mistake, you at least TRY to make it right!”

She shook her head.

“Chloe…doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t try to.” Alix cut in. “If Chloe was feeling sad and lonely, that was pretty much her own fault.”

Adrien looked like he wanted to argue, but Alix didn’t even give him a chance.

“It wasn’t like we left her out. We went well out of our way to try and befriend her. We invited her to things. We tried to help her. Hell, you said it yourself—Marinette has tried to help her more than anybody! And each and every time, Chloe only took what we offered like it was something we owed her but that she was also too good for. I mean, I certainly can’t recall a time she ever thanked me. Can you?” She asked, turning to the other classmates.

All around them, there were murmurs of agreement. Maybe a couple hesitated as they tried to recall a time—one single moment of kindness on Chloe’s part only to come up empty.

“Chloe’s had a hard time.” Adrien insisted. “You know how her parents are—”

“Oh yes, her ‘Daddy the Mayor’.” Alix rolled her eyes. “Like we don’t hear enough about him every time it comes to something Chloe wants. She only threatens us or anyone with him every other day.”

Adrien shook his head and tried to explain. “It’s only because her parents aren’t there for her emotionally.”

“Again, not seeing how this is our problem? Or justification for anything she’s done to us? Or how this excuses her willingly helping a supervillain?”

“Because we’re her classmates!” He argued back, gesturing to all of them. “Out of everyone, we’ve all had the most interactions with her.”

“All of which were negative.” Came a cutting remark, followed by grumbling.

“There were good times, too!” Adrien insisted with a frown. His eyes spanned over the assembled classmates before they came to rest on one in particular. “Kim, you have to have seen Chloe’s good side. You liked her before.”

“Before.” Kim replied, emphasizing the word and the timeframe it referred to. “But being humiliated and her sending out that pic to everyone in school kind of crushed that crush.”

“How did she even have our numbers?” Ivan asked.

“But there had to be something that made you like her in the first place.” Adrien encouraged.

The taller boy shrugged, uncertain and uncaring. “Maybe so, but was it something that was really there? Or something I just wanted to see? Because I’m looking back and quite frankly, I don’t know what past me was thinking.”

“Wow, that’s deep, man.” Nathaniel whispered.

“Thanks!”

Seeing Nathaniel gave Adrien an idea. “Wait, Nathaniel! Didn’t Chloe let you put her in your comic?”

“Forced us to, more like.” The artist bit back. “And even when we tried to fit her, we got nothing but complaints from her. It was no wonder we never got past the initial concept art for her character.”

Adrien winced. “It was an attempt, at least?”

Nathaniel wasn’t buying it. “A poor one.”

“She’s been trying to be better.” Adrien was getting increasingly frustrated. This was not how he was expecting this argument to go. “Rose? What about you? You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

After all, Rose was sweet and caring, always willing to see the good in anyone. Surely she would have something nice about Chloe!

Juleka frowned at him over his focus on her girlfriend and moved to stand beside her. “Don’t push her.”

Still he tried.

“Rose?”

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” Rose said, hugging herself. “But Chloe has done nothing but hurt people. And going out of our way to protect her has only ended up biting us.”

That wasn’t true. Not...all the time at least. There had to have been at least one instance where she did the right thing!

Adrien brightened in realization. “Didn’t she catch you when you fell after being deakumatized during Heroes Day?”

The blonde girl frowned. “Well, yes…but she wasn’t very nice about it. Even though I did the same for her before.”

“Rose, come on…”

She shook her head. “I put myself at risk to help Chloe when she was being chased by zombies, and only got turned into one for my efforts. Chloe never appreciated it. She never thanked me. She didn’t even do anything to help when we were trying to keep her safe!”

“We all ended up kissing zombies because of her.” Alix accused, crossing her arms and looking particularly annoyed. “And not just because she caused the akuma in the first place.”

“Why are you pushing this?” Mylene asked. “We’ve been asked. We said no. Isn’t that enough?”

“But—”

“Adrien, you’ve got a good heart.” Ivan started.

“Easy for him when he’s not the one who has to be on the receiving end of Chloe’s tantrums.” Alix cut in, clearly sounding bitter.

“You’ve got a good heart.” Ivan repeated, sending Alix a look that asked her to back off. “But Chloe…doesn’t.”

Adrien shook his head, remaining insistent. “That’s why she needs help.”

“If she needs help,” Mylene spoke, “It should come from her parents. Her teachers. Any of the adults in her life. She has plenty of adults who are fully capable of helping her. It should not be expected to come from the kids she’s spent years tormenting.”

She gestured to herself and the others around her. “And that’s what she’s been doing: tormenting us.”

“To great joy, might I add.” Max droned.

“She hasn’t been cruel to everyone.” Adrien muttered.

That brought out a backlash of outrage.

“She outted my crush!”

“She insulted Mylene’s cooking and made her cry!”

“She got Aurore akumatized and nearly caused Paris to be incinerated in a volcano!”

“She tried to push Mylene out of the lead role of our movie!”

“She locked Juleka in the restroom!”

Wait...

But that hadn’t been Chloe. She had stayed with the class at the time. The one who did do it was...

He glanced around until he saw her—a redhead in the background behind the rest of the class. She looked anxious and uncomfortable, and almost seemed to be trying to edge around the class to get to the stairs.

Adrien did seem aware. Or rather, he was focused on the fact she was there.

“Sabrina? What about you? Chloe was your friend!”

Of course she would help! Because who better than her own best friend to speak on her behalf?

The rest of the class broke into mutters as they realized the same.

But Sabrina...bit her lip and looked away. Refusing to even meet Adrien’s gaze.

“Sabrina?” Marinette tried, concerned about this reaction. Sabrina had been Chloe’s best friend—or at least the closest thing she could have to a friend. “Minion” or “Servant” would be more accurate. “Slave” would be more honest.

The girl had been Chloe’s only real fan and follower, and had assisted Chloe in some of her worst plots.

Marinette had briefly seen another side to her. A girl who was so desperate for friendship that she latched onto even the slightest bit of kindness and went to the greatest of extremes to appease the “friend” so they wouldn’t leave her. It was no wonder she had fallen in with Chloe—someone like that was perfect for the spoiled girl. Compared to her, Marinette’s anxieties and need to please were nothing.

And Chloe had pretty much been her world for years.

What must she be feeling now?

“Should we really be getting her opinion?” Ivan whispered. “You know how she and Chloe were…”

“Well, if anyone would have anything positive to tell the courts about Chloe, it would be her.” Mylene whispered back.

Sabrina took a breath and spoke quickly—almost shouting in her rush.

“I’m sorry but my therapist said I shouldn’t!”

That got a surprise. The rest of the classmates glanced to each other before looking back to the girl. Adrien in particular looked shell-shocked. Marinette couldn’t blame him. She felt the same.

Sabrina for her part seemed to tense up, as if ready to defend herself from the rest of the class.

Marinette stepped forward. “Sabrina? Are…you okay?”

The other girl shook her head, looking close to tears.

“After word got out what Chloe did, the police had to question me about Chloe. They were able to see that I wasn’t involved, but they…didn’t like what I told them about our relationship. Afterwards, my dad decided to have me see a counselor and she…has been telling me things that I hadn’t really considered.” She curled in on herself. “They all think I should stay away from Chloe and anything directly related to her…for my own health.”

Adrien frowned at that. “But don’t you want to help Chloe?”

Sabrina jumped. “Of course, I do!”

“Hold up, Adrien!” Nino stepped in. “She just said police took her in because of Chloe!”

“But they let her go…”

“It still happened!” Mylene argued. “It doesn’t matter how nice they are, how innocent you know you are, or if you’re released in the end, it’s still terrifying when it happens!”

"And it only happened to her because of Chloe." Alya added.

Rose, in her infinite sweetness, reached out to take Sabrina’s hand in support. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Sabrina sobbed and covered her face. Aside from Rose, no one else really attempted to comfort her. Most of them simply watched her, pitying her current state. But they also remembered how complicit she had been in Chloe’s schemes, so they were conflicted. While they did feel bad for her current situation, there was a part of most of them that noted how she had brought it upon herself by being Chloe‘s lackey for so long, so their sympathy was limited.

Perhaps it was out of awkwardness, or maybe an attempt to give some respect for Sabrina’s privacy that the classmates turned away from her and instead focused on the heart of the argument.

“Man...” Nino tried. “Maybe you should let it go?” Though it was clear from his tone that he knew it wasn’t likely.

Because Adrien had still not given up, it seemed.

He looked around between of the classmates, growing more desperate. But those that remained either looked at him straight on as if daring him to call on them or looked away. A few of them even closed ranks as if to block his view of certain others. It was clear none of them were willing to help him on this.

None of them except…

“Marinette.” He called out, drawing her gaze to him instantly. “You understand, don’t you?”

She bit her lip. “I…”

“Back off, Adrien.” Kim said, giving the other boy an angry frown as he stood in front of her to shield her from his gaze. “It’s not on Marinette to help Chloe.”

“Yeah! She suffered more than any of us!“ Ivan shouted.

“She has been Chloe’s main target for years.” Nathaniel agreed. “She is the last person who is obligated to help Chloe now.“

Adrien winced at the harshness of their words and in their tone. “I just thought that Marinette could help. Like before.”

“Just because she could doesn’t mean she should have had to.” Alya countered. “She’s a teenager. Dealing with Chloe should have been the job of adults. Her parents. Bustier. Damocles. Any one of them should have done something—and if they can’t, the courts will. It’s their job. Not ours.”

“And getting her to help you wouldn’t make a difference anyway even if you had convinced us.” Max said, shifting his glasses. “Chloe helped Hawk Moth. There is nothing we could say that could undo that. And even if we did try, we would either be guilty of committing perjury or aiding in a conspiracy.”

“What?” Adrien jerked in surprise.

“The best we can do is be character witnesses.” Mylene explained. “But this is a court and we can’t claim something that isn’t true! We can’t say anything nice about Chloe when she hasn’t done anything nice!”

Max nodded and shifted his glasses. “Furthermore, our testimonies—even if they were positive—would only serve to create a narrative about Chloe and the type of person she is. They can’t explain away the current evidence against her.”

He rubbed the back of his head. He knew there were issues, but he also knew Chloe. He knew what she could be like. He knew she was a good person deep down. “I know she’s made some mistakes—”

“No.” Alya stated sharply. “Calling them ‘Mistakes’ implies that her actions were unintentional. ‘Mistakes’ implies that people were harmed by accident. ‘Mistakes’ implies that she would have any point learned from them. They weren’t mistakes, Adrien. They were willful acts of cruelty every single time.”

Ivan shook his head, pityingly. “We can’t save Chloe from this. We have nothing to say in her defense. The kindest thing we can do for her is stay silent.”

“She’s better than you think she is. She threw that party once for everyone, remember? You all went.” Adrien reminded them.

“That only proved that she could throw a party and be a good host, not that she could be a good person. There is a difference.” Nathaniel pointed out.

“Not that Chloe could tell.“ Alix sniped.

Adrien ignored the barb. He had given up on getting any of them to listen and now only had eyes for her. His last hope.

“Marinette….come on…please.”

She hesitated.

Everything in her that was Ladybug and her crush on Adrien and her desire to make people happy and take the high road and give second-third-fourth chances wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

Except...

There was a long pause. No one spoke.

The other classmates have had their say. They were letting Marinette have hers. And she knew in that moment that if she spoke up…if she did as Adrien wished and tried to help Chloe…she knew they would go along with her. It may be more out of respect for Marinette than it would be out of any sort of forgiveness for anything Chloe had done, but it would still help Chloe and it would still make Adrien happy.

…and hadn’t Marinette already done that enough?

“Did you know?” Marinette started, not looking at anyone. “I would have been well within my rights to press charges against Chloe?”

Adrien balked at that.

“She’s stolen from me at least three times now.” She shrugged. “I mean, sure, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about my diary since she had Sabrina steal it for her, but she did steal my hat design for a competition and I had proof. I could have pressed charges against Chloe and let her face some consequences…but I didn’t.”

She looked up at Adrien. “I also could have pressed charges for what she did to my gift for Madame Bustier. Since she did break into my locker and vandalize my property while it was still technically mine…but I didn’t.

“Adrien.” She spoke almost in monotone, the only sign of her emotions being how she clenched her fists. “Did you know that after the fashion show, my parents and I took a train to get home?”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

“It was the same train Chloe took control of and nearly caused to crash.”

Several gasps resounded around them. Apparently this had not been common knowledge.

“Even if Chloe could have bought her way out of any consequence for the other things, we all could certainly have had her face some major trouble for that one…” Marinette took a shuddering breath. “But we didn’t.”

Adrien frowned. “I…I see that—”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She cut him off. “Because instead of any of that…rather than hold Chloe accountable at any point, I catered to her. I tried to understand Chloe. I tried to make things nicer for Chloe. I tried to excuse Chloe. Time and again. Just like everyone else. Just like you wanted me to. Just like you’re asking me to now. And what did that get us?”

The more she talked, the more words filled out and she was unable to stop the torrent.

“I defended her from Alya after Madame Bustier was akumatized, and Chloe stole a Miraculous and nearly got my family killed. I helped Chloe bond with her Mom—costing myself any chance at a once in a lifetime opportunity in the process—and Chloe tried to get me banished from Paris just for saying she wasn’t a superhero. I threw Chloe a party to show her some appreciation, and she willingly worked with a supervillain to take over Paris. Just to fuel her ego and because she felt she was owed something that wasn’t hers.”

She tilted her head, considering.

“What is that American saying? Three strikes and you’re out?” Her eyes narrowed. “I have given Chloe more than three chances. I have done nothing BUT give her chances. And clean up after her. And just…try to help her. At no point has she been grateful. At no point did she ever apologize. Or show the slightest bit of remorse for anyone she hurt. Or just…try to do better.”

She stepped forward. Past her classmates. Past Alya, who looked ready to tear into Adrien herself.

“So tell me, Adrien. How much more am I supposed to do? What miracle am I supposed to achieve to help Chloe to be a better person that I haven’t already done?”

“You can just try.” Adrien begged. “Chloe’s alone. She has no one in her corner. You’ve given her chances before! Can’t you find it in your heart to give her another chance this time?”

“Why haven’t you?” Alya demanded.

Adrien drew back in surprise at that.

But the girl wasn’t letting him off. “If you’re so certain Chloe is the victim in all this, then why aren’t you stepping up to help her? Why are you pushing Marinette and the rest of us to do it?”

Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette in support. “If you truly believe Chloe has some sort of inner goodness that only needs the right person to bring it out, then it’s pretty clear Marinette is just not that person. She’s tried enough.”

Alix nodded. “I’m pretty sure she could’ve demolished a brick wall with how many time she’s banged her head against it by this point trying to drag a decent person out of Chloe.”

Others in the class also nodded and gave sounds of agreement to that.

Adrien frowned, lowering his head despondently. “I’m just one person. There’s only so much weight my word will have. I just...I just want to give her the best chance.”

“That’s nice for Chloe, I guess.” Kim muttered. “But not much for us.”

Adrien looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Alya stepped forward, releasing Marinette in the process. “Adrien, why should we as Chloe’s victims have to help protect her? That’s the thing we’re not getting here. WE are the ones she hurt. WE are the ones she betrayed to Hawk Moth. So why are WE supposed to try and save her from her own consequences? Why are you wanting us to?”

Adrien hesitated.

“Can you even imagine what it was like? Being frozen in time. Unable to move or speak? Only able to hear her voice in your head? Feeling your body respond as she’s calling you and being unable to stop?” She clutched her arms, as if trying to hug herself. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was knowing what she was doing to us but being completely unable to stop it? How humiliating it was when she had us bowing to her and calling her our Queen? And then…” She took a breath. “She made us fight our heroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir trusted us to help them and we used the Miraculous they entrusted to us to try and kill them.”

“We were just lucky that they were able to turn the tables on us.” Kim muttered. “I don’t even want to know what would have happened if we had won.”

“Luka still has nightmares.” Juleka whispered. “He won’t talk about it, but he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

Marinette winced. She hadn’t even considered that everyone else could be suffering ramifications of Miracle Queen as well.

“We could have killed them.” Max stated. “Given the nature of the Snake Miraculous’s power, we very well could have more than once for all we know.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have killed them?” Rose suggested, trying to be positive. “I mean, Chloe wanted all of the Miraculous, right? She probably wanted them as her servants as well.”

Max glared. “I’m pretty sure I attempted to send Chat Noir into space. Even a Miraculous can’t protect someone from that.”

Adrien tried not to wince at the memory. How he managed to even move enough to activate the Miraculous, he still wasn’t sure.

“We fought against them. We never wanted to, but we did.” Alya bit out. “Not even because of Hawk Moth this time, but because of Chloe. And now you are wanting us to just…overlook the trauma of the whole thing to help Chloe after what she did. For something she hasn’t shown even the slightest remorse for.”

She shook her head.

“I know you’re nice, Adrien. But this level of kindness is a cruelty.”

He winced. And it looked like he wanted to argue. But he just…wilted.

“I just…it feels harsh. What’s happening to her. The amount of hate she’s getting. That her entire life could be over.”

That was true. While they felt her current status was well deserved, it was a harsh sentence for anyone. Especially a teenager.

Nathaniel sighed. “Adrien, it is harsh. Maybe cruel. But fact is that she still brought on herself.”

“Isn’t that just victim-blaming though?” Adrien countered, frustrated now. “I mean, Hawk Moth manipulated her! How was that her fault? He’s the one who did it. She was…” He clenched his fists in anger. “Chloe is a victim.”

“No, we are the victims.” Alya insisted, gesturing to herself and the other revealed former heroes. “We were the ones used to fight our heroes. We were the ones who had our identities revealed to the world against our will. And now we are the ones having to live with the results of Chloe‘s choices, just like we always are.“

Adrien looked ready to argue. And maybe he would have, except...

Nino rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“Adrien. Dude. Just stop. We have enough to deal with and this…this isn’t helping.”

Adrien frowned at that, concerned by his friend’s attitude. “Nino?”

Nino lowered his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Really, I was trying not to think about it. But my parents are currently talking with police about their options. Now that I’ve been exposed as one of the temporary heroes, they’re questioning if it’s not safe for us at home anymore. There is a chance of us having to go into protective custody.”

Alya winced at that, drawing attention to her. “My parents have been talking as well. My mom quit her job. She said she doesn’t want to work for someone who would let their daughter do such a thing and put me in danger. She’s looking at drawing me out of school since it was pretty much Chloe‘s base of operations. And since Chloe is the Mayor’s daughter…and Hawk Moth…and just…everything?” She looked away, clearly anxious.

“There’s a chance we may have to move out of Paris altogether.”

Marinette gasped.

Alya looked to the other girl, sad and guilty all in one. “I’m sorry, girl. I guess I’ve been hoping it wouldn’t be an issue. I’ve been trying to talk them out of it, but it’s hard given everything that happened. Currently, the only reason they’re willing to stay is to see through to the end of the trial. But after that…” She shrugged, shaking her head uncertainly. “Who can say?”

“No…” Adrien whispered in shock.

The others in class came closer around her, trying to offer some comfort and reassurances—what little they could give, at least. This was a situation that was clearly beyond them. Marinette herself hugged Alya tightly for all she was worth, and the other girl held her back just as much, neither wanting to be parted.

Adrien, however, remained on the outside looking in. Watching the people Chloe had tormented even before Miracle Queen and realizing just how badly they’ve been hurt by this. It hit him then—for what was perhaps the first time just how much pain Chloe had caused his friends. And how unfair he had been to expect them to simply deal with it.

He stayed the lone person outside of the circle. By this point, did he really deserve to join in the comfort? To try to be the one to give comfort? After what he had tried to push on them all?

After minutes passed, they were finally able to draw away from each other.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner.” Alya told Marinette. “I guess I was just hoping…y’know…that it wasn’t real. Or that it would go away and things would work out on their own.”

Marinette smiled. “No, I understand.”

And she did. That’s exactly what she herself had been doing for the past few weeks as well. Trying to deal with things without really dealing with them. Working without acknowledging just what it all meant because she was scared she would break down and that would be just one more thing Hawk Moth would have won because of this whole mess.

“I was kind of the same way.” She admitted, and it felt like a slight relief to be able to say aloud to someone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you about it.”

She still couldn’t, unfortunately. Not about Ladybug and the kwamis and the Miracle Box.

But…she could talk about Fu. How she lost him. How she feels. She could help support Alya and her classmates and be there for them in the meantime.

She…hadn’t lost everything.

Not yet.

And that was the scary thing…

Adrien gaped at the group. He had thought the trauma was bad enough, and that at least could be worked through. But this...

“I’m sorry. I...I didn’t even realize...”

“Adrien, what Chloe did put a major target on our backs.” Alya explained. “Nobody knows how we became heroes, or that Ladybug was the one to specifically choose us and give us the miraculous to use. Nobody knows WHY we were chosen. It’s not just Hawk Moth, any regular criminal can come after us now in an attempt to get a hold of that power. And we can’t exactly protect ourselves.”

She shrugged helplessly.

“We kind of have enough to worry about with the fallout of Chloe‘s actions. And now you want us to try and protect Chloe on top of that?“

Seeing it now, in this light...it was cruel. It was cruel and unfair and hurtful, and Marinette felt horrible for considering letting herself be talked into it.

Adrien himself felt horrible for even suggesting it.

“We all have to live with the consequences of Chloe’s choices.” Alya stated. “So why shouldn’t she?”

Silence followed. It practically echoed throughout the entire hallway.

He said nothing in response. What could he possibly say? He’d known that Chloe was…difficult with other people, to say the least. He’d known the type of person she was. But she was his friend and friends forgive and support each other, right?

But they were right as well. It wasn’t fair to expect them to help Chloe after what she did. Especially once he knew of the level of harm she’d caused them. He felt the horror trickle in. The trauma everyone felt. The knowledge of what they’d been forced to do. The fact that…

He suddenly found it harder to breathe.

Nino could leave.

Adrien could lose his best friend because of this.

And who knew how many of the others would be forced to leave as well. Aside from Nino; Kim, Max, Alya, and Luka were other heroes as well. Juleka was Luka’s sister. And how many of the other classmates might be pulled out of this class and school because it’s unsafe? And Kagami—oh god, she was outted as well. He hadn’t heard from her in a while. Her mother is probably furious. She could move back to Japan because of this. And Marinette…she had been lucky to not be caught up in that fight since she was a hero only the one time, but that could have been just one more thing Chloe ruined for her…

…what about himself?

He paled.

He was longtime friends with Chloe. Went to school with Chloe. Was in class with Chloe. Chloe, who was currently getting a lot of heat from all of Paris. How was his Father going to react to that? The man was always focused on the company and appearances…what would he do now that Chloe had fallen from grace in such a way? Would he forbid Adrien from talking to Chloe again? Would he pull Adrien from school?

…would he ban Adrien from leaving the house altogether?

How was he only just now considering the impact? For himself or anyone else? Of course people would be hurt. Of course they would be upset. Of course people would respond. Somehow, he knew that, and yet he had only been focused on Chloe that it hadn’t actually hit home until now…

And in that light…

It had been selfish to ask. Honestly, he’d known that when he first tried to approach Marinette. But he felt he had to try. Honestly, part of him had known better than to ask in the first place. But at the same time…there was a part of him that still believed things could just go back to “normal”.

…how foolish. That was a “normal” that nobody else wanted. And even more, it was one that was now impossible…all because of Chloe herself.

“I just wanted to help.”

He deflated, losing all remaining fight.

“I’m sorry.”

The classmates glanced between each other. There was much they could have said, but really, anything they could have said already had been. And with him seeming resigned, it appeared there was no longer a need to defend themselves.

Marinette—ever the mediator, stepped up and hugged Adrien.

“Adrien, this isn’t something you can help with. None of us can. What happens in the trial is up to the courts. And what happens to Chloe is up to her.”

Slowly, he reached up and hugged her as well. The warmth and comfort brought some limited solace in this situation. He felt lost. Out of control. Like the world was moving around him and he didn’t know where he was standing much less where he was supposed to be.

They weren’t ready to forgive Chloe. And he couldn’t force them to be. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t blame them. And it was really unfair of him to try. Especially…

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” He whispered to her.

He had tried to use her. Looking back, he had a bit of a tendency to rely on Marinette to fix things when she shouldn’t have had to. Especially when it was for Chloe’s sake. He knew plenty of times Chloe had done things…but he always seemed to overlook how hurt Marinette was because of it, simply due to how well she always appeared afterwards. She was strong and confident, but also a good listener and willing to forgive. It was like nothing really brought her down.

It was due to this that Marinette was often the one he turned to whenever things happened. Because she would listen. She would understand. And she would always try to help, regardless of her position.

In this light…he may have over relied on her too much.

“I wasn’t fair to you.” He admitted. “I just saw Chloe hurting and only thought about how to fix things for her. I didn’t consider your feelings.” He hugged her more strongly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t speak. But she squeezed him back.

He felt another body press against him. A quick glance showed it to be Nino.

“I’m still super mad with her. And I don’t like how you tried to push us to defend her after what she did. But I get that she’s your friend and you care about her. I’d do the same if it were you in her place.” He gave a small laugh. “Not that I think you ever would, of course.”

Adrien smiled back. “Thanks.”

This…this felt much better.

Things weren’t okay right now. He still wanted to help Chloe. His classmates were still hurt. People were still angry. Hawk Moth was still out there.

But whatever happened...in this moment, he felt they could make it.

#ml fic #chloe salt #miracle queen #marinette dupain cheng #marinette defense squad #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #adrien salt

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nagimitsus · 3 years

Text

Title: somewhere along the line

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Synopsis: For all his delicate appearance, Venti has always been incredibly strong.

Diluc has known this from the start. Before the traveler entered their lives, before the battles, before he saw him standing in front of a dragon, ready to give everything in exchange for the freedom of another. And Diluc had thought, now that is how a god should behave.

That is someone I could believe in.

[Read on AO3!]

For all his delicate appearance, Venti has always been incredibly strong.

That is someone I could believe in.

It should come as a surprise, the amount of respect that he has gathered for the bard of melodious voice that makes himself at home only at his tavern. But it doesn’t. Maybe Diluc felt a pang of nuisance at first, when he thought of Venti only as a drunkard with too many stories to tell.

That was before he came to know him. Before the nights when his smile became sad after too many bottles of wine, small and nostalgic and unfitting in such a bright face. Before he understood that there was still a raw wound behind those eyes of his, still bleeding as much as Diluc’s own.

Diluc took the habit of offering him a glass of water and telling him to go home. The sensation of discomfort that nested his chest when Venti smiled up at him and asked what home was he talking about made Diluc wince.

At some point between that and the whole Dvalin situation, he stops asking Venti to go home and starts keeping him company until the silent streets of Mondstadt, illuminated only by the moon and the stars, call back for its bard.

When Venti leaves, his smile is a bit more grateful and a lit less lonely, and Diluc tells him “I hope you find something more rewarding to spend your time on, tomorrow” but thinks See you later.

Venti laughs. It sounds like a breeze. “What’s more rewarding than wine, I wonder?” he says, and has the audacity to wink.

Diluc sighs, because there’s nothing else he can do.

The thing about Venti is that he doesn’t want to be worshipped.

He doesn’t. It’s made clear in the way he behaves, the way he doesn’t stop too much in front of the church unless it’s to perform, the way he talks to the citizens of his country as if they were more friends than subjects. And it’s not because he likes the freedom that comes with anonymity, it’s not because of his own wants or needs.

It’s because he wants them to be free, in this city where there are no tyrants and no gods. This city where they can follow the winds and their hearts alike, bound by nothing but their own ideals.

Diluc protects Mondstadt, fiercely. Because he loves everything it represents and everything it stands for.

And likewise, he protects the god that gifted them all of this.

Venti stops by the Winery of Dawn sometimes. Diluc finds him trying to steal wine or sleeping inside a barrel, and thinks: this is not a deity, this is a raccoon.

Still, because he has a bit of faith left in him and because he used to go to church with his father back in the day, Diluc takes him by the back of his cape and into the house, where he makes sure he’s put to rest in one of their spare rooms, with enough water on his bed table to deal with the hangover.

By the next morning he’s always gone, but the wind blows gently through the open window.

Sometimes, if he’s still sober enough to string a few words together when Diluc takes him in, Venti laughs, and clings to his shoulders with both arms, and says things like “I can sing for you if you desire it, Master Diluc”, with that sweet voice blurry but cheerful.

Diluc sits him down before the fireplace on those occasions, just so he can make sure that Venti drinks enough water and doesn’t do something like throwing up into his own mouth and suffocating on it.

What a troublesome bard, Diluc thinks. The thought is covered in affection anyway, and he has to sigh to himself at that. Venti blinks slowly at him, almost as if he could know what’s crossing his mind just by looking at him, and then he leans in his direction with a drunken smile that makes Diluc roll his eyes.

“You,” Venti says, slowly but with intent, “are a very good person. Do you know that, Master Diluc?”

The reaction is immediate. Diluc can feel it start on his stomach and creep up until his head, his ears, his hands. It’s a fuzzy sentiment that makes home on his chest and purrs like a cat, a reminder of how good it is to be acknowledged.

Diluc looks back at Venti’s eyes, clear even in his state.

When he was young, he wondered how the truly religious felt. He asked Jean once, eleven or so, as little Barbara tried to sign in tone with the croaking of a frog. And Jean, always patient and warm, had said: I don’t think it can be explained.

But it can.

Diluc feels like he’s being hugged by a tornado and cradled by the breeze at the same time. It’s excruciating and infuriating and exhilarating, and it’s making a knot into his stomach, reddening his ears.

He scoffs lightly, but his voice is not unkind when he says:

“And you are very drunk.”

Venti laughs at that, and the sound reverberates in the space of the room.

The only reason Diluc doesn’t leave is because he’s still afraid that Venti will throw up all over himself.

(The traveler comes.

The traveler comes, they fight against Dvalin, and Diluc has to see Venti’s slender form fly across the battlefield when the dragon hits him once. Even when he gets up immediately, smiling through the pain, the knot that he made in Diluc’s stomach twitches and hurts.

He makes sure to tell Barbara that the bard got hurt once they go back to Mondstadt, and ignores the perplexed look that he sends his way.)

Venti doesn’t come to the winery for a few weeks after the Dvalin incident, and they don’t meet up at the tavern either. Diluc would be worried, if he didn’t see him here and there, talking to Kaeya or playing a simple tune for Klee (who he seems to adore, if the warm look in his eyes as the little girl tries to harmonize with him.)

Diluc is not prone to lie to himself, so he doesn’t even try to deny that he misses Venti’s annoying presence. Still, since the traveler left for Liyue, the whole town seems to have subdued, its upbeat attitude turned into a dull sense of longing.

Someone knocks on his door one night, almost sixteen days after he saw Venti for the last time. And of course, as fate would have it, it’s the bard himself who’s waiting at the other side.

Rain is not unusual in Mondstadt, even when they’re accustomed to a gentle drizzle, so most citizens have learned to take an umbrella with them when the spring is creeping on them.

Venti is dripping wet, and there’s something in the way his clothes cling to the line of his shoulders that make him straight up sad, almost pathetic. Still, the gleam on his eyes is a tell-tale that he’s been drinking, and the curve of his smile is too close to loneliness. It stirs something in Diluc, calls for the silent understanding of their nights in the tavern.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes a step to the side to let him in.

The maids will find awfully unpleasant the wetness on the carpet, Diluc’s mind supplies, but it’s difficult to care when Venti smiles like rain and alcohol and apples, all mixed up. His mere presence tends to be intoxicating, with the way he takes so much space with his voice and his laugh and his music, but it’s even worse now. Maybe it’s because Diluc has become unaccustomed to it.

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Diluc asks after a few seconds. Venti’s smile is still sad, but it’s there nonetheless.

If this were any other person, the sound of the wind outside might have drowned their words. But Venti has never known how to be quiet, and so Diluc hears him without any trouble:

“You care about me, don’t you, Master Diluc?”

He sighs, and closes the door. The storm becomes a muted sound behind the wood and the steel, and somehow that adds to the intimate atmosphere that this scene carries. Diluc can feel it at his throat, the warning, the threat that comes with the closeness. He talks through it.

“I don’t think you’ve made all the way here just to point out the obvious, bard.”

He turns then, and Venti is still there, looking straight into him. In the pit of his eyes there’s an ancient kind of loneliness that makes him look terribly old. It’s in times like this when it becomes easy to think of him as a god. Again, Diluc thinks of what being religious means, thinks of kissing his temple and his hands until pink and red go back to his skin, thinks of drying his hair and lending him a bed.

That’s not the kind of devotion that a God requires. But for Venti, who would treat the cathedral built in his name just to see Klee smile, who dirties his hands helping Sucrose with her work and runs away from Diona between laughs whenever she gets angry at him, it might be enough.

Venti laughs. The sound is enough to loosen the muscles of Diluc’s tense shoulders.

“I haven’t,” Venti says, and then he turns around and walks into the house as if it belongs to him. Diluc follows, waiting for him to go on. Since he doesn’t, he adds:

“I’m not going to serve you wine here,” just to make sure that’s out of the table.

Venti hums, amused. He goes straight to the fireplace, sticking both hands in front of the flames. Diluc stops just three steps away from him, taking a few seconds to stare at the side of his face, shadows dancing over the curves of his nose, his eyebrows, his neck.

“I lost something important,” Venti says at least, his voice soft, “and my power has decreased drastically.”

Diluc frowns before he can stop himself. Venti looks at him with that same smile that doesn’t suit him, even as he’s winking, probably trying to downplay his own words.

“Worst possible time too, right?”

Diluc would know. The Abyss Order’s activity is still on rise, and the Fatui are getting bolder every passing day. He knows the Knights of Favonious are not good enough to keep them all at bay, not enough to protect all of Mondstadt, bound by the laws and diplomacy and their own duty.

Even so,

“I’m still here,” he reminds him, as if it was obvious. “And Jean will do everything in her power.”

Venti looks at him through the corner of his eye for a second before he’s turning his whole body, hands on his hips. He giggles again, and even though the sound is far off the usual, it doesn’t sound as tense as his last words.

“Are you saying you will protect me, Master Diluc?”

Diluc doesn’t roll his eyes, because he’s not keen on the gesture, but he hopes that the expression on his face is enough to convey his feelings of fond frustration. One can’t be serious with Venti around unless someone is in immediate danger, it seems.

“I am saying that if my actions can bestow some peace upon you, know that I’ll keep protecting Mondstadt.”

Venti takes a step in his direction, then another. When his hands close around Diluc’s white shirt, they leave wet marks that extend through the cloth under his fingers, cold against his skin. The flower on his hat has lost at least two petals in the rain, but his eyes are alive and warm as they look straight into Diluc’s red ones.

He doesn’t feel the need to confess, doesn’t want to kneel down and ask for forgiveness for his sins. But he wants to keep Venti here nonetheless, in the intimacy of the room illuminated only by the flames. Maybe that’s a thought that needs absolution.

“You,” Venti says, very slowly, “are a very good person. Did you know that, Master Diluc?”

He smirks, the little shit. Diluc doesn’t bother to answer this time, because he’s too busy trying to calm down the beating of his heart as Venti gets on his tiptoes, one hand going to his shoulder, the other remaining on his chest.

Diluc leans down into the kiss, and it’s impossible to think of a god when the laugh that he swallows in his own mouth it’s so undeniably Venti.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fic #diluven #dilven #diluc ragnvindr #venti #diluven fic #diluc x venti

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runtedfiction · 3 years

Text

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

#zelink week 2021 #zelink #zelink fanfiction

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

Text

The Last Cigarette (Spencer Reid x Reader) Smut

Summary: Mr Scratch was an unsub with undoubtedly the greatest impact on the team. Even in death, he pushes Spencer beyond the preconception of his limits.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins‘ server! This Unsub!Spencer!AU is for the outstanding @cardigayn <3 I hope you like it!

Content warning: Character death, abuse of power, physical assault, murder, Unsub!Spencer, mentions of rape and attempted murder, mentions of knife wounds, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Smut content warning: AFAB!Reader, they/them pronouns, facesitting, hair pulling, overstimulation, light choking, riding, biting, praise kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a hint of breeding

Gif credit: @imagining-in-the-margins // Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

No one on the team spoke about what Luke did to Scratch – or rather, what he didn’t do. The BAU were far beyond tired of that man’s torments. His impact upon each member was the greatest of any unsub they had ever encountered and now it was finally time to close the book on his crimes. That included turning their gaze away from the abuse of power that Luke had taken by letting Scratch fall from that building. Not the first time the team had banded together to mask a member’s tracks.

Spencer glanced up from his paperwork. Everyone else in the bullpen was focused on their tasks, as if nothing had happened. Even Emily was at her desk and typing away at her desktop when she had been an inch away from death not two weeks ago.

Spencer’s pen tapped against the desk twice before it was placed down adjacent to his pencil pot. He remembered the details of their cover-up. That wasn’t what paused his paperwork.

His mind was straying to another timeline, in accordance to the multi-verse theory. Luke had made a choice in this universe to not pull Scratch up. In another universe, he decided to save the unsub. What happened next?

After experiencing prison first hand, Spencer could somewhat pinpoint how long Scratch would have lasted in a place like Millburn. The respect for serial killers on the inside, especially those who had tormented law enforcement, would keep him alive.

There was the chance that there was another universe where Scratch would have gotten off scot free. And another timeline where Scratch, without a gun, overpowered Luke or Matt, taking either or both of them down. Kristy had no husband. Jake, David, Chloe, and Lily had no father. Roxy had no owner.

Maybe it was better that Luke didn’t help Scratch off that ledge, that Matt had just stayed back.

Spencer could not decide what he would have done in that situation, and he didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean another version of him didn’t. To be jealous of a version of himself that did not exist in his world was a bad idea. It was out of his hands and in his head – the roof, the unsub, the choice.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Anyone want a coffee?”

A series of murmurs rose from the team, all negative, and Luke tucked his chair back under his desk before he walked off to the SAPD break room. Spencer watched his reflection in the conference room’s window. There was an itch in his brain that spread through a nerve to his knee – bouncing it just beneath the table.

Suddenly that nerve propelled him to follow Luke. Spencer’s feet weaved him in between officers until he found his teammate switching on the station’s coffee pot.

“Change your mind?” Luke raised an unsuspicious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, and he collected a mug to wash up. Suds flooded in the sink, rolling out the mug and around the plughole. Spencer fixated on them, a menial hope that he could focus on something else rather than the temptation of asking Luke for details.

He had to be closer of being clean of this whole thing than he thought. Scratch was dead, the case was closed. A few more years, this would be a memory that haunted him every few weeks instead of every day.

Dilaudid was craved by a tiny section of his brain, but he knew that it would not help him at all. He needed something else to help ease the cravings. If only he had inherited his mother’s affinity for cigarettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luke shrugged in return, “Sure.” He had opened his palm by his side but did not reach out to Spencer’s clean mug. Spencer appreciated that. A glance at the bullpen, visible through the open door, told him that no one else had followed them. It wasn’t too late. He could come up with a question about the case, about Roxy, about anything.

“What did he look like before he fell?”

Luke’s expression sobered and soured. He too checked the proximity of the police officers outside their bubble. Clearing his throat twice, he poured the coffee into his mug and spun the handle once it was down to fit Spencer’s need.

His voice was low as he said, “He looked desperate.”

Spencer nodded while he poured into his own cup. Perhaps more caffeine would aid him, for he had scratched the itch and it had spread elsewhere. Stirring in some sugar, he took a burning sip before it had dissolved and cringed at the granules in his mouth.

It was when he’d finally swallowed them, instead of spitting out like he wanted to, that Spencer gave into the itch: “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me to help him.” Luke blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even then, he still struggled to swallow it. “He begged.”

“That can’t have been easy. Thanks for telling me.”

But Luke didn’t seem like he concurred. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to make right the claim and say that letting Scratch die was the easiest decision in the world.

Spencer blinked. Luke was gone, already back in the conference room. Perhaps he’d imagined something like that. His attention shifted to Scratch’s face, morphing it until it was a stereotypical expression of fear. Spencer had heard too much of that man’s voice, but it was good for one thing: recreating the words Luke had told him.

“Help me. Please!”

Matt was back with Emily.

And suddenly so was Luke. Spencer had gone it alone after Scratch. It was just the two of them on the roof, and soon it would be one.

Scratch’s clothes were whipped up by the wind, his begging too. It was almost as though he reached up for Spencer. One last cry for help. Then he fell, silent and ragdoll-esque.

Just before the body hit the ground, Scratch was clinging to the building’s side again. When he fell this time, he screamed hysterically. It echoed across the roof until Spencer couldn’t discern it from the wind. A swell of relief spread through his body. He took a sip from his coffee.

“Reid?” Just as he had done a minute prior, Luke was lingering in the doorway. “We should get back to the conference room.”

“Right,” Spencer dropped the teaspoon onto the side. It clattered about the side, then went quiet, then hit the floor. Spencer didn’t turn to see where it landed.

--->--->--->--->--->

What an absolute smarty pants who could just about learn to use Teams by himself. Spencer leant to the right in his office chair as his partner Y/N showed him the ropes of his new application. How lucky he was to still have them after all they had been through – together and apart.

“And… ta-dah!” Y/N made jazz hands at the monitor.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” Spencer straightened up, smiling at the screen, “Can I get you a reward?”

Y/N seemed to ponder on this offer, an act Spencer had seen many times and never grew tired of. Then Y/N tapped their cheek twice and bent forward. With butterflies in his stomach, Spencer tilted his chin up and pressed a lingering kiss there. There was a bashful smile across their face when they drew away. Even after all this time, Spencer was proud he could still affect them so.

The door to his office shut behind them and Spencer looked over his desktop’s background. His students’ homework was hovering in the background, already being printed off. The printer stuttering out each page had long since been tuned out

He glanced away from it to his left and saw Y/N again. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, their body close and facing Spencer with a clear expression drawing bravery upon them. Spencer’s head then turned to see if Scratch was still dangling by the tips of his fingers. He was.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked, his voice almost torn away by the wind he couldn’t feel against his cheek.

Y/N hardly spared Scratch a glance. They had never seen him before, and they made this one time they did as short as possible. Their hand moved Spencer’s head so that Scratch was in his blind spot. They held his face and looked on him sweetly, even in the darkness around them.

They gave Spencer their answer: “Leave him.”

Scratch’s body trembled as his head rigidly shook, “Please!”

But Y/N took Spencer’s hand in their free one and they held it even as Scratch’s grip failed him. Only then did they look at the unsub and watch unflinchingly together as their tormenter fell to his death. A second later, the pair heard the body hit the ground. Spencer began to move towards the ledge, Y/N tugging him back towards the door of the roof.

“I have to see,” Spencer insisted, “I have to know he’s really gone.”

There was no pity, just empathy, as Y/N nodded their head, “Ok.” Their hands tensed together while they approached the roof’s end.

There he was, his body broken, his head smashed against the dirt. Lifeless. Gone.

Then Scratch was falling again, the last seconds of existence, and Y/N was hiding their face in Spencer’s shoulder. He was holding them tight, so that if they changed their mind about watching, they wouldn’t be able to. But he was watching everything in slow motion.

Every fraction of change in Scratch’s terror was drawn out until it was a pantomime of itself.

“Are you ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes, Spencer kissed Y/N’s head. He basked in his comfort before he opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath from the comfort of his desk chair. Then he collected the printed essays of his students, grabbing a pen to prepare for marking.

--->--->--->--->--->

This time Hotch was there, Jack’s face hidden in his father’s chest. Derek too, holding little Hank with all the tenderness a father could.

Spencer waved his hand towards the door, “Get them out of here. I don’t want them to see this.” He waited dutifully for them to leave, both of them sending a nod Spencer’s way.

Once the door bounced against its frame to close, he stood at the edge. He couldn’t feel the cold rushing past him, coaxing him to fall with Scratch, but he could picture hearing it. Almost deafening him to Scratch’s pleas, he turned those words up loud so that he could hear the moment the words stopped, the moment that Spencer pulled out his Smith & Wesson and shot Scratch in the head. His grip faltered instantly and his lifeless body tumbled down.

“No.”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut before looking back at the geographic profile.

“No what?”

He started. He didn’t realise that Tara was still in the room with him.

His words tumbled out quickly, “Just testing a theory, but it’s not right, it doesn’t fit.”

Nodding, Tara made her way beside him and observed the evidence collected so far, “We’ll get there. Just keep that brain going.”

Spencer planned to do just that. This daydream wasn’t as satisfying, like Nicorette mists or chewing gum. Just shooting him in the head? That was more than mercy for Scratch. No, he’d have to come up with something else to use. For the daydream of course.

He was glad that Tara was treating him normally. Not like JJ, who had checked in on him for Dilaudid before take-off. She was hovering around him like a gnat and it was starting to piss him off. Where was this energy when he was actually contemplating the drug’s pros and cons? He was determined to keep it together for the team to function and solve this case, but JJ in his peripherals was making it hard to focus. On work. Not the daydreaming. He loved her to bits, but he just wished she’d leave him to his own devices unless it concerned the case. That was the priority now.

The broken fingers of the victims sat like warped roots of a tree on the board, each knuckle shattered with a hammer. This unsub – a man in his 20s, not 30s – had such an odd post-mortem signature. Like when Ronald Weems did on the prostitutes. The ones Nathan Harris was obsessed with, wrote about, then killed himself before he could re-enact such a crime.

But it was fine. This was different. Spencer wasn’t writing these down. He didn’t need to. That, and he wasn’t about to recreate his daydreams.

“Excuse me.”

“Off for a smoke?” Luke joked half-heartedly.

Shortly after shaking off that effort at a joke, Spencer’s hand froze against the metal pole of the wheelchair access to the police station. His lungs took a deep breath of the cool Christmas air, a worthless hit. He hoped that Derek and Hotch were being the fathers they always wanted to be - that Gideon could have been.

--->--->--->--->--->

Adrenaline was what enabled him to haul Scratch up. Still, Spencer strained with his weight. He was gasping with the unsub when they were both allowed back onto the roof, Scratch’s knees digging into the floor for security and his hands still clasping the edge of the building - from the other side now.

Spencer watched, blood roaring in his ears with each panting breath. He took one deeper and let out a yell as he kicked his foot up into Scratch’s nose. Scratch rolled onto his back with a ragged rasp, blood spouting from his nose to stain everything it made contact with, and his head lolled off the edge of the building. Spencer’s chest burned with unsatisfaction so he kicked again. This time, his foot came down on Scratch’s groin. Ineffective in stopping him from standing, this was personal deliverance of pain.

He was out of breath but completely fine. He had the energy to drag Scratch back with one hand at his ankle, so now his head was beneath a solid enough surface to stomp on three times. Each one sent Scratch’s eyes rolling back further into his head.

Spencer began to use his hands. Getting close into Scratch’s space, he lay punch after punch, no pain on his hands, no. He put it all into Mr Scratch for every second he stole from him and his team until finally he stood up.

Scratch barely had enough energy to cough behind the blood pooling in his mouth. But Spencer could make out the one word he was wheezing in his agony.

“Spencer.”

Then, and only then, did Spencer draw his gun once more and shoot Mr Scratch in the neck.

The jet jolted as its wheels touched the runway. Spencer leant back in his chair, dragged as the jet slowed to a stop. He grunted, his head still catching up to that sudden jolt.

“I want you all to just go home, alright?” Prentiss was already stood at the end of the plane’s gangway, “Get some rest.”

The rest of the trip home was a blur for Spencer; it was committed to his memory but not with any intrigue. Only when he dropped his keys in the front door’s bowl did he start paying attention to his surroundings again. Y/N was powerwalking over to him, instinctively reaching out long before they made it to him.

“Hey baby!” They greeted, and Spencer enfolded them into a tight embrace, “You must be knackered.”

They swayed a little on the spot as Spencer answered, “I was.”

“Was?”

“Not after seeing you.”

His chin brushed over Y/N’s shoulder before he kissed that spot, smiling against the cloth of their shirt. His support rocked as Y/N giggled. Their grip on him tightened for a moment before they ran a hand over his tummy, the little “pouch” as they had affectionately named it. A thought ran past his eyes: that it wouldn’t hurt to start working out if he was going to do more than just shoot Scratch.

“Cheeky,” Y/N touched one of his curls as they pulled away, “Come on, let’s go to bed. Not like that.” They tapped his nose at the raise of his eyebrows.”

“I missed you,” Spencer said, not immediately after that, but when they were both in bed together, “I always do.”

“Me too.”

Y/N was unable to look Spencer in the eye. Spencer loved that they were so overwhelmed with love that they had to seek refuge elsewhere. They were just like him in that sense.

--->--->--->--->--->

Gun drawn, Spencer took deliberate steps stalking through the darkened apartment complex. The entire area was due for demolishing the following morning, so there were plenty hiding spaces for this unsub to jump out of. Every deep breath stilled his hands as he moved swiftly around each corner. Matt mumbled something in his earpiece about going down to the poolside.

He made his way to the third floor and followed the glowing green signs towards the fire escape.

Martin Harvey had just turned around to see Spencer. He instantly dropped the pipe he was wielding and thrust his hands into the air.

“Ok, ok, ok, you got me. Don’t shoot.”

His legs crumbled and he fell to his knees. A coward, just like the profile had said. This was too easy. No, it wasn’t actually. Interviewing those parents and friends of the victims, gritting teeth while working through red tape set up by the small town talk and the prejudices constructed long before this case occurred, none of that and none of what came prior was easy.

“Get up there.”

Harvey frowned, his eyes unsteady between Spencer’s face and Spencer’s gun, “What?”

Spencer tilted the barrel of his gun to the fire escape stairs for a second, immediately returning it onto Harvey, “You heard me.”

Shaking, Harvey took the steps as they came. His hands were still on his head. His boots made hollow clanks against the rusting metal, echoing Spencer’s lighter taps, until they came into contact with the concrete of the roof. The wind felt more brutal today. It was colder than Spencer imagined. The February chills shouldn’t dissuade him much though.

The second Harvey made a move to spin around, Spencer smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Harvey tripped forwards but remained upright. So Spencer holstered his weapon, grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, and punched across his nose. Both men let out a cry. Spencer flexed his fingers to subside the pain, but it continued to shoot up and down his bones. Another attempt, he grappled with the scruff of Harvey’s shirt then shoved him off his balance to the ground. The unsub wobbled and cried out as he fell backwards. Spencer kicked again, not as strong as the last time, but he felt the surge of power in him. Adrenaline, real and flooding his every movement. This was beyond what his fantasies had ever brought him, and he was living for it. He didn’t have to hold back anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey sobbed, trying to hide in his hands. Pathetic. The man who had raped and attempted murder on five different women couldn’t take it when a man stood up to him.

He hit Harvey once more but drew back from the opportunity for a third. Instead, he rolled the body over the edge with just enough tact to allow Harvey to make a grab for the edge.

Once more, Harvey begged for Spencer to stop.

Spencer looked down on this low life, this scum that dared to interfere with innocent lives for fun. The heel of his shoe came down hard on Harvey’s hand. He howled in pain. Spencer stomped down again; this time there was a series of collective crunches. Harvey let go with that hand, but the other was still clinging dearly to the roof.

As he stared into those panicked eyes, Spencer squatted down beside Harvey’s hands. Broken fingers flailed nearby, Harvey not strong enough to pull himself up and reach for Spencer. His thumb slid off the edge, and the pinkie finger too.

The begging faded into the background. The fear in his face, it had to be at least somewhat the same as Scratch’s. The proximity to danger was beyond comfort.

People he lost:

Derek.

Hotch.

Emily, nearly.

People he loved:

Tara.

Matt.

Penelope.

Luke.

JJ.

Him.

Mom.

Y/N.

Spencer brought down the butt off his gun onto the last three fingers holding on. His eyelids forced him to watch as Harvey fell fast to the ground, a crunch of bones reaching his ears when the ground met with him

A delicious shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. He shook his shoulders and breathed it out. There was not the extreme of happy. Felt in his heart was content in the gentle breeze, in the dull pain.

“Prentiss. He’s dead. I’m on the roof.”

“We’re on our way, Reid.”

--->--->--->--->--->

Paramedics had pressed the sterilised cotton against his cuts while his eyes were on the bag that was wheeled away towards the other ambulance. Spencer’s thousand-yard stare ended shortly after that; Emily walked into his view and touched his shoulder. Her embrace was welcomed greatly, as was the nap he took on the flight back.

His bag was not as heavy as he remembered it being as he drew up to his apartment. Once his keys were out the door, he dropped everything and was on his way to the bedroom for an early night when he bumped into Y/N – who was all bundled in their pyjamas.

“You’re back! In time for Valentine’s Day!” Y/N’s smile was quick to disappear, “What happened?”

“I found the unsub. He fought back, resisted. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh Spencer.” They hovered an inch over his face before they settled their hands on him.

A quick kiss on his lips, then they took him into the kitchen and set about making a tea for him. But Spencer didn’t really need, or want, one. He slipped up behind them, mumbling into their ear, “I’m meant to be the one taking care of you today.”

“We take care of each other, Spencer, you know that.” Y/N patted his arms that were now around their waist. Spencer kissed the spot below their ear, smirking into\ them as he felt the stutter in their movements. His lips found the side of their neck and kissed again.

“We do,” He agreed.

“You know, I won’t be able to take care of you if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer nuzzled his cheek against them, “Just not by making me tea.” To make extra sure his point was getting across, Spencer moved them around and kissed them with two fingers lightly pinching their chin.

“Your hand-”

“Doesn’t hurt. And I have two.”

Already Spencer was unbuttoning Y/N’s shirt, his thin fingers parting it open to place his cool touch against their bare skin. It shuddered beneath him, sending waves to help him map the rest of their body again in his mind. A tingle sat in between his shoulder blades as Y/N tugged at the curls in the nape of his neck.

How they got into bed doesn’t really matter. It was when Spencer’s hands pressed into the mattress that he winced away from Y/N’s lips.

“You are hurting,” They pushed to sit up.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“What I need is for you to sit on my face and not stand up until I say so.”

Spencer heard Y/N’s teeth knock together as they closed their once-agape mouth. “Can you help me with that?”

Y/N nodded, dumbstruck at Spencer’s words and the thumb he was dragging across their bottom lip in an attempt to distract from his injuries.

“Y/N, I’m ok. Really. It’s just a little sting. Let me love you.”

“I’m not stopping you. I’m just worried.”

Throb of each cut on his hand as his fingers fanned across their skin Grasping tight on their thighs

He only had to let go for a moment while Y/N stripped clean of their clothes Seeking refuge, he felt completely content with those thick thighs wrapped around his head. Not a single time did his mind stray to Scratch or any other unsub now that Y/N was safe from them. Calm seeped over him, fuelling his biting and lavishing his tongue upon their inner thighs

His pace enjoyed such a leisurely stroll around their cunt, the tip of his tongue gliding through each of their folds. Eyes still closed, he had the image of it soaking wet with his spit and their juices. He licked his lips once before he pursed them around the clit. His hands, now stiff and sore from stroking their hips, reached up to touch their chest. He fondled at their sensitive nipples with delight at Y/N fisting at his hair. All this, and he licked at Y/N’s clit like it was an ice lolly on a summer’s day.

When Y/N came first, they let out short bursts of breath coupled with their moans. The second time, they had to hold onto the bedframe as their body slumped forward and their clit rubbed up against Spencer’s nose. On the third, they fell off his chin, rolled to their side of the bed. Giggles fell from their satisfied smile as they curled up. Smearing the back of his hand across his mouth, Spencer pushed onto his side so he could reach them for another kiss. Y/N could barely respond and they were still laughing as Spencer pulled them into his lap. His fingers looked so pretty around their neck; he kept them there until silence filled the room again. When they reached that moment, he squeezed lightly and let out a gentle “hmm” at Y/N’s moan.

“You good, darling?” He whispered.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Though their lips were together, they parted in pants and smiles.

“You got one more for me?”

“Of course,” Y/N clumsily patted a hand down his cheek, “You haven’t even had one yet.”

“I don’t need one.”

“You must be the only guy to say that and mean it.”

Swallowing the statistic on how many men had said they wanted to orgasm during sex, Spencer watched Y/N struggle to sit on his cock. Their legs were shaking uncontrollably; they didn’t settle, not even in his firm hold.

His hands dragged them down onto him and over their moans he whispered, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

“I wanna give you what you want.”

As Y/N rocked into him, Spencer shared the last of their tangy taste that lingered on his tongue. Then he found peace in resting his chin on their shoulder, rising and falling as they did.

“You wanna cum for me?”

Their words hit his ears, “Please, help me.”

A spike of pleasure ripped through his body. In an instant, Spencer flipped them over and drove his hips hard into them. His teeth sunk into the skin of their shoulder before releasing his load into them. His entire being trembled into Y/N, their ankles locked in his lower back lazily as he milked every last drop of exhilaration he could from them.

His cock stayed inside them, keeping his cum safe inside. Y/N barely lifted their head but luckily for them, Spencer’s shoulder was within their reach. They bit him in the same spot he had bitten them, not releasing him until their marks matched.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” They mumbled against him.

Spencer tipped himself back an inch or two, “I’m happy you’re safe too.” He didn’t mind the ache on his skin any more than the others. It was a nice collection he had gathered today.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.”

--->--->--->--->--->

This was it, the last cigarette. He didn’t have to worry about Scratch anymore after this.

A low whistle lead Spencer to pull at his collar sheepishly, and Tara leant against his desk. At first, he ignored her, signing off the last of his paperwork. His mandatory session with the team’s therapist set fresh on his lungs without a single symptom of guilt.

“Well, well, well,” Tara teased, indicating to her neck with two fingers tapping, “Something about a life or death situation that gets you in the mood?”

“Actually, research into the terror management theory has shown that people respond to mortality reminders by bolstering their own cultural view, derogating opposing views, and shoring up their self-esteem. By this account, the effect of death on libido will depend on the meaning that sex has for a person.”

“And what does it mean for you?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tara grinned, “I would hazard a guess that Y/N’s looking the same.”

Spencer shook his head playfully, “We said we wouldn’t profile each other.”

The ribbing came to a close as Penelope brushed past and announced to the bullpen, “We have a new case, in the conference room.”

Spencer dropped his finished case file into Emily’s empty office on the way to the conference room, his hand only complaining an itch at the motions of holding a pen and a form. It didn’t end as he flicked over the file’s papers while Penelope went over the details of their latest case – gruesome photos of open knife wounds the television screens.

The shrinking juxtaposition between body discoveries indicated a devolving unsub with a disintegrating cooling off period. Basically, it was an unsub not worthy of his daydreams or of his injuries.

Except that’s not what it was at all. This was an unsub to be arrested and face punishment, before more people could be hurt. Spencer didn’t need a cooling off period because he wasn’t going to do that again. He could recall his played-out fantasy in complete and utter detail, never forgetting a thing he saw.

And anyway, this unsub was definitely an impotent and disorganised man lashing out. Couldn’t hold a candle to Scratch. So why waste his time on that? Why would he have another cigarette when he didn’t need one right now?

--->--->--->--->

AN: I do not condone the actions displayed in this fic. I find unsub!AUs of the show interesting developments and the intended recipient of this fic is aware of that. I will not write a part two for this, because I do not have the motivation or idea besides Spencer getting caught and subsequently arrested.

Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #smut #my writing #wc: 5k+

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stolen-pen-name23 · 3 years

Note

Hey, I love your writing! How about "please talk to me" or "why don't you care?" with Obi-Wan and Anakin for the prompts?

Ahhh thank you so much!!! You're too sweet!

"Please talk to me" and "why don't you care" from these angst prompts. Note: I'm not going to close my inbox, but I'm going to be traveling for a few weeks so if you send me a request, I won't be able to get to it for a while. Plus, there are still quite a few prompts in my inbox I'm working on.

Anyway, here ya go!

---

Anakin hated it when Obi-Wan got like this.

Quiet.

He was never quiet, save in sleep or meditation — two thing he hadn’t been partaking in as much anymore. Any other time, he always had some observation or quippy remark to make. But not now. Now, he sat silently at the kitchen table, staring at his tea, lost in one thought or another.

Anakin knew that when Obi-Wan got quiet, something was wrong. Not that his stubborn old Master would ever express that outwardly. It drove Anakin mad.

Anakin slid into the chair across from Obi-Wan. “They’re going to ship us out again soon,” Anakin started.

Obi-Wan hummed.

“It feels like we just got back home.”

“I suppose it does.”

Anakin frowned. His attempts at conversation were not going well.

“Is something bothering you?” Anakin asked.

“It’s fine, Anakin.”

Anakin could feel frustration swelling up in his chest. What was bothering Obi-Wan? Was it something he did? Surely Obi-Wan would have told him if he did something to upset him. He had had no problem doing that in the past, but now… now tensions between them had become more taught. Anakin wasn’t sure if he was the problem.

“Are you mad at me?” Anakin asked tentatively, feeling like a youngling at the question.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Just drop it, Anakin.”

“Please,” Anakin said. “Just talk to me, Obi-Wan. You know you can talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” Obi-Wan said, lifting his gaze from the steaming mug in his hand to Anakin.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?” Obi-Wan relented.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“You can believe whatever you want to believe Anakin.”

“I believe something is wrong.”

“And you are free to do so.”

Anakin huffed. “Stop avoiding the question.”

“Stop asking,” Obi-Wan challenged.

Obi-Wan sipped at his tea and remained passive — the mask of indifference proving to Anakin that he felt anything but. Anakin’s pulse quickened and he felt heat crawling up his neck, reddening his skin.

“Stop trivializing this, Obi-Wan!” Anakin snapped.

“I’m not trivializing anything. There’s nothing to trivialize!”

“Force, why can’t you even pretend like you care about something for once? Do you just not care about anything? Is that it?”

Obi-Wan looked like he had been slapped across the face.

It was in that moment that Anakin realized that maybe he had gone too far this time – pushed a little too hard in an attempt to get a rise out of him.

“How could you say that? How could you think that of me?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, almost threatening.

“Master I-”

“You presume that I do not feel things because I do not react the way you do to every tragedy that befalls me? You think I am but an emotionless droid wandering around the galaxy? You believe I feel nothing after… after everything? Do you truly believe this?”

“No, Master, I don’t believe that. I didn’t mean–”

Obi-Wan raised his hands. “Stop Anakin. I don’t want to hear it right now. I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Obi-Wan promptly stood up and retreated to his room without even a parting glance Anakin’s way.

Anakin would not be going to bed. At least not here. Why stay in a cramped apartment with his broody former Master when there was a senatorial apartment with a warm bed and someone who was definitely not broody lying in it?

“I’m headed to your place,” Anakin said into his comm.

“I thought you were staying at the temple tonight, Ani?” Padme replied.

“I changed my mind. I’d rather stay with you.”

“Alright,” Padme said softly. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Anakin replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just want to see you.”

“Alright, Ani. I’ll see you soon then.”

Anakin grabbed his robe and tore through the halls of the temple until he was spilling into the streets of Coruscant. Cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t care. His annoyance, his anger, kept him feeling warm.

He should probably take a speeder. It would be faster. But he needed to burn off some energy and a brisk walk through the smog-soaked streets promised some reprieve from the worst of his rage.

The sights, the sounds, the smells of Coruscant all flooded his senses. He did his best to filter it out and focus on his destination, but a storefront was playing the nightly news and the headline passed through his unstable filters.

“Next up on evening news: A planet in distress. It has been one year since the assassination of Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.”

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately backtracked and stood in front of the holo, unable to look away and unable to hear anything else but this.

“With the Death Watch regime now in power, will Mandalore finally take a side in the Clone War? Tune in tonight for predictions from our expert analyst.”

Anakin’s thoughts raced back to the argument he had with Obi-Wan not even an hour ago.

Every tragedy that befalls me.

One year.

Oh yeah, Anakin messed up.

He fumbled around for his comm and flipped it open. “Padme, I’m so sorry, I can’t come by anymore. I need to go home.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Padme asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. I just need to clear something up with Obi-Wan. That’s all.”

“What did you do this time?” she groaned.

“I’ll tell you about it later, I need to go.”

“Alright, love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Anakin turned off his comm, turned on his heels, and ran.

He tore through the temple just as he had torn out of it. He ignored sideways glances and zeroed in on the pathway to their quarters. The door slid open at his command and he bounded over their threshold. Despite just covering a great distance to get here, the distance from the threshold to Obi-Wan’s room felt greater still. Still, he willed his legs, now tired from his sprint through Coruscant, to carry him to Obi-Wan’s room.

He did not bother knocking. If he did, Obi-Wan would refuse to see him and he needed to see him.

The room was cloaked in darkness, but city lights cascaded on Obi-Wan’s body through the window like artificial moonbeams. He was still as if in sleep, but his breathing was hitched and ragged and anything but restful.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked cautiously.

“Not now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan muttered softly.

“No, I–” Anakin faltered. “You don’t have to talk to me. I came to apologize.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

Anakin turned on a lamp and Obi-Wan squinted at the warm glow. His eyes, Anakin noticed, were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His hair was a mused and greasy mess.

“May I sit?” Anakin asked.

“If I tell you no, you will just sit anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that more than anyone.”

“So can I sit?” Anakin asked, trying not to let impatience creep back in.

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You may sit.”

Obi-Wan pulled himself up into a sitting position and moved sideways, allowing Anakin to sit beside him.

“Anakin stop,” Obi-Wan said quickly before Anakin could get all the way on his bed.

“What?” Anakin asked worried Obi-Wan had suddenly changed his mind.

“Take your muddy boots off before you get in my bed. Force who raised you?”

Anakin let out a sharp laugh. He relaxed. If Obi-Wan could scold him like that, then what existed between them was not entirely broken.

“I hate to break it to you, Master,” Anakin said. “But you had a significant hand in my upbringing.”

“Where did I go wrong?” Obi-Wan said, his half-smile an olive branch.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Anakin said. He pulled off his boots and settled in next to Obi-Wan. “You did okay.”

Obi-Wan’s half-smile lingered for a moment longer before fading away.

“Master, I–” Anakin started. He made himself gentler, softer, smaller — everything Obi-Wan needed him to be — everything he was not. “Master, I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

“It’s fine, Anakin.”

��It’s not. I shouldn’t have pushed you and I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Obi-Wan averted his gaze and remained silent.

“I know you care,” Anakin said earnestly. “I know you care about the Order. The war. Your men. I know you care about,” now Anakin’s breath shook. “I know you care about Ahsoka even though she’s gone. I know you care about me and… and I know you care about her.”

Obi-Wan remained silent for a while and Anakin fought the urge to ask him to say something. That’s how they ended up here in the first place.

“It’s been a year,” Obi-Wan said.

“I know,” Anakin said. “Well, I didn’t know, but I saw it on the news, and I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been a year and we’re still in this bloody war and she’s dead and he’s still…” alive.

Obi-Wan didn’t need to finish the sentence for Anakin to know what he meant. He blinked back tears, stubbornly refusing to let them fall.

Anakin sighed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. The words felt lame and altogether too small to cover the true meaning behind them. But he was not Obi-Wan. He had no words of wisdom or comfort to offer — only apologies and quiet condolences.

“I know, Anakin.”

“Is there something I can do?” Anakin asked, feeling useless.

Obi-Wan finally turned to him, and Anakin could feel the loneliness, the sadness, the exhaustion rolling off of his former Master.

“You can stay.”

So he did.

#my writing #anakin and obi wan #thanks for the prompt!#prompt fill

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bouncingkadachi · 3 years

Text

Blessed Rain

Summary: A Hunter’s weapon of choice says a lot about them. OR: Kyle upgrades his weaponry and gets caught red-handed in the act. Luckily (?) for him, only Tsukino seems to know exactly why he's having an emotional crisis over this.

Word count: 3,260

Note(s): set post-game

Also available on AO3!

Kyle’s had his new bow for a good couple of weeks before the feel of the limbs and the weight of the draw became comfortable enough for him to consider upgrading it. If he’s going to be injured, he reasons, he’d rather it be purely by way of monster and not because he pulls a muscle wrestling with a bow that hasn’t been properly broken in. His wallet despairs as he forks over the zenny, but this’ll hopefully let him take on some of the bigger hunts like the ones that Reverto goes on. It’ll all be worth the investment up front once he has his completely finished bow and restocked his coatings and finally drops the last of his coin on a couple new talismans.

He refuses to think about the implications of his reasoning with a literal coin, rolling it around and around his fingers as he pushes through the market throngs towards the smithy’s. Perhaps he ought to have a change of scenery—the fog-shrouded summits of Terga were said to be particularly beautiful at this time of year, and the heat in Lamure was becoming just shy of unbearable.

The final product that the blacksmith puts into his hands when he finally makes it to collect is nothing short of gorgeous. Blessed Rain is sleek where his old Rex bow was bulky, far lighter and certainly not as clunky. The upgrades on the riser gives the entire weapon a pleasant solidness in his hand, yet the delicately reinforced plating on the limbs doesn’t retract at all from its flexibility. The decorative grip protector gleams. Just looking at it makes Kyle excited to shoot.

“Bring her back if you’re finding that you need anything adjusted,” the smith tells him after Kyle’s diligently inspected every inch of the bow. “Kept the poundage the same for you, but added another inch to the draw length like you asked.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says. Eventually, he’d like to work up to the point where he can up the poundage again. Even just another five pounds would be good. He can do most of the hunts in his skill range alone now, but extra firepower would make him just that much more efficient, or that much of a better support for team hunts.

The smith laughs when Kyle sheepishly admits this. “Well, I always like to help a Hunter improve, and you know where to find me,” he says cheerily, clapping Kyle enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Come by again anytime if you need a tune up or want to test out something new.”

And with that, he waves Kyle away so that another Hunter can step up, holding a tired-looking sword and shield and looking equally exhausted. “Aye, rookie Hunter?” Kyle hears as he wanders off to find a more relaxed corner of the market in which to admire his new bow some more. “If you’ve got the materials I can repair and upgrade that for you.” The conversation peters out and melts into the general din of the marketplace as Kyle slips into the crowd, taking care to step out of the way of a Felyne carrying an absolutely massive basket groaning with produce. He watches the precarious load totter away, trying and failing to locate Tsukino in the brief respite the parted crowd affords him. They’d split earlier that morning and he hasn’t seen her since.

He still hasn’t managed to find even a whisker of Tsukino’s whereabouts by the time he settles into a decently quiet nook next to a stall selling all manner of spices. Pity, because the dappled light spilling through the colorful drapes of the marketplace catches so beautifully on the milky-white sheen of the bow, and he’d been looking forward to showing it to her. As a Hunter, Kyle will always care more about weapon practicality than aesthetics, but as a normal human being he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity to have both an aesthetically pleasing and perfectly functional weapon. He’s still grinning a little when he goes to strap the bow to his back, and it’s in the process of looking up that his gaze catches onto wide eyes staring plainly at him from across the street.

He freezes, arm suspended awkwardly halfway to sheathing. His beautiful bow glints damningly in the bright Lamure sunlight as his unexpected friend wades through the throngs of people towards him, gesturing for him to stay put with a wave of her hand that really can’t be mistaken for anything other than a greeting.

“Hey,” he says cautiously and lamely when she finally reaches him. Belatedly, he remembers to lower his arm. He is momentarily thankful that she doesn’t try to reach up for his face in the Mahanan greeting, although his goodwill evaporates when she leans in to inspect his bow, body thrumming with unexplainable anticipation.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says finally. Kyle can’t help himself from preening just a little, shifting his grip so that she can get a better look. After all, what was the point of spending all that money and materials if there was no one to excitedly show the end product off to? Besides, it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Last he heard, she had been traveling, keen to finally see the world on her own terms and at her own pace.

“It’s fresh off an upgrade,” he answers smugly. “Easier to handle than the Rex.”

“Slightly less intimidating though,” she chimes in, and Kyle bristles, not liking where this conversation is going. And true to form, she goes in for the kill: “Mizutsune? I recognize the plating.”

Kyle can feel the flush crawling up to his ears. Logically, he knows that there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about. It’s a mark of good smithing that one can tell at a glance which monster a weapon was inspired by, and a Mizutsune was both powerful and extremely iconic. This bow in particular had good stats and the ability to fire rapidly, which admittedly took him some time to get used to after focusing mostly on piercing shots. The paralysis coating that works so well on this bow has also already saved his skin on more than one occasion. There is little more a career Hunter can ask for out of his weapon. It’s not like he’d been heading out to Pomore Garden at any given opportunity and holding onto an increasing multitude of Mizutsune materials just because he wanted some physical reminder of what was probably the most pivotal moment of his life, something that never failed to put a very complicated and jumbled mess of emotions deep within his chest whenever he thought back to it.

He’s starting to feel very, very hot under his collar. The sun is terrible. He resolves that his next big hunt really needs to be somewhere outside of Lamure.

His friend, however, just looks more and more baffled as he launches into an unprompted defense of his newest purchase. Every time she opens her mouth, Kyle talks a little faster. Eventually, she doesn’t even bother trying to interject, which is arguably worse, because instead she just looks progressively more and more thoughtful. Kyle wished desperately for Tsukino to peel away from whatever hidey hole she was tucked in. Then, his train of thought screeches into a rude and abrupt halt.

“What,” he croaks. “What are you doing.”

One of her brows quirks up. “I sure hope your eyes are still working because that’d be a detriment to your job,” she says plainly. “What does it look like I’m doing? I promise it’s not a trick question.”

What she’s doing is holding Kyle’s hand—the one not clutching his new bow—the one that had apparently been waving about with increasing agitation as he jabbered on and on. What Kyle doesn’t understand is why. It’s not like he just did some impressive shot to give them the edge in a battle or anything else that was cool and hand-holding worthy. He’d just been yammering about bow mechanics, and maybe embarrassingly dipping into his talisman hopes and dreams. He stares a little helplessly at his trapped hand. Her kinship stone winks up at him.

“Look,” she says patiently, when it becomes very clear that Kyle is going to need a moment before he can get his brain back online. “There’s nothing wrong with a bow made from Mizutsune parts and I am the last person who will ever turn down pretty things. What I was going to say was that this is an interesting departure from your whole—” She pauses, as though looking for a specific word. “Well, your whole image as a very grown-up and serious and intimidating Hunter or whatever it was you were trying to convey with that scowl you used to like so much. And you weren’t letting me get a single word in.”

“You’re getting plenty of words in now,” Kyle scowls, just to be contrary. “And I’ve grown since then.”

“Someone’s in a mood today.” She smiles, crinkle-eyed, up at him. Kyle very seriously debates wrenching his hand out of her hold like he did the last time this happened and then pointedly doesn’t act on the impulse.

“Why’re you in Lulucion?” he asks instead with a truly remarkable level of self-restraint. “Thought you’d never want to come back again after what happened.”

She shrugs, the greatsword on her back heaving with the movement. “Guess I’ve grown too,” she says loftily, though she sobers quickly. “I was actually visiting my grandfather. He used to go back to Mahana around this time of year… he can’t do it anymore of course but I’ve got Ratha now, so I figured I could do it instead. And then I figured I’d stop by Rutoh before going home, to see Ena and Alwin and wheedle a few more stories out of them.”

She lets go of Kyle’s hand. He tries not to miss it. “Even Ratha can’t make the trip in one go, and Lulucion was closest, so we’re stopping to rest. I dropped by the Scrivener’s Lodge earlier because I was hoping Reverto could give me a few weapon pointers as I’ve saved up just about enough for an upgrade, but they told me that he was out on an urgent mission and wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Kyle says, a little stung that she hadn’t come specifically to see him first, out of all the Hunters in the city. He’s slightly mollified when she grins at him, though.

“And then I met Tsukino by the cannons. She said I could find you here, so here I am.”

“I don’t know anything about greatswords,” Kyle blurts out, and immediately wants to kick himself. She blinks at him, and then bursts into laughter.

“I was just going to ask the smith,” she wheezes when she’s got herself somewhat back under control. “Can’t I see a friend just to say hi to him anymore?” Kyle stares very intently down at some of the finer detailing on his bow.

“Where is my Palico anyway?” he finally settles on, falling into a tried and true grumble. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “Navirou said something about getting donuts. I wasn’t really listening.”

But there was a donut stand right here in the marketplace, Kyle wanted to cry out. He should have seen Tsukino by now if they’d really been going to buy snacks! And how was it possible that he had missed Navirou in his entirety, between the Felyne’s penchant for wearing ridiculous little outfits and his inability to shut up?

“Why? You have a hunt you need to run off to?”

“Yes,” Kyle says hotly. It’s a lie. He’d accepted a subquest that wouldn’t depart until later that evening for the sole purpose of testing out his new weapon in a relatively stress-free environment. Before that, he’d just planned on hitting up the shooting range in the training arena to break in the new string. His schedule was very, very free. Tsukino was perfectly aware of that.

His eyes widened. Tsukino had been with him on every excursion into the Gardens. She went where he did (usually), and it’s not like Kyle would ever begrudge her a visit home. But she’d been with him every step of every single Mizutsune job he’d ever taken—had watched him craft traps when he needed to capture and had kept watch for opportunists hoping to sneak up as he’d carved. She’d been the one who’d recommended the spinner for all the excess purplefur he was ending up with. At first, he’d simply thought that she’d wanted the thread to mend some of her own items, or to send back home to her brethren, but instead she’d tucked each skein of vibrant, silk-soft thread into the bottom of his pouch with gentle paws, cryptically talking about how strong a material it was, and how nice it looked when woven. Kyle has never touched a loom in his life, but now he’s looking at someone who he definitely knows has.

His stomach drops. Hadn’t Tsukino looked particularly smug ever since he’d lingered on the blueprints for Blessed Rain after getting a look at its stats and required materials?

“She got me,” he groans. His friend just looks at him bemusedly, though perhaps with a touch of wariness at his ferocious frown. Hastily, he tacks on: “It’s nothing. I, uh—I just remembered that I needed to tell Tsukino something. Important. Later, when I find her again.”

“Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. “A quest’s a quest, though, so I won’t keep you here. The bow really is pretty though. I know I just said it doesn’t match your image and all but I really don’t think you can go wrong with something you like. You’ve got the skills for it, anyway.”

“Thanks,” he croaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. He manages two whole steps out of the nook before he pauses, worrying at his lower lip. “Actually,” he says sharply, spinning around on his heel and nearly causing his friend to startle right into a spice display. “How long are you staying for?”

“However long it’ll take to upgrade my sword, I guess,” she says after she collects herself, the words lilting into a question. “Three days or so, I guess?” She skirts nervously away from the glaring vendor, careful not to overbalance on her greatsword.

“Cool,” Kyle says with a nod, steeling himself. “Great, even. Look, how about this. Your last visit to Lulucion was terrible—” an understatement, “—so when I get back from my hunt I’ll show you some of the better sights Lulucion has to offer. There’s a hole in the wall that I think you’ll like. Dad used to take me after hunts—they grill really nice queen shrimp. And the parapets—you can climb them, and they’ve got all these little carvings in the stone that you can search for like a scavenger hunt.” He’s keenly aware that he’s rambling again, but she looks interested, so he barrels on. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow just as soon as I can get a nap in. We can stay in the city or take Ratha out to the Barrens, down by the water. Just make a day of it.” He’s pretty certain that he looks at her with something akin to hope as she considers. It feels like a lifetime before she finally comes to a decision.

“I want to take Ratha out in the evening,” she says finally. “I don’t want him to be cooped up too long here ever again.”

“Yeah,” Kyle breathes out, the word rushing out of him in a flood of relief. “Yeah, I can work around that.” She beams at him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she says, sincere and looking more than a little surprised despite herself at the prospect of looking forward to doing anything in Lulucion. “I’m staying at the inn closest to the stables. Pretty sure I’m the only Rider there currently so they’ll know who I am.” Kyle nods, and lets himself get his hand squeezed again, though not without her hands first hovering in an instinctual bid for his cheeks before she remembers herself.

“Good luck on your hunt. If I see Tsukino I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“She’ll show up in due time,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll let you know if Reverto gets back early or if he’s just been loafing around this entire time. For your next upgrade or whatever.” She laughs, bright, and then slips off into the crowd to wrestle her way into the smithy’s queue. Kyle is left staring in her wake before his gaze is drawn back down to his bow.

“This is all your fault,” he tells it. Predictably, it doesn’t answer. Also predictably, Tsukino takes that exact moment to drop down from seemingly nowhere.

“I didn’t know we had another job lined up,” the Felyne says delicately, carefully brushing crumbs off of her coat. Kyle groans, sheathing his weapon.

“Don’t tease me,” he huffs. “I’m going to the shooting range. Are you coming?”

“Hmm,” says Tsukino. “I suppose I can spare the time.”

“Of course you can spare the time!” Kyle hisses, indignant. “You just spent the day eating donuts and eavesdropping!” He pointedly doesn’t look towards the smithy, where his friend was patiently browsing the display while another Hunter was getting their hammer looked at.

“One must always be prepared with the latest intel,” Tsukino says mildly. “I’m glad the upgrade went well.”

“It’s got good stats,” Kyle protests weakly in what is quickly becoming a tired argument. “The rapid shots have been going very well. And I had a surplus of Mizutsune parts.”

“Yes,” his hunting partner agrees readily enough. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the thread?”

“This conversation is finished,” Kyle says abruptly, making a very determined push towards the market’s exit. “Either come or don’t, so long as we meet at the gate for tonight’s hunt.”

Tsukino looks at him with exasperated fondness, which is frankly a little insulting, but readily falls into step next to him. Kyle wonders how many rounds he’s going to have to shoot in order to clear his head again and rid it of thoughts of Hazepetal Garden or Mizutsune or high-grade thread that he’ll never use himself. He’ll examine them again someday—because he’s not a coward—but that day is most certainly not today.

He does his rounds in the training arena and marvels at the way the string slides off his fingers with a satisfying twang, even though it’ll still be a good few days before it’s fully broken in to his liking. Tsukino’s saved him a donut, the cakey sweet sticky with honey and practically melting in his mouth. He’s got some free time even after stocking up for the evening hunt, so he takes a few minutes to browse the quest board, taking careful note of the jobs that were situated near the Harzgai Rocky Hill, or the ones from further afield in Alcala that’ll take him closer to Rutoh. And when he leaves the city, he pointedly doesn’t look up at the familiar shape circling in the dusky sky, even as he knows that they’ll surely see the last rays of the setting sun winking off of the plates of his bow like a beacon.

#was anyone going to tell me that HR Kyle gets a MIZU BOW #You were just going to withhold this vital piece of information from me?#anyway here's 3k words about the significance of Mizutsune to one (1) boy that I love #I wrote this specifically with my idiot in mind #but asides from the gender and a few other lines I guess you can generalize to any other Rider #monster hunter kyle #monster hunter stories 2 #Annie writes

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