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chaidrivenwhore · 8 months

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this is a product of my inability to stop imagining and a lot of brain beating because college isn't going easy on me.

inspired by a prompt on instagram that had me feral with the possibilities.

also yes, i'm putting it up in parts bc it's more fun that way. this is a cleaned up, edited ver. of what i've posted on IG.

happy reading <3 (under the cut)

"I haven't seen him in a few days, but that's like, normal for him, it's not a big deal, he'll show up when he wants to," said the hero's love interest, as she tucked her hair behind her ears and looked at her lover in confusion. "He does this all the time, right?"

The hero hummed in agreement. "I should've known that he's gonna pull something like this. Let's hope the idiot resurfaces with his dumb jokes sooner than later."

The comic relief hasn't been meeting his friends for a week now. If you ask, the hero would tell you that comic was pretty unpredictable and he goes off grid for days on end. Hero's love interest would tell you that despite being best friends, Comic and Hero didn't exactly meet each other often (is it because Hero never really had time for his friend? Is it because Comic never really felt appreciated by Hero? We'd never know, but Hero's lover had her doubts).

The last time Hero and his lover had seen him was on their two year anniversary. Comic had helped Hero organise a little picnic and a pillow-fort-movie date after. That afternoon, Comic had bid goodbye to the couple and told them that he'd be busy the entire next week because apparently 'the education system is a conman and we're all being scammed'.

Hero hadn't thought much about Comic's inactivity, seemingly used to it, but as texts from his best friend were also far and few in between, he grew worried. His lover took great pains to assuage his fears but the only thing that really helped with the stress was fighting Villain.

Villain was an enigma. His motives were virtually unknown, considering the man always kept spewing bullshit about how he loves a little touch of public nuisance because it's fun. Hero's main vendetta against Villain was due to the latter's penchant for being an annoyance to society. Villain had once set fire to all the staff rooms of the city's schools at night, forcing the institutes to shut down for a week for a renovation. The media uproar was insane and Hero was hounded by journalists for weeks because of his late arrival to the scene of crime (not his fault- he had assignments to finish. Post-graduate studies aren't easy. Real life sucks).

Time went on and so did Villain's terror- and in a bid to protect the city from him, Hero devoted more time and resources to attempt capturing him. Somewhere, even Hero forgot that he hadn't heard from Comic in over a month.

That evening, after his latest stunt (minor bank robbery, because the manager had challenged every criminal in the city by bragging about his brand new security measures and Villain loves taking annoying people down a notch), he returned to his lair, feeling hopelessly empty, of sorts. Of course, the fight with Hero was everything he needed to scratch the itch that'd been taunting him for days, but something was missing.

He pulled up the news coverage of that day's mayhem. Something.... something is missing. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

His thoughts screeched to a halt when he noticed the lack of someone's presence. Almost in a frenzy, he began opening tabs of footage and media coverage of his fights with the hero of the past month. He's - Comic- what? Where's Comic? What?!

Villain would be the first to admit that apart from the occasional lawlessness and laying waste to the city (because property damage is infinitely more satisfying than bodily harm), his main source of childlike joy was seeing Hero gawp like a fool when his friend, the comic relief exchanged beautiful quips with Villain. He also wouldn't exactly tell you this, but the sheer glee of meeting someone who gives as good as he gets is unparalleled.

Like this one time, amidst a cute little Italian bistro that was then in ruins after the initial scuffle, Villain was delivering his prepared monologue because Hero actually gives him time to speak (which, personally, he thinks is fucking stupid). He'd just finished making a powerful statement about serving real justice when Comic had blinked, and giggled (the cute guy giggled) then said, "The only thing you're serving right now is spaghetti with a side of bloodied shoulder. I don't see how that's a good look on you."

Hero had then tried to shush his friend, a horrified look on his face, but Comic gave him a face that suggested that he's taking none of that and then proceeded to stare into Villain's soul, a goofy smirk gracing his face.

That was it. Villain was falling in love.

Not a day goes by where Villain hopes that he could ask the cute funny guy out on a cute little date without the whole 'i'm a bad guy and you're the good guy's best friend-slash-comic-relief' situation.

But fact remained that Comic hadn't been seen for over a month and as far as Villain was concerned, that's a month too long. He growled to one of his men, "Get me the city's surveillance footage of the past month."

The henchman was confounded. "But sir, I don't see why-"

"I don't pay you to question me, boy, do what I said. Now!" he barked, his displeasure and confusion shining through. The henchman (his name is Steve) slowly backed away and was leaving with a frown.

Maybe I was too harsh. With this thought in his head, Villain called out, "Steve, my good man, forgive me for snapping at you."

Steve bowed his head almost reverentially and smiled. "Don't ask for forgiveness sir, I respect you immensely. I will get you the footage you require."

"Thank you, Steve. If you could hurry."

Villain sighed, not knowing what to think or expect. He understands the impasse he's at - his rival's best friend is missing, but Hero seemingly doesn't give a shit, or he's unaware (debatable). The only one who was mildly concerned was Hero's girl and Villain's sure that even she'd given up. He doubts that Hero has any other friends, making it weirder that he's not turning the city upside down looking for his best friend.

It's almost like he's the only one who is trying to do something about all this, albeit late.

Steve came back with a tablet with the footage and handed it to Villain. "Do you need me to get you anything else, sir?"

"A cup of tea, no sugar, please."

"Yes sir, right away."

Villain settled down to examine the footage. It was gonna be a long night.

\\\

this was part one, lmk what you think (ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

#gidfics #anyway i wrote smth #hero and villain #plus a comic relief who needs rest

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nerdypanda3126 · 10 months

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The Triumph of Luka Couffaine

This was written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Round Robin event! @trixxiephantomhive, @mrsmayday @rierse, and I took turns adding onto this story with "bike" and "just accept it" as our prompts. Also, go check out the art by Rierse, they did a fantastic job!!

Summary: Luka brings home a project that Marinette isn't entirely thrilled with, at least until he asks for her help.

Read on Ao3

Luka had a soft spot for outcasts. Marinette had known him for long enough that she'd noticed it was a quirk of his, and she loved it about him, even before they were together. Then when they had started dating, she'd learned to take it in stride when he brought home one-eyed goats and stray deaf dogs and other "projects" that "he couldn't just leave."

But this had to be pushing it.

"Luka." She tried not to scold, really she did. "What on earth is that supposed to be?"

From where he was kneeling in front of what looked like a pile of twisted, rusted, metal junk, Luka grinned up at her from under his blue-tipped bangs. "My new bike. Great, right? And I got it for practically nothing. A few tweaks and she's golden."

Golden would not have been the word she would've used. Did he not see the parts falling off and the missing pieces, and the rust? She was pretty sure that as far as motorized vehicles went, rust was a very bad thing. But if Luka did notice, he didn't seem to mind as he beamed at his prize.

She glanced at her own Vespa, which she'd kept well-maintained since it'd been given to her four years ago, and then back to the… "bike" Luka had bought. There was some resemblance, now that she was looking for it. There was a place for a seat, although the seat itself was long gone, and that ball of solid rust a little below it looked like it was meant to be an engine, and there were two axles and hubs where the wheels would go…

"Well," Luka was saying, which brought her attention back to him. He was eyeing the bike more critically now, much like she had been. He wiped at his nose and it left a little smudge of dirt and grease behind that she had to admit was cute on him. It had no right bringing out the blue of his eyes like that. "Okay, so it needs a little more than tweaking. But the bones of this thing are rock solid. And underneath all of this is a Triumph Bonneville."

"...A what?"

"It's an old British brand, but super reliable. See the twin cylinders here?" He pointed to two rods on either side of what would be the seat, then grinned up at her again. "A classic Triumph, Marinette, can you imagine? Once I get it all fixed up it'll sing."

She hummed in what she hoped was a noncommittal way. "How do you know all this stuff?" she asked instead of answering him. He stood and dusted his hands off on his ripped jeans, then dusted the seat of his pants off, too, which, even after all the years they'd known each other, was still just as distracting. Moreso, maybe, because now they were dating and she could look at him now with all the love and appreciation she felt for him.

Luka shoved his hands in his back pockets as he smiled warmly at her, apparently thinking similar thoughts. "I picked up a few things, tinkering on my old bicycle down at the shop. I've always wanted a vintage motorcycle."

"I didn't know that," she admitted. He chuckled back.

"You never asked."

A flush of heat crept across her cheeks as she realized he was right. "So… you know how to fix this, then?" She stepped forward into his space and put her hands in his back pockets, too, earning her a mischievous raised eyebrow. "Because I have to tell you… right now it's…" She dared a glance at him, then bit her lip as she winced. "It's really ugly."

He laughed at that and wrapped his arms around her waist instead, holding her close to him. "Yeah, I know how to fix it." He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I hope you've got your tetanus shot," she muttered, only half-meaning for him to hear her. She blushed again when he let out another one of those laughs, bright and open and beautiful, and nodded.

"Thanks for worrying about me," he said, adding, "I know you always do."

At the same time, she said, "I always do." They both smiled at the jinx and Luka glanced back at the bike with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I was hoping…" he started, pulling his gaze back to hers, "that maybe we could work on it… together?"

Together. Marinette ran the math in her head. This was at least months' worth of work, if not a year or two, and he wanted to do this. With her. She couldn't help the smile that lit up her face as she nodded. "I'd love you—to!"

She blushed as she realized her slip, and she knew Luka had noticed it because he always noticed everything, but he only smiled back, pleased, and pulled her into a tight hug before continuing to point out the features that his new bike would have.

She had to admit she was getting excited with him.

***

The next morning Luka woke up bright and early. His plan was to set up his tools for starting on the bike. 'I just need the solution, a screwdriver, a hammer, and a crowbar,' he thought to himself while waiting for Marinette to arrive.

She showed up around 20 minutes after their planned time and began profusely apologizing and flailing about.

"I'm so sorry, Luka. I know I promised I would try to get better at being on time, but I didn't get much sleep last night and—"

Luka placed a hand on her face and pulled her into a hug as he quietly chuckled.“I love you, Marinette. Can we get started?”

She returned the laughter and nodded. “Yep! Not entirely sure what you want me to do, I can barely ride my Vespa, let alone repair it.”

He stepped to the side and started looking intently at the bike. “Well, today we’re going to take all the rusted parts and soak them in a solution to see what’s just surface rust and what needs to be replaced or welded,” Luka explained in a soft voice, fully understanding and not judging her lack of knowledge.

“So… do we just put the whole thing in?” she asked almost jokingly, looking at his "bike" loveable scrap heap.

“Pretty much. Except we have to take it apart because some things like the engine and brake wires need to be unhooked and replaced.”

Marinette nodded and pulled out five large containers as he pointed to them. Luka carried the gallons of solution and they worked together to slowly pour it in.

They moved on to the next part of the day, which was getting the outside pieces of the bike loose.

“Thanks for helping Mar—” he said in a strained voice, struggling to loosen a siding panel of the bike while Marinette was standing above him using a crowbar to unwedge it from the top.

“No problem! This is difficult, but it's fun to work with you!”

Luka smiled, and began to lose himself in her beautiful blue eyes that sparkled like the sun—until BANG! The piece came loose and sent Luka to the ground with it. Marinette burst into giggles as she helped him up, and Luka squeaked out a quiet, "Ow—"

Luka knew at that moment that it wasn't going to be the only time an incident would send one of them into giggles.

A few days later and just a day after the soaking had finished, Marinette jokingly pointed the sandblaster Luka was renting at him. He screamed and jumped to the ground, knowing if she hit the on switch it would hurt. 'The device was made for smoothing down the bike, not him.' She didn't actually turn it on, but Luka was still planning his revenge.

A revenge which came into play a few days later, when they'd finally gotten to the point of washing the metal sides of the bike to put them away and start on the next part of rebuilding the bike.

The couple filled up the soapy buckets and pulled out their sponges. They were old ones that Luka stole from the kitchen, one bright green with a sunglasses print, and the other red and black striped.

"There was a sale on decorative sponges a while back," Luka explained to a giggling Marinette.

Not too long after the buckets were full and Luka was starting to rinse the bike, he smirked and whipped around, aiming the water stream straight at Marinette, causing her to scream and start laughing.

"COLD! COLD! Luka, that's cold!"

***

Luka laughed and dropped the sprayer innocently to his side. "Truce?"

Marinette pouted and didn't miss the way his eyes flickered to her mouth. "Truce," she agreed reluctantly.

"Great, now let's sort through the cleaned up pieces and take inventory of what we need. Can you help write things down as I count them off?" he asked with his hands held up in a pleading gesture.

She knew he struggled to read his own writing at times and smiled. "Of course."

So they set about sorting through what they'd done so far. Some pieces were okay after a soak and quick clean up, which had shocked her. She was sure this was more scrap than salvage, but he had been right, there was a lot about this bike that was still quite solid.

They made a list of pieces that needed more work to be functional, and a list for the pieces that were missing or completely beyond redemption. Both lists were… not short. Luka eyed the final count critically but nodded in approval. "Honestly? This isn't that bad. It might take some time to track down some of these things, or afford some of them, but I have some ideas on that front."

Marinette watched with adoration as he spoke passionately and excitedly about restoration projects and how there were whole groups of people who picked these kinds of old vehicles up to try to make them look good again. He talked about auction sites where vintage or restoration pieces could be gotten fairly cheap through bidding or at special events.

"I might even be able to get an in with some of the people I used to know from around the shop. So what do you think?" Luka looked at her expectantly, still enthusiastic and joyful.

She gave him a quick kiss. "I think you're amazing being able to see the beauty in this thing. I think this sounds like a lot of fun and I'm learning a lot. I'm so happy you asked me to help."

He beamed at her and suggested she change into dry clothes so they could go pick up some things. She pointed out that it was his fault she even needed to change but he didn't seem the least bit sorry. She rolled her eyes and went inside.

When she came back out in one of his shirts, his gaze lingered and she felt her face heat under his attention. "Well, where to? Do we take your truck or do you want to ride the Vespa?"

He laughed. "We probably need the truck, we don't want to carry that much on the scooter."

They took off for an automotive store and happily sang to the radio together, both passionately belting out the lyrics. Marinette found herself basking in the moment, warm and full of love.

When they arrived, Luka opened the door for her and took her hand to help her out but didn't let go as they walked in together.

Luka led her around the store excitedly, grabbing different things they needed for the next steps in restoring the bike. He asked her opinions or answered her questions where she chimed in.

"We might pick up paint if it's on sale. It'll be one of the last steps in putting the bike together but we can look." He smiled as her eyes lit up at the prospect of something more artistic to look at.

Marinette had been captivated by the different options for color and design. When she had found the metal flakes and pearl options, Luka had been reminded of Rose in the glitter section at the craft store. Marinette ended up grabbing a variety of swatches and samples to play around with colors and effects.

In addition to her samples, they ended up picking up polish, wax, sealant, some more solution, and a few smaller things that would help get the pieces they did have better assembled while they tracked down the bigger parts.

When they got back to his place, they set some of the stuff in the garage for later and went about replacing the few valves, screws, and wires they picked up. Doing that fastened different parts of the bike together or allowed them to make sure everything had a proper seal and connection.

"So this is a 1964, not the peak of the Bonneville bikes but still a really good model. We'll need to make sure we look at the right year when we're searching for parts since they aren't always interchangeable, though some might be." He pulled up some of the sites he was talking about before to show her some of the visual differences and why different models needed slightly different parts.

Marinette was feeling pretty excited herself by the time the day ended and she said goodbye. While she rode home, she felt the familiar buzz of inspiration and decided she needed to do something with the energy.

The moment she got home and settled, she had her sketchbook in hand. As she sketched a few different stray thoughts, she had another idea. She pulled out her phone and clicked on a contact.

"Hey, Nona. Yeah, I'm great, thank you. Hey, do you know anything about Triumph Bonnevilles?"

She smiled as her grandmother started off on an excited tangent. Maybe she could help get some more traction for finding the remaining parts, too. She was excited to run the idea by Luka and watch his face light up. If she could do something to make him happy and excited, it would only be fair.

***

Over the next couple months, they managed to fix up almost all of the remaining parts they had, and had even purchased several of the missing pieces. It was coming together nicely and it had been a great bonding project for them.

They were in the garage, Luka tinkering on the bike, Marinette sketching in her design book, when Luka asked, "Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Yeah, passenger at least. I've ridden with my Nona often enough. Why?"

Luka nodded "Good. I'm just thinking about the first ride on this thing."

"It's… not roadworthy? It's missing the seat and the tires still," she pointed out.

Luka gave her a secretive little smile and hummed noncommittally.

"Did you find them? Luka, is the bike almost done?" Marinette pressed, suddenly very eager to get an answer.

He just flashed that lazy boyish smile and leaned over to give her a quick peck. He could be awfully irritating when he wanted to be.

"Oh come on!" She grabbed his face in her hands and gave him a look but found herself losing her train of thought when he looked at her that softly.

"I might have a lead. We're getting close." He was speaking quietly, staring into her eyes like he was as lost as she was.

They were interrupted by the very loud ringing of her phone and Marinette sighed. She looked at the caller ID. Luka leaned over to see who had disrupted the moment. "Oh, Gina. Go ahead and answer her, tell her thank you for the last tip she gave me, it panned out really well." He waved his hand to shoo her to answer.

"Hey, Nona, what's up?" Marinette asked when she answered.

"Marinette, my fairy, how are you? How is your sweet blue boy?" Gina asked with affection.

"We're great. He said to thank you for the last tip you gave him, I guess whatever it was is going good so far."

"Ah! Marvelous! Benissimo! I knew my dear friend was reliable," Gina exclaimed.

Marinette smiled. "Did you need something? Are you calling for an update or is this a social call?"

***

Luka smiled as he worked, enjoying the sound of his girlfriend's animated voice as she chatted with her Nona. Gina had been an excellent reference for the project. And Marinette had been more enthusiastic than he'd anticipated, he really just wanted to spend time with her, working on something creative together, a project that could be both of theirs. She had design and he had music, but this would be theirs.

“Really?” Luka looked up as Marinette’s background chatter grew more enthusiastic, “Thank you SO much Nona! That will be perfect! Talk to you later, love you!”

“Good news?” he asked.

“Very, can I take the seat base and padding home today? I need to get precise measurements for the cover.”

“Sure, of course, I’ll help you get them home. Do I get to see the plan?��

Marinette smiled mischievously at him. “Hmmm, not just yet… unless you’re willing to share your news?”

Luka smiled patiently. “I can wait.” The tires Gina had helped him locate were perfect; she had a contact with access to vintage surplus—he had scored a near perfect match that had never been used.

“Hmpf. Of course you can.”

“C’mere.” He grinned at her little pout; they both knew he was far more patient than she was—she could keep a secret, though, even when she wanted to share. He had no doubt that whatever she was planning would be perfect.

Marinette hop-skipped over the parts lined up on the ground until she reached him and he pulled her into his lap. “I think this next bit is gonna need a little luck.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Where do you plan on getting that?”

“I was kinda hoping you could spare a little.” He bopped her gently on the nose then let his finger trail to her lips. He swallowed hard as she kissed his fingertip.

“I think I could manage a little.” Her eyes danced as she leaned in for a kiss. Best project ever.

***

It was gorgeous. Marinette ran her hand over the material that had arrived in the mail while she was out. Nona had found just the leather she wanted and expressed it over from Italy. It was supple, yet very durable—and the colors were perfect. Deep black, antique white, cerulean blue, and a perfect "Sass" green, ironically called "Serpente Nell’erba" or "Snake in the Grass." She had been determined to keep the retro feel of the bike while giving it a little more personality. She hoped to find a way to showcase the depth of character she saw in Luka in the colors and lines of the bike. Nona had approved of her design and she couldn’t wait to see it in reality. Marinette stopped short as she pulled the last of the leather from the box, there was something more. She grinned at the note, Stay safe my Fairy, and have fun! ~Nona, on top of something black and bulky. It was a riding jacket. Black with hot pink accents, and it fit perfectly. She took a quick selfie and sent a thank you text along with the photo to Nona Gina.

Marinette glanced at the seat frame in the corner and shrugged off the jacket. The frame had been sanded, cleaned, and painted, though it still needed a clear coat along with everything else, but it was ready enough to get her started. Getting the seat back to her place had been a little tricky; she and Luka had been reduced to gales of laughter as they tried out different configurations to get both of them and the seat and padding on her moped, and had finally found a functional, if awkward, arrangement that required her to drive rather slowly, but they had managed it. Now she had work to do.

***

They were getting close. Luka surveyed all the parts. Once the clear coat went on, it would be a matter of final assembly and fine tuning. Marinette had loved the painting side of things and had gotten really good with the automotive sprayer. The colors she had helped him choose were gorgeous and while the vibrancy was certainly more modern than the browns and tans of the '60s, the overall design looked good on the vintage bike. She had shooed him out of the tent, insisting that she wanted to paint the clear coat on the tank herself. He knew she was planning something, he just didn’t know what. It was the final piece to be clear-coated and he was trying to remember that he was the patient one. He worked at polishing and assembling everything that was ready. Reassembling all the spokes for the wheels was time-consuming and a little tedious. Marinette had gotten it into her head to create a pattern with the spokes, some classic chrome and some a glossy black—it was going to look amazing in motion, but was nearly akin to torture to get them all into the correct pattern.

The flap of their makeshift spray tent flipped open and Marinette exited with a glowing smile. “It’s amazing how much a difference the clear gloss makes!” she announced excitedly. “Want some help with the spokes?”

“Sure, Melody, this pattern is making me a little dizzy.” She dropped to the ground next to him and started laying them out in order so he could just grab and install. Huh, he should have thought about laying them out first. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah, we do.” She nudged her shoulder into his arm with a grin and set to work.

They hummed as they worked, enjoying the time together while focusing on the task. And if their hands brushed and lingered as she handed him spokes, well, so much the better. He liked this, one goal between them. Even as they used their individual talents for different aspects of the project, it was thrilling to see it all come together cohesively.

***

Marinette tried to stay calm as she worked on the spokes. Luka was too observant to not know she was up to something, but she was trying her best to remain calm. They still had to assemble all the parts, it wasn’t as if she could keep it a secret till the end or anything, but she did want the glossy finish to dry so he could see the decal as it was meant to be. She had worked hard on the design, and searched all over to find a shop that could print it on the right material for an automotive decal. In the end the work was well worth it. She had gotten the decals to go on smoothly without any bumps or bubbles, despite how nervous she’d been of messing it up at the last minute. The decal featured a green cobra, perfectly matched to the leather on the seat, coiled around a branch of sakura blossoms and rearing as if it was about to strike, fangs bared. The blossoms were pretty, but the snake had just the right vintage flavor to pull the whole thing together. She was pretty sure Luka would love it. She hoped he would at least.

The wheels were done, the spoke pattern was mesmerizing, and everything that could be put together before the tank went on was ready.

“Can I see what you’ve done now, Marinette?”

“Yes! Of course. Let me just make sure it's dry…”

“It's been hours, I'm sure it's ready.”

“Okay, okay…” Luka grabbed at her hand as she fidgeted nervously.

“I know I’ll love whatever you’ve done, I trust you, can you trust me?”

She stilled. He was right, her nervousness suggested she was worried about his reaction and of course she trusted him to be both honest and appreciative of her work. She relaxed and tugged him towards the tent. “Yeah, come see.”

They flipped the flap open, pinning it back to let in the light and stepped inside. “Oh wow, Marinette, this is incredible!” She bounced, biting her lip as he traced the coiled snake and tapped the blossoms gently. “It needed this, a little piece of us visible. Mari, I love it.” She squealed and threw herself into his arms for a hug, trying not to knock anything to the ground. He caught her in his arms and took a step or two away from the finished tank before spinning her around in a triumphant embrace.

He loved it. She knew he would, but it was good to hear. The hug was nice, too.

***

Marinette stood waiting in front of the bakery. She could feel it, today was the day! Her jacket was stowed in her Vespa and she had wrapped the seat—she had struggled with some of the seams, but was happy with the final result.

“Hey, Marinette, let me take that.” She handed over the awkwardly wrapped bundle—the finished seat—as Luka joined her at the bakery. Maman and Papa fussed over them a bit as they arranged themselves on her moped with the seat. It wasn’t quite so awkward now that it was all one piece, and they were soon off.

Marinette gushed over the work he’d done after she left the night before and he was beyond thrilled when he unwrapped the seat. He was amazed at the quality of the leather, and the design was elegant and playful. “Marinette, you are a wonder.” She blushed furiously at his praise and pecked his cheek before nudging him to attach the seat to the bike. Once the seat was on, it was down to the last details, and those were quickly accomplished.

“I learned so much, Luka, I might be able to handle my own repairs on the moped if I ever needed them now,” she said as they attached the last bolt and adjusted the mirrors.

***

Luka was flabbergasted at how quickly it all fell into place. Marinette was rubbing a clean cloth over the chrome to make it shine and it looked amazing. Her grasp of design and color was fully evident once the machine was put together. He might have eventually finished the bike on his own, but there was no way it would have looked nearly this good without the creative eye and dedication of his girlfriend.

He scanned the area for the next step, "Now we just need…" and cocked his head in confusion when he didn’t see any more spare parts. Surely there was more to work on, right? He ran through his mental checklist as he fidgeted with the torque wrench in his hands.

Marinette laughed at his floundering. "It's done Luka, just accept it."

"Yeah, I guess it is." He was surprised to find that he was feeling a little sad about the end of their work together. The plan had been about the journey—more so even than the end result, as perfect as it was.

"Luka.” Marinette slid her hand into his and forced him to look at her. “This is the part where you tell me to hold on tight and we ride into the sunset."

Well, that sounded pretty good. He glanced around. "It's barely noon."

"Guess it'll have to be a long ride then." She pulled something out of her moped and pulled on a form-fitting leather motorcycle jacket. Damn, she looked good.

Luka smiled, and grabbed her so he could steal a kiss. Well, he tried to steal one, but she wasn’t resisting, so he gleefully took the kiss she offered him instead. Maybe the end of the project wasn’t so bad after all. "Wanna go for a ride?"

“I’d love you—to! I’d love to, and I love you, Luka.” Music to his ears.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I love you, too, Marinette.”

His heart swelled as she climbed up behind him and he reveled in the feel of her holding tightly to him. Time to chase a sunset.

#lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #gina dupain #motorcycle restoration

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nancypullen · 4 months

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A Monday in January

It's just a week before I start my new job at the library. I am cautiously optimistic. I know without a doubt that I can do the job and do it well, though I'm probably a bit rusty. My concern has been improving my wardrobe a bit. Lucky for me, the library has a very casual dress code, but I don't think they want me showing up in sweatshirts. That's been my uniform for far too long. I need one of those What Not to Wear interventions. Today I wore this sweatshirt, purchased from an Etsy shop.

It's actually perfect for the library because it's a nod to Mr. Darcy's insult to Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. I mean, that's literature, folks. Still, they'd like for me to wear business casual so I've been attempting to add a few pieces here and there. When taking stock of my closet I realized that I'm apparently a collector of black pants. Straight legs, boot cut, leggings, ponte, denim - you name it, I've got 'em. I need a couple pairs of nice indigo/dark wash jeans, they look good with just about anything. I have enough tops and sweaters to rotate. I doubt anyone will really notice what I'm wearing. But, because I have Xmas money and gift cards I traveled to Easton today to shop at the Kohl's there. It was so frustrating. I found plenty of pretty things, but the whole store looked like it had been ransacked. If I found a sweater or top I liked, the color I wanted wasn't available in my size. I refuse to buy anything I don't truly like, so if I want the cobalt blue but they've only got my size in beige, I'm not getting it. I spent hours in the store and finally came out with two tops and a necklace. I found a pair of shoes I liked but again, no 6 or 6 1/2 in stock. I came home and found them on the Kohl's website and ordered them. So that's enough of a happy ending for me. I'll always be tidy and clean, I'll accessorize and then slap on some lipstick. Granny chic! I mentioned the sweatshirt I purchased on Etsy. I was gifted a very generous Etsy gift card for Christmas and I've had a ball spending it. Look at this treasure.

I ordered a beautiful journal, and had a quote and my initials added. I'm filling it with my thoughts, my poetry, and sometimes my melancholy ramblings. If you love it as much as I do, you can order your own here:

Choose the color, your own quote or saying (whatever inspires you) and get to writing. Wouldn't this be a lovely gift? It's beautifully made and quite thick.

I couldn't love it more. It's perfect for me during this season of my life. I am truly out looking for myself. The mister is upstairs on a Zoom photo club meeting, I think they have a guest speaker or something. I'm downstairs with both kitties enjoying the quiet. I just downloaded a couple of books from the library so I've got some good reading for the stormy day ahead.

I'm okay with everything but a power outage. Let the storm rage, but I'm going to need to heat up my soup, ya' know? And speaking of books, I'm considering joining the Modern Prairie Book Club. Melissa Gilbert, who played Laura/Halfpint Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie has a company called Modern Prairie - I loooove all of it, the cookware, the home goods, the clothing, the recipes, everything.

I absolutely love the Modern Prairie Instagram account -

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so of course I was intrigued by the book club. She mentioned revisiting old books that we all read once upon a time and discussing how we view them now, decades later. I laughed when I saw the first book choice.

Then I got nostalgic (it's been more than fifty years for me!!) and then I became curious. I think I'll give it a whirl. What's the worst that can happen, I'll change my mind and go back to reading Lisa Jewell or Liane Moriarty? No big deal. Best case scenario is that I'm able to recapture some of that sweetness and simplicity. So that's where I'm at on this quiet Monday evening in January - optimistic about the new job, but yearning for the past at the same time. I suppose that's normal for most of us, isn't it? Looking forward with hope while trying to hang onto the best of what was. Sending out loads of love tonight. I hope it finds you and wraps you in a hug. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

#Instagram

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huntinglove · 1 month

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ask game time >3c

tenderheart bear ❤️ - what's your love language? what is s/i's love language?

love-a-lot bear 💞 - what moment made you realize that s/i was "the one"? be as detailed or vague as you want!

friend bear 🌻 - do you and s/i share a lot of friends, or do you both have separate friend groups you hang out with?

Hi hi!! Thank you so much for the ask!!

Tenderheart Bear ❤️ - What's your love language? What is S/I's love language?

Jacob

"What isn't my love language, honestly? I'm willing to do anything to make Eri happy, and I mean anything. All is fair in love and war, as they say... And for me, love is war."

"Eri's love language is definitely quality time... Even when we're not together, they're always checking my social media and sending me anything she thinks I'll enjoy, it's pretty sweet. Plus, I'm always keeping a close eye on them anyways so I guess it's a good match."

Simon

"Oh man, I've always been really bad at noticing these things, but let's see... I think my love language is acts of service. I think it's nice to have a helping hand after a long day, so whenever Ocean Princess needs help with chores or if she's bored, I'll be ready to take care of it for her!"

"Ocean Princess' love language is probably words of affirmation, she always has something sweet to say about me, I don't really see where she's coming from but I'm glad she thinks so highly of me, even if it's a bit... Flustering sometimes..."

Love-A-Lot Bear 💞 - What moment made you realize that S/I was "the one"? Be as detailed or vague as you want!

Jacob

"Right when they moved in. I offered to help them unpack and bring all their stuff inside once I saw the moving truck. They were so kind and fun to talk to, it felt like my first time falling in love all over again, but way more intense... Their smile, their voice, there wasn't a damn thing about Eri that didn't make my heart race like a dumb teenage boy."

Simon

"Considering the... Circumstances of my love life, I was definitely a bit nervous about getting in a relationship... I don't remember many things from when I was Ice King, just some flashes and what other people tell me about it... And Ocean Princess was something a lot of people brought up to me, especially Marcy. When we got back together I was really apprehensive about the whole thing, but then she... Was the most kind and patient person I've ever met. She never made me feel like a waste of time, and everyday with her felt like a brand new adventure, I hadn't felt so young and alive in... Well, a thousand years. That's when I knew I was ready to give love another chance."

Friend Bear 🌻 - Do you and S/I share a lot of friends, or do you both have separate friend groups you hang out with?

Jacob

"Aw man.. Friends... Well, I haven't heard from most of my friends since I finished highschool, plus the people at work are a bunch of assholes, so I don't talk to them much... I guess Eri is my only friend, even if we're dating and all... It's nice to be in love with your best friend though, nothing ever feels dull or boring when we're together!"

"On the other hand... Eri seems to be a social butterfly, even if her friends are far away, since she moved here... She calls them every night and they seem to have a blast together each time. I don't see the point in all that, if you ask me.. I don't trust any of them either..."

Simon

"Oh yes! We definitely have a lot of friends in common, as far as I'm aware! Marcy, though she's technically our daughter hehe... Finn, Prismo, Princess Bubblegum and a few more!"

"I'm pretty sure Ocean Princess is closer to Flame Princess than I've ever been, which is a bit... Ironic, but I'm glad she has more people that understand her!"

#✯ lovely asks #❥ be my muse #❥ the ice king's princess

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phantomrose96 · 2 years

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I just read Souls Follow (and I don’t think I saw it when you first posted it?? so new to me aha fic) and like

I think a huge part of it, the way it works so well, is, for me at least, I felt like the majority of the fic was priming the idea that we were looking at Vlads future, that at the end of the fic, the awful thing we could see coming but was inevitable was Vlad also loosing himself to his obsession. And that wouldn’t be a bad story!

But then, instead, Vlad finds a way to not lose himself. What happened to Danny could have been prevented (horror no 1) and we end on Maddie alone with nothing left (absolute gut punch!!!)

And like I don’t think the phandom has often explored the idea of Maddie being alone like that, I mean there’s the dissection fics where she’s to blame for Danny death and then Jazz leaves, but this kind of tragic loneliness and having nothing left?? There was no mental preparation even tho in the fic there’s all these hints in the cells she keeps leaving Vlad (which in itself says a lot)

(Souls Follow After)

( •̀ ω •́ )✧( •̀ ω •́ )✧( •̀ ω •́ )✧

Ah!!!!! Yeah I think the thing about Minds Follow/Souls Follow After that gets to me is the particular brand of angst of just... being left behind overtime. Noticing what's changed too late. Losing things and people slowly in such a passive and unavoidable way until one day you wake up and everything's gone.

And I just *runs in circles* Vlad's arc to COUNTER that in SFA. Realizing that hanging on to his humanity would lead him to this end - literally holding on to his (warped) love and care for Maddie and Danny - and effectively severing that and ending in an utter victory for Vlad where he's embraced being a monster and becomes literally the only character in the whole narrative to achieve a happy ending, as a monster, a g h.

I'm glad you're pointing out the cellphone bit because I really... I really think I Hit something there because like... it dealt psychic damage to me rereading it, and I presumably wrote it and ajhdghvffg

Also SFA just has me running in circles because like, when I look back and reread it, somehow past-me just packed it with a hundred details that light my current-brain on fire. I kinda feel like it's my favorite Vlad characterization I've hit on. The way he takes Danny's death, and transition to full ghosthood, as a personal insult because it severs Danny's half-ghost connection to Vlad. The way Vlad just toys with Jack and Maddie because he's holding all the power in the dynamic.

Then beyond Vlad, the repeated hollow one-liners from Danny who's too far gone. The timelapse of Maddie losing everything. The eerie utter abandonment of Vlad's mansion. The reveal that Vlad's body was crushed to death in the lab over a decade ago. Which is revealed by Plasmius, rid of his humanity, and successfully in possession of both the ring and crown making him ghost king. Maddie facing this, surrounded by the hollow A.I.s of herself and Danny to remind her of everything she lost. "No. I'm the king of monsters," and just leaving Maddie there, alone, with that, with the A.I.s.

Like literally I know it's my own fic but re-reading it years later it FEELS like someone else's fic that I'm falling in love with and then I go "this was ME? this was MINE?" Like I wanna gush about it but then I gotta reign myself in a little like "come on, have a bit of courtesy" but like. "No, I'm the king of monsters" I'm gonna eat my pillow.

#ask #souls follow after #this was on the brain while writing Familiar Corpse because just #my SFA Vlad is just. the best Vlad I've achieved and Familiar Corpse is trying to pay homage to it #dp

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bratzforchris · 11 months

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Little Lukey

❃

Summary: Luke relieves some stress in an unexpected way

Pairing: caregiver!Calum x little!Luke

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1160

A/N: Age regression is different from age play. Age regression is always 100% SFW. This will be the ONLY time I state this as I do not write age play works. If you don't have anything nice to say, please keep scrolling.

❃

Luke had always been the baby. The baby of his family and the baby of the band. Not that he minded. If anything, he found the feeling of having someone take care of him quite comforting. As the band grew, the anxiety and stress of leaving home at sixteen and moving to a brand new country far away from his parents began to wear on the boy.

The small signs went unnoticed at first. How he found coloring in a coloring book with crayons to be quite fun, how he didn't mind watching cartoons and how his absolute favorite meal was mac n cheese with a side of strawberries. It wasn't until he woke up one morning with his stuffed penguin, Pengy's, flipper in his mouth that he began to question things.

After much research and quite a few tears, Luke determined that he was interested in something called age regression. The idea of being taken care of and getting to engage in fun and stress-free activities amidst the band's busy schedule sounded like music to his ears. The only thing that held the blond back from jumping with joy was how to tell his boyfriend.

Sure, Calum was the perfect boyfriend. He was kind and understanding and loved everything about Luke, but being told his eighteen-year-old boyfriend enjoyed regressing to a baby's mental state was a big step in their relationship. And so, Luke hid it. During their stops at various stores on the tour, he would always make it a point to slip away from the rest of the band and go into Walmart or Target and buy a paci and other "baby gear".

Three weeks in, and Luke couldn't be happier. He had a small bin under his bed (thank goodness for bottom bunks!) that had various pacifiers, sippy cups, and small plush toys in it. He also had his blankie, which was unashamedly on his bed. Not that the other boys noticed anything different about that. Luke had carried that blanket everywhere with him until Year Nine and still slept with it.

The only thing was, Luke's heart longed to tell Calum. He wanted the older male to be his caregiver. So, he devised the perfect plan for the two to have the bus to themselves so Luke could ask him. Asking such a big question was scary enough, he didn't need Michael and Ashton around if he got rejected.

As the boys began to prepare to grab dinner, Luke set his plan in place. "I think I'm gonna hang back...my tummy hurts." he mumbled, already feeling himself start to slip at the thought of finally having a daddy.

"You're not feeling good? Do you have a fever?" Ashton asked, raising a brow.

Luke shook his head quickly. "Don't think so. I just wanna rest."

"Want me to hang back with you?" Calum smiled, sitting down beside him and running his fingers through Luke's blond quiff as the blond curled up on the couch, wrapping his arms around his belly to really sell the act and prevent him from accidentally sucking his thumb while the others were around.

The blond smiled softly and nodded his head, trying not to show too much emotion. "Please...".

Once he was sure Michael and Ashton were completely off the bus, Luke turned his face up to look at Calum, pleading with his baby blue eyes. "Cally?"

Calum noticed the change in Luke's speech and looked over at him curiously. The blond boy has always had a bit of a lisp, but Calum figured the prominence of it and the name were most likely related to "not feeling good". "What's up, babe?"

"Gotta tell you something..." Luke trailed off, twisting the hem of his shirt anxiously.

"Of course, Lukey Boy. What's up?" Calum rubbed his lover's side gently.

"I-um...I've been stressed and anxious lately and so I started doing this thing called age regression to help me cope and I was wondering if you'd be my caregiver.” Luke blushed, his cheeks turning a bright cherry red.

The blond turned his head into the bus' couch cushions, refusing to look at Calum's face. He didn't want to see the reaction if his boyfriend thought he was a freak.

Calum cocked his head curiously. "What does that mean?"

"Caregiver or age regression?" Luke asked, face still smushed in the cushions.

"Both."

Luke blushed. "Well, age regression is basically, um...I like being in a baby's headspace..."

"So it's a coping mechanism?" Calum's head was spinning with new knowledge.

Luke nodded eagerly. Despite his red cheeks and embarrassment, he had scooted closer to Calum and was cuddling into his side. The blond rubbed his eyes sleepily. He could feel himself slipping, but was determined to stay big until Calum told him yes or no.

The couple stayed silent for a few minutes. Calum was trying to figure out what to say, until he eventually decided he understood what Luke was saying. Tour was hard and Luke had always been rather childlike. Besides, it was completely innocent. No harm in that.

The raven-hair boy pulled Luke closer into his side. "Cutie," he cooed, stroking the younger boy's golden-blond curls. "Thank you for telling me. I'll do whatever you need to stay happy."

"And a caregiver is basically like, well, like a mom or dad?" Luke stuttered, trying not to get too nervous.

"You want me to act like your dad?" Calum didn't ask it in a mean way; he was just curious.

Luke nodded, his eyes filling with tears. He immediately began to slip into headspace without even thinking about it. "Sow-sorry..."

"Hey. Look at me, baby. I'll do it if that's what makes you happy, 'kay?" Calum took Luke's chin in his hand. "Does it make you happy?"

Luke nodded and wrapped his hand around Calum's index finger. "Daddy."

Calum nodded, trying to disguise how much getting used to that would take. Luke needed him right now and that was all that mattered. "Do you have baby things, honey?"

The blond nodded and ran off towards his bunk, coming back with his box of little gear. "Haves lots of stuff!"

Calum let out a small coo. This was simply adorable. "Would you like a pacifier, sweetie?"

Luke nodded eagerly. This is all he had ever wanted. To have a daddy that would love and adore him and understand that he wasn't weird or a freak; he was simply a soft soul with a gentle heart who chose to cope in a different way.

Calum picked a blue paci with a penguin on it out of the box and handed it to Luke. "Here ya go, sweetheart." he smiled fondly.

The blond boy popped it into his mouth eagerly and curled up on Calum's chest, sucking the plastic. "Wuv you, Daddy Cally. Wuv you lots."

Calum smiled and held his baby closer to him. "I love you too, baby. Daddy's perfect little angel."

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wytfut · 4 months

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A whiners report, POV.....

Greetings all..... at this very moment in time.... I'm recooping from again another back surgery. To no ones fault, even my own suppose. Time take its toll.

This time has been a journey, more involved than I ever thought would happen to me ever again. I feel at times that my medical incidents seem a bit slanted towards me at times as in picking on me. But thats just my POV. I'm sure it is not.

I won't mention my surgeons name, as I like the guy and I think everything that has happened most likely was out of his hands, and he is very good at his craft. But other than Being very hands on with every patient, he doesn't have a lot of control over what happens to his patient. And so it is....

My medical issues have spanned mostly from 2000 to now. 4 hip surgeries, 2 carpal tunnel, a blood clot incident, a heart attack, and previous back procedures.

My father couldn't handle any morphine products and accordingly, we'd tell hospital personnel, who pretty much ignore us. He'd become outrageous, and out of control, living his nightmares. I've even went so far to tell them that if they insist he have morphine of any kind that they had my permission to tie him in his bed. This always brought a strange look from the person I'd be talking too. But anyone who had lived Delmars nightmares with him cannot describe what they saw. The most common was for him to leap out of bed ripping out his IV's, stitches, etc. .... even dislocating his brand new hip, falling over the rails he couldn't get down.

With my latest, I'm noticing I maybe affected also my morphine, same as my Father. I've had nothing but tons of vivid dreams and at time discerning, what is reality, and what is dreaming. Even when currently I'm only taking 1 hydracodone at bed time.... I get a bit blurry during the day. I've also noticed that I can't really read right now.... maybe a little bit. But my eyes keep jumping around (old EMT days.... "ping pong ball eyes")

When I came out of surgery, I remember nothing of any conversations. .... I seemed to come around to reality about 2 days later, ...... no matter what I said or did.

So Dec. 6 after surgery, a lot of things I was told was said, which I have no recollection. Barely holding my head up.... And a nurse put an ice pack on my new wound, and I went to sleep the next 2 hours.

When I woke the ice pack was warm and sweaty. ... Apparently I frost bit my new wound. So much so that it felt as if my back was on fire.... I was very surprised and got a reply to my questioning "we told you no more than 15 minutes....." absolutely do not remember this.

I got home, Patti wasn't happy that I wouldn't even try the ice pack, but I just couldn't stand it. Between the burning and itching.... no way was I going to do it.

Other conversation after surgery from what I understand was how to wear my back brace. I remember a foggy moment of some sort of conversation. I remember a part where someone (PA?) said I wasn't wearing it correctly. In my pile of papers once I was home, no mention of the back brace, but I remembered somethings. No bending, no twisting, no lifting, ..... pretty much the norm, that I bite my cheek with when hearing. I've had this conversation with my surgeon in the past, and he too chuckles at my point of view.

All of those requests, are impossible, unless you have someone assigned/attached to your hip. I know they sound reasonable, but its really not. Maybe I'm just hard headed, which I can admit to easily.

But I did indeed piss myself 3 times the first night waiting for help off the nurses call button.

Here are my favorite ones where the rules are exempt:

How do you use the toilet? How do you wipe? both of these require bending over and a bit of twisting..... but they do say sitting up is okay... but you are bending over to get there.

Getting in bed.... you are again bending over, and twisting too. Even if done the proper way prescribed....

I'm an old guy. I get up at least 4 times every nite. The toilet is not 10 from my bed. I'm not going to put on that brace, for less than 10 feet 4 times a night.... its just not practical, and I think maybe a bit over board for moving about to get that brace back on and off.

Did I mention that you don't need to wear the brace in bed. I'm good with that, as my wound was screaming by the time I got home. But there was no instruction that I remember on sleeping position. One of my past PA's had very specific instructions on sleep position.

Apparently twisting in bed is ok, bending ok, etc. .... I have no idea.

I even remember someone saying that when sitting if you wanted to take off the brace for a few minutes is was allowed. Condition of my wound..... it was a lot of a "few minutes"...... I even called my surgeons office trying to get this all straight in my head..... couldn't do it.... too much drugs.

I know... its all petty, and I'm just venting from this longer than expected process.

3 nights ago, I woke up with a new chest pain. My pulse was fine. The tempo felt good.... but I couldn't take a full breath without shooting pain. All of this upper right chest, front to rear.

I monitored it until around noon and had Patti haul my butt in. I noticed walking across the kitchen I was struggling to keep my breath.

I had a blood clot. I'm very familiar with blood clots (5 in 2000, and a monster in Xmas 2019) over the past 20+ years. But everyone has been different. Each medical team has treated it with its own interpretation of "how its supposed to be done".

For those that don't know..... like a lot of medical issues, blood clots in the wrong place (all of mine have been in the heart lungs area) can kill you.

I spent 24 hours in the hospital. Got home completely wasted. With what felt was at least a couple days lost recooping from the original surgery.

Feeling pretty good right now. Still not a lot of appetite. I'm currently not on any meds for this procedure. except I'll be taking my last Hydracodone at bed time. We'll see how it goes tonight, I'd like to be off of them, .... but if issues arise, I'll ask for another script.

Not very many folks will read this.... and that's ok. But for those that want to know how I'm doing.... here ya go...

As for my back issues? ..... I'm excited. it appears they are all gone. It doesn't mean something else may not show up down the road, but this time, I'm really excited.

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kiruuuuu · 1 year

Text

Kiru's Advent Calendar, Day 1 🍝

As promised, here is some of the content I've produced throughout the past year - and hopefully some new as well! I've always liked the idea of Ace cooking together with various ops and with varying success, so here's him filming an episode with none other than the master himself. (Ace and Maestro, Rating T, fluffy chaos, ~2.2k words)

Saying Ace was nervous would be an exaggeration, but claiming he was completely at ease not quite accurate either. To suppress some of the restlessness, he checks whether everything is ready: various cameras are set up around the kitchen, he’s all mic’d up and has the second one ready, props are strategically placed on the spotless and tidy surfaces (he re-potted a basil plant even though he knows from first hand experience how fickle they are – this one will survive two, maybe three weeks). Ingredients are partly lined up on the counter, partly still in the fridge and freezer for maximum freshness, and he’s set aside the utensils they’ll need.

One stipulation his new apartment had to meet was a large kitchen, and he got lucky: not only is it brand new following recent renovations, it’s also extremely spacious with a proper kitchen island in the middle. He’s paying half a fortune to live here, but following the sharp increase in quality to his videos came a proportional increase in viewers, followers, sponsors and therefore income.

He stands in front of the fresh tomatoes, a little lost and a little anxious, and waits. One o’clock was the agreed time, and it’s 12:59 right now, so there should be -

His heart jumps into his throat when the doorbell rings. Not denying himself the whimsical joy of sliding through his corridor on slippery socks, he comes to a halt right in front of his apartment door and rips it open to reveal none other than his jovial Italian colleague.

Who is inexplicably carrying a large box of what looks to be groceries.

“Help me carry, there’s more in the car”, he greets Ace curtly yet with a friendly tone – all business already – and hands the box over (and why is it so heavy) before turning around and clattering back down the stairs to the ground floor.

Ace notices two things: 1) Maestro looks utterly stunning, and it’s wholly unclear whether he always dresses this well in his spare time or has dolled himself up for the occasion. 2) If he himself is heading back down, it means he’s got enough stuff to warrant two strong men to carry it. Which… is a tad worrying. Just a bit.

But Ace isn’t worried. He wouldn’t worry about it. He’s not worrying.

Quickly, he deposits the crate in the kitchen and nearly collides with his guest on the way down the stairs. A flashy Alfa Romeo is badly parked on the opposite side of the street, its trunk revealing two more boxes.

He’s beginning to worry.

Maestro seems to sense his bewilderment and, as soon as everything he brought occupies all horizontal surfaces in the kitchen, booms: “I know you said you’d take care of the ingredients, but I was sure you wouldn’t get enough, ragazotto, and I was right. You couldn’t feed a small family with these, look at how puny the aubergines are!”

Mildly, in case he’d upset the loud man, Ace replies: “We’re not trying to feed a small family.”

“Come now, don’t put yourself down – I’ve heard you have quite a few people who watch your funny little videos, you can’t let them go hungry.”

Oh. Ace’s eyes widen. Oh no. “We’re… we’re not cooking for my viewers.” Funny little videos?

Confused, Maestro turns around, eyeing the cameras with suspicion. “But …”

“Okay. Look. We are cooking for my viewers, but only digitally. We will cook and film ourselves doing so, and later they will watch the video. They don’t… visit me to eat. They live all over the world, actually.” Belatedly, he adds: “And it’s far too many anyway, my subscriber count is -”

“I see”, the loud Italian interrupts him like it comes to him naturally (and he really seems to enjoy hearing himself speak), “even then, you can freeze food if you must. Time to show your people how to feed someone.” He starts unpacking the second he finishes his sentence and frowns in dissatisfaction when Ace stops him.

“Before we start, you need a mic or else nobody will be able to -”

Aaaaand Maestro’s shirt is already unbuttoned. Revealing his bulky torso, pronounced muscles under the tan skin, just enough coarse, curled hairs adorning his chest… and Ace feels like it’s going to be a long Sunday.

After the first fifteen minutes he finally understands how recipe blogs became what they are now. To every ingredient, Maestro has a backstory ready, ever-increasing on the impressiveness scale – this herb he already loved as a kid and climbed over his neighbour’s fence to steal some from their garden, his niece once choked on this vegetable and he barely managed to save her, this one was apparently used in chemical warfare in the 1920s, that one would literally kill them if prepared wrong. Ace barely gets a word in edgewise and eventually resigns to just standing there, listening to the epic tale of Maestro’s entire life laid out in association with specific types of food while mentally apologising to his editor. She’ll have to suffer through all this herself as well.

… she’s going to strangle him.

Halfway through a recount of how lentils single-handedly won the American Civil War, Maestro’s broad hands conjure up an expensive-looking wine bottle as well as an expensive-looking corkscrew. Ace is past the point of self doubt as he’s pretty sure he went over all the rules before the other man agreed to join him, therefore he simply cuts in: “No alcohol. We can drink after, but not now.”

The Italian looks at him like he just snapped a handful of spaghetti in half. “Mi scusi, I thought you were joking? How am I supposed to get into the flow when I can’t lubricate the gears? How do I get into the state where everything comes together, salt flutters out of my sleeve, my ancestors guide my seasoning and the sun itself shines out of the dish?”

Ace stares. And wonders whether Maestro is used to finishing a whole bottle by himself. “Later”, he emphasises after he’s regained his composure. “I appreciate the gesture though.”

His guest grumbles something and Ace believes he makes out the word dittatore at some point, but at least the wine is placed out of sight.

What then transpires is an absolute rollercoaster.

Ace has never experienced this many emotions in such short periods of time – one second, Maestro confidently crushes garlic cloves with the heel of his palm like the world’s first cooking supermodel, the next he agonises over Ace’s carrot cutting technique so sincerely Ace may as well have stabbed his brother, and what follows is a salacious anecdote involving several military officials, a horse mask, copious amounts of hay and too many Cowboy boots, the entirety of which Ace’s editor will have to either cut out or bleep for as long as Maestro is talking.

Trying to clean up after his guest so the background isn’t cluttered or dirty is a Sisyphean task and at no point does Ace feel in control – Maestro takes over every horizontal surface to either cut vegetables at lightning speed or roll picture-perfect Gnocchi with his arms floured up to his elbows (be still my heart), he samples nearly every ingredient at some point and even tries to feed Ace repeatedly, and he won’t. Stop. Talking.

During close-ups of the sizzling dishes, while Ace adjusts clothes and hair, with his mouth full, in the middle of Ace’s sentences.

And honestly? It’s not even that bad. Ace gets to exist in the background for once, not having to make awkward small talk or come up with funny remarks on the spot, try to keep the conversation flowing to evoke a friendly and warm atmosphere so his viewers feel comfortable – all he has to do is stare at this beast of a man decimating a heap of vegetables into a soup divided into several pots because no single one Ace owns would be large enough to contain it. It’s obvious Maestro is having the time of his life, visibly enjoying leaving a trail of destruction behind him, knowing Ace will tidy after him; he didn’t even need the alcohol. But before Ace can wallow in the positivity of it all, Maestro drops a swear so obscene Ace instinctively twitches towards the nearest camera in the instinct of turning it off. He doesn’t, though.

He doesn’t have the time.

“… and here we are, bambini”, Maestro eventually roars not unlike a ringmaster announcing the next act – at some point, he got it in his head that Ace’s viewership was comprised entirely of children and he didn’t feel like correcting him, not like Maestro would listen anyway, “a three-course meal worthy of the gods! A hearty Minestrone to warm your bones first, then Gnocchi al Gorgonzola to satisfy your stomach and a light Affogato al caffè to bring it all together. Perfect for a light family dinner.”

“… of fifteen”, Ace adds quietly. He has to admit, the end result is inviting – not on the same level as professional food photography, presentation wise, but just the right kind of homely to assure you it’s been cooked with love, while seeming very appetising. “Let’s dig in! I let you do all the seasoning so I’m excited how it turned out.” Ace dips a spoon in the small bowl of soup and prays inwardly that it at least taste good. When the word about their collaboration spread in Rainbow, he garnered a vast range of reactions which still concern him a little, but credible sources have claimed Maestro is actually good at this. He lifts the utensil up and closes his mouth around it, careful to let the camera see his face.

And he nearly drops the spoon.

“Bit salty”, Maestro comments, having tried his own portion, and now it’s Ace’s turn to stare at him like he just claimed Sweden and Norway were interchangeable, because what.

He tries some more. Has to almost physically restrain himself not to dump the whole thing down his gullet. It’s one of the best dishes he’s ever eaten. Breathless, he pants: “This is amazing.”

Maestro shoots him a toothy grin. “My nonna’s recipe, pace all’anima sua. Wouldn’t stop smoking till the day she dropped dead, what a woman. Did I ever tell you about how she managed to trade a goose for a car? It started out -”

Tuning him out completely, Ace tries the gnocchi. They’re the perfect consistency, sticky yet not too starchy, the sauce melting in his mouth and complementing the mild base with its strong taste – without being overpowering. The flavour of the blue cheese adds a whole other dimension to the creamy goodness of it all.

Ace is dumbstruck. He couldn’t even choose the better dish, they’re both magnificent in their own particular way.

Because he has to, he spoons a bit of the espresso into his mouth, careful to get some of the vanilla ice cream as well – he’s normally not an espresso fan yet Maestro was insistent and even brought his own moka pot (just like he seemed to have carried along half his kitchen, including his entire spice and knife rack), so it’s worth a try.

And boy is it worth a try.

By now, Maestro is holding a full-fledged monologue straight into the nearest camera, so Ace turns to a different one to mouth delicious before pulling an unashamedly orgasmic face. Not even listening to his guest, he finishes his tiny portions while producing appropriate expressions for the benefit of his viewers, then steals Maestro’s before they get cold(er) and eventually even gets a third serving. Which he finishes long before the Italian is done with his current anecdote. So he just grabs some more.

There is absolutely no way he’s going to share the leftovers with anyone.

“And that concludes this week’s episode of ‘kiss the cook’!”, Ace concludes a while later. It’s almost eight in the evening. They were meant to finish at five. “Thank you all so much for watching and please let me know if you actually try out any of the recipes. And thank you, Adriano, for joining me this week and sharing some traditional Italian dishes with us.”

As Maestro says his parting words, Ace reflects on the experience. Was it worth the trashed kitchen, the paint job necessary now that there are stains on the ceiling, the constant panic over whatever Maestro was doing, the constant panic over the way Maestro looks, and the large parts they’ll have to cut out because the man swears like a sailor?

Probably.

… will it be worth the comments he’ll inevitably get when his fans watch him lose his mind in more ways than one? Well. He’ll see.

They wave their goodbyes and Maestro, just as agreed, leans in to make the show live up to its name – only he, uh, must’ve misunderstood, or forgotten what they’d discussed, because he takes Ace’s face in his hands and kisses him right on the lips.

Straight up mouth-to-mouth.

A proper smooch.

For several seconds.

And Ace, reeling and nearly losing his balance when he’s eventually released again, decides that nope, this will definitely not be worth the comments he’ll get.

#rainbow six siege #fanfic #ace #maestro #kac #big gay panic going on there #sample the chef

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ssouledout · 6 months

Text

oct 24 2023

i think this thought pretty frequently:

"i wonder how life will be a year from now"

..knowing that life usually changes drastically within a year. at least it's been this way for the past 5 years. i feel like i've lived so many lives and i'm only 27 lol. about to be 28 soon though.. what is life!!!

i'm definitely in a brand new season. last year, i shifted internally and spiritually. it was an intense, expedited healing session that needed to happen (thank you Jesus). i've always lived my life with Jesus on the sidelines lowkey, but i'm fr a woman of God now. i made God my very first priority and she's different.. and it's noticeable lol. an external thing now. i'm so proud of myself because i've come a LONG WAYYYYY. monte don't even know man.. this version of me needed to arrive before meeting him though. oh yeah, i met my husband. we're not married yet, but i'm pretty sure this is the man God's been preparing me for and vise versa. (and if he's not the one, Lord take him away asap bc i can't go through that again pls). not sure if i've mentioned him in a previous post (it's been so long). the story of how we met is pretty amazing, a story only God can put together honestly. it's been almost 7 months, but it feels like 2-3 years. in the best way. we're in a bit of a rough reason right now but I'm trusting God and his plans.. some things weren't what i expected, it's been a test of my faith honestly. but monte is amazing. he's an answered prayer. on so many levels. he's the glue to my family and i prophesied that within a couple weeks of dating. we grow closer each day and i'm just really excited to do life with him.

i'm in therapy rn and it's going great. i felt ready to look inwards to improve the relationship i have with my parents. tomorrow will be my 4th session. it's been progressive so far. learning a lot about myself.. and my dad.

been doing youtube for over a year now and we're still growing. currently at 776 subscribers. how? idek bruh. but i'm going to keep going, even though idk what i'm doing more than half the time. i will say: my confidence has gone up a ton though. my fcks to give about what people think don't really exist anymore. that's HUGE. if that was the purpose of it all, praise God fr. elaine's friend manages content creators and she's setting up a content plan for me.. so we'll see how that goes. i started doing lashes. but kinda stopped. we'll see on that too. i'm working part time as an exam proctor (proctor.. ba dum tss). it's funny because i applied before maxim, but didn't get my first shift until i quit care partners. God's timing lol. i'm actually at work right now.

and here i am wondering how life will be like next year.. i feel like God's going to blow my mind. as he always does.. (he blew my brains out with monte lol). i know our circumstances are going to change soon though. all glory to God. God's behind the wheel and i'm cruisingggg wheeeeeeeeee

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wily-one24 · 7 months

Note

Ask meme: 6, 9, 16, 30 & 50 😊😊😊😊

6. What are you excited for?

Oh, we're starting with the hard questions right out of the gate, are we? Hmmm... I am excited for summer. I guess. I do so much better in the warmer weather than the cold. The last two days were beautiful and I got to break out some cute summer dresses. I love it. I really cannot wait for the real long lasting heat to begin.

I want to say I'm excited for Christmas, but... I guess I am kinda neutral about it? Like, it's a good thing, but the stress, omg. I *do* have a brand new cute christmas dress though, it's very swirly. It *is* a bit more low cut and thin strappy than I had planned for, so I am going to have to invest in a strapless bra sometime soon.

9. Is confidence cute?

Omg. Confidence is hella sexy.

Although, there is a difference between confidence and arrogance and arrogance is defintiely not.

16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months?

I mean, I don't *expect* to change that drastically in the next three months, but how can anyone ever be sure? I am noticably different now than I was 12 months ago and people have remarked to me recently that I look very well. Which... I haven't noticed?

But, I have recently completed a round of dentistry which has greatly improved my confidence, so that's always a bonus and has to effect how I am coming across.

I, personally, don't expect to change. My life is stable, my job is stable, my kids are honestly (although sometimes frustrating, bc teenage boys, omg) the light of my life... I don't really see any of that changing. I'm returning into fandom activity after several years of nothing, which feels good, and I don't see that changing.

30. Does everyone deserve a second chance?

You really come out swinging, don't you?

I want to say yes. I want to say that people grow and can change and they deserve the chance to do that. And in most circumstances, I would definitely say yes.

But there are some things that are unforgivable and some people do not deserve to be in society.

I am a pretty forgiving and tolerant person. It takes a lot to upset me to begin with and I will usually get over it when I do. That said, my patience only goes so far. There is a line and once it is crossed, I will cut you out so badly it's not even funny.

(For instance: I have forgiven and remain friends with my ex-husband, the man who cheated on me when I was in the hospital trying not the die while giving birth to my youngest child, so I can forgive almost anything if you try to make up for it... but I have a sister that I was very close to growing up that I refuse to speak to, I won't go to her house, and give her only the briefest of cursory responses when I am forced to be in the same room with at famly functions, because she has crossed the line too many times and has reached into irredeemable territory).

I guess, second chance, yes, but when you start getting into third/fourth/fifth chances then obviously some people aren't going to change. They're set and that's who they are. You know the saying, when people show you who they are: believe them.

50. Ever used a bow and arrow?

Used a bow and arrow? Yes.

Mastered and/or been good at a bow and arrow? No.

I have been on school camps where archery was a thing and I liked it. I have been to a few places where archery is a thing as an adult and I've tried again there (like adventure parks, or Kryal Castle).

Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be doing that again, my shoulder has a tendency to weakness and I can't push it. And shoulders are very necessary when pulling back that string. The tension and strength to hold and focus it, I just don't have that anymore.

But, yes, I have done it before.

@rowark, you picked some interesting questions. Yikes. Thanks for playing!!!

#rowark #okay #so that was more thinking than i wanted to do after first waking up

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nicoforlifetrue · 3 years

Text

I think I've seen this film before (and I liked the ending)

He remembers when he was taken.

He remembers fighting and flailing and trying desperately to get back to his friends, to get away because he didn't know what was happening.

He remembers the faint tap of something to his side and the visions of his worst nightmares that forced him to be quiet.

He remembers kneeling and listening to words, being told that he had the privilege of being a watcher, being told his new name.

He remembers the urge to scream and fight, wanting to lash out, but being too terrified to do anything.

He remembers watching as a thick fluid was forced down his throat and thinking he was choking.

He remembers being watched by two beings as the pain started; pain was an old friend to him, but this, this feeling was brand new, and he didn't know if he would survive it as he felt the familiar heat of cut muscle start to rise…

…But he remembers one stepped forward.

One with soft blond hair that peeked out from the hood, who carefully held his head in their lap and ran fingers through his hair and rubbed between his shoulder blades— silent unlike the other two, silent but so viscerally there, their warmth clashing against the cold of the room as his back lit up with fire.

He remembers the two leaving just as two lines of lava erupted deep in his spine, he remembers the one holding him, running a thumb along the side of the lines and gently pushing in; he remembers that made the pain just a little bit lighter, just a little bit less breaking.

He remembers as the lines started to push, forcing their way to the surface of his skin, and he remembers how he’d started screaming as the inside of his back tore and he slammed his eyes shut.

He remembers the soft press of fingers on his back alleviating the pain the smallest fraction— he remembers the force moving the feeling to go faster— he remembers his head laying on a chest, listening to a soft steady heart and long deep breaths that he found himself mimicking, the two hands carefully massaged his back.

He remembers the sound of his own back tearing open as a new sensation flooded his mind, new limbs he didn't know how to work dripping blood and gore onto the floor.

He remembers the pain of new nerves and bones exposed to the cold air, he remembers the only thing grounding him being the heart beat and those hands moving from his back to his hair, carding through it as the pain slowly faded to a dull, unpleasant throb.

He remembers shakily joking that at least the worst was done with; he remembers them not answering, simply gripping him tighter.

A silent warning that he recognized.

‘It's not over yet.’

The next burn was one he had a few vital seconds to prepare for, not screaming that time as his gut suddenly felt like it was being rearranged, instead biteng into his lip so hard it bled as he tried to focus on the heartbeat in his ears instead of the sounds of something in his body moving, tried to fixate on the hands in his hair instead of the shifting in his gut.

When the pain faded after what felt like hours— when he felt himself lifted yet kept close to this person's chest, the steady, calm heartbeat grounding him from the lingering soreness and the burn in his back— he wanted to ask again, ask the one that had stayed if they were done with him.

They didn't answer.

Instead they honored him by washing his back of his own blood and gore, gentle hands stitching the gashes in his back closed.

“So you're like the medic of this little operation then?” he had asked. “You're required to patch me up before forcing me through another round of torment.”

He remembers watching the person freeze, clearly handmade bandages half wrapped around Grian’s torso, the mask hiding their eyes but the faintest flick of a frown flashing across their lips for a split second.

And he remembers them shaking their head twice, answering both his questions silently.

He remembers them carrying him around for a while, until the last pangs had stopped.

He remembers them re-teaching him how to walk with the new appendages on his back.

He remembers them showing him how to preen, letting Grian stumble and pull on their feathers before he tried to do it on his own.

He remembers them shoving him off the side of a building into the void, his terror for those few vital moments as he froze, how they had grabbed him before the void had swallowed him. He had asked why and they’d said nothing, just pushed him again— and this time he had understood as instead of freezing in fear (they would catch him, he knew that now) he started to struggle in the air as his wings moved on their own.

He thinks there was pride in that blank expression when he shot up with fluttering wings.

He would mutter under his breath around them, about how something was unfair, morally wrong, how something was right. They wouldn't do anything, but he thinks at times they nodded— a small, barely noticeable nod.

They would correct him gently, and after he had flinched away from their hands during the first staff training they shifted him with the stick; kind, careful, aware, as if they knew.

He didn't trust them, and at times he found himself hating them.

Until they weren't there.

“Aeipra will be unable to train you for a short while,” a higher up informed him, his mentor at their side. “Lerva will fill in until they return, understood?”

Lerva was high up enough in the chain to speak.

Lerva followed the rules, apparently.

The staff caused nightmares— awful, horrid nightmares meant to break the soul… his mentor never used their staff on him.

They apparently were meant to.

He’d felt like he was breaking quite quickly, this new mentor was downright cruel.

Where his would silently encourage questions, was invested in Grian’s opinions for all their apathy, this one seemed set on getting rid of them, and any sort of sound would receive him his worst memories on loop.

Where his mentor was kind in their corrections, gentle and carefu,. this one was cruel, any mistake receiving punishment.

Where his mentor for their silence was warm and understanding, this one in their words berated him and tore him down.

“Have they not trained you at all?” the new one would spit, “or are you just defiant, hm?”

There was a hidden threat there, one he caught onto quite quickly. He was given leniency for being so young, his mentor's gentleness would be treated far more harshly.

When they returned, their gentle and large wings stretching to shadow him, he didn't scoff for once; after all, how much had his mentor risked for Grian’s own comfort?

“You hate me,” were the first words his mentor ever spoke to him, the words raspy from disuse, the tone willfully blank.

‘I hate what you are’ he found himself thinking in his shock. “I don’t,” he had said instead.

After that, words— though far and few between— came despite the clear breaking of rules… and he learned things.

He learned that the other liked to fly, not for speed but freedom; he learned the smallest changes in their tone and the slightest change in their wings.

They became a figure he never really had in his life.

A parent of sorts.

They shared his own joy of chaos, that joy slipping through painstakingly-crafted walls at times, teaching him small tricks that could never be traced back to them that would cause the smallest ripples in the still pond around them.

They shared his joy of flight, showing him tricks and dives, teaching him how to adapt those tricks from his mentor's large swooping wings for his own smaller fluttering ones, a glider vs a sprinter they had whispered to him when he asked.

They shared his joy of building, playing elaborate games easily disguised as training of tricks and perspective, learning new items and fun ways to use them.

They understood his want for life, to live and enjoy and steal away little moments of heaven for himself.

They knew him better than anyone else, despite not knowing a lick of his story.

Seeing them go back was what hurt.

On that one time, because night and day were nothing it was always just time, as they hurried him awake— saying nothing as they grabbed him and tugged him along— twisting through corridors and shoving him through a sputtering portal.

It was a blur after that, of flying and twisting and portal nausea.

And when they finally stopped, as they gave him that soft smile, the one of reassurance and safety, his heart dropped.

“No no no come on no stay please—” he knows he's begging as he grips onto their robe. “We’re out- stay- please, they'll kill you if you go back, please—” because his mentor could be killed, his mentor wasn't immortal like he was.

With soft hands (too soft, artificially soft, meant to be covered in calluses and stained with soot) they take the hand clinging to them, rubbing soft circles in it as they smile.

“Goodbye my child,” they whisper to him as they drop his hand and spread their wings.

And he can't follow, he can't chase after the only parental figure he ever had, because he has to hide, he's free and they are not. He can’t follow because then, what would their life have been worth?

So he hides.

----

#watcher phil #watcher grian #philza #grian #1/10 #the finch fanfic

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volleychumps · 3 years

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bro im am: in love with literally everything you put out and i've had this probably really specific, self-indulgent request and am highkey scared it'll flop because not much can relate but it's been living in my mind rent free: remember that one episode where hinata talks to a classmate, saying how it'd be cool to have a band cheer for the vball team?? Well, it gave me an idea, so how about boys of your choice with a musically adept s/o?? she's part of the school band which frequently performs in tournament matches to cheer. her talent made her pretty well-known, though fame can attract both good and bad people—what happens when a guy from the opposing team gets a little too friendly? headcanons or scenarios is also up to you, and feel free to make s/o a crush instead (they aren't dating yet) if that makes the writing process more flexible! thank you so much, and have a lovely day/night!

VolleyBoys with a Crush on Singer S/O

~ when you come and perform at one of their games in order to give school spirit, you’re approached by someone from another team because of your talent, leaving some less than happy boys

format: scenarios

genre: fluff

- includes: Suna, Semi, and Matsukawa

Warning(s): slight cursing, possessive volleyboys

Playing with some characters I’ve never really wrote for before, let me know how I do!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suna (main vocals)

“You’re staring.”

“Go give your attention to someone who cares.” Suna’s lazy tone was a bit more snipped than usual as the cheers from the crowd finally died down, irritation evident in his tone as Atsumu smirks. The dark-haired blocker could pretend to be as uncaring as he wanted, but his tone gave him away.

“Mad Y/N’s getting all the attention?”

“Nah, he’s pissed because he can’t hog her all to himself anymore.”

Suna rolled his eyes, Osamu merely shrugging alongside his brother as the three towel off in the middle of a break point for Inarizaki’s school band to make their performance. He hated that he loved seeing you up there, a light sheen of sweat on your forehead from the performance, your hair tied back with a wide smile on your face-

he hated seeing everyone see you.

“Yeah, so how’s that going for you? How are you two not dating yet-”

“Kita-san, I think Atsumu and Osamu have questions about the play.” Suna cupped his mouth as the twins stiffen. The dark haired spiker waved mockingly goodbye as his teammates were snatched by the collars, focusing his attention to what he had orginally been quietly watching. He tilted his head as you struggled to open the top of your water bottle, peering at it with a pout before he scoffs, beginning to walk-

“Need help, sweetheart?”

Suna stopped.

You blinked, eyes widening as Kuroo Tetsurou easily twisted the cap off, handing it back to you with a naturally sly grin. He reaches a hand to the back of his neck as you smile in thanks, tilting the water back.

“So the kitty can sing?”

“Kitty?!” You choked on your water, noting his school colors before flushing. Why on earth was the Nekoma team captain flirting with the lead singer of the school band for Inarizaki?

“I’m guessing you liked that.” Kuroo chuckles, patting your back in a more-than-friendly manner as you continue to cough, and your bandmates whistle, pretending not to notice the attractive captain’s advances.

“Untrue. Don’t you have a game to play or something?” There’s no malicious intent behind your words, so Kuroo’s grin turns into a soft smirk as he begins to lean a little closer-

“Gross. You’re all sweaty.”

A towel is pressed to your face, Suna unfazed as you complain against the material. You feel the back of your head touch his chest as Suna pulls you into him with the towel pressed on your face, sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Kuroo’s feral ones remain amused.

“Looks like this kitten is domesticated.”

You break free for a second, popping out of the towel successfully. “I’m not a kitten!”

“Sure, kitten.” Kuroo winks at you again, beginning to walk off before sparing a glance to Suna, nodding once in amusement. You remain distracted, spinning on your heel to face your friend in embarrassment and confusion.

“Why would you-?!”

“Hey.” Suna tilts his head, dull eyes staring into yours as you find it a little harder to swallow.

“What?”

He bends down to your height, flicking the tip of your nose as you begin to protest-

“Good performance. Come meet me after I rock this cat’s ass in this match, yeah?” His palm is warm on top of your head as you find yourself nodding stupidly as he brushes past you to a smiley Atsumu, sharp eyes searching for Kuroo Tetsurou.

“So how’s it going?”

“Go to hell, Atsumu.”

“Is he blushing, Osamu?”

“Yep.”

Semi (Guitarist)

“Out of your league.”

“I literally haven’t said anything.” Semi shoots back at the redhead, and Tendou grins as he also watches your jogging-away figure as you head back for the stage. A scarlet bandana was now tied around your wrist, Semi’s eyes darting everywhere as Tendou’s grin turns sinister.

“Oh? Y/N-chan, will you wear my bandana so I can brand you? I’m begging-!”

“Do you want to punch him or should I?” Semi snips, and Goshiki slowly stops Shirabu from raising his hand as Ushijima props one eye open at the situation from his concentration.

“Why’d you give it to her then?” Taichi asks, genuinely interested as you bop your head to the final song atop the stage, fingering the strings of your guitar with a small smile at your new goodluck charm.

“Are you kidding me? Those two are always joined at the hip, I knew one of them was in love with the other.” Shibraru doesn’t miss a beat as Ojiro chuckles, having noticed that as well. Semi scoffs over the music, as if that were the craziest thing in the world.

“Y/N L/N? As if.”

“Have fun convincing yourself.” Ushijima closes his eyes again just as the song ends, and Semi’s cheeks begin to flare up as he grabs his hair in frustration, an annoying pounding in his chest.

“Well, don’t take too long now.” Tendou sings, looking at an entertaining sight. “If you don’t want Y/N, do you think the pretty boy from Fukurodani wants her?”

Semi stalls, thinking Tendou was playing another one of his mind games before looking as well, mouth drying at the sight.

Akaashi Keiji had offered you a hand as you propped your guitar, making your way off the stage easier as you had seemed worried about getting down before.

The setter’s throat tightened as you accepted, a smile tickling your cheeks as Akaashi helps you off the stage in a gentlemanly manner. You stumble slightly, giggling as Akaashi fondly steadies you by the waist, complimenting you on your performance.

“I could never do that, L/N-san. You’re very talented.”

“It’s really nothing...”

Semi felt it then. Too used to watching from so far away, yet always close enough to keep you in view.

But you stood close to him. Mere minutes before, excited gleam in your eye as he tied the bandana around your wrist, and you had locked eyes with him. It was only for a few moments, calloused fingers almost inching towards his-

“Y/N. I give you this crap and you don’t even use it?” Semi was annoyed, dark eyes flaring as he bounds over to the two of you as you blink in confusion, his teammates watching the spectacle with slight interest. You flush as Semi’s eyes harden in the direction of Akaashi, who’s head tilts slightly.

“What-?”

“Shut it. I’ll do it if you won’t, why’d you even ask?” Semi clicks his tongue as he unties the bandana, pooling your hair into a makeshift knot before barely glancing at the blue-eyed setter, focusing his attention on your hair as he stakes his claim.

“Something you needed with our band captain?”

“Nope. Just glad to have been of some aid. Then...” He nodded to you, but Semi could see the slight disappointment in his eyes underneath the cool atmosphere Akaashi held up as he walked onto the opposite side of the court.

“...Sorry Semi.”

“For what?” Semi questioned, feeling the embarassment beginning to creep up on him, heat tickling his cheeks as he watches you shuffle a bit from the proximity. He felt you shiver once his fingers accidentally grazed the back of his neck, causing Semi’s voice to get caught in his throat.

“Not using your bandana correctly...” You mumbled, the tips of your ears turning pink as Semi watches in bewilderment. A lilt tickled the edge of his lips as he finished tying the scarlet material, leaning down from behind you so his forehead touched your shoulder as if he were exhausted. You tensed up before relaxing, enjoying his touch.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Matsukawa (drummer)

“How far do you think I can go to piss off your little fanboys?”

“Why are you even over here?”

“Moral support, princess.” Matsukawa grinned into his water bottle as you half-heartedly help him wipe the sweat gathered at his neck, your friend flicking off Hanamaki and Oikawa in the distance as they make romantic gestures with their hands as they go unnoticed by you.

“You look like you’re dead tired and it’s only halfway through the game.” You note, handing him back the towel as Matsukawa grins, leaning a little closer to you from his spot next to you on the edge of the stage.

“Careful, you might make me think you care about me.”

“Of course I do.” You don’t miss a beat, already distracted with slipping your drumsticks out of your pocket. Matsukawa’s jaw slackens a little as you get up, nudging him with your foot to get off before shooting him an easy smile.

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Even though you’re kind of an asshole.”

The brunette recovers quickly, Matsukawa smirking as he slips off the stage as you settle back into your drumset.

“You love me, princess.”

“Yeah yeah, go swat a volleyball around.” Your tone is teasing as your bandmates begin to fall back into place, and Matsukawa mockingly salutes you before walking back to his team, ignoring the involuntary replaying of your words in his head.

Of course I do.

He was oddly quiet as Hanamaki teased him, watching as your band fell into a beautiful rhythm led by your hands. Agitation grew in his stomach as it mixed with his stupid crush on you, wanting nothing more than to let all your little fans to become severely disappointed because of him.

Matsukawa Issei was a very possessive man, but it was an underlying kind of possessive. The kind of posessive where he silently protected you from those who were attracted by your talent and style, or the kindness in your smile or witty comebacks-

“Uh, Matsukawa?”

“I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re going to be the best man at mine and Y/N’s nonexistent wedding-”

“No.” Hanamaki grinned, jutting his head in your direction. Matsukawa didn’t even realize the song had ended, watching as Atsumu Miya had picked up your hand, bringing it up to his lips flirtatiously as you stared wide-eyed as if you had busted a fuse.

“Yep. My bad, there will be no wedding.” Hanamaki clasps his shoulder, not realizing the impact of his teasing words. “Because Atsumu Miya’s gonna get her first if you don’t step up your game, bro.”

But Matsukawa didn’t reply with some witty comeback, still watching as Atsumu brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. He didn’t like it. The embarrassed look on your face, the awkward smile on your lips, the laugh in your throat- all caused by someone who wasn’t him.

“How about ya show me how to play those drums sometimes?” Atsumu had taken a step closer, and your fists had clenched as you felt yourself at a loss for words. You had opened your mouth to reply, but all that slipped out was a yelp.

Matsukawa easily threw you over his shoulder, grinning relaxedly at Atsumu who’s flirtatious grin had digressed back to a flat line. You knocked on Matsukawa’s back with embarrassment in your stomach, but the brunette made no move to put you down.

“Sorry, I’m her agent. She’s gotta go meet with her fans.”

“Issei!”

He ignored your chants to put you down as Oikawa and Hanamaki slowly clap as he brushes past them and out the gym doors, a pounding in his ears.

“Why are you doing this?” You question, now in an empty hallway as you hear Matsukawa scoff, still not answering your question as he continues to walk with you slung over his shoulder.

“Issei.”

“I told you I wanted to piss of your fanboys, didn’t I?”

“Tell me the truth!” You raised your voice just as he put you down, and Matsukawa looks at you for a second, your back hitting the wall as he towers over you.

“What?” Your voice was smaller now, feeling like you’ve shrunk under your friend’s serious gaze that was usually anything but. Matsukawa’s hand touches the area above your head, leaning into you so your noses are barely brushing.

“Tell me, princess. Do you still want the truth even if it ruins our friendship?”

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General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046 @let-me-have-my-own-name @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @aprettyfruit @wisepandaslimeland @h0ngh0ngh0ng @lmkjimin @orangegiraffe7 @dai-tsukki-desu @kac-chowsballs @spikertrash @yamaguwuchi @lord-suneater-explosion @nekomawhore @holaaaf@babyybokutoakaashi @lexysclubhouse

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years

Text

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 2 of 2

Part 1 is here:

She never knew it would hurt this much when the person she loves is right in front of her, but she can't reach out and touch him; when she is still her, he is still him, but everything else has changed, like an invisible lever in an old theatre changing the scenery in the background, bringing them both to the part of the play where they are hopelessly lost.

[[MORE]]

All it took was one single moment, one single decision, and everything feels irrevocably broken now. It makes her contemplate on the true nature of relationships, how fragile they are, and how easy it is to shatter them- and her.

The smoke is slowly clearing, and all that seems to be left is a man who is doing his best to keep his distance from her, physically and emotionally.

She can tell from the way he stands with his arms crossed, or his fists clenced when his hands are by his side, that he really doesn't want to hold her hand. How can something so simple as the touch of his fingers be so vital to her existence that it feels like something has been ripped out from inside her?

She wants to reach out and touch him, but she is scared that if he pulls away outright, any hope of reconciliation that she still has left will shatter into pieces.

And she really needs this hope. It's the only thing she still has left. It's the only thing that keeps her going.

---

He looks like a man with a mission.

They spent quite a long time together, running from the TVA, running towards the citadel at the end of time, hoping to achieve their goal of bringing down the one behind the curtains.

But that was her mission, and he was there for her. She was the one behind the wheels, he was the one keeping the sails afloat.

Now it's different. Now he has a defined goal, a glorious purpose.

She's seeing him in a whole new light now, and not just because he has switched to Asgardian leather and metal armors.

As far as she is concerned, she is better off doing it all alone. One woman army, nobody to get in her way, nobody to screw up her plans. Nobody to blame her if it all goes to shit.

Or so it was, until two months ago, when Mobius decided to enlist her help in fixing the multiversal madness.

She has never really worked with people before, and it's weird, to say the least. She never considered herself a team player, but she is finding herself hating the idea less and less lately.

And she swears it has nothing to do with him. Not the fact that they are working together, and seeing his face first thing in the morning brings her a sense of calm that she quite can't explain. Or the fact that their rooms are next to each other and it makes her feel secure enough to finally get some rest at nights. Or that this whole arrangement has kept them on talking terms, when they had gone their own separate ways otherwise.

Nothing to do with that at all.

---

Humans are stupid, and the biggest evidence of this is how they decided that two extremely powerful Gods skilled at magic, enchantment, and defeating an evil extra dimensional cloud that swallows everything it touches, should be delegated to the role of research. "You're clever. You're good at reading people. You can put yourselves in the shoes of the bad guys, no offense", they said, but really, what they meant was, "We can't trust you out in the field much." She knows it, he knows it. She just doesn't know why he's complying.

That's how they find themselves researching every single day.

She likes to think he's not the only reason why she's studying in the library instead of in the comfort of her room, but that'd be a lie.

At first, he chooses to sit at a separate table. But she keeps going over to his to "get his opinion" on something in the file she's reading, and finally, he gives in. Their current arrangement consists of him sitting in the chair in front of her, to the left, prim and proper, while she hoists her feet up on the table.

He falls asleep on the desk one night, face smacked against a file, the tiniest bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. It would be a hilarious sight, if her heart wasn't feeling what she can only describe as longing.

They should probably talk about it, like mature adults, but neither of them know how to do that.

All she can do right now is gather the courage to run her fingers through his hair. The touch is hesitant at first, as if one wrong move would make him wake up and push her back to square one. Slowly, she relaxes, letting her fingers dance on his scalp.

He stirs in his sleep. "Please Sif. I'm sorry. Don't cut off my glorious locks, please."

Now this is a story she must hear when things are better.

If things are better.

---

Doctor Strange joins them very briefly, very rarely, but the tension between him and Loki is hard to miss. It's worse than the current situation with her, and that's saying something.

"You don't really like Stephen, do you?"

Something inside him seems to shift, but he masks it behind a non-chalant look immediately and just arches an eyebrow at her. "He's Stephen now, is he?"

"Well, that is his name." She shrugs. "What do you call him?"

"Strange", he spits the word out with an amount of irritation that indicates there definitely is a story there. "That is his name", he mimics.

She can't help the smirk that spreads across her lips. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing", he lies, ignoring the horrifying flashbacks of thirty minutes of endless falling. Not a single soul must ever know a mere human got the best of him. "What can he do to me? I'm a God among those mortals. He just irks me because he is so pompous, and arrogant, and he ceaselessly uses magic to toy with others."

She pretends to think deeply. "Now where have I seen that before?"

He scoffs. "You mock me, but I am nothing like him. For one, I am not rude."

"He seems fine to me", she declares decisively.

It's the first time in months that he gives her a cheeky grin. "That's because you're rude too."

---

They are still just containing the threats to their world, instead of finding a way to fortify the barriers between worlds and stop the threats from coming.

"Shouldn't we have a plan to seal off the other worlds from ours?" She asks him one day.

"They are working on it." He tells her, and then with a look of worry, adds, "I hope."

There are debates on what to do at the Avengers tower and at the TVA. Nobody seems to agree on what the best course of action is, but everyone seems to be following the general instructions of Doctor Strange.

During one such meeting, a Minuteman makes the mistake of voicing out loud how she wondered if things would be better if they were running according to their old boss's plans.

Sylvie feels the guilt wash over her once more.

"No", Loki tells them all firmly. The determination in his voice takes her completely by surprise. "Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition’s blurred." She catches him steal a glance at her direction. "We couldn't have left a dictator in charge just because it's convenient. Listen, I'm the bad guy. I've done horrible, unspeakable things. I thought humans needed to be ruled. I wanted to rule. But even I know that it's not right to take away a person's life completely. These are innocent people. You are innocent people. You have families back home, parents, children", a pause and a softening of his features, "-love. A whole past, a whole future. That man had no right to take it away from you."

His powers of persuasion are foreign to her, and it's mesmerizing to watch. Her enchantments cannot hold a candle to how he is able to just talk people into doing what he wants, thinking what he thinks, seeing what he sees.

"He who remains had a plan. One, singular plan, from one, singular man." There is absolute conviction in his voice. "It's not the only way. We'll find another way. A better way."

She has never known what it is like to have someone see you for who you are- broken and flawed, and defend you- even your well-intentioned actions that yielded different results than what you expected and hurt them in the process. She suspects it has been the same for him, a lifetime of not having anyone have his back.

The warm feeling inside her is brand new. What is the name of this? Comfort? Relief?

Happiness?

---

This will be their first time out in the field in a long time, and she feels a little sick to the stomach.

He notices. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his voice tugs at her heartstrings. She nods. She has faced way worse, she shouldn't be so nervous about this, but she is. "I've never done this before."

"We can always just kill him and blame it on the Chitauris", he suggests with a serious face.

"I heard that", Peter yells from the other room, where he is doing whatever it is that teenagers do to prepare for battle.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're babysitting."

"I've done this before", he assures her, and it surprises her to picture him being entrusted with such a serious task. "The trick is to conjure up illusions that keep them distracted enough to not cry."

She laughs. "You're thinking of infants. This one is a little older."

"I'm over a thousand years old, Sylvie. They're all infants to me."

Peter joins them, mask covering his face so that he doesn't reveal his identity. "So what do I call you? Loki and Loki? That's confusing. How about Loki and Lady Loki? Or is that offensive? I'm not suggesting women are inferior, because they're absolutely not..."

"Does he come with an off switch?" She whispers in horror as Peter rambles on.

Loki grins. With one wave of his hand and a flash of green, Peter's own webbing shoots out and seals his mouth shut.

---

Things are fine but not fine at the same time. He's right there beside her, but not there at all. They have their banters, they have their stolen glances, but they haven't had a meaningful conversation since that first day when she got back. She's been putting it off for a long time, but she knows they really do need to have the talk.

She corners him in his room one evening while he's tinkering with a temporal collar. She takes a seat in the chair next to his bed and rests her hand on the table, leaning her head against her palm, before switching position and crossing her arms and legs. Everything about her posture screams uneasiness. If he notices- he probably does- he doesn't say anything.

"You defended me that day."

He briefly looks up from the task at hand and gives her a soft smile. "Of course."

She blinks. "I don't understand." Her hands involuntary rise up to rub her temples. "If you can justify my actions to them, then how can you still be mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you", he says without missing a beat.

"Rubbish", her words come out angrier than she intended. This frustration is the result of the months of status quo they have had. She has to know now, one way or the other. "You're distant. You're guarded", she accuses. Then her voice breaks, as she feels a part of her break all over again with her next words. "You don't hold my hand. Why? Tell me."

He abandons the collar and focuses his full attention on her. Staring straight into her eyes, he answers her. "You know why."

"I wouldn't be asking if I did. Look, if it's because I chose the mission over you-"

"-Of course it's not that." He says decisively. Then a sad smile clouds his face. It's the same look he had when she accused him of conning her to gain the throne. "Do you think I'm the type of man who would want a woman to abandon her life-long ambitions just because she has met someone?"

She knows he isn't. But it still doesn't answer why he is so cross with her. "What is it then?"

He pauses for a moment, trying to decide whether he wants to bare his soul out to her once more or not. There are two ways he can go from here- choose to not let her in again and save himself from the hurt, or trust her again and open himself up to potential pain.

Who is he kidding? Pushing her away- keeping her away- doesn't hurt any less.

There were a thousand things that had to go wrong to bring two Lokis from two universes together. A connection like that, it doesn't just happen.

And it doesn't just go away. The pain is constant, it's a part of him, pounding like a second heart every second he has to stop himself from reaching out for her hand.

This has to come to an end.

He takes in a deep breath, bracing himself. "You didn't have to send me away, Sylvie. I wanted to stop you from making the same mistakes I did. But in the end, I didn't care what you chose. I just wanted us to do it together."

She never even imagined this could be the reason for his hurt. All these months spent thinking he hates her for her choices, and now it turns out he is hurt simply because she chose to do it alone? "I'm sorry." She says sincerely. "I just wanted you to be safe."

"And I just wanted to be there with you till the end." He confesses. His eyes shimmer with the emotions he has kept bottled in for so long. "You go, I go."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She has never been good at articulating her feelings. Tears stream down her cheeks at the realisation that even after everything, he is still there for her.

She didn't cry even back at Lamentis when they thought they were going to die. She doesn't let anyone see her cry when she is sad or scared. That's all she has known her whole life. She's used to it by now.

This is new. These are tears of relief. Comfort.

Happiness.

Tentatively, she crosses over to the bed and sits by his side.

It's quiet for a few minutes. But unlike the months of tension so thick she could cut it into splices with her daggers, this is comfortable silence. The kind they had before it all went wrong.

"Did you even miss me?" He whispers.

"What kind of silly question is that? Of course I did." Her shaking hands grab his, and oh how she missed this.

He intertwines their fingers. His eyes draw closed. Bliss. That's the only word for this feeling.

He opens his eyes again and studies her. She's staring back at him, teary-eyed, but with a hopeful smile. "Really? Because you have a really unique way of showing it. You didn't even come looking for me."

"I didn't know how to face you", she tells him honestly. No tricks, no enchantment, no treachery. Not with him. "I didn't know if you even wanted to see me." Her voice grows quieter, dropping to a timbre that perfectly encapsulates her deepest fear. "I thought you hated me."

"Hate you?" He is shocked that she thinks that is even possible, specially after seeing him these last few months. "Sylvie, I'm working with the Avengers. The Avengers. Do you know how much I hate them? They are my nemesis. They're self-righteous, condescending, and so completely dull. Every second with them makes me want to rip their hearts out. Why do you think I'm here with them?"

She thinks she knows. But she needs to hear it anyway.

"It's because of you." He lays it all out on the table. All cards on deck, win or lose. "You've been running away. I have been the one who has been here, trying to hold down the fort, working to fix everything. Because that is what one does when one loves-"

Shit. The word slips out before he realises it.

Their eyes go wide in unison.

"Sylvie, I-"

"-Don't you dare take it back now." She warns him. "I-" She doesn't know how to say it either. They make such a great pair, both equally daft at saying how they feel, like they are teenagers, not Gods who have lived for centuries. "I've been running because I didn't think I could bear the burden of knowing I found you and then I lost you. I don't want to lose you. Not now, not ever."

He kisses the back of her hand, before letting it go. He cups her face, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't want to lose you either."

She leans in closer, until their foreheads touch. She can feel his breath on her face, warm and soft. That is exactly how she feels inside. "You won't", she promises. "You go, I go."

---

(Quote on Lesser Evil from The Witcher. Thanks for reading!!)

#fanfiction #fanfic #loki #loki disney+#loki x sylvie #sylki #sylvie laufeydottir #sylvie x loki #pro sylki

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lazarettta · 3 years

Text

Misthios VII

Pairing (Mother Miranda x Spartan!Reader)

Rating (M)

Word Count (4.6k)

Warning (probably language right now)

You and Miranda are finally moving on to having that long chat that's separated you both for centuries.

The Queen's eyes fluttered open, finally waking with the morning rays of the sun peaking over the mountain. Her balcony doors were wide open to let the cool night breeze into her personal chambers while the two fireplaces burned well into the night. It was a combination of warm and cool that her majesty enjoyed greatly as it helped her with sleep.

Of course, sharing her bed with you also aided with her troubles with sleep for the past few months since your arrival to the region. Wonderful in all the ways she could never have imagined; a warrior and a lover, the two things that made her life easier—and the lives of her enemies that much worse.

It had been well past dinner time when you returned to the castle along with the squadron of soldiers you'd gone with including a Captain of the military who was leading the raid. Part of your armor had been slashed and torn, stained with blood and whatever else you encountered outside of the castle walls.

But when Miranda stood in the doorway of her private bath watching as you stripped of your amour—she witnessed no open wounds for her to tend to or fret over, but blood stained your skin anyway. Even though she knew that she should have the moment she noticed: Miranda never questioned why you'd always have a new scar every other day or why your shirts had the evidence of a stab wound taking place right above your hip, including a blood stain, but all you could do was smile when asked about it.

“ Is everything alright, your majesty?”

Miranda blinked, her mind coming back to reality now finding herself sitting up in her bed currently being blinded by the morning sun. The Queen sighed heavily, looking down at your sleeping form—as always you were on your back with one arm tucked beneath one of the pillows behind your head and the other was being used as Miranda's pillow for most of the night. As always.

Like herself, you were bare as the day you were born...your entire torso shamelessly revealed for her roaming insatiable eyes...and she smirked when a particularly cool breeze swept through the room. She watched the goosebumps rise under your exposed skin, including your nipples making Miranda hum softly.

“ Y-your majesty?”

Miranda, suddenly remembering just what, or rather who, had bothered her before and looked towards the girl, pleased when she saw that her eyes were on the floor.

“ Everything is more than alright, girl, however you may leave... I'll be out shortly.”

A hand curling around her waist brought Miranda's gaze from the closing double doors where the meek girl disappeared through and back to you. Your eyes were still closed but you were starting to wake up, stretching like a feline and again Miranda's eyes were drawn to your chest.

“ Carved by the Gods,” she mumbled, the tips of her nails tracing your firm abdomen with no particular pattern, simply enjoying the light marks she was leaving behind around your belly button, knowing how much you enjoyed when she did that as well.

You saw the thoughtful look on Miranda's face when you opened your eyes but you couldn't stop the giant yawn from escaping, “Morning,”

Miranda smiled down at you, enjoying the way the sun made your skin glow but you weren't fooled by that smile—you were used to Miranda's smiles and this was one of her worries. The sort of smile where she wanted to reassure you while scolding you at the same time. You pulled away slightly, and sat up a bit so you could give her your full attention. When the monarch remained silent, simply staring at you, all you could do was raise an eyebrow...waiting.

Miranda scoffed at the action, shaking her head, “It's ironic isn't it, how we the others tales...but we do not truly know each other, do we?”

You shrugged, smirking at her—refusing to hint at the nerves beginning to crawl up your spine, “Pretty sure we know each other inside and out, your highness.”

Miranda gave you a look, clearly unimpressed, “Yes, beneath that charm and nonchalance...is something quite fascinating, isn't there? And...it seems that your truth only comes to light during battle.”

“ Pardon?” you sat up a little more now, eyebrows furrowed—unsure where Miranda was going with this but you no doubt that it probably wasn't going to be good for you. Especially since you're naked and vulnerable but not defenseless.

“ Captain Ake came to me last night after I left you to your bath, he seemed quite concerned with something...and quite frankly, I'm curious myself.” Miranda's hand had stopped tracing patterns on your stomach, but her hand still lingered...and the moment her index finger traced over the raised skin right next to your belly button, the brand new one, you knew you fucked up.

“ About what?” You mumbled not daring to look down at her hand, and her eyes burned into yours—playing dumb would only get you so far—probably the dungeons if you were lucky. You knew exactly what Ake was concerned with though you weren't sure if he actually saw you take a sword through your gut as it was so dark and everything happened within a blink or two.

“ What I am going to say next may sound crazy, however, Captain Ake is one of my most loyal subject in this castle, and quite sane...he claims to have witnessed you being impaled,” Miranda exhaled slowly, “By the enemy...and somehow managed to walk away from it, unharmed. Would you mind telling me what happened, my dear?”

You stared at her for a second, “And...you believed him? Could I have really been stabbed by a sword and do what I did last night? Do you know how insane you sound?”

“ Watch your tongue! You're still addressing your Queen, warrior.”

“ I'm sorry, but you seriously don't believe that shit do you?”

“ I've been noticing a few things myself, (Y/n)...and I would really like some answers myself.”

“ Right. I'll take that as my signal to leave, your majesty. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly, reaching out to grab your wrist to prevent you from running from her, “(Y/n), do not run from me...I'm only trying to understand! You can trust me, this I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you had to learn the hard way that trust was nothing but a word—a word that can be broken over and over. You were too stupid to learn in the past but you weren't about to do the same thing now. Pushing the covers aside you threw some mundane excuse over your shoulder but before you could actually get to the edge of the bed, you were pulled back and pushed back into your previous position. It didn't actually hurt but it wasn't gentle either but you were pretty sure that it was Miranda that moved you, but you hadn't actually felt or seen her move a muscle.

“ W...how? Miranda?!”

Miranda smiled shyly at your bewildered expression—a very rare expression from the Queen but like yourself, she was feeling quite vulnerable, “You're not alone, (Y/n)...and neither am I.”

“ Neither....are you?” Miranda chuckled at your expression and your inability to put two and two together. When you tried to sit back up, Miranda's shy smile morphed into something more amused and predatory because you realized that you couldn't move—and Miranda still hadn't moved an inch.

“ Ah, now do I have your full attention?”

The closer you got to Miranda's home the more treacherous the path became and you'd lost sight of the woman flying low above the trees ten minutes ago—or what you thought to be ten minutes, you weren't sure. Your eyes were glued to the ground, keeping a firm but relaxed grip on the reign of your stallion, Bruce, whispering gently to him. Alcina called him a gentle giant and she wasn't exaggerating. The path was narrow and very unkempt but you wouldn't expect Miranda to make things easy, especially access to her private home.

There was a point that you weren't even sure you and Bruce were actually going to make it across but there was no way you could've turned the massive horse around either, forward was the only way and you weren't ashamed to admit that your heart was pounding hard enough to crack bones. The moment you cleared the trees, Miranda's home finally came into view—and you were not disappointed. It was a simple two story cabin practically etched into the mountain and you wanted to know how the hell she managed to get this place on the sliver of rock.

You'd brought Bruce to a stop just as Miranda appeared and landed gracefully on her porch even with her heels on (you caught a glimpse of them earlier when she started flying). From her porch alone, Miranda had a perfect view of everything . The village, the manor sitting on the waterfall, the factory and of course the castle. There was a light blanket of fog obscuring most of the view, but it was still breathtaking all the same.

You dismounted Bruce easily, gently guiding him to the post next to Miranda's porch. You fed him a few sugar cubes, gingerly untangling part of his dark mane and pulling free a few twigs and leaves.

“Further up the path I have there's a stable for him, we can take him later.”

You turned to look at Miranda, finding her standing in the door looking at you, her expression unreadable and you were too tired to try and decipher it. You double checked the post before steeling your nerves and joining her on her porch, it was roomier than it actually looked and you spotted a hammock on the other corner—not the usual netted sort, it looked like a quilt and quite comfortable too.

You followed Miranda inside, shutting out the cold—the interior of Miranda's home had you stock still at the front door with your hand still on the door knob. The space was open, having the living room and the eating area open with no barrier, and you could easily see the kitchen from where you stood. It was...cozy and warm.

“Surprised?” Miranda's voice brought your eyes to where she was, now half way up the stairs behind the kitchen wall, she wore a soft smile, the front of her robes already opened (you didn't even realize the fucking thing even had a zipper), revealing the slacks and blouse she wore underneath, “Did you expect me to live in a cave?”

“I expected you to at least have a TV.”

Miranda smirked but it didn't reach her eyes, “Are you going to stand there bitching about the lack of media corruption or do you want that shower?”

Your hand finally relaxed off of the door knob, the light throbbing resulting in just how hard you were holding the poor thing. You kicked off your boots at the door—they were covered in mud, snow and probably horse shit at some point, they were filthy. And the last thing you wanted to do was dirty up Miranda's wood floors.

She waited until you were on the stairs to continue up herself while slipping her robe from her shoulders and casually throwing it over her arm as if it were just a towel. “There are only three rooms on this floor. My own, the guest room and the bathroom.”

You raised an eyebrow, “One bathroom?”

“I don't exactly keep guests, dear.”

“So then why the extra bedroom?” you were being a shit, you knew it, but you couldn't help it—Miranda made it easy for you to tease her sometimes (all the time). You wanted to be more bothered over how easy it was for you to fall back into old habits with this woman.

“The longer you stand there being an idiot, the colder your water gets.”

You raised your hands slightly, moving past her towards the door she pointed to, flipping on the light—it was roomier than you expected it to be, dark and a bit modern but Miranda somehow still managed to keep it grand and medieval. The floor was made of stone, there was a grand shower with a curved glass door and next to it was a bear claw of a tub, melded into the floor like it was a hot spring. Across the floor was a single sink and a mirror, and next to it a door where you assumed you'd find the towels and toiletries. Just past the tub, was the toilet though there was a half wall there to offer some privacy and you spotted your backpack sitting on top of it neatly and that finally gave you pause.

“Figured you didn't want to walk around naked or wearing any of my clothes.”

You hadn't even noticed that you had actually walked into the bathroom, admiring it's simple yet beautiful décor or that Miranda followed you in until the shower sprung to life next to you.

She smiled at you apologetically, not having meant to startle you—but seeing you so easily bothered helped put her at ease. Miranda was good at hiding it, but she was quite nervous. Having you so near and so far from her at the same time in the comfort of her own home, her sanctuary—none of the other Lord's knew where she lived, they probably thought she lived in a cave or a nest or something. You were Miranda's first house guest since she arrived in this village.

She closed the shower door, watching you open your backpack—checking through it, and she couldn't stop the small smile from forming after you smirked, realizing that you were still without your weapons. But you didn't make a comment on it, instead beginning to pull out the things that you needed—until you realized that she was still in the room as well.

You raised an eyebrow at Miranda, and her smile only grew but the blonde simply shrugged her wings and tucked her wings tighter to her back as she exited the room, “I'll be downstairs when you're finished...”

“Miranda—”

She paused and you froze, fuck, why did you do that? You hadn't meant to call out to her, but your mouth was faster than your brain sometimes and now she was looking at you expectantly and all you could do was stare at her like a jackass. There was so much, too much, that you wanted to say but where could you even start? Why were you getting this courage in the fucking bathroom of all places?

“Downstairs.” She reminded you gently when the silence stretched too long—you had panicked and she saw that, and instead of jumping on you like the predator you knew that she was fully capable of being—she left you alone to your thoughts and the hot water steaming the room, calling your name. It was a welcome distraction even if it wouldn't be a forever one.

“Being immortal really is overrated.”

Miranda didn't go downstairs immediately, instead making a beeline for her bedroom and closed the door behind her but left it ajar enough for her to still hear you in the bathroom. Miranda carefully hung up her 'Mother Miranda' robe and began stripping out of the clothes she's been wearing for the past two days along with her rings; finally taking off the crown of Mother and just becoming Miranda with every stitch of clothing she removed from her flawless skin.

Standing naked in front of her full-length mirror, Miranda whispered a delicate but very familiar spell she's known since she was a small child and she winced quietly as her wings folded back into her body for the next six or seven hours. The spell wasn't forever but Miranda often used it when she was home to avoid breaking her things as she often did if she let her wings remain as they were, they often got restless if she stayed home and still too long so she just opted for putting them away to save herself the trouble. And money.

When the last two smaller ones on her lower back finally retreated into her skin, Miranda rolled her shoulders to pop out the kinks. She got dressed in a pair of washed out pants and a v-neck shirt, and at the last minute Miranda threw on her dark wool cardigan before heading back downstairs but not before pausing outside of the bathroom door. She heard you humming over the shower and though she didn't recognize the song, it still made her smile.

Suddenly feeling like a creeper, Miranda moved away from the door and went downstairs to start on the coffee she was craving earlier. She got her fireplace going but that all took less than ten minutes and now she found herself back in her kitchen, pulling ingredients from her refrigerator to give her something to do besides fret.

“ You shouldn't be so comfortable with your champion, in public.” Fritjof complained for the thousandth time in her ear—he was one of her primary advisors, having been employed by her late husband, the former King. He was always a bit of an annoyance, but he often proved himself useful and unwittingly saved his own life time to time from Miranda's ire.

“ I was only congratulating her on another victorious raid on a neighboring kingdom that thought it wise to steal from us, or have you forgotten that little fact, Fritjof?”

He frowned, not liking her tone but he quickly corrected his features knowing that they were still in the halls on their way to the Queen's study, but there were still eyes on them, “I...yes, but it sends the wrong message when you send a blood wolf to handle this kingdoms affairs instead of your loyal officers! You make us all look weak!”

Miranda stopped walking, and whirled around on Fritjof, her coat wrapping around her leather clad legs as she did so, and the frail man jumped back a step, knowing that he overstepped a line severely, “A-apologies—”

“ You will apologize with your tongue!” Miranda hissed, “Though I'm sure (Y/n) would rather have your head for all the times you've questioned her loyalty to this kingdom! We're coming up on eight years, Fritjof, and (Y/n) has helped this kingdom prosper more than you ever could've in your twenty years with my late husband.” Miranda sneered dangerously, edging closer to him and the terrified man could only back up into the table, knocking over a vase but Miranda paid it no mind, “One more word about this and I will have you removed. Permanently.”

Fritjof swallowed harshly, beads of sweat forming at his hairline and rolling down his face, and Miranda's sneer deepened in disgust, “Please, your highness, I'm only looking out for the future of the kingdom! It—it needs an heir and a King! The other kingdoms will never recognize your power without either—” his words were cut off when Miranda struck him down, a single line of blood staining a portrait on the wall behind him. Miranda struck faster than he could react and Fritjof cried out in pain, alerting the guards who came running but stopped when they saw their Sovereign standing over the slimy advisor holding part of his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers.

“ For every brilliant woman, there's always a stupid man thing to be found.” Miranda stepped over his pathetic body and continued on her way, rolling her shoulders back when her back began to twinge in response to her high and irritated emotions, and she needed release. “Get him out of my sight and find my champion; send her to me when you do.”

“ Yes, my Queen.” They both replied, one of them roughly hauling Fritjof to his feet and pushing him forward, but not before the man could cast one last glance at Miranda's retreating back until he was shoved forward. “Move!”

The cabin was filled with the aroma of sweet bread and coffee and your stomach was growling something vicious halfway down the stairs after you put your back in the guest room. Miranda had her back to you and you took the moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to just observe her. The very first thing you noticed was that her wings were gone and she was more relaxed—it probably had a lot to do with her being in her own home, and it was starting to make more sense why she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home for this conversation. Though her argument for privacy was valid as well.

Your eyes flickered around the open space, spotting something tucked in the corner of the living room and scoffed without meaning to and alerting Miranda of your presence, if she wasn't already. She turned from her task of fixing you both something to eat to watch you walk across the room to where the object of your interest lay with a carefully crafted expression.

“Didn't take you for owning a rifle.”

“It's ten years old, I believe.” Miranda hummed quietly, dusting off her hands before taking down a couple of plates from the cabinet above the stove. You looked at her when she didn't elaborate, really curious now.

“It's in pretty good condition, really beautiful...where did you get it?” you checked the clip and saw that there were exactly ten rounds in there. When Miranda didn't answer you immediately, you found her watching you.

“It's not mine.” Miranda set the plates at the small eating table that could easily seat two other people, “I took it from a witch hunter as he was so kind to come all this way to visit. He tried to kill me in my sleep like a coward. He intrudes upon my home and couldn't be bothered to give me an honorable death. The audacity of men certainly hasn't changed over the years.”

Her tone was not lost on you and you knew that the witch hunter was long dead. You traced the steel design grip, impressed at the detail—and distracted.

“Oh, so now you hate men?” Ah... and once again your mouth was faster than your brain could process, and just like that her eyes were on your back—you felt it.

“I've always hated men, (Y/n). I...” she sighed harshly, her eyes turning into a glare, “Stop doing that, you don't have the entire story so if you're done being an ass and running from this conversation—I would really like to clear the air between us so we can move on from this.”

“You mean your truth that you want me to hear so badly?” You chuckled though it lacked any amusement. You set the rifle down, finally giving her your full attention then sighed heavily—a sudden exhaustion falling over you, “Would it really matter at this point, Miranda? It happened centuries ago...we both moved on, why do you want to drudge this back up?”

“Why don't you?” Miranda moved around the table, the coffee and snack forgotten in the moment, but she didn't try to approach you, “I'm not the only one who was in the wrong, (Y/n).”

“Do you think I cared about your status when I found out the woman I loved married a man behind my back and didn't even fucking tell me! I had to find out in the middle of that stupid ball you wanted to throw so bad after we invaded those rebellion villages. I gave you everything and you betrayed me . I crossed lines for you, Miranda. I thought that would warrant enough decency to be honest with me. I-”

You stopped, your face was hot and you exhaled heavily—doing your best not to sniffle, you hated that you were the type to fucking cry when your emotions bubbled to the surface too fast. Especially when the topic is something you've buried long deep in the dark corners of your mind with no hope for daylight again. You just never thought you'd bump into your past like this. And it's been years since you've had to deal with anything on a personal level after your last child passed away fifty years ago at the tender age of eighty-six.

Miranda saw the emotions playing across your face with a frown but otherwise her own emotions were carefully hidden, she was always better at that than you were, and inched closer, “(Y/n)...”

“We've both obviously lived with this hurt and came out fine,” you cut her off, not looking at her but instead at your bare toes with your hands back in your pockets, “What's closure gonna do besides bring up old hurt?”

“No, that's not it at all, I just...” Miranda coughed lightly and cleared her throat,—your question was valid as she's asked herself this many times before, asking herself why she didn't just let you go in the forest—she could've let you go and saved you both from this reopened wound. But she didn't because she couldn't and Miranda wouldn't apologize for it. Because she's always been a selfish woman, and one of her most selfish needs—even when she first laid eyes on you—she knew that you were hers. That never changed, time could never take that away from her.

“This life is long and lonely, (Y/n)...and I've made many mistakes, most I will never have a chance to atone for...and when I saw you,” Miranda looked into your eyes and bit her bottom lip, you weren't even looking at her anymore, “I've lost so much in this life, and I refused to lose you a second time. The first time I was...I was corrupted with greed and power, but I was stupid and it cost me everything too, (Y/n).”

You looked up, surprised by her words, “He took your kingdom from you, didn't he?”

“ You!” Miranda moved closer, though you hardly noticed because you were focused on her eyes that were duller than they were down in the village but just as clear, bright and brimming with tears, “He took you from me. He took us away from each other, (Y/n). I'm not innocent in it either, I...I could've done something about it, but I didn't and it was the biggest mistake I could've made in my entire existence. And I think about it more than I care to admit, I think about you...wondering what sort of life we could've shared together had I made better choices. I'm...I'm sorry, (Y/n).”

Miranda was close enough to touch you now, and this time she didn't hesitate nor did you pull away when both of her hands cupped your cheeks, making you shiver. “Miranda...”

Miranda's hands tightened on your face, obviously thinking you were about to argue again but you were tired of arguing with her, over this...before she could speak, you took Miranda by surprise and pulled her into a tight embrace, both of your arms around her waist and you caught her when her entire body sagged in your arms. You had no idea what was going to happen after this, but that little piece of you that longed for the closure you never got...began to grow.

“I'll stay.”

#resident evil miranda x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #assassins creed odyssey

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