#I used black outline instead of colour because uh
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harmless (v)
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)
Warnings: cursing, ghosts, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, rats
Word count: 2.3k
A/N: why did i like this chapter sm someone explain. anyway!! y’all are so passionate about these two i love it mwah
if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
He dislikes the subway.
Other than his other valid reason to have disdain for trains, the subway is dark, it’s shady and he’s sure he’s seen rodents fight to the death here on several occasions.
Still, he’s following you down the stairs of the station, watching as you whistle along to the song blasting through your headphones. There’s a backpack swung over your shoulders, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie and converse doing a skip every now and then. There’s a bandana that’s tied across your face, acting as a mask to hide your identity.
He realises that you’re dressed like a commuter. Were you going to dress the part every single time?
You walk along with the crowd. He follows, a few feet away.
Until you stop. He abruptly stops too, leading someone to walk right into him.
“Watch it, dumbass,” they hiss with the courage of someone who has no idea who he is. He ignores them.
He looks on as you dig around your backpack and pull out a roll of paper. A poster, he realises soon when you peel off a layer from the back and press it to the wall.
Was it legal to put up posters in the subway? He wasn’t quite sure.
He observes as you turn around and continue down the path. He waits a few seconds before trailing up to the poster.
Volunteers needed!
If you’re interested in being turned into a ghost for a couple of hours, this is your chance! Should be okay with being on camera so that we can make money off of taped paranormal sightings.
Paid opportunity. You get to pick your outfit. Randos don’t apply.
He yanks the poster of the wall before continuing down the same place you did.
He finds another poster along the way. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling it down. You were advocating to kill people.
He knows he’s going in the right direction because more posters creep up along the wall.
The both of you are on the platform by now but to him, something changes about the placement of the posters. They were growing in frequency, the distance between them decreasing as they were situated close to each other.
He pauses in front of the next one, hand hovering over the paper.
All it reads is ‘STOP’.
He furrows his eyebrow, pulling it down before peering over at the next one.
‘TAKING’, is all that it says.
It doesn’t take him very long to make his way through all the posters in the hallway.
‘THESE’
‘DOWN’
The train’s arrived by now but a quick scan over the crowd and he knows that you haven’t entered. That, and he knew that you were too dramatic to leave without a trace or a small conversation with him.
‘DICKHEAD’
Tasteful, he thinks.
“It took effort to make them, stop ruining it,” you whine from the end of the hallway. It’s empty, given that rush hour was over a while ago.
Even though the mask covers half your face, it’s obvious that there is mischief etched under it. The twinkle in your eye is telling.
“You’re literally killing people.” He holds up the poster. Not the ‘dickhead’ one. He pockets that for later.
He knows there are a few minutes before the next train arrives and more people flood the station. The eccentricity of today lay in the lighting from the incandescent lamps and acoustics of the platform. It made his voice echo like a movie scene.
“I very much am not,” you huff.
“You’re turning them into ghosts. That’s what a murderer does,” he says pointedly.
“Well, only if you keep saying it like that. You’re making me look bad.” You cross your arms across your chest. “What are you, Fox News?”
A scurry next to him earns his attention. Two rats nibble at a piece of fallen food. He wonders when they’ll starting brawling.
“Explain this.” He waves the poster around. He isn’t taking it too lightly he hopes. If it’s actual murder then it’s going to be an issue.
You pull out a black cylinder, slightly bigger than a pen. He can’t really see any more details, but you hold onto it like a wand.
“I’m turning them into ghosts. I’ll post videos of them doing stupid shit. I get famous and then boom, cash money.” You rub your index finger and thumb together. “I’ll give you a share if you volunteer.”
“You’re not explaining the death part.”
He can feel it. You’re about to start derailing.
“Winter Soldier, the ghost story. Literally.” You grin, yanking down the mask from your face to prove it. It pools around your neck. “That’s so funny, c’mon, it’d be amazing.”
It’s been years since he’s heard that. Never in this context.
“No,” he says sternly, “and I’m going to have to bring you in if you’re going to kill people.”
The rats were ignoring everything that was going down like the hardened criminals that they were. They had probably seen worse. He can’t stop paying attention to them.
“I’m not killing them, bro.” You raise your hands in exclamation. “I’m just moving some molecules around, some frequency shit. They’re alive, just ghosts.”
He’s always been one for science. Straight As throughout high school, attended science conventions as a hobby, alive even at 100 through some mad experimentation, definitely seen some weird shit during his lifetime.
But this doesn’t make sense.
“No,” he repeats. “Give me the thing.”
“Fine, I’ll show you.” You roll your eyes. “Since you have absolutely no faith in me.”
He does a quick review of his surroundings.
No one’s around, which is good.
But that just leaves him in front of you, which is bad.
“Don’t you even thin-” he starts, muscles tensing as he shifts into a defensive stance.
You whip out the little pen thing from beside you but before he can react you turn around and duck.
The click of a button releases a bright light, small but intensely stronger than the fluorescents in the station.
He reels back, feet carrying him away from where you’re crouched. His eyes quickly look down at his body.
Nothing’s changed.
He lifts his hand to check, runs it over his face. Still alive. He thinks.
“Behold,” you declare, “Ghost rat.”
He looks to where you’re pointing. The two rats from earlier were still nibbling on their food but something was off about them.
He could see the faint outline of the tiles on the wall behind them, almost like they were... translucent.
You aimed at the rats, not him. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at the fake threat.
He watches as they move. They don’t look hurt or injured.
“Cool, huh?” you say smugly.
He can’t stop staring at them.
“Bring them back.”
“They’re fine, look how abstract it is.”
“Bring back the rats.” He can’t believe this is what his life has come to.
Bucky Barnes, Rodent Protector.
You aren’t fazed by his indifference, instead wonder filled eyes gaze at the animals. “Astral mice, sarge. Embrace the miracle of modern science.”
“You killed them.”
“They’re alive, they’re just ghosts.” You raise a finger to point. “Look, they’re still eating. Biological functions are still taking place.”
Which was true. But still. He doesn’t know what is going on.
“Bring them back to... non-ghost alive.”
“You sure you don’t want one? That one kinda looks like you.” One hardened glare after you realise the answer. “Jeez, alright then.”
You dig through your bag before pulling out a matte black replica of your current invention.
“Sexy colours, right?” You hold them up. “I modelled them after your arm.”
He looks down. Sure enough the gold and black matched his cybernetic limb. It was oddly flattering.
“Say thank you, Y/N, for letting me be your muse-”
“Un-ghost the rats.”
“Ungrateful,” you narrow your eyes at him.
Still, you comply with his demands, ducking down to their level again.
A click of the button, a bright light and the rats are back to normal. Non-transparent normal.
“Okay, give me that.” He takes a step towards you.
“Nuh uh.” You pull your arm back. His mouth twitches at your response; what are you, five?
The black one is stuffed back into your bag but you wave around the gold like a threat.
He sighs, making a pass for it. In a second his arm is twisted and shoved against his back, forcing him to spin so that he’s facing away from you. His eyes widen.
What the fuck?
“Now we’re having a good time,” you whisper into this ear.
He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist to rotate his own out of your grip.
“Since when can you fight?” he asks.
“Are we getting to know each other now?” You raise your leg to give him a semi gentle kick in the side, using his momentary distraction in blocking it to give him a knock on the head with your free hand. “This is so romantic, sarge.”
There’s a low rumble in the distance and he knows the train would soon start pulling into the station. It was still a distance away, but his heightened senses warned him that it wouldn’t take much time.
He groans. How much longer would he have to go at this?
He could easily win this fight and he knew it. But something in him itched, pulled him back from doing it.
He blocks another attempt at his head. “Stop that.”
You grin. “You know what’d be fun?”
He knows you’d reply even if he didn’t encourage it. The lights from the train light up the tunnel around the corner.
“This.” You don’t give him a second to recover before you flick your wrist away from him.
The device flies out of your hand and right onto the track. The both of you watch, you in glee, he in horror, as the train runs right over it, unleashing the brightest light he had ever seen. His eyes shut instinctively before it blinds him.
He forces himself to pry open his eyelids, look at the damage caused.
The train, sure enough, is translucent. He can see the posters on the other side of the platform through the carriage, through various people holding onto the poles for support or seated on the seats.
“Ghost train!” you cheer. He’s mortified.
“Fuck no,” he mumbles, yanking the backpack off your shoulder. He rummages through it, looking for the gold version.
“You lookin’ for this?” you ask nonchalantly, holding it up in your hand like it isn’t the solution to stopping a bunch of ghosts from wandering around New York.
“Turn them back.” He gives you a chance.
“Do it yourself, coward.” You grin, holding it above your head. The train is going to stop and he needs everyone to be alive and non-ghost before they leave.
He doesn’t wait this time, instead turning to you. The thing is still held in your grip above your head. He rolls his eyes, doing a quick assessment before grabbing your free hand, tugging you closer and plucking the device out of your hand before you have the opportunity to retract it.
“Great, now figure out which button to press.” You’re dangerously close to him. He can feel your hoodie brush against his tactical jacket. “Also if you wanted to be all pressed up against me, you could have just asked.”
He furrows his eyebrows, letting go of you as you give a loud laugh. He looks down at the device. It has several buttons, littering up and down the side. Each look the same.
The train’s slowing down.
“They’re both the same device; this version is not a magical solution to the other one. If you press the wrong button then both of us are going to be fucked.”
The last carriage is getting closer.
“Say I win this round and I’ll fix it.”
There’s a gleam in your eye. He knew this was exactly what you wanted.
He wishes he was as stubborn as Steve, just run through each button until the right one worked.
“You win this one.” He hands it back. He wasn’t like Steve and judging by the number of items the idiot jumped out of planes without a parachute on a daily basis, Bucky was glad about it. At least Bucky did it sporadically.
“Yay, two each for the both of us, then,” you say, taking it from him and twisting, eyes running down the sides. “Close your eyes, old man, or else your cataract’s gonna get worse.”
Right as the train pulls to a stop, you press down on the button before throwing it and the blinding light that emanates from it. It lands on the top of the train right as the doors open.
The passengers start stepping out. Some of them are looking at their hands and legs in a little disbelief, most just push through the crowd to leave.
He can’t see through them. It’s a good sign.
He turns to look at you but you’re not there. Instead, the weight of the small device weighs down in his pocket.
The sound of a thud on glass draws his attention.
He looks up at the train. The window of the carriage in front of him has a bit of fog on it. You trace a heart in the condensation and blow him a kiss before pulling your mask back on.
The train starts moving, leaving him alone in the platform again with your invention.
He lets out an exhale, wandering outside to grab a sandwich before waiting to catch the next train to go home.
Later in the evening, he catches hold of a bit of tape and the ‘Dickhead’ poster finds a place on Sam’s door.
He doesn’t appreciate it.
So now it’s tucked away in the shelf of Bucky’s bedside table along with a freeze ray, a ghost-inator, and some discount Pym Particles.
Next part
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#mcu fic#bucky fic#bucky barnes fic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fluff#bucky angst#bucky barnes angst#harmless fic#winter soldier x reader#Winter Soldier#bucky barnes#bucky
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It’s Just Business - Two
Werewolf Steve Rodgers x reader
Warnings for the series: fluffness, Bucky and Sam bickering like five year olds, smutty smut, bad language.
“Alex!” Lara engulfed me in a hug, smiling brightly as she did.
“Lara. How are you?” I asked, my eyes flickering down to her round belly for a few moments. Seven months pregnant and she looked amazing. Her black hair up in a high ponytail. A fluffy dressing gown tied around her. Her light blue eyes sparkling.
“So happy now that you’re here. Thank goodness for your brother getting you out of there and away from your parents.” She grimaced at the thought of them, pulling me inside the house. Lara had been there for me as a big sister and I couldn’t ever repay her for it. Two older brothers is what I got, Sebastian the eldest at twenty-six and Jonathon twenty-four.
Bash is known as the golden boy, the distinguished politician. Played the part well, but if you knew him like I did, he was a crafty little shit that could do anything. Owns night clubs under a fake name. Some people joke and say he’s the head of a mob or something. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he admitted he was. Putting all that aside, he’s the most caring person you’ll ever meet.
JJ on the other hand, although caring, he cares in a different way. The magazines refer to him as ‘the ultimate party boy’ and god does he live up to the name. Too much freedom. Partying in every country he could, drinking rich people dry. Our parents never seemed to mind. Bash painted a pretty picture to the world that made them proud. Maybe I was wrong, but I always felt that because JJ wasn’t making his family proud, I was having to do it instead.
Not that I wasn’t bitter or anything...
“You’re tellin me.” I shook my head thinking of the recent news received from my father.
“What happened?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she closed the front door and ushered me up the big staircase towards one of their many guest rooms. Their house was more like a manor, the outside rustic and traditional, just like the main section of the house where the stairs sat so hugely. But the inside was more modern, I could never decide which one I preferred more. Placing my bag down on the big bed I began to explain everything to her.
“Now way! He can’t do that!” She began to rage. Flinging her arms about while I looked around the room. The headboard sat nicely up against the back wall, same wall the entrance door was on, to the left of the bed. The east wall had a closet built into it. The west was plain except for a painting of flowers in a vase sat dead centre of said wall. To the right of it, a door to the bathroom. And finally the south, a wall of windows with a sliding door in the middle.
“Actually he can.” I huffed.
“No.” Her statement was blunt. She marched out of the room and across the hall. “Sebastian!” Her voice echoed through the house and it brought a smile to my face. She always cared so much, even if I knew she couldn’t change anything, it was nice.
“What is it my dear wife?” Bash was dragged into the room by his spouse who repeated everything I said with anger.
“That sounds like dear old Dad.” Bash rolled his eyes patting my shoulder apologetically. His suit jacket was no where to be seen, shirt sleeves rolled up and his hair messy. Clear signs of a long day and a tired man.
“There has to be something we can do!” Lara wouldn’t let this go.
“There isn’t. Once father makes up his mind, there isn’t anything we can do to change it.” I nodded at my brothers truest words.
“Let’s not talk about it. I still have a few days of freedom left.” I let myself fall back onto the comfortable bed. The couple soon filed out of the bedroom leaving me to rest. As if I could. My mind was wide awake, I at least tried to sleep. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling. But the machine wouldn’t turn off, the cogs wouldn’t stop moving.
“This is ridiculous.” I rubbed my hands over my face.
Slipping out of the bed, my black night dress flowing while I walked closer to the big window wall. Pushing the sliding door open and stepping out onto the balcony to stare at the view. It was beautiful. Reminded of something out of a movie.
A giant lake with big pine trees and huge fir trees outlined the water. All of them merging together, I couldn’t tell where the forest line stop or started. A foggy smoke came from me with my deep breath. It was so cold, I barely felt it but I wrapped my arms around myself anyway as if by instinct. A loud howl sounded from somewhere in the middle of the forest. A creature, a fox? A wolf maybe? Whatever it was, it sounded lonely. The cry in the dark had me feeling sad for the poor thing.
“I get it. Being alone sucks.” I spoke into the darkness of the night. Feeling the breeze pull a shiver from my body, I made my way back inside the comfort of the room. I didn’t even think about it before leaving the door open and getting into bed. Somehow I was more relaxed with it open, I felt closer to something. Easily drifting off to sleep, the sound of the animal howling blurred into my dream land.
“Up you get lazy bones! Come on time to start your day.” Lara burst through the door yelling, before gasping in shock. “Did you leave the door open all night? It’s freezing in here.” She trudged towards the glass and slid it closed. I sat up and watched her do it.
“Yeah I guess I did.” I frowned slightly, it wasn’t exactly like me to feel at ease with a door wide open.
“Well wash up and come down for breakfast.” She placed a kiss on the top of my head and left leaving me wondering if this is what mothers were suppose to be like. Were they suppose to wake you up early so you made the most of your day? Were they suppose to make you breakfast? Or show you affection? It’s not exactly what I was used to. Nevertheless I got up, got dressed and had breakfast.
“So little sister, what are your plans for today?” Bash asked shoving a piece of toast in his mouth, identical to how he did when we were kids. A small smile pricked at my lips at the sight.
“I was gonna go for a walk, clear my head.” The married couple seemed to think it was a great idea, practically shoving me out the door.
There was fog all across the river this morning, although it wasn’t particularly cold out. The trees reminded me of when Bash, JJ and I used climb the big oak tree in the backyard and the boys got told off for encouraging me to be unlady like. The thought made me giggle, I was never lady like no matter how hard my mother tried to make me that way. I guess I just hated to be told what to do in any circumstance.
My knee high boots crushed leaves underneath them while I walked, I loved the sound. The crunch of nature. This walk had soothed me and I wasn’t even that far from the house yet. Everything here was so serene, so full of life. I wished I could stay here and forget everything. Just let everything go, all my resentment towards my parents, all the pressure of this stupid task.
He cleared his throat before I noticed him, stopping in my tracks to see the rugged blonde man from yesterday.
“S-Steve.” Why the hell was he here? How did he know I was?
“Alexandra.” My name rolled off his tongue bewitchingly. He looked so different than before, no smart shirt. Just a plain dark blue t-shirt seems he liked that colour. No dress pants this time, merely a pair of jeans.
“Are you stalking me or something? Did my father put you up to this?” I grumbled, slipping my hands into my leather jacket pockets. My stance was always kinda wide, feet at the same distance as shoulders, back straight, head up just as mother said. I don’t remember the last time I slouched. He seemed to give me a once over, stopping on my hips? “Uh eyes up here buddy.” His blue orbs shot up in surprise, his left eyebrow raised.
“There’s been a change of plans. You’re coming straight to me once you’re done here.” Rude much.
“Why isn’t my father telling me this himself?” I eyed his feet as he took a step forward, taking one back of my own.
“He’s busy. Asked me to deliver the message. A woman, Martha, she’s already packed your things and sent them over. Your room is being readied as we speak.” His muscles seemed to tense as he spoke. He held himself confidently yet the way his hands were stuffed in his jean pockets gave him this goofy undertone.
“I still have a few days here.” I tried to keep my voice as stable as I could. I really didn’t want to leave, but Steve seemed like the type to tattle to my Father. I had to go to this unknown place, alone and so fast too.
“I know.” He sighed before speaking again. “I don’t want your stay with me to be uncomfortable for you. I’ll try everything in my power to make you at ease.” He puffed out his chest almost showing off his strength.
“I doubt that.” I let my lip curl slightly. I didn’t give him time to respond, turning on my heel and walking back. A once peaceful morning was now a tense and unwanted one.
#alpha steve rogers#steve rodgers x y/n#steve rodgers imagine#steve rodgers x reader#steve rogers#Steve Rodgers#captain america#captain america x reader#marvel#werewolf x human#bucky barnes#sam wilson#werewolf#alpha#beta#wolf pack#Spotify
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A Second Chance: Part 1 - A MLB Fic
Remember that Miraculous fic I was writing, where I shared the outline for the first part? So uh... here it is. Written. I hope you like it :)
[Part 1: Here] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]
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A group of butterflies hovered around the garden that surrounded Emilie’s coffin. Hawk Moth stood in front of his wife, holding two pieces of jewelry in his hands. A pair of red earrings with black spots, and a black ring. Mayura stood farther back, watching him.
“After all this time,” Hawk Moth said while putting on Ladybug’s earrings, “I can finally bring you back, Emilie.” He slid Cat Noir’s ring onto his finger.
Tikki and Plagg looked worriedly at one another, then turned to their owners with a sense of helplessness. It was game over.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng, formerly the superheroine Ladybug, had her arms wrapped around Adrien Agreste, who used to be Cat Noir. Adrien had just had so much trauma thrust upon him that he couldn’t hold back his endless stream of tears. Hawk Moth, the man who had been terrorizing Paris for the past year, was his father, and his deceased mother was being kept in their mansion’s basement.
Hawk Moth ignored his sobbing son. Of course he’s sad, he just found out that Emilie has been down here this whole time. Once his mother is revived, he’ll be happy again. “Tikki, Plagg,” he began the words to unify the Miraculous, to access the wish and bring back his wife. A mixture of red, black, and green sparks of light began to swirl around him.
Adrien grit his teeth and slowly stood to his feet. Marinette could see determination in his eyes. He began to sprint towards Hawk Moth. Marinette’s eyes widened with shock as she realized what he was about to do.
Mayura noticed a blur of motion to the side of her vision. Adrien was running toward Hawk Moth at full speed. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. She processed what was about to happen before she could move her body to intercept it. All she could do was extend her hand out in front of her.
“Unify-” Adrien jumped towards his father before he could finish.
It all happened so quickly, neither Adrien, Marinette, Hawk Moth, or Mayura could comprehend it. Hawk Moth was knocked to the ground with Adrien’s impact, and a flash of white light began an explosion.
Hawk Moth’s transformation disappeared as he slammed into the wall of the garden. Adrien flew the other way and Marinette ran to catch him.
Gabriel Agreste was lying on the floor, unmoving. Mayura de-transformed herself into Natahlie Sancoeur while running over to him. She felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. “Sir! Gabriel!” she cried out to him. But he couldn’t hear her. She tried to catch her breath, but her body refused to stay calm.
Adrien was lying on the ground, wincing and holding his head. Marinette was checking him for any injuries he sustained from the blast.
Nathalie felt tears forming in her eyes. She knelt over Gabriel for a minute, hoping that he could show even one sign of life, but he didn’t. Her emotions felt like they were in a chaotic battle for dominance, fear, pain, loneliness. After all they had been through, it couldn’t end like this. She had to do something.
She dried her tears and tried to stand up, but her limbs felt like they were being weighed down by an invisible force pushing her down. Nathalie looked up. She felt her conflicting emotions drain away, leaving a hole of emptiness inside her. She clenched her fists. Something new sparked inside her, a fiery rage. Adrien didn’t deserve to lose the last of his family. She didn’t deserve to lose her last friend. And it was all Ladybug’s fault.
“This is all your fault.” Nathalie said in a dead quiet tone, pointing at a startled Marinette. “If you hadn’t appeared when he created Stoneheart, none of this would have happened.” She let out a weak laugh. “He would have given up after his first try otherwise.”
“It’s because of you that Adrien became Cat Noir. If you hadn’t shown up,” her words were caught in her throat. “He would still be here,” her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek.
Adrien shielded Marinette. He had just lost his father, but who was his father in the first place? He felt confused, and he didn’t know how to feel. “It’s not Marinette’s fault. If anyone is to blame, it’s me-”
“ADRIEN, NO.” Marinette interrupted him and moved to shield him instead. “We never meant for any of this to happen-” she protested.
This time Nathalie cut her off. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” She took one last look at her boss, her friend, removed his butterfly brooch and placed it above the peacock brooch she already wore. “Because this will have never happened.” I won’t let Ladybug destroy this family. She paused for a moment to consider what she was about to do. Combining Miraculous was dangerous according to the grimoire, but she had no choice.
“Nooroo, Dusuu, unify.” Nathalie’s appearance changed. Her skin darkened into a blue tint, and her eyes became magenta. Her azure-coloured hair was tied back into a neat bun. A navy blue cardigan covered her purple dress that descended down into five feather-like points. The cane was now retractable and hung on her belt alongside her layered fan. Tiny butterfly wings hung from her boots.
Adrien began to slowly walk towards her with a bit of hesitation. “Nathalie, what are you doing?” he asked, trying to stay calm.
Nathalie didn’t answer as she formulated a complex plan in her head. The less he knew, the better, otherwise he would try to stop her. She snatched an unsuspecting butterfly fluttering in the air and infused it with energy to create an akuma, placing it on the peacock miraculous.
“I give myself, Sialga, the power to create portals to anywhere in Paris.” Nathalie said, giving herself a new name. Interestingly, unlike a normal akuma, her outfit didn’t change. Whipping out her fan, she pointed it directly in front of her to create a ring of glowing blue swirls.
Adrien ran toward her, reaching out his hand and simultaneously trying to reach out to her before she did anything she regretted. He remembered how she helped him face his father. She convinced his father to let him go to school, helped him with his studies, organized his schedule and did countless other things for him. She wasn’t like the man she worked for, she could be reasoned with. “NATHALIE, WAIT! There has to be another way!”
Sialga looked behind her shoulder as she stepped through the portal. “Don’t worry Adrien,” she told him. “I’ll fix everything.”
Ending note: This fanfic is going to explore Hawk Moth’s impact in the show. Btw Emilie wasn’t revived because the merging of the miraculous of creation and destruction backfired, since it was interrupted. The result was Gabriel’s death. Don’t worry, the rest of the comic isn’t gonna be as depressing as this. I think.
I planned this to be 5 parts.
#miraculous au#miraculous lb#mlb angst#ml angst#ml#mlb#miraculous#mlb au#Gabriel agreste#nathalie sancoeur#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#hawk moth#mayura#cat noir#ladybug#a second chance
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4 Something
warnings- language, mentions of drugs, blood, only a mention of gore and wound details
word count- 1.5k
pls enjoy <3
You stumbled into the elevator, leaning against the faux wood walls and sighed deeply from the throbbing pain, just a bit to the left of your kidney. The elevator smelled of piss and pure arse, and the blood, and gory, textured wood behind you was close enough to make you pass out. You held the bloodied flannel to your gun wound, tightly and the sleeve of the shirt to your nose. You muttered softly as you groggily pressed the down button to the parking lot, and for the doors to close.
As the doors, sheen with a shit colour, began to shut, you noted the foot that propped the doors open.
“Ah, Y/n, you’re not leaving your best friend behind, right! Especially since he holds all of the powder.”
You looked up, to see a tall man smile, his eyes gently closing as he pulled the doors open, his muscles raging against his tight black tee. You sighed quietly, and take off our belt. You cracked it against the wall, and it becomes stiff, revealing itself as a truncheon. You smiled a bit cockily, “Stupid, I’ll-!”
You found yourself sneezing, and hissing at the same time, inhaling your own bacteria and the carcass scent as you groaned loudly.
“JOHNNY!”
The man scoffed, and tightened your gun wound with the needle, snipping off the string with his bare teeth. With a kick, he pushed away, the desk chair sliding to the small counter between you two. “Next time maybe just relax when I have to carry you home?”
You blinked slowly, but nodded. Another Tuesday, and another haul of work for Ripple. You began to drank the water your partner had given you, and the two small brown pills as you looked around.
The two of you, since age 17, had taken particular barren buildings on the Northern side of the city as homes like this singular abandoned asylum. Traveling with just two cardboard boxes for clothes and essentials, and small backpacks. Before The Ripple had begun to even hire you, or Johnny for that matter, for your talents.
For the jobs.
“What’s the matter?”
You saw his hands on your waist. You were slightly leaning on the barred window. You haven’t looked at his hands in a bit. A lot could change after 5 months, as you noted his dirt flaked fingers, and the darkened scars on the back of his hands. Despite his roughened hands, they were gentle to hold you. They allowed you, invited you, to you smile to yourself, and lean against his solid body.
“Ah, just a little tired.” You shrugged off, as the painkillers you had swallowed began to take affect. “how long are we-?”
“4k, or something. Two jobs, tops,” Johnny put his arms around you and chuckled as he looked at the rising sun. “Then we’re outta Baise City.”
You both shivered as a southern breeze nudged you both. It was nice though, the building was much too humid, and, he said it. Those warm words. Two. Just two more jobs. Then you’re out. You and Youngho, out of the island, out of the hellhole you and he were currently contracted on.
Your phone rang. Speak of the Devil. You grabbed it quickly before you heard a yawn. You gently punched Johnny in the gut to shush him.
“Evening.”
“It’s dawn.” You turned your back against the sunrise, and glanced at the drugs Johnny had carried, on a roach infested table, next to a cardboard box of yours.
“Dawn?” the voice said, startled. “Well, besides the point. Mr. Money sent John his money. We need you to come in later, we are partnering someone else with you.”
You frowned, and walked to the singular mattress at the corner of the room, sitting on it. Johnny followed, looking at his phone and giving you an “okay” sign that the caller did not lie. You were too busy pushing away any small rodents, the occasional bug from the bed. Johnny tried to sit next to you, furrowing his brows to read your expression.
“Do we have to split it or something? I thought he and I were always enough for you.” You said.
“You are, you are, well, uh, Sushi cannot make it.”
You scoffed, “John is much more than capable-,”
“I-uh, I don’t suggest trying to fight with, y’know, Dreamer’s orders.”
You sighed loudly, this time just in mental pain. “Fine, whatever,”
“Come here at 16:30. Oh, remind yourself to tell John to stop snooping around our powder. Thanks.”
“Sorry, Vic.”
“Don’t mention it. See ya.”
You repeat the phrase, before hanging up.
You sighed deeply, blinking and laying against the bed.
Johnny laid next to you. He softly cleared his throat, looking at a message at his phone, before he craned his neck at you. “Wanna go out to eat?”
You tilt your head down, before smirking a little. “Well, I dunno Youngho, did I get shot?”
You and Johnny exchanged glances at each other, his eyes sure, a knot in your upper stomach, tightening slightly, as the door opened.
The Ripple was made up, essentially, with 7 people. The penthouse they owned was a part of the huge building they owned next to one of the only peaceful grounds, the Wavy Park, and the entire Western neighborhood as their personal territory. The men in question, were, Victory, Dreamer, Mr. Money, Sushi, Henry, Smalls, and Jewel. At least that’s what they called themselves.
The house was almost as big as the floor you and Johnny slept on, and instead of the horrid strong piss smell you were accustomed to, you instead smelled the first scent of oranges being peeled, and jasmine. Oh and with that alluring jasmine, you began to relax. The Ripple home always made you feel happy again.
“Ah, Y/n, John, we missed ya.” Jewel said, he had many piercings along his ears, and his eyes shone brightly as the gems he wore on his fingers. “You’re gonna love him.” Henry and Smalls took the duffel bags of the powder drugs, and started to move it to someplace upstairs, nodding at you both.
As always, Sushi was there to hug you and Johnny extremely tightly. Sushi was a big tall man with always a big enough smile to hold sushi in his mouth. He led you both to the main living area, as he sat down. Being the size he is, his knees popped out as if he was sitting in child furniture. Johnny smiled at him, “So, got any news for us about this new, partner?”
You nodded as Sushi thought, “Well, he’s pretty cool I guess! I know he likes to use katanas.”
Johnny widened his eyes, “He gets to use katanas?!”
You scoffed, obviously jealous, “That’s bullshit.”
“I guess,” you and Johnny turned immediately, before bowing your heads. Respect was a given, always, to the boss.
The Ripple commander, Mr. Money, had this sort of aura that said for you and Johnny to bow down, or else. Today he wore a suit, it being a dark greyish blue, and its flannel outline colours were traced with a flower pink, and lavender as he softly sighed. None of disappointment, at least from what you could tell.
“Good morning.” he said with bliss. “I see Victory told you everything?”
“Yes.” You and John muttered.
“Good, good, uh, Sushi, get their things ready. This job by the way, might as well be your last.”
You looked up now, and glared at your boss. You felt yourself get a little shy, yes it was his house but why didn’t he have a shirt- “Fuck no. Nuh uh. We spent nearly a fuckin decade with you. You cannot kick us out now!”
“Misunderstanding me is very much what I expected. However, it’s because, with Yuta,”
You looked around as you freeze. A man came in from behind, in the kitchen area. He was a bit younger than Johnny, with a few scars on his left cheek. He wore, what had, had to be an expensive suit. He wore silver chains that suited his bright red outfit, which almost the colour of your face. And, what raged you the most;
He held two katanas in each hand. He looked at you, and you realized he wore a light shade of makeup.
“He wants to work with us. With him, this job could be your last. It’ll be 17k, and you won’t even have to split.” Mr. Money gives Johnny the file. “Just come back when it’s done.”
Yuta blinked a little slowly as he bent down, to show like the Boss, he only had a small black shirt hiding his chest.
“Let’s do this well.” the man mumbled. To you or the boss, you had no idea.
You stared at him the entire way as he came to kneel and listen to the job. The knot in your stomach had redone itself, at least five times. You finally took your eyes away, and shook your head as you began to breathe normally.
Last job, you reminded yourself. This is the last job. And no way are you letting some, pretty boy assassin ruin it now. “So,” you crossed your arms. “What’s the assignment, John?”
#neowritingsnet#nctnetwrite#ultkpopnetwork#kwritersworldnet#nct#fanfiction#kpop fan fiction#nct fanfiction#nct 127 fanfiction#nct 127 angst#4 Something#dee writes
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Enlightenment
Jasper x Reader
This is Part 3 of the Jasper miniseries. Here is Part 1.
Summary: Your secret investigation picks up speed and you finally talk to Jasper. As the evidence piles up, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake. A surge of courage paves a new course for your future.
Word Count: 2,814
A/N: !!!!!!!!
*
Your finger hovered over the call button as you stared at Jasper’s name with intent. Your hairs stood on end as the chilly night air forced you deeper into the thick blankets enveloping you. The bitter cold clouded your windows as midnight approached, and the soft pitter-patter of rain splashing on the roof served as a comforting lullaby. Heavy eyelids threatened to fall as Jasper’s name blurred. You tapped the screen.
‘Hey,’
The word sat in the text box and waited for you to press send. It was the third time you had tried to contact him that night. First craving to hear his voice, knowing that his words and his time in that moment would be only for you; and then settling for a message you would never send. What if, after he felt he’d resolved everything, that would be it? No more talking? Those ideas were enough to make you shut the screen off and leave the phone on charge.
You wanted this to be a chance for a beginning, not an ending. It was his choice to not want to be with you, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be near you. As painful as his sheer loyalty and devotion to Alice was, it only caused you to like him more. Long forgiven were his shameless brags about his girlfriend; they made you blush when you imagined him talking about you.
As your head sank into your pillow, thoughts of affection lulled you to sleep; and dreams of soft lips and firm hands carried you through the lonely, frigid night.
*
At school, life went on. Jason proceeded to pine after Eric Yorkie, just as you pined after Jasper. Alice continued to greet you whenever she saw you, but the other Cullens had faded into the background. As you walked into your English class expecting to see your neighbouring seat empty again, somebody was already sitting there, nibbling on a pencil.
Bella Swan wore her hair in a low, messy ponytail. She tugged at the sleeves of her flannel. “H-Hey,” she said as you approached. “You’re (Y/N), right?” Your heart fluttered; not because she knew your name, but because she likely heard it from a Cullen - and you hoped it was Jasper who had mentioned you. You slid into your seat beside her, tripping over her old orange backpack on the way. She dragged her bag out of the walkway and stammered a quick, “sorry.”
“You’re Bella Swan?” You feigned ignorance. Bella nodded. “You’re dating Edward, right?”
Her shoulders seemed tense. “Y-Yeah, for a while.”
“So how come you switched classes?” Did Jasper make her so he could get away from you?
“Oh, uh, the admin ladies just said another student wanted to switch due to a class conflict, so I said I didn’t mind.” Wanted. Jasper had chosen to distance himself from you, and the reminder made you skip a breath.
“I haven’t seen Edward around today, did he skip school without you or something?” You changed the subject before you could cry, still careful to not pry too hard with Bella. This was a chance to dig deeper into the Cullens and their secret.
“Oh… he isn’t feeling well, so he’s at home.” Bella Swan was a terrible liar. She had so many tells and nervous habits, you couldn't believe her father was the chief of police. Bella stopped tugging at her flannel sleeves and instead rolled them up to her elbows. You would never have seen it if she hadn’t raised her arm to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear—but there it was; clear as crystal. A scar marred the inner side of her wrist; lighter than the rest of her skin and raised. A human bite.
*
Never had you noticed, despite all your pining for the Hale boy, that none of the Cullens ever ate anything. Emmett and Rosalie’s trays held a few pieces of fruit, whole and untouched, until Alice and Jasper joined them in dumping their food in a nearby trash can. They never eat or go to the bathroom. You had thought more about how safe your thoughts were and deemed that most evidence you had towards mind-reading pointed at Edward. It was Edward who put words into your mouth—and even Alice pointed her finger at him in the phony story she had tried to feed you. You would test that theory today and not hide your thoughts to see what would happen.
Reciting the proof you’d gathered in your head, there was a word on the tip of your tongue. A very strong accusation—one that was mythical and insane, but you couldn’t shake the idea since you saw Bella’s bite mark. The notebook on the table was open to your ‘Cullen’ page, and you were near enough to observe their irises from where you were sitting. You just needed to act nonchalant about it.
You hadn’t updated your notebook for a week as you hadn’t gotten close enough to any of them to have a proper look. But your table was only ten strides away from theirs. You clicked your pen. Monday, Emmett, gold. Jasper, gold. You took a bite out of your sandwich, creating a gap in glances so as not to draw their attention. Rosalie, gold. Your heart was racing. Alice, gold. You glanced back at the previous entry just to be sure, but the black ink told no lies. Rosalie and Alice’s eyes had changed. Your hand moved, and the words formed on the paper in front of you.
Get close, check for contacts.
It was the last logical explanation for any of it; and while Jasper’s eyes never changed, he would be the easiest Cullen to talk to today as he was still waiting to apologise and give you his own phony explanation. After lunch, it didn’t take long for you to find Jasper waiting outside one of his classes. All it took was one look for him to follow you out to a quiet space behind one of the back buildings on campus.
His Southern twang made your heart melt. “You didn’t call. I thought you weren’t ready.”
Why didn’t his biological sister sound Southern?
“I wanted to do this in person.” You took care to seem assertive, despite your teeth threatening to chatter and your palms sweating.
“(Y/N), I’m not even sure where to start…” Jasper began apologising, just as his adopted siblings and girlfriend did before him; repeating the same so-called explanation supposed to make everything go away. You tried to focus on your goal instead of the way his voice broke, or the way the tips of his strawberry blonde hair brushed against his strong jawline. Concentrating on his eyes, you were looking for a very thin line—one that would give away a contact lens. But his eyes were flawless, clear, and natural. A chill crept up your spine.
The more Jasper spoke, the more you heard that his manner of speaking sounded dated at times. It came and left like each beat of a butterfly’s wing, but it was noticeable to somebody already on that train of thought. That word that came to you earlier threatened to slip from your tongue if you weren’t careful; and you restrained it by clenching your teeth.
“I understand,” you replied once Jasper had finished reciting the script they had given him. A swift wind of courage blew through your body as you straightened up. “And I’m sorry for making you stew in guilt for this long. I guess I was just afraid to approach you.” You twisted the knife. “But even Alice said, it’s not like any of you bite, right?”
Jasper’s gaze morphed from sincerity to one that pierced through you. His body turned rigid, and his eyes squinted ever so slightly. “That’s right. We gave you one hell of an impression. But as you can see, that impression was wrong, and we’re just average people like you.” The double-edge in his words threatened to cut you. “So, there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
The suspicion that drove you suddenly came to a halt; replaced by a warm feeling of satisfaction and comfort. It was just like that time you had that confrontation with Jasper and Edward, and you felt soothed; but this time, you were conscious of it. So, you soldiered on through this strange, artificial complacency and tried to hold on to any shred of logic you had left.
“It’s weird how whenever my anger or difference of opinion becomes inconvenient for you, I suddenly feel this strange toggling of my emotions.” The cosy aura strengthened. You remained aware. “It’s almost as if you’re controlling it somehow. Just like how Edward knows what I’m thinking and Alice has no trouble finding me. But there’s nothing to see here, right?”
Jasper stopped whatever it was he was trying to do and gave you an incredulous look. “Come with me.”
He started walking, never turning back to check if you were following, towards an outline of trees in the distance that led to the forest. You walked in the opposite direction, back into the school. Now that your theory was all but confirmed, you wouldn’t follow any of his kind into further seclusion. Entering the nearest building, the gym, you sat on the bleachers and pulled out your notebook. There would be enough witnesses surrounding you to ensure your safety. You dug around in your backpack for a loose pen and clicked it.
The Cullens are vampires.
- Edward, mind reading
- Jasper, emotions, cold skin
- Bella, bite scar on arm
- Alice… extreme knowing???
- Never eat
- Never use bathroom
- All look the same, not biologically related
- Eyes change colour, no contact lenses
You slammed the book shut and stuffed it back in your backpack. Clenching your car keys, you felt eyes on you. On your hands, on your back, on your face. Fear took over your mind as abandoned all logic and raced out of the gym and into your car; darting your eyes left and right for any angry vampires waiting to murder you to conceal their secret.
This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. You should have told someone where you were going, and who you were going with so the Cullens would be accountable. The engine roared to life as you slammed your foot on the accelerator. What if they killed your family over this? You swerved, narrowly missing a police car in an intersection. Red and blue lights flashed behind you as a siren sounded. Shit. You pulled over in a side street and rolled down your window.
The officer pulled in behind you, taking his time to get out of the police car. You tapped your fingers on the dusty dashboard, checking your side mirror to see what was taking so long; only to watch as Chief Swan himself shut his car door and strolled over to your side window.
“Everything all right over here?” He put his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry Officer—I mean Chief Swan—I’m in a hurry to get home, I’m not feeling well.” Your knuckles whitened as you clenched your fists.
“You have a licence with you?” He was holding a clipboard and a pen. The last thing you needed was a fine on top of everything else. You handed him your licence and tried to look as pathetic as possible. “Well, (Y/N),” he read your name, “must be one hell of an illness.”
“I’m really sorry, Chief Swan. I was feeling anxious at school and I needed to get out of there and back home where I’ll feel better.”
Chief Swan sighed. “I can drop you off, and my partner will drive your car home.” He gave you a stern look. “I won’t fine you this time. Just drive more carefully? Maybe let somebody else drive if you’re this stressed out?”
You nodded fast. He motioned for you to get out of the car.
The drive back to your place was silent. You contemplated asking him how he felt about his daughter dating one of the Cullens to see if he’d spill anything; but there was nothing left to dig for. Jasper didn’t have to say the word, and neither did you, for your discovery to become clear on both ends. You tried to steady your breathing as the police car stopped by the curb outside your house. Your own car pulled into the driveway as the other officer locked the door behind him and crossed his arms.
Your legs shook as you exited the police car, the other officer handed you your keys. “Go inside, get some rest,” Chief Swan said as you looked back at him. “We’ll have to contact a parent or guardian, so I’ll stop by later tonight when they’re home. You’ll be all right by yourself?”
“Y-Yeah, thanks.”
Chief Swan and the other officer watched you enter your front door before they drove away.
You scurried to your bedroom, collapsing onto your bed with your backpack still on. Hot tears burned your cheeks as they dripped down to your chin; your snotty nose forcing you to breathe through your mouth. It was dark by the time you had calmed. You slid your backpack from your shoulders and kicked it against your pillows. Wiping your face with shaking hands, you pressed your nose to the glass window and peered out. No vampires waiting to kill me.
Temporary relief washed through you. You were safe now, but what about tomorrow, and the next day? What about after that? You walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. The cool liquid soothed your raw throat.
The Cullens couldn’t let you go on knowing what they truly were. It wasn’t as though you would tell anybody—who would even believe you? Even now, with all the evidence you had collected and seen, you struggled to accept it, yourself. A sick laugh shook your core as you imagined storming into Chief Swan’s office at the station with theories about vampires dating his daughter. He, and everyone else in town would call you crazy. Even telling one person what you thought had the potential to ruin your life.
Your teeth ached from how hard you had been clenching your jaw earlier, and your chest felt so tight that it hurt to breathe. You finished your water and washed out the glass. It wasn’t that late yet, but after the events of the day all you wanted to do was curl up under your blankets and try to sleep.
Thump.
The sound came from your bedroom. You crept against the wall, keeping close to the shadows. What if they want to kill me right now?
You exhaled roughly. They couldn’t kill you. Forks was a small town; people would notice if you were missing. It wasn’t something that would slide under the radar… Then you froze solid. All the supposed animal attacks of the past year flashed through your mind, one by one. Wasn’t there a rumour going around about the bodies being drained of blood?
You cracked open your bedroom door, and goosebumps dispersed across your skin. The air in your room was colder than the rest of the house, and you shivered. Your eyes darted around in search for someone, but your bedroom was empty. You sighed in relief as you noticed the sound had come from your backpack falling off your bed. You walked over and picked it back up, rummaging through it for your notebook. A frown forced its way onto your face. You swore you hadn’t taken it out, yet.
Pouring the backpack’s contents onto your bed, you scattered text books and pens to the side. Nothing. You searched beneath your bed, in the space between your dresser and your wall, and across every surface in the room. Drawers were pulled and piles of clothes were frantically scattered as the walls closed in on you. If you’d lost this notebook with everything in it…
A frigid gust of air froze your back before you turned around. Your notebook was missing; and the window you knew for certain had been closed before you left was now wide open.
Tears pricked at your eyes again as you spun around, stifling a scream. Jasper Hale now stood five steps away from you, his impossible eyes burning with intensity.
*
Tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @eggmettcullen @xcharlottemikaelsonx @oi-itsemily @cacti-succulents-andlesbians @aw0kenangel @jelly-fishy-babie @kawaiikpoplover268 @awkwardnesshabitat @salsameter @dillybuggg @awesomebooklover17 @badgirlsdeaddreams @raindancer2004 @camillapad @champagnejoker
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https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476486
The first time it happened Kara didn’t remember it. She’d had a little too much Aldebaran rum at the alien bar and had flown home, waking up sprawled across her bed and still in her super suit, a foul taste in her mouth and a pounding in her temples. She rolled out of bed with a grimace and went through her morning routine even slower than a human, barely making it to work on time.
Kara walked into Lena’s office at CatCo with a bag of pastries from Noonan’s, two coffees, and a wide grin, and Lena smiled back, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes as she gestured for Kara to take a seat.
“Breakfast is served,” Kara chirped, hangover already gone thanks to her Kryptonian biology and the bright sun climbing high in the sky.
Lena hummed appreciatively and took a delicate bite of the scone Kara had brought her (its appalling lack of sweetness didn’t faze the CEO, apparently) as the blonde bit into her first sticky bun. “Have you seen the news yet, Kara?”
“Huh? Uh, no, not yet. I had kind of a slow start this morning.” Kara finished off her second sticky bun and took a swig of coffee. “Why, something interesting happen?”
“You could say so.” Lena gave Kara a small smile and turned on one of the televisions mounted on the wall, unmuting it so Kara could hear.
“-a distinctly Supergirl-shaped hole. Here to comment is the owner of the small business currently advertising on the billboard.” Kara whipped her head around and stared at the screen with wide eyes. The newscast cut to an older black woman, her hair in thick braids and a wide grin stretching across her face. “Oh no, we definitely don’t wanna get it fixed. My son already called the company we’re renting the space from and got them to promise to leave it alone. Why would we wanna get rid of our Super-stamp of approval? ‘Sides, she managed to fly through a bit of empty space!” The woman waved her hand and gave a throaty laugh as the interview was replaced by some B-roll of the billboard in question. Blocky text across the top of the billboard advertised ‘a homecooked meal- even if your home is another planet!’ and the bottom right corner had different pictures of food, ranging from a bowl of chowder to something neon blue that honestly looked like it might still be alive. The bottom left corner featured a vaguely person-shaped hole.
“Oh Rao,” Kara muttered. She turned back around when Lena started laughing. “Lenaaa!”
“Sorry darling, but you have to admit it is amusing.” Lena gave Kara a bright grin, her green eyes sparkling. “Of all the headlines I was expecting to wake up to this morning, this was never on the list.”
Kara groaned and lowered her head into her hands. “D’you think Alex saw?”
“She already texted me the link to the article,” Lena admitted, biting her lip to try to hide her grin. “I’m not sure how she managed to find the article before me when I own the company, but she said I should just be glad she knows how little sleep I get, else she’d have called me at 4am when it posted.”
Kara looked up and gave Lena a surprised look. “There’s an article too? Who the heck wrote it that early?”
“Me, of course,” a voice chimed in, and Kara turned with wide eyes, her face quickly melting into a pout when she saw a certain young reporter leaning against the door frame, arms crossed smugly and a shit-eating grin on her face.
“Nia,” Kara whined. “How could you? Gosh, I don’t even remember flying through it, how’d you know about it?”
“I dreamed it and woke myself up laughing just in time to get there and see it for myself.” Nia pushed off from the door jamb and sauntered into the room, pulling out her phone. “If you hadn’t been in your civvies I would have been able to post the video of you flying through it.” She held her phone out and showed the video to Kara and Lena, the latter laughing as her companion’s face turned bright red. A small shape with blonde hair and pastel-coloured clothes sped through the air, only coming to a halt when she blasted through something with a bang, a startled look on her face. The billboard never stood a chance.
“But that- but- when I woke up I was in my suit!” Kara exclaimed, looking from Nia to Lena and back, a desperate gleam in her eyes. “So it couldn’t’ve been me! It was probably just some shapeshifter trying to embarrass me!”
“Keep watching,” Lena murmured, gesturing to Nia’s phone with a smirk.
Kara turned back to the phone with a sinking feeling in her stomach. From somewhere off-screen Nia’s voice yelled for Supergirl to put her damn suit on, and a moment later, after squinting dubiously at the camera and wobbling midair, on-screen Kara mumble-yelled something about already having her suit on and looked down, realizing mid ramble that she was wearing a “stupid librarian costume” before ripping her clothes off and flying off in her suit. Kara was just glad she’d had her super suit on under her clothes instead of just her ‘birthday suit’ as the humans called it, else the video would have been even more mortifying.
The video finally (blessedly) ended, and Nia tucked her phone into her pocket with a smirk. “I’m definitely playing this at you guys’s wedding.”
Kara spluttered for several moments before sighing and slouching back in her chair, muttering about backstabbing dreamers and rude girlfriends as Nia and Lena started watching the video again.
///
The second time it happened wasn’t Kara’s fault. She was fighting an alien nearly as strong as her, and one of its punches sent her careening through the air and straight through the flimsy material of the billboard, this time one advertising cat food. Kara thought nothing of it at the time, focused on the fight and not even realizing what had just happened. It wasn’t until she’d flown back to the DEO, alien safely apprehended, that she found out about it.
“You are affecting the billboard industry in very interesting ways,” Brainy commented when Kara trudged out of the infirmary, a small scowl on her face since the fight had interrupted her lunch with Lena.
“I’m- what?”
Brainy turned to her, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Companies have begun hiring analysts to predict which billboards are in areas you might crash through and have even begun trading billboards in an effort to find the ‘sweet spot’.”
“It’s that bad?” Kara asked, horrified. “I only crashed through one!”
“Two, actually,” Brainy corrected, pointing the large screen taking up the back wall. A billboard advertising a tasty cat food with a large hole torn though the place the bowl of food used to be glared back at her tauntingly. “And it is that good. The companies want Supergirl to crash through their billboards. They have come to see it as a badge of honor. A ‘Super-stamp of approval’ as Ms. Thomas put it.”
“I’m just glad they aren’t billing us,” J’onn added, standing off to the side, his arms crossed and a rare, wide grin on his face. “If only National City saw infrastructure damage the same way.”
Kara groaned and flew away as J’onn asked Brainy if they could start charging the billboard companies.
///
The third time wasn’t Kara’s fault either, but she didn’t say anything when Alex lectured her about it. She had been on her way to interview someone for an article when Lena had sent her a very… distracting picture and she’d accidently flown through a billboard advertising lingerie of all things (oh the irony). She was just glad she’d crashed through part of the company’s slogan and not anywhere inappropriate on the picture of the model.
///
“I can’t believe you’re running this story,” Kara grumped, flopping down onto the couch in Lena’s office at L-Corp. She’d flown over from CatCo as soon as Snapper had handed out assignments in the bull pen. “And I really can’t believe you’re making me write it!”
“I thought it might be fun for you.” Lena glanced at Kara over her laptop, but quickly looked back at the screen as she continued typing out an email to R&D, outlining all the reasons a Supergirl-flight-path-predictor was a horrible idea, billboard companies be damned. “You always feel bad when your fights cause property damage, but these people are actually arguing over which bit of damage you caused is best.”
“But it’s so embarrassing,” Kara whined, throwing her hands over her face. “I know they won’t know it’s me, but I have to interview them about the holes I made in their billboards and then write an article outlining which one is ‘the most representative of Supergirl’.” The eyeroll was audible in her voice.
Lena hummed in response but when Kara was quiet she stopped typing again and looked up. “Personally, darling, I’m a fan of the hole in the lingerie advertisement. It’s not as well-placed as the others, but I do appreciate that you were apparently more distracted then than when you were drunk.”
Kara lifted one of her hands enough to give Lena the side-eye. “That was your fault and you know it. Rao, I still can’t believe you texted me a picture of you- of you-”
“More scantily clad than the lingerie model whose billboard spotlight you stole?” Lena quipped, arching her eyebrow.
Kara squeaked an affirmative and fled her girlfriend’s sultry look, figuring she’d best get the interviews over with before she got hot and bothered enough to crash through a fourth billboard and had to add another interview to her list.
///
Supergirl only crashed through a few more billboards in the following months, but apparently graffiti artists found it all quite inspiring because the Superfriends seemed to send Kara a new skillfully painted picture of herself breaking through brick walls and train cars at least once a week. (She’d never admit it to anyone, but she actually liked the one of a chibi Supergirl bursting out of a water tower, spurts water following behind her… she’d liked it so much she’d let the kid who painted it finish before she’d flown her down and lectured her on the dangers of precarious perches for humans.)
#supercorp shorts#supercorp#supercorp oneshot#kara danvers#lena luthor#supergirl#supercorp fanfic#supercorp crack#queer up people
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whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter one)
You guys have no idea how long I’ve been building this universe in my head as I’ve been falling asleep. Huge thanks to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian, my ever faithful and patient betas and wonderful friends
please reblog and leave a comment on ao3!
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Mollymauk has been waiting for this day since he was eighteen years old.
Not the day he'll be crowned king, that day is a long way off and he's none too eager for it. No, today is the day the love of his life is returned to him, after they were separated when their affair was discovered.
But Caleb Widogast has been in the hands of the Volstruker. And who is coming back is not the same man who left.
So is that man still there?
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Mollymauk didn’t wake up, not really. To say he woke up would have implied he’d ever slept and he didn’t so much as doze that night, not even for a moment.
But when the dawn filtered under the thick curtains of his chambers and fell across the rich carpets, he did feel some sort of start. Though it wasn’t anything like waking up.
It felt more like coming back to life. He’s coming home.
He bolted upright, breath suddenly coming fast like he’d been sprinting. His mouth dried and the sudden need to move and move quickly crackled through his nerves, though he had no idea what to do with any of it.
Clothes. He’d start with that, seeing as he was completely naked save the silk sheets and his tattoos. Normally he’d wait for his sister, to get ready with her, but Jester really liked to sleep in and he'd always felt mean waking her up before the sun had cleared the horizon. Unless it was him doing it by repeatedly smashing a goosefeather pillow into her face.
And he needed some time to himself this morning. He’s coming home.
He lit the candles then looked through his vast wardrobe, normally grabbing the first thing he came across whether it was appropriate for court or not. People had long since given up on expecting him to be appropriate, full stop. His fathers senechal didn’t even roll her eyes as much when he would come to take his seat, dressed in feathers and sequins with far too much of his deep violet skin on display. Mollymauk actually suspected his father had turned it into a play, to further intimidate his already plenty intimidated supplicants.
But this morning his fingers passed over the usual silks, satins and samites. He couldn’t help but think of how he’d dressed back then, gods, ten years ago now. His fingers kept moving, further and further back into the racks, as if he could go back in time so easily. As if everything could be undone. As if he could be the Mollymauk he’d been back then just by dressing like him.
His chest clenched tightly. He’s coming home.
Eventually he found a close fitting tunic with a high neck, in a dark blue colour, clearly from some time before it was politically necessary for him to be wearing the house colours at all times. Soft doeskin breeches underneath, no jewellery save what he always wore in his horns. Just some kohl outlining his full, red eyes. He wanted to look as much like the Mollymauk he would remember as possible, whether it would change anything or not.
When the heavy knock on his chamber door came and it swung back with an iron and oak creak, Molly wasn’t surprised to see Yasha standing there, already dressed and ready to go and also very much not surprised to see him in the same state. Yasha had always understood him in that way.
“Your highness,” she said in that soft voice of hers, bending in a small half bow.
None of his other friends ever used his official titles outside of the courtroom but, after years as his aide de camp, she had turned them into a term of endearment. Hearing her say it gave him a reason to smile, in the middle of everything he was feeling.
“Good morning, Yasha,” he beckoned her in from where he sat at his dressing table, still looking at himself in the mirror.
“I checked with the night guard, your highness. All clear, nothing to report,” she intoned, as she did every morning before anything else was addressed.
“Good,” Molly murmured, attention elsewhere, “I, uh, take it my mother and father are still abed?”
“Soundly, your highness.”
Molly nodded tightly to his reflection. He didn’t want the king here for this. The less bad memories were waiting for him on the palace steps, the better.
Then why do you imagine he’ll want you there? A nasty little voice whispered inside his mind, making him clench his hands into fists. Molly swallowed hard and pushed it away, trying to wipe any trace of it off his face before Yasha could see it in the mirror.
He either hadn’t moved fast enough or their friendship ran too deep. He saw his friend’s face tighten ever so slightly, felt her hand rest on his shoulder and squeeze firmly.
“Are you ready for this, your highness?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. It was wise to never speak too loudly anywhere in this castle, not even in the bedchamber of it’s crown prince. Molly had learned that lesson early in life.
But still not early enough.
“I am,” he made himself meet Yasha’s eyes, or at least the reflection of them, “He’s coming home. He’s finally coming home. And everything’s going to be right again.”
If there was a flicker of doubt in his friend’s ash-ringed eyes, then Mollymauk didn’t see it. Instead he looked into his own face, bathed in candlelight and dawn, so he could see the certainty there and forget he’d forged it himself out of dreams and selective memories. So he could make himself believe it when he whispered it once more.
Caleb Widogast was coming home and everything would be right again.
People in the castle whispered about it, of course they did. But it just joined the never ending current of gossip and low level scandal that ran through the place because of the wayward crown prince. Caleb had become another faceless body in their prince’s bed, of the hundreds they imagined crowded in there like a tavern on a festival night. Earlier on than most, granted, but every bit as transient.
And even then Mollymauk still wasn’t the most interesting member of the royal family. Just the safest to gossip about.
It would make Mollymauk laugh bitterly, to imagine their faces if they’d only known. Caleb hadn’t been one of many. He’d been the first. He’d been everything.
They were called the Volstrucker, their true purpose shrouded by naming them in a language few people this side of the Xorhasian border spoke. For the few that could be openly seen at court, people had grown used to them and long ago grown bored of making up stories about them. They’d stopped questioning Sorah’s never ending vigil at the king’s side, the higher courtiers that were granted peeks behind the curtain thought little of the people in black who hid their faces and brought reports under magical seals that the king would read and then promptly burn. To them, Trent Ikithon was just another courtier, a noble chased from the Empire and trying to scratch some semblance of the power he’d once wielded through the benevolence of the king, clearly providing him some service they had better not dwell on too long.
Bodyguards, spies, personal assassins, fallen sorcerers with their uses, all these things were common in this court and drew little attention when no threads could be found between them all.
And when the crown prince was given a companion at the age of ten, a thin, pale boy with dark red hair and sharp blue eyes, the court accepted it when they were told he was just that. A companion. A personal guard. Hardly unusual, given that this was their heir to the throne. It was only natural that he would have his own version of his father’s silent, hulking goliath and it was rather smart, after all, to have the two boys grow alongside each other to strengthen the bond between them.
But of course, that was exactly the point of the Volstrucker. To blend into the background, to repel whispers and speculation as easily as shaking rainwater off a cloak, to run beneath the surface of things. It was what allowed them to operate as the most vicious, effective and brutal assassins and war mages anyone inside or outside of the Empire had ever seen. To be the stuff of legends and nightmares while never appearing so.
That was Caleb Widogast. Prince Mollymauk’s own personal Volstruker, the kind of privilege only extended to the most powerful people. And of course, those most powerful people who had close ties to their handler. Trained from their shared youth to give his life in service of his prince, to jump before every blade aimed at his neck, to either slaughter the enemy or take the sword point through his own flesh. Drilled in the most dangerous offensive magic, shaped by Ikithon’s hand out of common dirt to serve a greater purpose, to once day stand by the throne when it was Mollymauk’s turn to sit it or to perish getting him there.
That was who Caleb was. Or at least what he’d been intended as.
“An hour after dawn. That was what they said.”
Molly was pacing back and forth across his room, hands fidgeting with the adornments in his horns. Yasha sat patiently on his bed, again demonstrating how she could be such a stickler for protocol in some areas and then completely disregard it in others. Their long friendship always had been that strange kind of patchwork.
“They did say that, your highness,” she agreed patiently, for the tenth time that morning.
“So how long does it take to travel from this place?” the panic began rising on his throat, “This place they won’t even bloody tell me where it is? Because it damn far past an hour after dawn!”
Yasha took a deep, patient breath, one of many that she’d taken between coming into her prince’s room and this moment, “The roads have been dangerous of late. Perhaps they’ve just been delayed. Perhaps there was rain over the mountains. Perhaps a tree fell across the king’s road. Perhaps a million other things happened that we do not need to be worrying ourselves over right now.”
Molly flushed, folding his arms across his chest and staring sullenly at his boots, “There’s probably a few we should be worrying about…”
“Molly, think who he’s with. Is there really anything that would stop a pack of Volstreker for very long?”
“He...he was just never late,” Molly replied after a long, long pause, his voice sounding very far away and very young, “That was one of the things he hated most, being late.”
He wasn’t looking but he heard how his friend’s voice became very clipped and careful, her accent coming through stronger like it did when she was minding her words very closely, “My prince...Caleb may not be the friend we remember…”
Molly looked up sharply, his eyes bright and hard like rubies, “Caleb was not just my friend. Caleb was the love of my life. He is the love of my life. We’re soulmates.”
Yasha sighed again, though this one she kept to herself. Arguing with Mollymauk was a chore most of the time, nigh on impossible when he got that fire in his eyes, the same fire that could be seen in the king’s more and more frequently.
The fire that worried her every time she saw it reflected on her friend’s face.
So Yasha wouldn’t argue with him. She would do what she had always done, what she’d learned how to do when she’d been handed this broken boy at the age of eighteen and helped him put himself back together over ten long years, what people were afraid to do for a prince but gods did he need it. She would pull back his armour and show him what was underneath.
“Molly,” she stood, taking a few steps towards him, her sad eyes catching the candlelight, “What happened was not your fault.”
It was like watching a single crack in a sheet of ice bring a whole glacier face crumbling down. Yasha moved quickly, bringing Molly into her arms before he could even choke out a sob, as the tears he’d probably needed to cry since he’d heard Caleb was coming home burst forth.
For a moment, as her knees hit the thick carpet, it was as it had been ten years ago. Those long, awful months after Caleb had been taken away, when Molly couldn’t find the strength to rise from his bed, when the chambermaid Veth would bring him meals he wouldn’t eat, when Jester would come ask her big brother to play with her and it would be like she wasn’t there, when no good natured threats from Beau would get him down to the practise yard, when Fjord would come with tales of his travels and get no response. Caduceus, the palace healer, had done all he could for him, eventually only able to bow his head and sigh and say it wasn’t for any medicine to cure the nasty shock of a broken heart. The king had known better than to try and reach out to his son, knowing this had driven a chasm between them that would not be repaired. The queen had sat outside his chamber door for days on end, waiting until he would see her again.
Ikithon said Caleb had been taken for training. Re-education. The screaming nightmares that would bring Yasha and Jester running to Molly’s chambers at all hours proved just how much they believed that.
But Yasha squared her shoulders and let Molly weep against her. It wasn’t like that any more. Her prince had grown stronger since then, and wiser, this was just the aftershocks of an earthquake that had passed. He’d learned not to shut his friends out.
He proved that when he finally whispered, voice trembling, “But what if he blames me?”
Yasha squeezes his shoulders gently, “Think of the Caleb you knew. How well you understood each other. How clever he was. Do you really think he’d blame you?”
“No…” Molly drew back with a final sigh that sounded something like relief, “No he wouldn’t.”
“You know who's to blame,” Yasha’s voice hardened at the edges.
Molly’s mouth twisted, the way it often did when thoughts of that man strayed through his mind, Having him so close for the last ten years, seeing his smug smile and cruel eyes every day at court, at every royal banquet, in the council chambers, it had taken all of the combined efforts of his friends to convince him the matter couldn’t be settled with the point of his scimitars.
Not without angering the king. And despite everything Mollymauk said, despite the mask he wore, he was terrified of the king. He couldn’t hate him, not truly, not even after he ordered your heart torn in two and one half banished to gods knew where. Not even after everything he’d seen him do, the executions he’d ordered, the other kingdoms he’d seen him raze in war, watching from behind what little protection his mother could offer him. And even beyond the things he’d seen him do lurked the things he suspected.
But you couldn’t hate the man who’d saved your life. Who’d found you as an orphan and adopted you, named you heir to his kingdom, gave you a family and a name and a crown. Who had shown you love, perhaps, once upon a time.
Fear was easier. And so Mollymauk feared his father.
“I don’t want to think about that right now,” the tiefling rubbed at his eyes, smudging kohl across the bridge of his nose, “I just want to see him. I need to know he’s okay.”
Yasha opened her mouth, about to say something comforting while still trying to manage her prince’s expectations, when there came shouts from the far side of the bailey. From the main gate. Riders approaching.
Molly stiffened, eyes opening wide, lighting up with more hope than Yasha had seen on his face in years, so much so that she couldn’t help but smile.
“He’s home,” Mollymauk breathed.
The clamour raised by the approaching visitors must have woken Jester. As Mollymauk stood in the audience chamber, smoothly maintaining his princely face, she came bursting through the side door, clearly having dressed in a hurry. She ran up to take her place at his side, panting and grinning, eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Is he here yet? Is he here?” she gasped, taking her brother’s hand and squeezing tight.
Molly chuckled fondly, dropping the act for the moment and winding an arm around her in a hug. He could never maintain it around Jester.
“Not yet. They’re just dismounting in the foreyard, we don’t even know if it's them yet…”
“Oh of course it is!” Jester rolled her eyes before the splitting grin came back, “I can’t believe he’s here, we’re all together again. It’ll be just like it was before!”
Molly couldn’t hide his own delight, not when her’s was taking it by the hand and tugging it up to the surface. But he needed to wear the right face for this, settling for laughing and scrubbing her blue hair quickly before pushing her away.
“Come now, at least try and look suitably intimidating,” he teased, moving back to standing tall with his hands clasped at the small of his back to put the hilts of his infamous scimitars on show, “The king would be most disappointed if any of our visitors left with dry smallclothes.”
“That’s not my job,” Jester snorted, like he were the world’s biggest fool rather than her future liege, “My job is to stand and look dumb and pretty to get them off their guard.”
Molly nudged her with a sharp elbow which she mostly dodged, “And brain them with a psychic lollipop if I lose my swords.”
“And brain them with a psychic lollipop if you lose your swords!” she repeated cheerily, giving him a wink before her face settled into something softer, something not unlike the look Yasha had given him as she’d helped him to his feet, “I’m really happy for you, Molly.”
Molly had his eyes facing firmly forward, he could hear voices from behind the gilded doors or the audience chamber. But the corner of his mouth turned up and the tension in his shoulders lessened slightly.
He was glad to have his sister beside him for this.
Because the door was opening and the man he loved, the man he’d loved since he was a child, the man whose absence had ripped a hole inside him he thought would never heal, was about to walk through the door.
Ikithon first, flanked by two nondescript figures in all black, a man and a woman. Molly greeted them with a stiff nod, his heart set on what lay behind them. A cloaked figure, hood up, the same stiff black uniform as the other two.
“Ah, Prince Mollymauk,” Ikithon intoned, voice as slippery as ever, “A welcome sight at the end of a long journey. It was my pleasure, of course, to bring your personal Volstruker back to you. Consider it yet another token of my sincere and genuine apology for the… unpleasantness he caused ten years ago.”
His voice lingered over that word, drawing it out into something sharp edged. Because of course he knew. Jester glanced anxiously at her brother.
Molly’s anger bubbled too close to the surface, he had to force the words through his teeth in a thin veneer of politeness, “You have the throne’s thanks, Archmage, as ever. Of course, I would be loath to keep you any longer, after such an arduous journey. You and your companions are dismissed to refresh yourselves. Immediately.”
He was rewarded by the slightest curling of Ikithon’s lip at his old title, the reminder of the one he used to own before he was cast out of the empire for his crimes. The same crimes the king had welcomed him in for.
“I will escort you myself!” Jester insisted with a sweet smile, smoothing the moment over in an instant, hurrying down the steps of the raised platform to sweep her arm out invitingly, seeming to put even the two senior Volstruker off guard, “Please follow me! I would so love to hear all about your journey!”
Jester was very hard to say no to. Within minutes they were gone into the luxurious depths of the castle and, given that this had been a very small welcome in the early hours of the morning, this left Mollymauk alone with Caleb.
His resolve broke as soon as the footsteps disappeared. Dropping all sense of decorum, he lurched forward, down the steps, unable to bear the distance between them.
“Caleb,” he nearly sobbed out, though still in control enough to drop his voice, “Gods, Caleb, it's so good to see you again. There’s so much I need to say to you but...Caleb?”
He hadn’t moved. There hadn’t been so much as a twitch in his muscles. Molly was panting, wild eyed, now close enough to reach out and touch him but he hadn’t flinched.
The voice stopped Mollymauk just as dead in his tracks. The most awful mix of familiar and foreign, the voice he knew but seeming to come from a different set of lungs.
“Your permission to remove my hood, your highness?”
Molly frowned, not understanding, feeling like he was in some strange dream now, actions not making sense and words coming out disjointed, “I...yes?”
With a slight nod, gloved hands swept back the heavy hood. It was almost exactly the face he’d imagined, the strong jaw and close beard of rust, the piercing blue eyes and high, handsome cheekbones. He’d grown into the handsome man Molly had always known he would be.
But he’d never imagined the expressionlessness in his eyes. The slack set of his jaw. He’d never imagined it would be like looking into the eyes of a doll or a painting.
Gods, it was so much worse than the looks of fear, pain, even the anger and hatred he’d seen in his nightmares.
“Caleb…” Molly groaned.
“I would like to apologise for my grievous errors when we were younger men, your highness,” the man who wasn’t Caleb intoned, completely flat, “I compromised my position as your Volstruker and took advantage of you in a completely unacceptable way. I swear to you that all degeneracy has been wiped clean and I am returned ready to do nothing but serve you with body and soul.”
He pulled his fist to his chest, keeping it there in a hard salute, one Molly had seen so many black clad figures make to Ikithon, to his father.
“I am yours, my prince.”
Molly’s heart shattered in his chest, tears running down his cheeks to drip onto the hands frozen halfway to taking Caleb in his arms.
“Caleb, what have they done to you?” he whispered, voice strained.
Someone had come home. But not the man he knew.
Not the man he loved.
#widomauk#critical role#mollymauk tealeaf#caleb widogast#cr fic#cr: mollymauk#cr: caleb#angst#royal au#prince and his knight#tw: brainwashing#tw: trauma#Molly and yasha friendship is my favourite thing#please reblog!!#please comment!!!
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Osomatsu - A Promise I'll Break
𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳!𝘖𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘟 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
"What do you think of death?"
The question was very sudden and out of the blue. You snapped your head over to the man beside you, sat casually in his seat with a steaming coffee mug in hand. His eyes, glowing a vibrant green, stared inquisitively at your tense figure as he sipped at his beverage, the skeletal mask that covered his lower face removing itself eerily.
"I...I'm not sure what you mean.." It was the truth. With a being like him asking a question like that, there could be a few dark undertones that you wished not to uncover.
"Well, y'know.." he gestured lazily with his free hand, black mist swirling around him in an unearthly manner. He didn't belong here. "A lot of people seem like their scared of death, finding it to be a horrifying journey that the naked eye can't witness.." he chuckled at that, allowing a shiver to run up your spine, "But sometimes, people see it as a blessing, in a way. A person's spirit can finally leave this world in peace."
He turned his gaze back to you.
"So, what do you think of it?"
You stared adamantly down at your own clear drink. Your fingers were enlarged under the water's image, pressing tightly against the glass. Small bubbles of air filtered around the liquid, rising to the top before bursting all to quickly.
"I'm not sure, sir.. It is true that it can be.. terrifying, staring death in the eyes," you shuddered again, "But I do have hope that there is something waiting for us.. A happier place, maybe."
The man hummed, leaning his head back to the stair at the ceiling, his brown hair flopping back over his scalp. Suddenly, he sat up straight, pointing at you.
"I told you to stop calling me 'sir!" You jolted, carefully manoeuvring your glass so that your water wouldn't spill. "C'mon, what do I have to do to at least get you to call me by my name? It's not hard! Say it with me: O-so-ma-tsu!"
With him being who he was, you would have thought that he would act more mature —wise, even — but he had no such personality traits. He instead acted like a man child in desperate need for attention, specifically from you. You hated it, because it meant you had to see him more often around your workplace, which only served to unnerve you. And he was either oblivious to this, or chose to purposefully ignore it.
You glanced over to the clock, eyes lighting up at the time. You swiftly stood up after swallowing down your glass of water, grabbing your coat and bag from the coatrack.
"You're leaving?" he frowned, swivelling in his chair to watch you. You barely spared him a look, unable to force yourself to stare back into those gleaming green eyes.
"Yes, my shift is over for today."
"Ah, I see... But don't forget!" he called after you before you could leave the room. "We have 'graveyard' shift tomorrow!" he grinned, watching you tense up at the shoulders.
You were outside the room now, facing the empty hallway, except it wasn't empty. Ghostly figures slipped past you every now and then, there skin and clothing wafting through the air like silk, although it wouldn't feel like the material at all, should you touch it. You knew that first hand.
"Safe travels, [Y/N]." was the last words you heard from him that night as you shut the door behind you, clutching at your bag tightly as you wove your way through the hauntingly empty corridors. All you wanted to do was go home.
»»----- ♔ -----««
The air was colder than you had anticipated, your fingers and face feeling numb to the cool night air. You sighed heavily as you finally made it inside the hospital, quickly making your way over to the staff room, where you knew he would be waiting oh-so eagerly for you.
As you turned down a hallway, you came to a sudden stop, barely preventing yourself from crashing into another nurse turning the same corner. You both jumped back with a noise of surprise, wide eyes regarding one another before relaxing.
"Oh, hey [Y/N]," the nurse chuckled, holding a hand to her chest. "You're on duty now?"
You gave no response, staring at something over her shoulder. She raised a brow as all colour seemed to drain itself from your face. "..[Y/N]..? Is everything okay?" she turned her head over her shoulder, frowning as she found nothing there.
But of course she wouldn't see anything. She wasn't born with this curse. She should be grateful, to not be able to see the decaying face of a remaining spirit, hovering over her with its jaw unhinged and eyes filled with nothing but darkness. You bit back the urge to vomit as it raised a rotting hand, shoving its jaw back into place with a sickening crack.
"Uh... Maybe you should get some water. I'll.. see you tomorrow, [Y/N]." The nurse left you quickly, and you knew she was looking back at you with odd glances. She would probably go and tell everyone else what had happened. You could practically hear the conversation already:
'That new girl is so weird, staring at nothing! It's like she's seeing things! She should get herself checked out, maybe she's not all good up there.'
"[Y/N]?"
You jumped, whipping around to find Osomatsu staring at you blankly. His cape-like jacket flowed behind him as he came closer to you, stopping just in front of you. His eyes flickered over your shoulder before returning to you as he tilted his head.
"You good? You were kinda just standing there."
You stammered for a moment, turning to look behind you and, to no surprise of your own, finding no spirit floating there like it was before. You sighed quietly, feeling a headache already coming on.
"I'm.. fine."
"..Good!" he smiled, walking past you with a beckon of his hand, " 'Cuz we have a lot of paperwork to get through and pass out, so let's not waste any time, yeah?"
Of course he wouldn't actually care for your wellbeing. With a twitch of your eye, you begrudgingly followed behind him, keeping your head low and ignoring the want to cover your ears to block out the ugly groans and wails of those others couldn't see. You wished you could be like them.
As soon as you sat down in that swivelling office chair, you willed your mind to switch onto autopilot, wanting to zone out the rest of the night as much as you could and get lost in your work. It would be easier to deal with the terrible hours you were having to endure. But no matter how hard you tried, this particular night seemed to want you completely aware of everything that was going on around you.
You were constantly jumping in your seat as spirit after spirit wandered in and out of the room, their whispering calls and cries for their loved ones ringing in your ears for minutes on end. The temperature in the room seemed to drop lower than room temperature, making you shiver. Not even the steaming mug of coffee beside you warmed you up.
And then, there was Osomatsu, who was supposed to be helping you, but was instead whining about everything that came to his mind, blabbering on non-stop and even snickering at you whenever you had a scare. It irritated you greatly, but you were also afraid. You couldn't exactly say anything back to him — not if you wanted your life ripped from you in the blink of an eye.
Just when you thought you had just about enough of it all, he spoke to you in a more serious tone.
"Y'know, I've heard some things about you."
You froze in your seat. You knew where this was going. This was the absolute last thing you had wanted.
"Well, I heard stuff about you before you even started working here. Word spreads real fast, don't you think?"
You grip on the computer mouse tightened. You needed him to stop. Talking.
"But you know how rumours are. You can't exactly trust them, seeing as how everyone just ends up twisting them to match their own ideals. So I figured I'd just ask you directly — makes things easier."
There was a moments silence, the sound of a chair squeaking beside you as he leaned forward in his seat becoming deafeningly loud in the quiet space.
"I heard that you working here has made it your fourth transfer this month."
"How did you—?"
"They say," he cut you off, cat green eyes locking onto your own coloured orbs as you turned towards him, "That it's because you say you're seeing things. Someone even said it's because you weren't deemed 'suitable' to work at a couple other hospitals. The things that you say you've seen... aren't exactly kid friendly, are they?"
You bit down on your lip hard. His lower face was obscured by that mask again, with its skeletal jaw and raw bone outlining the glow of his eyes dangerously as he grinned, as if he had struck gold. The scythe he always carried was resting across his lap, glinting under the light, a reminder of just how close death was to you.
"I.." Your voice wavered, hesitant to tell the truth, but you knew deep down that he probably already knew it, for a lot longer than you thought he did.
"It's not.. my fault.." you sighed, lowering your face into your hands and digging the heels of your palms into your eyes in a poor attempt to keep your tears at bay, the stress now catching up to you, "I don't want to see these.. these things all the time, but they won't go away.. they're everywhere.."
"What do you see?"
"...I see things like you." Your heart began to pick up speed as it thrummed in your ears, close to bursting as you finally plucked up the courage to speak.
"Things — no, people, that aren't alive anymore. Spirits, spectres, ghosts, whatever you want to call them. And —... And reapers, like you," You shuddered, "I can see it all. Wherever I go, they're always following me.."
Osomatsu still hadn't given you a response, and your worry spiked. You didn't want to open your eyes to witness another angry reaper, ready to chase you out of another job. The last one had almost caught you. You couldn't go through that again.
"I know who you really are, Matsuno," you still refrained from using his 'real' name, "But I swear, I'm not here to get in your way! I'm just here to do my job as a nurse, I want to help people! I don't.. I don't mean to disturb you. So, please... Please don't try to get rid of me. I really need this job.."
"Why would I try to get rid of you?"
You paused.
"The last reaper I ran into.. didn't like me all too much.." you grimaced at the memory. "He thought I was trying to save the souls he had to reap, and he chased me away from the hospital. I can't go back there, even if I wanted to.."
Osomatsu chuckled softly.
"Sounds like little Ichimatsu, alright.." he mumbled to himself, whilst you were too busy staring at him, bewildered that he had just laughed at you. Was this all a joke to him? You really hoped it wasn't.
He leaned back in his seat again, resting his arms behind his head in a relaxed position. Grinning at you, you watched as his mask and dark clothing slowly dissolved away, revealing the usual male nurse uniform that others had always seen, and you had rarely seen on him.
"I had a feeling you were an odd one," he hummed. "Ever since you stepped foot in this place, these old wisps have been gravitating towards you like a magnet."
"I'm sorry," you blurted. "They always seem to attach to me. I don't mean for it to happen—"
"I know, you don't need to start blubbering over it," he raised a hand. "If anything, you always want to just get away from them, and that's enough for me to know that you're not gonna ruin my own little gig I got here, too. So, how about we strike a small deal?"
He held out a gloved hand, still keeping that cattish smile plastered over his lips. You cocked a brow, suspiciously eyeing his outstretched palm.
"You promise to me that you won't get in the way of my 'work'," he used his free hand to make quote marks over the word, "and I'll promise not to mess with you either. Deal?"
"...It's not just you who messes with me here," you reminded him, just in time to catch another spirit wander into the room. It stared at you blankly for a moment, hollow eyes staring deep into your soul, then shifted over to Osomatsu before leaving again.
"Fine," he rolled his eyes as he groaned. "I'll make sure neither I nor the other spirits in this place mess with you. Is that better?"
Something deep in the back of your mind was screaming that it wasn't better. Trusting a reaper of all things was a bad idea, and making a deal with one was even worse. But, as you stared into his gleaming eyes, what choice did you have?
"..Just peachy.." you slipped your hand into his, the cold of his flesh seeping into your warm palm as he shook it twice firmly, his smile widening and showing off his shrunken fangs.
"Y'know, I have a feeling things are gonna get a little more interesting around here, now." You grimaced, snatching your hand away from him.
"I hope not."
"Ugh, you humans are all so boring.." he whined. You ignored him, turning back to your computer. As much as you hated admitting it to yourself, you couldn't deny that the weight on your shoulders had lightened just a small bit, enough for you to breath without having that constricting feeling in your chest.
»»----- ♔ -----««
Osomatsu should have known something was wrong.
A smooth four months had sailed by since your deal, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying your presence more and more as the days went by.
The one day where you didn't come in for work, though, he shrugged it off. Even when he had overheard that you hadn't called in to give any reasoning behind your absence, he didn't think too much of it. Humans were weak things compared to him, after all; if you needed a break, then he wouldn't dwell on it any longer.
That single day turned into two days. Then those two days turned into three days. Then those three days turned into three weeks.
Osomatsu grew more agitated by the day. His mood was visibly worsening, snapping at anyone when they would tell him they didn't know where you were. He didn't understand why he felt that way. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so angry at the fact that he didn't know where you were. The deep pit in his stomach was telling him that something bad had happened. He should be worried.
But why should he be worried? You were a human. You were weaker than him, had less of a lifespan than him, so what if you could see spirits and random shit like he could? He was a reaper, an all powerful being that could suck the soul out of your body with a single tap of his scythe. Why should he care about what's happened to you?
He shoved those feelings deep into the back of his mind, attempting to erase them as quickly as he could. He didn't need these insignificant feelings getting in the way of his work.
It wasn't enough, though.
No one had expected to see you come into his hospital room, wrapped in numerous bandages and heavy casts on your right arm and leg. Your bruised eyes were shut closed as a small patch of stitching made itself clear on your left brow, your breathing deep as if you were simply sleeping, but he knew it was so much more than that.
Just one look, and all those feelings came bursting to the forefront of Osomatsu's mind as he stared at you in bewilderment.
"She came in last night," someone was telling him, but he wasn't focusing on them. "She was taken from her home about a month ago, and was beaten pretty brutally. We're still trying to figure out why and how this has happened, but until she's feeling well enough, she'll be under your care, Matsuno."
Whoever was speaking to him left the room not soon after, leaving you and Osomatsu alone. He was still staring at your battered form, eyes shifting from a muddy brown to a fluorescent green as he eyed the glow around your body. It was flickering, significantly dimmer than the last time he had seen you —back then, you were glowing.
His black clothing slipped itself over his uniform like a shadow, a hood falling low over his forehead as his mask settled onto his lower jaw, lips pressed into a firm line as he grasped his scythe. Stepping towards you, he hovered his scythe over your heart for a moment before shifting the sharpened tip to your temple, tapping it once as the bright hospital room fell away into darkness.
»»----- ♔ -----««
You stared down at the flowing white dress that had draped itself over you. Rubbing the material between your fingertips, you barely acknowledged how soft it felt before letting it fall to your side with a sigh.
The luminosity of your dress was the only thing to stand out in this darkness that surrounded you. You felt as if you had walked in circles trying to figure out where you were, only to realise that you weren't moving at all. It was a perpetual loop, never ending, never beginning.
You sat yourself on the solid ground beneath you, tucking your legs close to your chest as you rested your chin on your knees, arms wrapping around yourself in a feeble attempt at comfort.
You knew what this all meant. Your end was coming soon, and all you could do was wait for that end to come for you. You began to wonder who would come to take you, and a brief image of a familiar face came to mind before you waved it away.
Having him see you as you were now — feeble and vulnerable — was nothing short of humiliating for you. On top of that, you really didn't want his face to be the last thing you would see before you... left. It would only make things harder.
You didn't know if time existed wherever you were, but you felt as if you had sat there for a lifetime, occupying yourself by tracing over the scattered bruises over your exposed arms from your dress. You couldn't feel the pain, but you knew it was there. How long had you endured all of that for? You lost track of the days a long time ago.
The sound of footfalls echoing around you in the vast blank space made you perk up. Not seeing anything to your left or right, you turned around, hand pressing to the cool floor as your breath caught in your throat.
"Had a feeling I would find you here," Osomatsu jested as he stood casually before you, leaning against the mantle of his scythe with his free hand resting in his pocket.
"Are you here to.. take me away?" Your quiet voice amplified itself in the silence, reaching his ears easily. He seemed to contemplate this question, eyes squinting as he peered at you, taking steps towards you before he knelt down in front of you.
"It is my job to do so, but right now..?" He ran a hand through his hair under his hood, chuckling weakly, "I don't know."
You lowered your head, unable to look him in the eyes, now for many different reasons. You flinched at the feeling of his fingers pressing under your chin, lifting your face up to look at him once more as he scrutinised the markings on your face. It became unsettling to watch his face fall blank, a slate of no emotion whilst he gazed at you.
"..I've heard different rumours this time," quoting himself from all this months ago. How you wished to go back to those times. At least it was easier to live than it was now. "Somebody took you, and somebody hurt you." He traced his index finger up, over the curve of your cheek to the arch of your brow, barely brushing over the cut that had rested there. "Who did this to you?"
"I don't know.. They wanted me for my 'gift'.." you spat the word out with a scowl, "But does it matter?" You looked away from him again. "If you're here to take me away, then hurry up and do it already."
"Why are you so eager to end your life here?" Osomatsu tilted his head.
"Because what else do I have out there?!" You yelled in frustration, tears finally rolling down your heated cheeks. "Even if I live, there's not going to be anything waiting for me! Everything keeps getting worse and worse — I can't take it anymore!"
"And yet you're still here."
"Because you won't reap my soul—!"
"Because you still want to live."
He stood up, reaching for your wrists and pulling you up with him. You stuttered as he pressed your firmly against his chest, his hand forcing you to look into his eyes.
"Do you think I just take whatever soul I want whenever I want to?" He huffed a laugh at you, wiping away a fresh tear with the pad of his thumb. "I take souls who are ready and willing to die. And for you, that's not the case. If you were truly willing to die, I would have taken your soul the minute you were brought into this hospital."
Staring up at him, you found it hard to look away a third time. Even as your vision blurred his features together, you could still point out his eyes. You had never noticed how pretty they were like this, glinting like cut jade, shaped and moulded into perfect orbs.
"I know I made a deal to you," he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he clutched you closer, "But just this once, let me break it. Let me get you out of here."
"...Will you be there when I wake up?"
He laughed louder this time, the vibration of his voice rumbling through his chest.
"I'll be there for as long as you need. Or until you get sick of me."
You let out a watery giggle. You were sure that you were past that stage.
It was odd. A mere few months ago, you had despised being in the presence of this reaper. Yet now, you were clutching onto him tighter than ever as you nodded along to his proposal, wanting nothing more than to drown yourself in his comfort as you found yourself in a hospital room, blinking up at the ceiling.
#osomatsu san#osomatsu matsuno#osomatsu x reader#reaper!osomatsu#trigger warnings: death#tw#angst#romance
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Chapter III Road trip
Olivias P.O.V
I lazily got out of my bed. Everyone was delighted to go on a long awaited road trip,but I couldn't stop thinking about the argument. Yesterday I heard Monty throw something and yell. I felt so horrible,I really didn't mean to embarrass him,I want to apologise but I don't know if he will forgive me. A loud bang threw me out of my thoughts.
-"Good morning sweetheart! Get ready and go downstairs to eat breakfast." .
It was our favourite caretaker Ms.Marry Allen. She would always check on us every morning. Literally everyone loved her.
I walked down the old and creaky hallway,as I was doing that I saw another person exit their room. I immidiately recognized my best friend. Monty turned around and stared at me,he looked away as soon as we made eye contact;my eyes got watery as I remembered all the good memories we had. I tried to stop the tears from falling down my face but I was doing a horrible job.
I walked into our cafeteria and sat down on my usuall spot.
-"Hey Olivia! Oh my god what happened? Were you crying?" . Jay said in a concerned tone of voice.
-"Yeah I'm okay, everything is fine"
-"Are you sure? You look horrible!"
-"Yes I'm sure Jay." .I hissed at my friend.
I looked up and noticed that everyone was looking at me,well almost everyone...
The akward silence was broken by our teacher reminding us about our luggage and the time of leaving the orphanage.
*ONE HOUR LATER*
Montys P.O.V
Everyone already got on the bus and sat down next to their friends, but the sit right next to me was empty. I looked around in hopes to find my best friend. I found her sitting right next to Raven. I had so many regrets. My brain was full of thoughts,I couldn't stop thinking about Jay and how she made me feel;I also couldn't stop thinking about how I treated Olivia. She looked so upset. I tried to drown out my thoughts by putting my earbuds in and turning on the music. I looked outside the window and admired the views.I slowly dozed of to sleep.
I woke up to someone nudging my shoulder.
-"Hey! Wake up,we're here." I looked over to the direction where the sound was coming from ,only to meet Bryan's face.
-"Yeah yeah I'm awake"
-"Is everything okay dude? You looked sad the whole day."
- "I don't want to talk about it" - I gave Bryan a sad glare and walked past him.
*
-"Alright kiddos we're here! Isn't this place beautiful? Anyway,meet our guide Mr.Light who will show us the beauty of this forest". Our enthusiastic caretaker was introducing the guide to everyone but I couldn't take my eyes of Olivia. I wasn't checking her out or anything like that, I just didn't want to lose her, I needed to talk to her.
Our group started walking I sped up my trace in hopes of catching up to Olivia. After few minutes I managed to nudge her.
-"I need to talk to you.". I looked at her sadly.
-" What do you want? I'm not in the mood to talk to you."
-"Please just give me a chance to at least apologise to you. I know I screwed up. I yelled at you for no reason at all. Please forgive me."
After saying that I started tearing up. I could feel the end of our friendship. I slowly turned away but I felt tension on my elbow and I started walking in a completely different way. When I looked over in the direction I was getting pulled towards I noticed that Olivia was the reason behind the actions.
-"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" I said with a slight chuckle
-"Well you said wanted to talk so I'm giving you a chance that you were begging me for."
-"Do you know where we are going?"
-"Nope"
We stopped and looked at each other.
-"Okay listen I'm sorry for teasing you about liking Jay. I'm sorry for embarrassing you."
-"And I'm sorry for yelling at you. I was already in a bad mood and I lost control over myself."
I stared at my shorter friend and noticed a familiar smirk on her face. Oh boy what was she planning?
-"What are you planning. I know that smirk."
-" It's nothing bad don't worry. I was just thinking that we should apologise to each other on the count to three."
-"Sounds good. Alright 1,2,3"
Expecting an apology from both us at the same time was rather a big dissapointment. We said nothing.
-"See,now I'm dissaponited in both of us."
Olivia started laughing,I joined her a second later.
It was good to have her back,but something wasn't sitting right with me. Where are we?
-"Uhh...Olivia you said that you don't know where we are,right?"
-"Well...yeah."
-"Uh oh." We said in unision.
*
-"I could of sworn that we walked here a minute ago."
-"How do you know?"
-"I recognise that mushroom" I said pointing to said mushroom and I got smacked a second later.
-"Why are you like this? Why must you annoy me like this you heathen?"
-"Oh shush,you know you love me."
-"Yeah yeah whatever, but in all seriousness where the hell are we?"
-"Are you really expecting an answer from me right now?"
-"No..." I noticed that Olivia was staring at something behind me.
-"What? Oh."
-"Why is there a staircase in the middle of the forest?"
-"I don't know,let's climb it"
-"What is wrong with you? What just possesed you and gave you an idea that I want to climb the mysterious staircase?"
-"Well I never said that you have to climb it"
-"Yes you did you braindead llama!"
-"Wh..what did you just call me?
-"You heard me, I'm not gonna repeat myself"
-"Wow rude,anyways let's go climb this thing!"
-"Monty no!"
-"Monty yes!"
-"I will pick up and put you on the top of the staircase."
-"No you will not- PUT ME DOWN YOU BASTARD!"
I did not put her down,instead I made her climb the staircase with me. Few seconds later I started feeling dizzines and anxiety,I glanced at my friend and noticed her skin was turning pale. I used all of my strenght to go downstairs. As soon as I got down I had to sit down because of the dizzines. Olivia wanted to do the same thing but she fell down the stairs hitting her head on the way down. I started crawling towards her to check if she's okay.
-"Olivia,Olivia wake up." I lightly shook her "Please wake up!"
-"I'm awake,stop yelling."
-"I thought you left me"
-"I just bonked my head,it's nothing serious don't worry."
In the corner of my eye I caught a sight of pink colour and I could of sworn that I have not seen it before. In that moment I realised the grass was also the colour of pink. The tree barks were navy blue. I turned my head towards my best friend to check if she sees the same thing. By the shocked expression on her face I could tell that she also could see all of these things.
-"Okay what is this supposed to be?"
-"There are two options,either we hit our heads way too hard or we are tripping balls right now."
-"Where did the staircase go?"
I turned around to check what Olivia was taking about only to realise that the staircase we just walked or rather slumbered down was gone.
*
It's been two hours since we found ourself in this forest and about four hours since we got ourself in this mess.
-"Do you think that they are looking for us?" Olivia broke the silence.
-"Knowing Ms.Allen they surely are looking for us."
-"I want to go home."
-"Me too Olivia."
-"WELL WE WOULDN'T BE HERE IF NOT YOUR STUPID F**KING IDEA TO CLIMB THE STAIRCASE!"
I looked at her in suprise. I never heard her swear before. Nor I heard her yell like that. She was right though,we wouldn't be looking for an exit if not my idea to climb up the stairs leading to nowhere.
-"I-I know. I messed up badly. I'm a moron I was just trying to cheer you up a little bit."
-"You're right you ARE a moron,no I take it back you are a braindead bastard."
Olivia made eye contact with me,her eyes were full of rage but after few seconds her eyes filled with tears,she began to cry.
-"I'm so sorry Monty. I'm really sorry I didn't mean that. Please forgive me,you are like a brother to me please forgive me."
I pulled her into a hug. She was sobbing so hard that her legs gave up on her. We sat down on the ground and I began to rock us back and forth.
-"Hey,please don't cry. Everything will be okay. I'm not mad at you, I completely understand why you were mad at me. Hey hey,shh please try to calm down. I forgive you. You are so right I'm a braindead bastard."
-"N-no don't call yourself that."She barely could get any words out of her mouth.
Few minutes passed and I managed to calm her down. We stood up decided to walk around for a bit and maybe find a shelter. Out of nowhere Olivia pointed out foxes sitting in front of us. They had interesting fur colouring. They were black with orange outline. They started walking towards us.
-"Why are they walking towards us?"
-"Maybe they're hungry?"
-"I don't know but all I can say is they don't look friendly." As soon as I said that the foxes started started grooming my best friends leg.
-"Aww would you look at it you made friends."
-"I did! Their fur is so fluffy!"
-"Why are their bonking their nose on you though?"
-"I think they want us to follow them or something. Oh and now they're grooming you!"
-"Oh wow you were right,they are fluffy!"
The foxes started bonking their noses on my leg as well. After that they walked away a little and looked back at us as if they were waiting for us. So obviously we decided to follow them.
*
Minutes passed and we finally found something. It was a sign informing us about some sort of camp.
-"Monty look a sign!"
-"I see it! What does it say?"
-"I think it says Camp Eden 300 meters"
-"We're saved! Oh finally a shelter!
Little did they know what was waiting for them
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Fic: Happiest Girl (Part 3)
Alan makes a bet that Dave would not be able to pass off as a woman in ladies’ clothing. Dave decides to prove him wrong.
Pairing: Dave/Alan
Rating: Who am I kidding? Probably will end up Explicit
Notes: Many thanks for @pinksyndication and @what-could-have-been for their awesome ideas!
First part is here.
Second part is here.
They were now in the thick of the West German leg of their tour, which was always the longest. Dave was pleased to arrive in Hamburg; he’d always loved the hedonistic seediness of the city and its dark underbelly which it never bothered to hide. It felt like a sister city to New York, in that sense.
Alan hadn’t brought up the bet again over the last three days since they’d shaken hands on it, but then again it’d been a nonstop whirlwind of back-to-back gigs, press interviews and travel. They were finally going to get a bit of a breather in Hamburg and West Berlin, which was fine by Dave. Alan looked tired too, even a little distracted, which was very unusual for him. Even Martin’s poofy hair looked like it was starting to wilt. They could all do with a break.
So when Alan rang Dave’s hotel room and asked him to come over on their very first day off in Hamburg, Dave imagined that it was Alan merely wanting to get lunch together or maybe talk about hitting some of the clubs on the Reeperbahn that night. Instead he was surprised to find Alan laying out dresses on his bed, methodically arranging them according to colour and length. “Which one d’you like?” Alan asked him, gesturing towards the dresses.
Dave goggled at him. “We’re doing the bet thing tonight?”
Alan looked at him like he had grown three heads. “Yeah, course we are.”
“But why?”
Alan started counting off on his fingers. “Firstly, it’s our day off. Secondly, I don’t want to keep lugging these dresses all over Europe. So the faster we get rid of them, the better. And thirdly, we’re in Hamburg, mate. I can’t think of a better place that’s more, uh, accepting of blokes in dresses. In case, y’know, we get caught.”
Dave didn’t miss the use of ‘we’ in that sentence, which was actually a little heartwarming. It reminded Dave that he wasn’t alone in this, that Alan wasn’t going to let him get punched by some homophobic bastard who found out he wasn’t a woman. “Alright, okay,” Dave conceded with a sigh, going over to look at the dresses.
They picked over the selections together as though they were discussing which samples they’d wanted to program into the Emulator. Dave was actually privately impressed with Alan’s tastes; it seemed that Alan was aware Dave preferred fitting clothes, and had chosen accordingly. Dave found his gaze continually drawn to a cute little black number that looked like it would be skimpy but comfortable. Alan must have noticed, because he was smiling as he nodded towards it. “Like that one, do you?”
Dave shrugged, wondering if it was normal for him to feel this eager about the proceedings. “It’s not bad.”
Something in Alan’s smile sharpened. “Go try it on, then.”
Dave gawked at him. “Wh- here? Right now?”
Alan looked confused. “Yeah, of course. We need to see if it works first.”
Muttering under his breath, Dave pulled off his t-shirt and unzipped his denim cut-offs, kicking them off so that he was only standing there in his boxers. He was figuring out how to slip the dress on when Alan looked over at him and chuckled. “You’re not going to wear those under that pretty dress tonight, are you?” he asked, pointing at Dave’s plaid boxers.
Dave looked down at them. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”
Alan’s face was riddled with doubt. “Hard to explain, really. It just-- it’ll look a bit weird, right?”
“To who?” Dave said incredulously. “I don’t know about you mate, but I’m not planning on letting anyone peek under my dress while I’m in this get-up.”
A shadow of something quickly passed over Alan’s face, but it was gone before Dave could fully process it. “Maybe briefs would be a better fit,” Alan said tentatively.
“Yeah, maybe,” Dave said. “I’m not wearing knickers though, so don’t bloody ask.”
That shadow was briefly back again. “Just wear the dress, will you?” Alan’s tone was one of fond exasperation, so Dave threw his t-shirt at Alan’s head with a laugh and proceeded to figure his way into the dress.
It was made out of a smooth and stretchy fabric that felt cool on Dave’s skin, and he liked the long sleeves that lent the dress an air of respectability and classiness, especially given that the hem stopped halfway down Dave’s thighs. He stared at himself in the hotel mirror, a little shocked at how nicely the dress outlined the planes of his body. The long sleeves helped to soften the hard curves of his shoulders, and the clingy fabric brought out the narrowness of his waist. Unfortunately, it also meant the bunchy material of his boxers was visible through the fabric. Bloody Alan had been right.
Alan walked over to look over his shoulder. “Looks pretty good. The boxers--”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” an irritated Dave waved him away. “I’ll wear briefs later.”
“Don’t forget your legs.” Alan actually squatted down to run a hand up and down Dave’s hairy shins. “Have a go at them with the razor, that should sort them out.”
“Fuck.” Now Dave was beginning to finally feel a little out of his depth. Had he really bitten off more than he could chew?
It must have shown on his face, for Alan was taking pity on him. “Just come by my room later before we head out,” he offered as he stood up. “It’s easier if someone helps.”
Dave was rather curious why Alan was being so helpful if he truly wanted Dave to fail. Alan could be surprisingly competitive, despite his easygoing manner and generally chill attitude. Maybe Alan wanted to see Dave make a fool of himself in public. But then again, it didn’t explain why he’d spent so much on the dresses. There was something else afoot here, and Dave was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.
Which meant, unfortunately, that he had to play along.
(Just a note: I wanted to use the word ‘transphobic’ instead of ‘homophobic’, but I did some Googling and the word didn’t really take off till after the 90s so I figured ‘homophobic’ was a word more likely used in the 80s.)
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#8 - A Starry Eyed Encounter
Setting: this is our second outing in Asia but it’s extremely different. whereas Fire in the Sky was set in rural China and had sprinkles of Chinese culture on top, A Starry Eyed Encounter basks in prestige and elegance. i might as well start by saying that this is my favourite episode in the game. i love everything about this episode, its subtle orientalism and its storyline. the missions are fun, the sky is beautiful, there are enough twists, turns, balconies and tunnels to get lost in. everything feels authentic and charming, and there’s excitement because it’s a ball and everything coincides with it (meaning, everything has to be perfect and we destroy every last bit). also, there’s a nice balance and blend of nature and “man”-made structure. unlike the Canada levels where nature dominates the landscapes, here there’s a mixture. and i know this type of analysis belongs in the Themes section, but sweetie, lemme just lay this down right here, right quick for y’all: the walls keeping the jungle outside represent Rajan and his mental state, his need to present himself in a certain way. the lush palace is Rajan’s friendly image he projects, one of a great host, but his low temper and roots keep growing like the jungle outside. he’s made a fortune and built this amazing palace as a global entrepreneur and social elitist, but he can’t shed his past, how said fortune came from filth, growing up on the streets, how he belongs in the wild. this theory is further proven by the fact that the next level is full-on jungle and vines and rain and mud, etc. which represents Rajan when all hell breaks loose and he reaches his boiling point. this squeaky clean, pristine state of both Rajan and the palace mask his true nature, and set up the stage for his second level. in many ways, A Starry Eyed Encounter is a prequel because it plays out as too easy, and that kind of optimism is put into perspective as the narrative progresses forward.
Characters: basically a clusterfuck because it’s a party and literally everyone shows up. i’ve mentioned before how introducing every single character in the very first part of the game’s second level was a brilliant idea. SP managed to subvert expectations by supposedly revealing all the villains during the ball, just to then keep pulling off reveal after reveal. Neyla as the alternative romantic interest, the Contessa as an Interpol connection, Arpeggio as the petite bird that would 100% be the final boss. but let’s focus on Rajan. as i’ve already said, the palace is a mere illusion, its grandeur and glory representing what the tiger wants to be seen as. i love how A Starry Eyed Encounter and The Predator Awakes both pose as a test to see how angry Rajan can get - and he can get pretty mad (to the point where he summons lightning). but for now, Rajan isn’t shown. there’s the recon mission, and then some cutscenes of him talking with Bison but that’s just it, we don’t get any Rajan in this episode. no, this episode is dedicated to Carmelita, i think. i’ll go into detail in the Themes section but the dominant theme in this episode is romance. there are two dance sequences in A Starry Eyed Encounter and they both focus on getting with Carmelita, the theme of romance also giving this episode a softer edge. the game’s first two episodes are actually very vanilla: a quiet Paris night, and a prestigious ball in India. sure there’s climax within those episodes, but there’s no aggression or character development (brought on by high stakes). it’s like a honeymoon period before shit hits the fan. A Starry Eyed Encounter and The Predator Awakes might be a pair because of Rajan, but it’s actually the latter in combination with the two Contessa levels that are the game’s best. you’ll notice a fluctuation in narrative: everything goes as planned in the first two episodes (good) but Neyla’s betrayal throws the gang off their game in the next three episodes (bad) until Canada during which the gang manages to gather all Clockwerk parts (good) just to face complete chaos by the end (bad). and surprisingly (and to SP’s credit) the game doesn’t end on a good note. they actually had the balls to cripple Bentley and leave it at that, but also manage to not make it seem like they were just setting up the sequel. Sly 2 is very well a game on its own, even though it ends on a cliffhanger. amazing, but i digress. every character in the game minus Dimitri is in this episode but actually there’s not a lot of character development as seen by the analysis above.
Themes: uh, romance theme !!!!!!! outstandingly so, considering we’re on the brink of losing everything as 2/3 of the gang is about to get arrested in the next episode. but a first-time player isn’t aware so it’s all fun and games as far as they’re concerned. yes, this is pretty much a romance episode, complete with an erotic episode title card of Sly and Carmelita dancing intimately. even the fact that they’re drenched in soft blue and their characteristics/outline don’t have a 100% opacity shows how it’s a good time, time to forget about the spice shipments, the Clockwerk parts, let’s have fun whilst on the job, no need to worry, things certainly won’t go to shit, right? the narration hits its absolute rock-bottom in terms of love triangle storytelling by steeping to the most basic of tropes, having Sly use Neyla to get to Carmelita (something that will later come to bite him in the ass, when Neyla uses Sly to get Carmelita arrested). other than that, the romance theme doesn’t necessarily mean kissy-kissy, but can also mean romantic backdrops, items, etc. for example, the sky being violet and lilac, a mission to acquire a tuxedo, the ball, y’know what i’m talking about. it’s all very humble, pure and simple, but enhanced by Rajan’s wealth and the palace’s elegance. let’s talk about the masks theme (i call it that instead of deception or appearance v reality, because those themes are predominantly connected to Flight of Fancy in my head and i don’t want to do that theme-heavy episode dirty because its themes are its strongest asset). lots and lots of “masks” here. we have Sly dressing up as a tuxedoed cavalier in disguise, we have Rajan acting as a gentlemanly host, Contessa as a proper prison warden and Interpol agent, Neyla as the cryptic connection - nothing i haven’t already mentioned. what truly enhances the deception and the “masks” is the ball. a fancy dance, the opulence making it all fuzzy and blurry, very Florence + the Machine circa Ceremonials sans the gothic aspects, if you catch my drift. basically, it’s called the masks theme because it also includes the party aspect, this aura of pleasure and leisure which is also seen in The Black Chateau. there’s also the class theme, or class distinction. we often overlook the fact that the guards represent a hoard of employees, working mercilessly under the big bad. there’s something to be said about when one dies a replacement is easily found, but it’s just a game. well, in A Starry Eyed Encounter, this distinction is a bit more noticeable. there’s a ball going on, where all the elites and socialites are gathered, protected by the palace walls and the palace itself, surrounded by pleasures and artifice. at the same time, there are guards stationed within the guests’ rooms, patrolling rooftops and making sure everything is perfect for the ball. in other levels, they ensure the security of their employer’s operation, but here they’re responsible for the party, something way less important and dire. what really made me notice it is the moment you complete Elephant Rampage and a flashlight rhino guard escorts the prized elephants back into their room, it seemed like such a downgrading job, moving elephants, probably stepping into their shit as well because Sly frightened them, in comparison to Rajan and his guests drinking and dancing inside. i don’t know, maybe i’m exaggerating, but it definitely reminds me of that Rick and Morty episode where they spoof The Purge, when the villagers fight each other and the elitists are dining inside, maybe it’s just me.
What I Like: this is my favorite episode as an overall entity, so i’ll mention what i like most about it. the sky’s colour, the rapid tanpura music when you get spotted by guards, dancing with Carmelita, that turquoise 3D globe projection in the boardroom, the goofy voice of that guy that doesn’t allow you to enter the ball with the bulged-out eyes, the destroyed bridge next to the safehouse that leads you to a clue bottle and a treasure, and most importantly Steal A Tuxedo. i think Steal A Tuxedo and Spice in the Sky are my favorite missions from the entire game. ugh, idk, this episode is just so perfect. i sent a confession to @slycooperconfessions a while back saying how when i was a kid i always wanted to be invited to the ball, and that still stands today. i wish i was there...
What I Don’t Like: nothing. maybe Battle the Chopper, but other than that, nothing.
Quote: when Carmelita says You look familiar to me, are you in law enforcement? and Sly answers I often deal with police while on the job.
#episode project#i need to find a way to insert dialogue in the Quote section but without screwing up the format#i'm taking my time with these and i'm sorry but my energy's low because of this corona shit and i literally have 0 inspiration 24/7#sly cooper
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Bullshit
hi everyone! as promised, here is part 2 to a little blurb called Damn. this sequel is longer, clocking in at 3.2k words; i hope it lives up to any and all expectations! it still follows the same premise of:
we bumped into each other in the street and you were grinning like a cocky asshole the whole time so i stalked off only to realise i’m wearing your shirt
as always, don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts! enjoy x
~*~
The faint, clustered ringing of the doorbell has you wanting to bash your head into the nearest wall. You quickly remove your finger from the small button, smoothing your hand down against your right thigh as though to wipe away any trace of contact. In the final seconds of peaceful solitude that ensue, you gnaw nervously on your bottom lip and turn your head from side to side, pretending to study your surroundings.
He’ll see right through it, obviously. You’ve been here, standing on this very porch, hundreds of times. You know your way through his home like the back of your hand. In fact, you could probably still navigate the halls with your eyes closed (a feat you’d accomplished one drunken evening—the blind journey had ended in you both doubled over with laughter, sharing smiles and kisses and eventually the same recycled inhales when he made love to you later that night).
Now though…
Now you’re just a stranger. Your pillows have finally lost his scent, and you’re sure that his are no different. Your time together is nothing more than a ghost of his past.
Except ghosts don’t ring doorbells, do they?
You only become aware of your trembling fingers when the door swings open. Harry’s brows immediately knit together in confusion, and you swallow heavily, sucking your lips into your mouth to keep from frowning.
A small part of you had been hoping that he wouldn’t be home.
Your name falls from his lips; his voice is laced with surprise, but there’s something else beneath the initial shock. It’s softer, a bit less startled, and it wraps you in a familiarity whose existence you had nearly forgotten.
“Hi,” you say, the greeting hoarse. You thrust out your left hand, offering to him the neatly-folded square of grey fabric sitting in your palm. “Uh…I figured I should return this.”
Harry’s eyes fall to the sweater, and he takes it from you gingerly. He’s chewing on his lips, but you can see the shadow of a smile carving his dimples into his cheeks. When his gaze flickers back up to yours, your spine stiffens beneath your denim jacket.
“Thanks,” he says wryly. His mouth twitches.
You nod, and the two of you stand in awkward silence for a long, agonizing moment.
“Well, I should get going,” you start as Harry blurts, “Would you like to come in?”
You both freeze and try to piece together the other’s sentence. Harry’s faster, though, and he smirks at you as he tilts his head toward the inside of his house. “Would you like to come in?” he repeats. “’S been a while.”
You shouldn’t. But your mouth doesn’t appear to be running the same race as your brain.
“Sure.”
Harry’s small smile stretches into a full grin. He beckons you inside, and as soon as you step through the door, your nostrils flood with that same scent that had abandoned your pillows. You delicately remove your shoes and peer around the front entrance, even though you know that everything is still exactly the same.
He’s still got those simple black hooks nailed to the wall. You glance at them quickly, noting a green jacket and that dark grey paperboy cap that he loves so dearly. The same small table next to the door is present, with the same bouquet of fake flowers sitting in the same lilac vase. You remember when you’d insisted that you both try swapping out the plastic daisies for real ones. He’d protested, claiming that the flowers wouldn’t last a week.
And he’d been right. Not even a few days later, the petals were already losing their colour, and the stems had gone limp. The two of you had never quite settled on who was to blame. Who had forgotten to water them? Who hadn’t provided them with enough sunlight? It soon became an ongoing joke.
In hindsight, you suppose it also served as a foreshadowing of sorts. And today, you can practically hear the artificial flora mocking you. You’re the joke, now.
The only thing that’s changed, you realise, is the fact that there’s no small picture frame resting next to the purple vase anymore. During your relationship, Harry had meticulously placed the photo so that whenever either of you passed through the door, the first thing you’d see would be a pair of ecstatic smiles and four twinkling eyes. The picture had been through a few bumps—some good (like the time you’d accidentally knocked it to the floor as you kissed Harry and rushed to get undressed) and some bad (like the time Harry had stormed out to avoid any further fighting, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled).
The vase and the stupid plastic flowers look so isolated, and the sight alone is enough to have you wanting to turn on your heel and run back out the way you came in. But then Harry clears his throat from behind you, and you peer over your shoulder shyly, waiting for him to speak.
“Want something t’drink?” he asks.
All previous traces of arrogance have been wiped from his face. He’s stoic, now, his expression utterly unreadable. You’ve seen him close himself off like this enough to know that it’s a defense mechanism. But what he’s trying to protect himself from, you’ve got no clue.
“Water’s fine,” you mumble, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Harry nods, holding out his arm and gesturing for you to make your way down the hall.
“Know where the kitchen is,” he teases, but the quip is weak, like it was halfway past his lips before he realized that he’d made a mistake.
You don’t reply; he’s probably already scolding himself for his words. Instead, you accept his invitation and patter through the foyer, playing with your fingers the entire time. When you enter the kitchen, you take a seat at one of the tall stools tucked against the marble island. You cross your legs and drum your fingers against the counter anxiously, wishing that you could swallow down the uncomfortable lump in your throat.
Harry arrives a moment later; the hoodie that you’d returned is nowhere to be seen, so you assume that he’d deposited it somewhere safe. Your stomach is churning violently, and you watch with hooded eyes as he produces a glass from one of the cabinets. “Tap or filtered?” he calls from over his shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, hoping that he can’t hear the fretfulness in your voice. The small hoop in his right ear glints underneath the light, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame. You hate that the piercing suits him so well. “Tap’s alright.”
“’Kay,” is all he says, and then the only sound for the next few seconds is that of water running into the cup. Harry eventually shuts the faucet. You think you see him square his shoulders before he turns around to face you. His green eyes study you intensely from across the island, and when he hands you the glass, your fingers tingle with a sharp spark.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, chuckling a bit to himself. “Shocked you.”
“It’s okay.” Your words are breathless, but if Harry notices, he doesn’t mention it. It’s only when you lift your glass to take a sip of water that you realise what you’re holding in your hand.
The design has always been beautiful to you. Welded into the cup is a garden, featuring rosebushes, cherry blossoms, grapevines, and a potted nest of assorted flowers. The elegant outline encircles the circumference of the glass, decorating what would have been an otherwise plain cup with dozens of minute elements. You can’t stop your eyes from falling to the raised surface of a rose, drinking in the small details.
“Was always your favourite,” Harry utters, watching your face carefully.
You eventually realize that he’s staring, and you glance at him quickly before looking away and downing the contents of the cup in one hearty gulp.
“Got any wine?” you ask when you swallow, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Harry’s eyebrows are high up on his forehead; his irises glitter with amusement. His lips twitch when he registers your question.
“Yeah,” he answers, trying to conceal a smile. “Downstairs in the cellar. Gimme two minutes.”
“Okay.” You affirm before standing abruptly. “I need to pee.”
You don’t actually need to pee.
“Not stoppin’ you.” He laughs quietly before pursing his lips. “I’m actually renovating the main bathroom at the moment, though. You can use the one in my room, if y’like.”
You nod, and the two of you walk down the hallway together before parting ways at the staircase. He salutes you with a small smirk as he descends into the basement, and you swallow heavily, gripping the railing tightly as you climb to the second floor.
Walking the path to his bedroom is like running into the arms of an old friend. With each step closer, your heartbeat becomes more irregular, but you also feel a sense of calm wash over you. Stepping through the door has you breathing out a sigh of relief, because he’s two levels below you, and you’re safe from any more awkward moments—at least, for the next few minutes.
The room smells like him too. And, though you hate to admit it, it’s comforting. You peek at his bed, your eyes raking down the neat duvet and the handful of pillows laying at the head of the mattress. Despite your best efforts, your mind wanders to a dangerous place. That’s the mattress upon which he’d fucked you so good you couldn’t walk the next day. That’s the mattress that had been stained with tears and sweat and stamped with laughter and—in one godawful case—blood (you’d apologised profusely, but he’d merely kissed you to shut you up. Periods were normal, he’d said, and you shouldn’t have felt embarrassed about bleeding through your pajamas. Besides, he’d grown up in a household dominated by women. It wasn’t the first time he’d been privy to blemished bedsheets).
Coincidentally, that was also the night you’d realised you were in love with him.
You shake your head. That’s quite enough.
You pad into the joint washroom, pressing the door shut softly and placing your hands on the counter. Your eyes find your reflection in the mirror, but the woman looking back at you isn’t you. Her shoulders are hunched cautiously, and her eyes are skittish. Her lips are nearly peeling with how much she’s been chewing on them. If anxiety attacks could take the form of a person, they’d look like her.
You sigh and pat your cheeks, trying to snap yourself out of it. This is ridiculous. All he’s done is offer you a glass of water.
“Chill out,” you mutter, shaking your head.
You lean over, flushing the toilet so that your lie becomes believable. The faucet creaks slightly when you twist it open, and you let it run for a good ten seconds before turning it off. Your gaze drifts to the side of the bathroom counter, and you can’t fight the smile that pulls at your lips when you spy the familiar logo of Harry’s favourite aftershave.
“You’re so fucking creepy,” you whisper to yourself, but despite your words, your hand still wraps around the bottle. You uncap it and lift it to your nose, sniffing the nozzle and sighing in delight. The familiar smell seems to shroud you in cloud of comfort, and you mourn its loss when you realise that you’ve got to put it back down.
Once you’ve exited the bathroom, you’re only a few feet away from the bedroom door when something on Harry’s bedside table catches your eye. You focus on the object, and your chest seizes up in shock.
A pair of ecstatic smiles and four twinkling eyes.
You approach the picture frame slowly, as though you’re afraid it’ll lash out and attack you. The two people in the photo seem like complete strangers now, and suddenly, the fear that you’ll never find that sort of happiness ever again slams into you like a freight train. You run your fingertips over Harry’s face, studying the crinkles by his eyes and the slight crookedness of his grin. He’s so handsome; it makes your heart hurt.
You don’t know what comes over you, but you’re suddenly snatching the frame from where it sits and whipping around, grasping it tightly in your hands. You’ve taken only one step toward the door before you realise that someone is standing in the threshold.
Harry’s eyes are sad when they meet yours. He’s there—in his sweatpants, a pale blue button-up, and a pair of white socks—just watching you. In each of his hands, he’s holding a glass of wine; the red liquid sloshes slightly when he shrugs in response to your bewildered expression.
“Wanted to make sure you were alright,” he states, but he’s not looking at you anymore. Now, his gaze has fallen to the photo clutched in your hands. He blows out a defeated sigh, casting his eyes to the right so that he doesn’t have to look at your face.
“You still have this,” you say bluntly. He nods; a beat of silence ensues. Your grip on the picture frame only grows stronger.
“Why?” you choke out, praying that he won’t notice the waver in your voice. Harry only shrugs again, like he’s got no real answer to offer.
“The way you smiled…,” he begins, shaking his head. “I loved it. Didn’t really see you smile like that the last few weeks before—before you ended it.”
“Harry.” Your nose burns and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “I—you shouldn’t keep this here, of all places. It’s not—”
“’S not what?” Harry cuts you off sharply, and then he’s finally looking at you again. “Not healthy? Not normal? Sorry, love, didn’t realise there was a designated time limit for gettin’ over someone.”
“Stop,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “Stop it. You know why I did it. You can move on; you can find someone else—”
“I don’t bloody well want anyone else!” Harry exclaims. You pedal backward as he approaches you, but he only sets the two wineglasses down on his nightstand, in the empty space where the picture frame used to be. You gulp when he turns to face you, standing up to his full height and radiating the confidence that you currently lack.
“You’re insufferable,” Harry tells you, running his fingers through his short hair. “Always think y’know what’s for the best. I go to bed alone every fuckin’ night, and every night I think about calling you just to hear your voice—is that for the best?”
“Please, stop.” You’re begging now, tears cascading down your face. “Stop talking about this.”
“Why? So you can go on pretending like everything’s fine?”
“I’m not pretending!”
“Bullshit,” Harry deadpans, staring at you with hard eyes. His chest is heaving from his small outburst. “That’s bullshit, love.”
“It’s not—,” you hiccup, tossing the picture frame down onto his duvet. “It’s not bullshit.”
“Tell me, then,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. You messily wipe at your tears, your nose stinging when the sleeve of your jacket drags against the irritated skin. “Go on. Get a real good look at me and tell me you don’t miss me.”
You stare squarely at his chest and release the words in a robotic mumble. “I don’t miss you.”
“My eyes are up here.” Harry frowns, reaching out for you. Your own eyes widen in panic when he places his fingers beneath your chin, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. He cups your jaw and guides you to look at him properly. You stare into his irises, afraid that you’ll find apathy and anger brewing beneath the surface.
Instead, you’re greeted by vulnerability and imploring. You sniffle and press your lips together to keep them from quivering. Harry’s got droplets gathering along his lower lashes, and you’re suddenly gripped by the irresistible urge to clear any evidence of his misery.
So that’s what you do.
You inhale shakily when your hand cups his cheek, and you swipe your thumb over the sensitive skin right beneath his eyes. Harry stiffens for a moment before relaxing into your touch. He leans his head into your palm, and a tiny, relieved smile tugs at his lips. His eyelids flutter shut, and he licks his lips.
“I still—,” he stutters; his tone is dismal. “I’m still so fuckin’ in love w’you. Do you still love me?”
“Yes.” The word is flying from your mouth before you can even blink. You gasp quietly and slap your palm over your parted lips, shocked at your own recklessness.
Harry’s eyes snap open, and when he registers the stunned expression on your face, a small snicker echoes in the back of his throat. Your eyes widen as you choke on a tiny giggle, and within a few short seconds, you’re both laughing so hard it’s a miracle that you haven’t dislodged a rib.
Harry takes your face in his hands, and you chuckle quietly as your fingers reflexively wrap around his wrists. You gaze up at him with damp eyes, and he stares back at you with a tenderness so potent you wonder how you could have ever missed it before. In fact, you’re so enthralled by his features that you nearly overlook the way that he cranes his neck down to slot his face closer to yours.
“We need—,” you begin, gripping his shirt in your fist to pull him further into your space. “We need to talk about this later. Properly.”
“That’s fine,” Harry agrees, his breath fanning out over your nose. “I can do that.”
“Good,” you murmur. “Because I don’t want to leave any grey areas, okay? It’s important that we know where we—”
“Stop talking,” Harry says, his mouth brushing against yours. “Just lemme kiss you.”
“I—okay,” you squeak, and your body melts into his when he seals your lips together. It’s everything you never knew you needed, and yet his touch rouses something in you that you’d kept buried deep beneath piles of logic and denial. The way his hands cradle your cheeks is proof enough that the pair of you fit like two pieces of a puzzle, and that’s when you know that you’d been wrong about absolutely everything.
Kissing Harry again feels like walking into a warm lobby and leaving the cold bite of winter behind. It feels like climbing into bed after a long and tiresome day and realising that you’ll be able to sleep in the next morning. It feels like taking the first sip of that smoothie you’d been craving for days and appreciating the fact that you’ve still got an entire cupful left.
And to think that it all started with a stupid hoodie.
You’re damn grateful for that.
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critical drabbles 4
As far as ideas go, this is probably one of Jester's worse ones.
To be fair, when one has as many ideas as the tiefling does, there are bound to be some duds. And Jester has a lot of ideas. To be even more fair, even Jester's horrible ideas generally tend to somehow work out, and so Beau doesn't immediately turn tail and run after Jester rambles off her diabolical plot.
"Uh... I don't know, Jes," she mutters uncertainly, nails digging into the back of her neck. What a damn fool. This is literally everything you've ever wanted. "Seems... dishonest."
Purple eyes roll up to the sky in such a dramatic fashion that it eases the tension in Beau's gut. "Oh my gods, Beau, of course it's dishonest. It's literally dishonest. So, you want to makeout with me or not?"
"A compelling argument," the monk laughs. Jester's playful grin fades into something more of a pout and Beau groans. "Fucking fine, if it'll get us off this street."
"Cool, cool, cool. What colour do you wanna be?"
"I dunno, blue? Do you know if Fjord is coming down this street anyway?" Before Beau gets a reply, she feels her skin itch and shift. The chilly shiver run down her spine, and the burn of her muscles. She blinks and looks down at the red skin, her tail swishing around her ankles, and feels the scruff on her chin. "I said blue?! And this is the same dude Caleb made me, he's gonna know!"
"Okay but have you seen how blue your eyes are against the red?" Jester challenges and already her fingers run along Beau's chest where the robes fall open now that her boobs are gone. "And I made some differences, you look less like you and more like a stranger. As long as he doesn't see your eyes."
"What if he does?"
Jester's tail slaps her thigh, dangerously close to her ass, and Beau jolts in place. "Beau, nobody has their eyes open during a romantic kiss. During any kiss. Do you kiss with your eyes open?"
It's not something she ever considered before, and tries to think back. Her tail swishes thoughtfully and Jester giggles. "Shit, I don't know. Is that weird? Fuck, can you send a message to Keg after this and ask?"
"Or I could just tell you after."
"Oh, right."
"Are you okay, Beau?" Jester finally asks. She laces their fingers together, bold blue against a burning red, nothing but concern shining up at the monk. "You seem flustered, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. We don't have to do this."
"No, what? I'm fine. Seriously, it's nothing at all. Maybe I'm nervous? I don't usually kiss friends." Beau shrugs her shoulders, her trademark cocky grin hooking onto her face. Inner turmoil be damned, she's drop kicking butterflies left and right. Fucking dumbass heart.
Purple threatens to burn right through her, Jester's eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Okaaaay, if you're sure." There's a moment, a lull, as if she's waiting an extra second for Beau to back out... before she blinks and flashes a big smile. "Do we need to go over the plan one more time?"
"I'm a monk of the Cobalt Soul, you don't need to go over the very simple plan again."
"So Fjord comes down the street with Nott who knows just where and when to stop while she 'decides' where they go next," Jester explains and ignores Beau's huff and amused grin. "That's when he will catch sight of me but, oh no, I'm not even paying attention because this handsome, roguish man has just swept me off my feet in a passionate, romantic kiss that is so spectacular it makes Fjord combust with jealousy!"
Beau makes less than enthused jazz hands, darting back out of the way of Jester's playful punch. "Careful, Bruiser. Too much damage and I revert back."
"Whatever, Beau." Her eyes linger, trailing the defined outline of Beau's new profile. "Can you kiss super romantic?"
"Fuck yeah."
Her eyebrow raises skeptically.
And Beau points a red finger at her. "Wiggle that back down, I'm a fantastic kisser, Jes. You'll see." Or maybe I'll pass out before we make contact. Life is a gamble.
"Okay but we should - oh, there they are! Beau, flip your robes!"
"What? He knows what they - hey!"
A frantic mess of blue and dress, Jester tugs the robes down away from Beau's chest to loop around her waist, yanking a shirt from her haversack to literally then yank down on Beau. Her newly black curls bounce atop her head, tangled in her horns, her blue eyes disoriented, and Jester can't help but laugh into the kiss she drags her friend down in.
To her credit, Beau recovers fast. That can be said for just about every aspect of Beau's life, she learnt how to roll with the punches at a very young age. Physical and metaphorical ones. It's still not quite enough to prepare her for kissing Jester, however, not enough to keep her grounded when lips that taste like blueberries brush against her own. There's a hesitant awkwardness there and Beau can feel her own creeping up but... but this is for Jester. This is what she wants. And Beau has never been able to say no to Jester.
So she raises a hand to brush her rough fingertips along a soft jaw, dragging them back around Jester's neck to tangle in her hair. There's a surprised and muffled noise that the tiefling makes before she melts into Beau, before chilly hands grip her thighs. Jester is clumsy - rough and strong with her uncertainty, and gods, Beau hates how much she loves that. She has to swallow her own groan and instead nip at Jester's plump bottom lip, grinning at the giggle it produces.
But no.
This is serious.
This is passionate.
This isn't for you.
Beau steps forward, starts dipping Jester back and grunts when Jester digs her fingers into Beau's hips. She flicks her tongue against Jester's lip, ignoring the burst of stars and galaxies behind her eyes, desperately trying not to drown in the fucking strawberries she tastes.
This girl is literally made up of sweetness. Ioun help her.
When fingers leave her hips to dig into her back, when she feels herself reach the tipping point, standing on the edge with her toes hanging over... Beau steps back. Pulls back and takes a deep, steadying breath. Tells her heart to calm the fuck down before it jumps up out of her throat.
Jester's eyes are still closed when Beau opens hers, her curly lashes fluttering before amethyst peaks up at her, a purple tint to those blue cheeks.
"Told you," Beau croaks and clears her throat. Fuck, it's hot outside. Or inside. Or maybe it's the tiefling body? Does red mean hot? "Told you I can kiss."
"Mhmm," Jester hums and blinks a few times. "That was..."
"The fuck?!" Beau gasps and stumbles forward into Jester. She cranes her neck back to look down beside them, at the blue and red swirl their tails have become. "I, uh, whoops. I dunno how to untangle that."
It takes a moment, where Jester just stares at their tails. Such a far away look on her face - only for a second, before she blinks and grins and twirls away from Beau until their tails separate. "That was weird!"
"Does it not happen a lot?" Beau wonders. She's always been curious about Jester's tail and how deft it is.
Jester shrugs. "No. I don't know. My momma used to tell me a story about twirling tails."
It's unusual enough when Jester doesn't dissolve into the rambling story that Beau frowns lightly. "Well?"
"Oh, never mind that. It's silly."
"Since when has something being silly ever stopped you from doing or saying it?"
A blue finger is pointed her way. "That's fair but - Fjord!" Jester gasps and holds her hands to her face. "Did he see? Is he looking?"
Beau lifts her head - and Jester drags her face back down, so close Beau thinks they're about to kiss again. "What?" she asks when they don't.
"He'll recognize your eyes, you can't look!"
This is getting ridiculous. "Then why didn't you change them?"
"They're too pretty, Beau, now peek over my shoulder slowly." Beau has to clench her jaw, trying to block out the intoxicating scent of lavender and Jester, to peek over her shoulder. Her gaze doesn't even make it across the street before she can feel Jester grinning. "Beauregard," she sings softly. "You're blushiiiing!"
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No."
"Yes."
Beau sighs and steps back, straightening up again. "They're gone. I don't know if he saw, Jes. Sorry."
The whole thing doesn't feel half as good as it did a few minutes ago, not when Jester spins to look across the street with a crestfallen look on her face. "Oh," she says quietly. "Oh. Okay, that's okay. I'm sure he saw. I'll just have to ask Nott later."
Something awkward lingers between them and Beau's fingers twitch before she reaches out to touch Jester's shoulder. "You okay?"
"Hm? Oh, of course! Of course, Beau, I'm great!" she chirps and lifts up onto her toes. "And thank you for helping me, I know it was a little unusual."
"'s fine," Beau mumbles. Blows a curl out of her eyes and lifts her hand to try and fix it. "You gave me a lot of hair."
"Sometimes when you let your hair out of the bun, it's like a wave of tumbling curls," Jester says around a smile. "You don't look like Beau, but you're still Beau. Just the tiefling version."
The monk snorts and crosses her arms, a very different feeling without boobs. "So he totally would have recognized me then."
"No, Beau!"
With a flick of her tail and a flash of her tongue, Beau pinches Jester's cheek and takes off down the street when she gives chase.
#critical drabbles#jestergard#beaujester#beau#jester#fjord#nott#critical role#m9#think there's gonna be a couple additions to this
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fic: your choice, and mine
fandom: fire emblem three houses
characters: caspar, petra
summary: caspar has always seen the world divided into two: the ones he’s supposed to fight, and the ones he’s supposed to protect. — AU where caspar joins the blue lions and petra stays with the black eagles.
read: on AO3 or below
notes: Takes place post-timeskip but nothing directly spoilery?
Based off Caspar and Petra’s support (which made me hurt) and assumes that they never had their A-support chat because in-game, it only happens post-timeskip. So, spoilers for their A-support if you’ve not read it!
----
He hears Petra before anything else.
And it’s not her voice. It is the beating of a wyvern’s mighty wings, the high-pitched clash of iron and steel, frantic shouting. Their troops are falling back in a scramble and Caspar is nearly knocked over a few times from the wave of Kingdom soldiers pushing past him. He rolls his shoulders back and takes a deep breath. He must wade through a river of unmoving horses and soldiers before the shape of her is outlined in the rain.
“Flank them and take out the other wyverns. Leave the general to me.” Caspar doesn’t look back to his battalion. He knows if he takes his eyes off her, he’ll be giving her an easy opening. And this reunion is going to be anything but easy.
“Petra!” he calls out. He hasn’t said her name in so long, he’s almost happy, almost forgetting the circumstances they’re tangled up in. But Petra, focused as ever, does not flinch. In one quick motion, her wyvern lunges at him. Caspar’s axe deflects the blade of hers just inches from his shoulder. She immediately raises it once more in one swift motion to go for the other shoulder, and Caspar catches it in with his silver gauntlets just barely. He didn’t think the maneuver would work and had been prepared to lose a hand. Only up close does he realise that Petra’s axe has dulled after scraping through so much armour in the battle. It’s more luck than skill that saved his neck. Undiscouraged, he doesn’t let go of the weapon. In fact, he tries to pull it towards him, and Petra is almost yanked off her mount, her wyvern shrieking. She locks her narrowed eyes with his, and Caspar feels his grip slip under the pressure of her gaze.
It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in five long years.
Petra’s piercing glare softens for a split second as she wrests her axe back.
“Caspar.”
“Uh… hi, Petra.” His voice cracks.
“I did not recognise you. You have grown bigger. And you are stronger.”
“I… I guess so—!” he grunts as he rams his entire body into the lithe body of the wyvern in an attempt to throw Petra off her saddle. Petra recovers easily, like she’s just been tapped on the shoulder instead of being bulldozed by all his might.
“What?!” Caspar reminds himself not to be awestruck. He should have expected Petra to be this good. She always was, even when they’d been students and trained together, always dodging his right hooks and haphazard swings like it’d been nothing. She was supposed to teach him how to do that, but then things got awkward between them because of his father (alive) and hers (dead), and Caspar never found chance to talk to her properly. He made it up to her by watching her back during missions, leaving the last bit of pie on the dining table for her: stuff that didn’t need them to talk. He’d been okay with that because he always thought he’d have the time to come up with the right thing to say—then Edelgard declared war on the church.
And as he watched the Empire soldiers trample across peaceful monastery grounds, Caspar made his choice.
Petra’s wyvern lands in front of him in one heavy motion crunching bones and metal beneath it. Petra stands atop the dragon’s back, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, hair dripping with rain. “I will not be giving ease to you, Caspar. I fight for Brigid and the Empire!”
Caspar furrows his brow at this and shouts: “I fight for justice! For what’s right!”
Petra’s reply is a calculated axe throw that catches Caspar at an odd angle. The moment he lurches back to avoid it, he knows Petra’s got him in a bad spot. She brandishes a bow out from the red quiver on her back and lets loose an arrow that digs into his thigh. Caspar locks his knees to stop himself from crumpling. He bites his tongue through the pain and charges forward, tearing his axe through the wyvern’s right wing and immediately into its hind leg before it can react. As the wyvern screeches and tries to claw at him, he rolls underneath the beast, splashing into a puddle of rainwater and blood. It buys him just barely enough time to snap the arrow off his leg and catch his breath.
The next instant, the wyvern’s tail slams into his side and throws him onto the ground a few feet away, his axe sliding out of his grip and into the mud. Caspar curses as he props himself onto his good leg and faces Petra. She lets another arrow fly, but Caspar is ready, leaping out of the way and towards the direction of his axe. He picks it up and advances towards Petra once more, blinking the rain out of his eyes. Another arrow whistles through the air, and it ricochets off Caspar’s gauntlets.
Something’s not right. The only person in class who had better aim than Petra was Bernadetta. Caspar knows he’s strong, but he also knows he’s not fast enough, that in a match with Petra, she should’ve gotten an arrow in his chest by now. He should be dead by now. More than irritated, he’s confused. He couldn’t sleep yesterday because he’d dreaded this face-off, and Petra—Petra was lying. She was going easy on him for some reason.
“Petra!” Caspar yells. “You hate me, right?”
Petra presses her lips into a thin line and doesn’t give him a reply. She chooses to jump off her injured wyvern, and unsheathe a silver sword from her side. Unlike the soldiers around them, her armour is pristine and unmarked. She shifts into a familiar sword-fighting stance, one that Jeralt taught them: a defensive posture.
“My father killed yours.” Caspar urges her on, even as he feels his palms grow sweaty inside his gauntlets. “You’ve… you’ve been waiting for this day, haven’t you?”
Petra remains silent, watching his movements carefully. They’re circling one another, stepping over shattered weapons and bodies of troops whose crests have been covered by dust and muck. He can’t tell who’s from the Empire and who’s from the Kingdom now.
He’s always seen the world divided into two: the ones he’s supposed to fight, and the ones he’s supposed to protect. But the past years have muddled with his brain and now, he’s facing one of the people he’s never wanted to hurt. And yet, he knows his very existence must be an eyesore for Petra.
“Just do it already!” he yells, heart racing. “Stop making this harder than it should be!” He breaks into a mad dash towards her, ignoring the pain that shoots up his leg. Petra’s sword sings into a clumsy, wide arc and Caspar leaps to avoid it, lifting his axe as he breaks through her defenses.
He’s so close to her now he can see the colourful beads around her neck, the small braids in her hair. It’s different from how she used to dress, and it’s the closest they’ve been in ages. He hesitates before he realises it, and that split second is enough for Petra to raise her sword to meet his axe. They lock their weapons, and it becomes a battle of strength.
“Come on!” Caspar shouts even though their faces are only inches apart. “Just say you hate me!”
Petra manages to hold her sword up, even as her ankles dig deeper into the mud. “I do not hate you, Caspar. Not even now. It hurts my heart to do this.”
“Don’t—! Don’t say that right now!” Caspar shakes his head furiously and tenses his muscles. “Please, it’s easier if you hate me. Then all of this would make sense.”
“It is not making the sense. My heart has not been making the sense at all. I know I should be killing you, I must be killing you.” Petra continues to hold her sword up against his axe, straining but refusing to budge.
Caspar knew it was going to hurt, he just didn’t expect it to hurt this much. Before he can react, a loud, strangled cry breaks through the rain.
It’s Hubert’s voice.
Caspar recognises it. But he has never heard Hubert so emotional, so discomposed. It is followed by an Empire soldier’s hoarse, sobbing yell through the din of battle.
“The emperor has fallen!”
The last words the professor said before the battle began rise above the noise of Caspar’s thoughts: “Leave Edelgard to Dimitri and me.”
At this, sharp panic flashes across Petra’s eyes and she glances away for a moment. Caspar sees his chance. He lowers his axe and sweeps his good leg underneath her to knock her off balance. Without pausing, he throws a punch into her chest plate, hard enough to create a dent in the Empire’s crest. The force of the punch causes Petra to skid across the hard ground, sword clattering out of her hands and quiver breaking off her shoulder. In the background, he finally registers that his battalion has taken out most of the Empire's wyverns riders, but barely half of them are left alive. The skirmishes around them are standing down, waiting for the next order.
Caspar is shaking as he stands over Petra, axe nearly slipping out of his grip. “Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” he asks.
She sits up on her elbows. There is blood on her face and in her teeth, but Petra still manages to look dignified and poised. “Because... more than wanting to kill you, I am wanting to see you live.”
Caspar’s chest tightens. After all this time, he still hasn’t figured out what to say to her inevitable hatred, and now—to her gentle love.
They’re interrupted by another soldier’s voice: “King Dimitri orders all remaining Empire troops to be eliminated! Let none of them get away!” This one’s on their side. But why are there still sides? Haven’t they already won with Edelgard’s defeat?
As the Empire’s soldiers begin to retreat behind them and the Kingdom’s forces give chase, Petra does not get up to run. She watches them go, and lets one of the soldiers take her beat up wyvern in an attempt to escape.
She stares at his clenched fists, encased in metal and rust, eyes unblinking, and then tips her chin in resignation. “Go on, Caspar. I won’t be thinking any less of you.”
Shamir would give him an earful if she knew he’d let an enemy get a word out before landing the final blow. “That’s how they get you to lower your guard,” she hissed out the first time she saved him when he went easy on a bandit.
But Petra isn’t an enemy. Not now. Not since that summer afternoon in the training grounds, when she said: "Our parents had conflict, but we are not them."
His axe sinks into the ground as he falls onto his knees next to her.
“I’m not my father,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. “I… there’s no reason to kill you now. And I, I never wanted to either.” He removes his gauntlets and tries to rub the tears out of his eyes, but there is dirt on his hands and it stings.
He feels a cold touch pry his fingers off his face. Petra’s coarse hands cradle his, and he notices that both of their palms are covered in scars. “You have the kindest heart I know of, Caspar. And I know you will ever be like your father, which is why I am hating the man who killed my father, but I have decided I cannot be hating you.”
Caspar identifies the exact moment an excruciating weight lifts from his shoulders. He wants to tell Petra everything that’s happened, how he lost sleep over this battle, tossed and turned about what he was going to say. Instead, all that comes out is a relieved: “Oh…”
The tattoo under her eye curves as she offers a small smile.
“My eyes tell me how much you have grown, but... my heart told me that you have not changed since I was last seeing you. I was right, to say that you should be living. You have been living marvellously.”
Caspar tilts his face upwards and lets the rain wash the dirt and tears out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Petra.”
“Do not apologise, Caspar. I won’t apologise either. You made your choice, and I made mine.” She squeezes his hands in hers. “Now, we must live to bear the consequences of our choices together.”
“Together,” Caspar repeats, and doesn’t let go.
#fire emblem three houses#fe3h#caspar von bergliez#petra macneary#caspar/petra#fic#(o... this support hurt me)
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you know what really annoys me about the whole “she chooses to dress that way!! she’s empowering herself!!” argument that people (read: guys) like to pull out when people criticize the way a female character is objectified is that it’s really ridiculously easy to tell the difference between a female character whose well-written personality includes being confident in her sexuality, and a female character who is being objectified.
lets use a character who gets thrown under this bus really often as an example: Koriand’r aka Starfire from DC Comics debuted in the 80′s The New Teen Titans comic book series, and has stuck around as a decently popular character since then. She’s an alien from planet Tameran, where people are a lot more open about their emotions and their sexuality; as a result, she has trouble understanding Earth’s social conventions surrounding those things, and often does not particularly care for them either. Kori often wears revealing clothing because that’s the norm on Tameran, it’s what she feels comfortable in, and she’s open about her sexuality. Considering the fact that she debuted in the 80′s, it’s important to acknowledge how feminist a female character confident in her sexuality was back then, and to a lesser extent, still is today.
Unfortunately, DC Comics is staffed by assholes and idiots, and as a result, she is often badly written and/or objectified, especially in modern comics. However, whenever people point this out, they get hit with the “she’s written to be that way!!” argument. Which is bullshit, because Kori, in the never comics, is often given very little agency, and is instead presented as a sex object. And I will show you a comparison between two scenes to show you what I mean.
Exhibit A, From the 1980′s The New Teen Titans:
[Image: three panels of Donna and Kori getting dressed in swimsuits; donna is still wearing her jacket, while Kori stands with her back to the audience, naked, but with her hair covering up everything but her legs and arms. She says (off screen, while Donna is getting changed): “Wonder girl, I still don’t white understand... why am I supposed to wear...” she appears on screen in the above mentioned position, holding up a bikini “This!?! (bolded, in capslook) It certainly can’t be for protection, does it possess any special properties?”
Donna looks exasperated and says “Yep. It’ll keep the guys from going insane when they see you. Trust me, Starfire.”
The ‘camera’ focuses on both their faces when Kori answers: “Please, call me Koriand’r, that’s my real name.”
Donna: “Only if you call me Donna. Anyway, on this planet, you’ve got to wear clothing.”
Kori: “I don’t understand why, but if you say so, I will do it.” End description.]
Kori is literally naked on in these panels, but it’s done tastefully: she’s with her back to the audience, and the camera is far enough away that there is no ‘hint of an ass’ or whatever, just the basic shape of her body and what she’s holding. When it does pan to a close-up, it’s focused clearly on her face. And on top of that, she asks a very reasonable question for an alien who has just landed on Earth, in a way that doesn’t infantilize her or make fun of her, but rather in a very plain ‘these Earth ways are strange to me’ kind of way that you’d expect from, you know, an alien. Maybe this was immensely titillating in the 80′s, but as far as I can tell and to a modern audience, these panels show her confidence with her own body and sexuality clearly without making her a spectacle for the audience.
Exhibit B, from her 2015 solo series Starfire:
[Image: (cropped) comic page showing Kori showering and getting out of the shower while Boone is also outside. Kori is showering happily, swaying her hips to one side as she washes her hair. Her soapy hair swings to strategically clover her vagina, and it and the soap also strategically hide part of her breasts, although you can still make out their outline.
When she gets out of it, she’s turned away from the camera, wearing a towel around her head but otherwise fully naked; a fern strategically covers her ass, while a convenient leaf just manages to cover the nipple of her breast. She says: “Hello Boone! It is very windy, yes?” Boone stares at her with open mouth, replying “Uh-Oh” before hastily shoving a towel at her, his head turned away, saying: “Kori, this isn’t a nudist camp”.
Kori seems surprised, and the towel only barely covers the lover half of her breasts as she says: “Oh, thank you, but I do not need another towel. The sun and wind dried my skin. It is only my hair that is wet.”
Boone: “Uh... Right. Anyway, just take it. Not that I’m complaining, but you gotta get dressed, and we gotta go over grandma’s rules for living here. And then there’s that storm coming, so we need to get ready.”
The camera pans out to show a wider shot of Kori and Boone. Kori, now with an additional towel covering her body, steps into a caravan as she says: “That sounds wonderful! I am going to go watch the sunset first.”
Boone, facepalming: “What --?”
Kori: “I will see you later.”
Above this whole page, there is a black rectangle with blue writing in it, which reads: “Wet, then wild”.
End description.]
This is almost the exact situation as shown in Exhibit A, yet you can see how it’s handled very differently. Exhibit A never really focuses on Kori’s body or her looks, but rather on her personality. This page, however, makes a point to show as much of Kori’s body as they can get away with; the strategically placed hair, leaves, and soap cover only barely enough to be decent, and in all panels except the last one, you can see at least part of Kori’s breasts.
In addition, Kori is rather infantilized in these panels; rather than have her ask questions about the American customs in a way that still acknowledges her agency and maturity, she undergoes a social misstep and doesn’t seem to pick up on it, then gets corrected in a way that doesn’t really expand her knowledge of Earth’s customs, and she doesn’t seem at all curious about why Boone was so shocked to see her naked. Her character and her agency don’t really matter in this exchange: Kori does not learn anything new, we the audience don’t learn anything new about Kori (outside of basic plot progression), and Kori is given little to no agency about the way she’s presented to the audience.
And above all, there’s the header to this page: “Wet, then wild”. While ‘wild’ could refer to Kori’s adventure later on, let’s be honest here, this header was definitely meant to be an innuendo.
So, to summarize: this page shows Kori’s body of in a way that’s definitely meant to entice the viewer, Kori character/personality is not developed in these panels, Kori herself has no real agency in the way she’s presented to the audience, and above all this, the header to this page is an innuendo. All this cements that the way these panels are supposed to be viewed doesn’t fall into the ‘Kori is a strong female character confident in her sexuality’ category, but rather the ‘fanservice’ category.
And I didn’t even bring up Red Hood and the Outlaws yet, but just in case anyone wasn’t convinced yet about Kori’s current objectification, this is how Kori flies in her superhero outfit in The New Teen Titans:
[Image: Starfire flying off into the air saying: “Then, we will make (bolded, in all caps) them help us. We have the power to do whatever we want!” While Robin in the corner yells: “Starfire! Don’t!” Starfire’s outfit is made out of metal and consists of a large necklace that’s connected to what’s essentially a metal bra, with metal strips running down her stomach to her metal panties. She has three bracelets on both her arms, and a forth on her left, and two long boots. There are two golden, red, and black ornaments in her outfit, one on her chest below her necklace in the shape of a flower trapped in a circle, and one where the metal strips connect to her shorts that vaguely looks like a sun trapped in a rectangle. End description.]
Outfit is undeniably revealing and looks extremely uncomfortable and unpractical, so I’m not exactly enthused by it. However, it’s still infinitely better than whatever this is:
[Image: page from Red Hood and The Outlaws showing Starfire standing on burning rubble, purple starbolts flickering out of her hand. Next to her, there are red-on-black text boxes explaining her backstory. Her outfit is still metal, this time purple metal with white accents. She still has her long boots and bracelets, but the rest of her outfit is different. Her shoulders and neck are covered by the metal, but they aren’t connected to the rest of her outfit. Her breasts are cupped by a thin piece of metal that barely reaches the nipples from the underside of the breasts and does not cover them entirely. They aren’t connected to her metal shorts, which look like sexy panties, even thinnier than 80′s Kori’s, with another slap of metal slightly raised above them. Her back is bent on what looks like a painful angle, jutting out her ass, and her breasts resemble balloons. End description.]
Aside from her outfit being absolutely atrocious (HOW are those breasts not popping out of those cup holders???) her entire pose and the way she’s drawn clearly mark as a sex object rather than an actual character. Her back is bent in a way that makes me seriously worried about her health, her ribs are jutting out in a way that ALSO makes me worried about her health, and her breasts look like flesh-coloured balloons. This is an absolute disgrace and I hate the fact that someone looked at this and greenlit it.
Compare that to 80′s Kori, who, while definitely wearing an impractical and revealing outfit, still had some actual dignity going for her. Her body has human proportions, for one.
Like, I could keep dragging out examples of Kori being objectified, but I think everyone with a brain has gotten the point now.
Koriand’r, when well-written, is a character who is in control of her appearance and proud of her sexuality, and not afraid to show off either. However, newer comics use this as an excuse to blatantly objectify her, while erasing her agency entirely.
Let’s put it like this: if your sexy, in-control female character doesn’t have control over how she’s presented to the viewer, you’re not writing a sexy, in-control female character, you are writing a sexy lamp. The fundamental difference between 80′s Kori and newer Kori is how she’s presented to the viewer: in The New Teen Titans, her sexuality isn’t used as an excuse to use her as a blatant tool for fanservice, and the art remains respectful to her and her body even when she’s wearing revealing clothing. In the newer comics, the camera is showing off as much of Kori’s body off to the viewer as it can, and often puts her in weird and unnatural stances in order to achieve what the artists think is ‘sexy’.
The difference between a sexy, in-control female character proud of her sexuality and a tool for fanservice is who is meant to enjoy this character: is it women, who might relate to her or at least admire her, or is it horny men?
Anyway, essay over, TL;DR: there is a fucking difference between objectification and ‘being proud of your sexuality’ and it’s called basic fucking respect.
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Mer-May
Michael Jeremy and Gavin descended into the inky depths of the sea. Above them, red and blue lights shone on and off, showcasing the police boats that were searching for them. Below them lay an unending void. And around them the water changed colours, cycling through the rainbow before turning a depressing purple, and after a while, just black. The swim was long, but not difficult. They swam freely, with large air tanks on their backs and weighted belts, but nothing else to constrict their movements or get in the way of their swimming.
“This is the farthest down anyone has ever been without a sub,” Gavin said. His voice carried through the water neatly, but was made more understandable thanks to the radio on the inside of the diving mask.
“That’s not true, people come down here all the time,” Michael said and scoffed. “They just don’t come back.”
“Yeah but these suits are amazing, aren’t they?” Jeremy awed at the skin tight pressure suit he was wearing. It was one of only three ever made, and was supposed to be on display the next night at the naval museum. “I’m not even cold!”
“Yeah, sure, I’m glad we stole these,” Michael said sarcastically. “Instead of what our buyer actually EXPECTED us to steal!”
“But Michael!” Gavin said. “Isn’t this cool Michael?”
“Uh guys?” Jeremy interrupted. “You now how normally when you swim, you can like, tell which way is up because of pressure and gravity and stuff? Only these suits are all futurey and protect from pressure? So uh… which way is up?”
There was a deafening moment of silence as the lads came to realize just how lost they were. There was a frantic moment of panic as the blind lads tried to find each other in the opaque darkness.
“What, no one thought to bring a flashlight?” Michael cried.
“None of mine work under water,” Jeremy said sheepishly.
“Wait!” Gavin said and pointed, though no one could see him. “I see a light! That must be the surface!”
The three swam towards the blueish light with determination. They stayed within arm’s reach of each other, though they could feel the movement of the water around them that signalled each other’s presence. They kept swimming towards the light, even after it became clear that the small pinprick of light they were chasing was not the surface after all. It was a curious thing, almost mesmerizing in the way that it was the only thing to look at down so deep. It was different, and that was encouraging.
Gavin began to swim ahead of the other lads, eager to interact with the light as soon as possible. Michael and Jeremy hung back slightly, to let him go. As Gavin got closer, the light began to take a form, becoming more and more distinct. It was a bioluminescence that covered a very, very large fish in a long, branching pattern like veins, outlining a black tail that was almost as long as Michael was tall. The fish’s eyes were a shining blue that gave off enough light for Gavin to see two rows of long, thin, sharp teeth, like those of an angler fish. Even glowing, it was hard to tell exactly what the fish looked like, but it seemed unnervingly human.
The fish lunged forward and Gavin screamed. He flailed gracelessly and managed awkwardly to start swimming as fast as he could towards the other lads. Michael and Jeremy retreated as well, too far away to see what Gavin had seen, but recognizing the sounds of danger. The rapidly approaching light had already stopped though, at the sound of Gavin’s scream.
“Oh, you guys are just Mers,” A voice from the darkness spoke. “Well, you definitely scared off all the fish with that scream, sorry to have startled you.”
The blue light approached now, slowly, allowing Michael and Jeremy a look at the horrendous fish-beast. It was not unlike the ones portrayed in stories about mer-people who devour sailors. Jeremy gasped at the sight, and Michael was uncharacteristically speechless.
“You, can talk right? You’re not just large fish with a disturbingly mer-like scream?” The creature said. “You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to eat you. Mer don’t eat mer.”
“Are you blind?” Gavin asked tactlessly. Michael pinched him on the arm.
“Well, yes, all of us depth dwellers are,” The creature said. “Say, your voice sounds strange. It’s like… muffled, or something. I can’t put it into words. Are you sure you’re Mers?”
“No, it’s becau-“ Jeremy started, only to get cut off by Gavin.
“Of course we’re Mers!” Gavin shot Jeremy a barely-visible pointed glare. “Because Mer don’t eat Mer. And besides! We can talk! What other creatures have you met that can talk?”
“Uh, yeah,” Michael caught on. “We live much… much closer to the surface and got lost. That’s why we’re down here.”
“Do you want me to help you find your way back?” The creature said. “There are a lot more dangerous things down here than me.”
“I don’t know-“
“Yes!” Jeremy interrupted. “Please?”
“Sure,” The creature agreed and swam away, leaving the Lads to try to hurry after his slowly fading glow. He returned a moment later. “You guys are really slow.”
“Sorry, we’re just not used to the depths is all,” Gavin said quickly. This time the creature let them set the pace. There was a rather long moment of silence as the group slowly made their way upwards, unsure of how to react to everything that was happening. Especially the talking fish person.
After a while, Michael spoke. “So… do you live down here all the time?”
“Well, I like to think of myself as a wanderer, a vagabond. I like the depths the best, but I do move around a lot.”
“Wow, so you must know the ocean pretty well,” Jeremy said.
“Sure.”
“So then,” Jeremy said. A plan was beginning to form. “You must know a lot of good places to hide from humans.”
“Humans?”
“Jeremy!”
“No, no, It’s okay,” Jeremy said. The water was starting to become a dark purple once more, allowing Michael and Gavin to see the smile forming on Jeremy’s lips. “Mr… Vagabond, sir, I have a proposition for you.”
#fahc#kinda#michael#gavin#jeremy#ryan#lads#this is self indulgent#but i have an excuse#mermay#fahc mer au#it's my turn to write
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