#also i didn’t draw this but the thing where he ‘imprints’ on people and can swap places w them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

viktormaru · 2 years

Text

~ Here’s a bunch of Omen (and radiants) Headcanons of mine ~

This is kinda of spoilers for my fic im writing but whatever. I need to give some bg on how I think Radiants work in the Valorant universe. Also goes a little, just a toe tip, into nsfw zone. Feel free to ask abt anything else specifically PLEASE

THE VOID

I think there are multiple universes (canon) and in between them runs a plane which I’ve been calling The Void bcs i havent come up with a name yet. The First Light was energy from the void leaking into other planes and thus giving humans super powers.

The void is a plane of death that exists between AND within other planes. Everything inside it is dead but its also dormant energy

When a radiant calls on their powers what theyre doing is pulling energy from the void. It gets transformed when it goes through them and comes out as something else. Some people have been even blessed and trained enough that they can turn the energy into living things (Sage, Skye) though it seems the energy seems to want to take shapes of things it once was more than something new or unknown.

When energy leaks from the void it comes out as crystal, aka radianite. Thats raw energy, but because it wasn’t filtered through anything (or anyone) it is not as powerful as it could be, though still one hell of an energy source.

People could technically generate more power than radianite, but their puny human bodies wouldn’t sustain the damage.

Everything that lives comes from the void and everything that dies goes back to it. It’s the circle of life.

With that being said here comes

OMEN

When the first light happened, Omen at first didn’t show any powers. Until he started making this shiny dust out of nowhere. With time he realized he was indeed a radiant and that what he could do was pull raw energy from the void, and thus create radianite from thin air. An amazing thing. It was all fun and games until he realized he couldnt really control his powers. Slowly his fingers started crystalizing and soon he was coughing dust and stuff. He turned to Kingdom for both a profit and help.

Kingdom started doing experiments with him to create a machine that would pull radianite from the other side just like him, but the repeated tests only accelerated the process of slowly but surely killing him. Until and “accident” with the machine happened where it was turned on with him and cause his body to be broken down in a molecular level as it tried to pull itself together.

Omen’s power went from pulling raw energy to pulling dead energy, drawing nothing but shadows and oppressive feelings that came with death.

Omen’s body is like a mix of Alex Mercer (Prototype) and Deadpool (Marvel) to me. Deadpool in the sense that although it is dying and breaking apart at the seams, it is also trying to rebuild itself. And Mercer in the sense that Omen died, and all that was left was pure radianite, trying to pass for life to the point of gaining consciousness and trying to become the shape of the man it imprinted on.

Explaining that imprinted part, Omen can hear/see people’s memories after they die. It’s even better if they’re recently dead, but when a soul dies it travels back into the void, and his connection to the void makes it so that he can hear them.

Because of it, Omen’s memories are fragmented in more than one way. He barely knows any from his original body, but he collects others from dead people, and it gets kinda confusing sometimes telling where they belong.

For the same reason above, his body sometimes tries to become different people, though the changes are usually slow and subtle enough they still close to an average. Omen will sometimes gain or lose a few inches of weight or a few kilos of muscle or fat and sometimes even get different sex characteristics. It’s mostly involuntary from his part.

His skin texture goes from regular skin to a harder and smoother texture at times. It seems like his body is an almost translucent green/cyan that is constantly being swallowed by shadows. Kinda like his body was made of radianite (like when Sage revives someone) but the dead energy is trying to take over it. Some images that kinda show what i mean: (left is the crystal body, right is how i imagine the shadows look like “taking over”)

Omen’s body IS unstable and threatening to tear apart. To “forget” his real shape and scattered into nothingness. You can see him having full body twitches and shudders that get worse while he’s under distress. Those twitches and tears can be painful.

One way Omen has found that helps soothe his anxieties and keep his body held together is by literally applying pressure to his body into shape. Which is why he’s always wearing compression bandages and armor. He likes weighted blankets too because of it. (And in a way hugs, but he is too disgusted by himself to wish for those).

When Omen teleports, what he does is basically let his body scatter and then reform it somewhere else. Bits of him are scattered through the other plane while he does it and it’s how he travels longer distances. For shorter distances it’s easier. Still, he can only do it because his body IS trying to keep his “real” shape, so it remembers what it should come back to. Omen wears close fitted special (light carbon fiber) clothes and armor that hes familiar with so he can reform them as well.

When Omen is scattered he dies, he becomes just radianite again (thats why Skye “loses” him), which means he also doesnt feel anything when in that form. He however rebuilds himself and ta-da, back at it again.

(Fun fact, When Yoru ults he goes through that same death plane. The mask keeps him alive there. Omen would also die if he went fully there)

He could technically bring things and other people with him but there’s an immense risk of parts of the other thing/person being left behind or reformed wrong, so he doesnt so it.

His Paranoia skill is him extending that connection from the void into other people. Seeing death and the nothingness brings out the voices and with it, fear.

Sometimes the things there make him scared too. Not so much nowadays.

On the note of pain, his body’s constant changes will often make him feel pain in varying degrees. Sometimes it’s enough to keep him out of missions. Sometimes his body will change to something not too natural and it’s a trip to Sage with a medical leave. It’s always very intriguing but they have yet to find a solution other than trying to heal him and waiting for it to pass.

Omen’s face looks like that because it’s how he sees himself. It is however a bit of an illusion. Since his face is engulfed in shadows it is very hard to tell what you’re looking at even when glaring directly at it. Any light pointed at it just gets swallowed, reflecting nothing really back. The slits of light in his face are always shifting, just like his body and sometimes will take the form of a spiral or a circle or very strange slashes or even sometimes little eyes (like in the beta of the game).

Omen has a nose and a mouth, you just can’t really see it, but you can touch it, that is if he allows you, which he probably wont. In theory he could make his face look like a regular face, but even he is unaware of that.

Omen eats and drinks and does his duties just like any other person, though he’s gotten used to going long periods of time without eating. He doesnt like doing it in front of other people so he does it alone. He usually tastes food just fine though sometimes he loses that sense (sometimes he loses the sense of touch too)

Between the ever changing body, the fragmented memories and being able to hear the other plane, Omen’s attention span and memory for things is quite bad. Holding long conversations is hard and long mission meetings are even rougher. For that reasons he tends to avoid talking too much.

It’s no mystery Omen despises what he is. He doesn’t think of himself as a person and one of his main driving forces really is just taking revenge on all responsible for what he became. He knows its a self destructive path which is why he doesnt bother too much with emotional connections. Still, he’s not purposefully mean to those around him, and they certainly shows him a kindness he thinks he doesnt deserve, which is why hes mostly at peace around most other agents.

He doesn’t like loud sudden noises and avoids large gatherings bcs of it. It makes him lose focus and losing focus often means losing track of himself (mentally and even physically).

On the other hand he loves quiet repetitive tasks such as knitting. He has also learned how to sew and tried painting a few times. He likes solving puzzles too and will try baking in the future most likely. He loves routine too and has been seen taking care of Sage’s plants for her on more than one occasion.

He keeps journals and stuff to write down anything he can’t forget, from appointments and tasks to important bits about himself or his past.

He usually shows affection by just being around, doing his own thing, though, in privacy, he’d love to just touch and be touched by someone he cares for.

He has an alright libido, that’d probably get stronger if he did start getting physical with someone, though his self image issues would usually lead to him trying to just please his partner while he stayed fully covered.

Thats all i can think rn tbh hope u enjoyed the read, again, if u have any hcs u wanna send me or have any questions hit me up! I love talking abt it

#omen #valorant omen

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writernomore · 3 years

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Can you do soulmate au headcannons for feral Bois + Wilbur please?

You are my Other half|| Feral boys + Wilbur

Please do not publish my work/ content to different websites and platforms, I only post my work here on tumblr and wattpad

A/n: I must say these were like the cutest ever QwQ

Gender Neutral! Reader

Dreamwastaken.

Okay for Dream's soulmate headcanons I like to picture that you have a specific sentence/ words written on your wrist that your soulmate would say to you.

Now, I like to think that you've met your soulmate but! You don't know that yet because of the words on your wrist.

Here's how the situation will go, so basically your a streamer (Naturally) and your friends with Dream! (Shocking :0) .

So you've recently been getting undeserved hate because of the way you play a certain game or people just don't seem to like you, sure there are your loyal fans cheering you up and all but there's just sometimes going to be someone who'd take their comments too far and it just gets to you.

So right now your on discord with Dream ( I don't if you guys want it to be the both of you are in face time so I'll leave this part vague so you can imagine which one you prefer.) and you are just venting/talking about your situation with Dream and you come to stop saying that you couldn't handle it anymore and that you didn't know what to do anymore.

Dream has experience to what your encountering, putting yourself out there and becoming a sort of influencer and gaining fame is that there will always be people to bring you down and love to see that they have left and effect on you.

" You don't need to listen to them, clearly, they don't know how amazing you are."

"Thank you Clay, you're really great too, I don't see why people seem to hate you too."

It was silent at first but then you came to a sudden realisation of the familiarity of the words Dream just told you, quickly pulling up your sleeve your eyes widen to the exact words Dream said imprinted on your wrist.

Looking up at your Monitor, you were breathless, there was a sudden change of mood and the both of you were just silent before Dream spoke once again.

"Hello, Soulmate."

Georgenotfound.

Okay, I think this one is cute but I always think Soulmate Au's are cute so here's George's Soulmate Au!

You have a clock timer to when you meet your soulmate and it's just the perfect one for this idea in my head.

So basically, your on your way to meet an online friend of yours, George or going by his online alias Georgenotfound.

You had been streaming for about a while now and you've met such wonderful people, along with George and other nice streamers on the platform.

You were looking out the window of your plane, as you were nearing to the UK, glancing down you notice the timer on your wrist had sped up and that it shows that you might meet your soulmate here in London.

You were ecstatic at the idea of meeting your soulmate at the airport, just like some cheesy RomCom you've watched before.

Going down the stairs of the airplane you go through scanning and you grab your luggage and look for George, taking out your phone you text him asking where he was and he texted back sending where he was standing, pocketing your phone your clock seems to have gone faster and that you might encounter your soulmate soon before you get to meet up with George.

Walking around you glance to see where George is, ocassionally looking at your wrist, but then you spot the man holding up a welcome sign you walk over to him but just as you were about a few feet away you put down your luggage and make a sprint running to him, to attack him in a hug.

10...

9....

8....

7....

6...

5....

4...

3..

2..

1..

You hug George as he carries you and spins you around, the both of you laughing as you look up at him and smile, it was finally that moment you got to meet him.

He sets you down and you look down to your wrist that your timer, you brush your hand over it and George grabs your wrist to look at it, as he examines it you look up at him in surprise, your soulmate was the person you were so desperate to meet.

He looks up at you and smiles even wider as he pulls up his sleeve and showing that the his timer to had gone off, he encases you in a hug and you chuckle wrapping you arms around his shoulder.

Sapnap.

Okay, so this one I like to make this that you and Sap are strangers in this one because, why not? And it would be perfect for the soulmate Au I chose for Sapnap.

Your Soulmate Au with Sapnap is You're deaf until you meet your Soulmate, and the first thing you'll be able to hear is their voice.

So here's how your situation goes, so given that your deaf, you had to learn ASL language to communicate with people(I make it that everyone has different Soulmate Au's, ex: your friend has the red string.) and it's sometimes hard to be able to get your bearings considering your deaf.

And hearing aids don't work as well, there's nothing you can do about it, so you just wait for your soulmate.

So, you're walking down the street after getting groceries, and you try to balance all the bags in your hand but they were to heavy and you were really desperate to not drop the groceries.

So you hug the groceries close to your body but you stiffen at the hand on your shoulder, you turn around to look at the person and they smile at you, raised their hands to sign if you needed help, dumbfounded you try to say something but you couldn't hear what you said but it was clear he did because he had this look of surprise.

And he puts a hand over his ear and looks at you and opens his mouth.

"Can you hear me?" You had the same expression he had but you nodded and then everything seemed to be clear and the both of you can hear sound now.

The two of you just talk to each other about anything you guys come up with relishing the sound of each others voice whilst carrying your groceries.

Karl Jacobs.

Okay, so for Karl's Soulmate thing I picked where your hair would be the same as your soulmates if they dye it and vice versa to your soulmate.

So basically you've had this love for gaming and you practically have been entertaining the idea of streaming, you loved people who play games whilst they streamed, talking to the people in chat and just making people's days.

And you happen to want to do the same, so basically you wanted to be exclusive with your appearance so you usually just turned your face cam off, but when you did people would gush about how nice your hair looked because of the colors you pick out.

Your streaming career had really gone well and you were quiet well known and was doing really well, the people loved you! (excluding the people who bash on you).

You've met really wonderful friends and they're just the nicest and most wonderful people!

And you have this friend named Karl he was really the best, you met him through Quackity and the two of you just really hit it off from the on.

Basically, you and Karl would be streaming later but there was a problem it was when you were with other people or felt the mood you'd turn on your camera but your soulmate decided to dye their hair and now you had the same exact color (awww and you were really growing into the old color too.)

So basically, when you got ready you joined the call with Karl(But you had your camera off) and the two of you were just playing and then you started ranting how your hair changed because your soulmate dyed their hair, Karl just comforted you and then when you were going to look at chat people wanted to see your hair so you went to open your face cam showing your hair, ruffling it a bit.

Unbeknownst to you, Karl happened to have opened your stream on his monitor, You went to talk again with Karl but he was silent for a while, then he smiled and went to talk about how he dyed his hair and he wanted to show the stream, you told him it was nice and was just oblivious to Karl's doing.

People kept on spamming your chat to check Karl's stream and so you did, you pulled up his stream and there he was, with his hair the same color as yours.

You started screaming and just yelled in disbelief letting out little chuckles, you went to cover your face with your hands and chat was ballistic (Both yours and his chat) .

Quackity.

Okay, so for Quackity I chose the one where you write on your skin it would also appear on your soulmate's (and vice versa).

So for this you use this as a form of communication since you don't know each other, it doesn't get personal but just little details about each other.

I have a feeling Quackity would draw penises as a form of prank and you'd have wash it off quickly because you know, it's embarassing but alas, you can't erase it.

It only happens to disappear after time or when your soulmate erases it.

So basically as payback to the little penises he draws you draw these shapes on your face, there are hearts, stars, and little doodles along with the words Kiss me!

It was all fun and games between you guys, and you wanted to share your little 'prank' on instagram, taking a picture of your self smiling and along with a caption saying how you pranked your soulmate.

After you had posted that you just decided to scroll through instagram smiling, but then your smiled had dropped and you saw someone posting a picture, their face having the same markings as you had drawn but you just didn't do anything and liked his picture.

But for a while it had been eating at you so you went to go and message him about being soulmates.

So you just resulted to doing it the old fashioned way and grabbing your marker and contemplating what to write, you decided to write your username and just left it at that hoping he'd check it out.

It was about a few minutes before your phone vibrated, opening you saw someone had DMed you, going on to instagram it was him!

You went to check out the message it said:

"I never knew my soulmate would be so beautiful/handsome."

"Hello to you too, Soulmate."

Wilbursoot.

Mister Soot, your soulmate Au with him would be that you have the same mark as your soulmate, it isn't some random shape but it's a specific mark that you and your soulmate would have.

I don't know how I'm going to be able to write this one so basically this is just how Wilbur found out you were his soulmate, Wilbur would be about a year or 3 older than you and it was your 21st birthday that when your soulmate mark would appear, Wilbur had already gotten his before you.

So the two of you are counting down by midnight in video chat talking and waiting for the clock to strike 12, you had been so excited, you've waited for 21 years for this moment to arrive, when the clock had striked 12 you quickly checked out what the mark was.

It was a white music note, it was cute and it was placed on your wrist, you smiled and look at Wilbur, raising you arm up to angle it so that the camera could see it and show Wilbur what the mark looked like, "Check out my soulmate mark." you found Wilbur silent but then he started giggling, "What's so funny?" You asked him frowning as you looked down to your wrist.

"I guess I finally found you, and you were just right under my nose." Wilbur giggled again.

You held a dumbfounded expression before looking down at your mark and back up again before shaking head, "I guess you found me." You said smiling.

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

I'M SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG AND THAT I WAS INACTIVE FOR SO LONG😭😭.

But if you guys want, I have a discord server It was so that I could interact with the readers of my wattpad book but it could be that you guys could see what I'm working on! Discord server.

Anyways, if you guys like my writing, why not and consider giving me a follow? ;)

#mcyt fanart #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt headcanons #dream smp #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagines #dream smp headcanons #Feral boys #feral boys x reader #feral boys imagine #feral boys headcanons #wilbursoot #wilbur x reader #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #soulmate x reader #soulmate au

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Text

MC + Cursed Toddler-fied Boys

prompt: All the boys suffer the same fate as Satan by reading ‘The Forbidden Book of Toddlerization’

Lucifer

You have to wonder why they kept so many cursed books around, just out like this. You would think, like any normal person, with this continuing to happen, that they would keep them locked up or something. But no. They just leave them out for anyone to find….

“I’m going to the meeting!” Lucifer yelled, stamping his foot. His face twist in a petulant frown. It would be rather adorable, if you hadn’t been arguing with him for the past 20 minutes

“Lucifer, we talked about this. You can’t go to the meeting. You need to stay here.”

“No! I wanna go to the meeting! It’s very important and everyone is counting on me!” His arms are wailing now as he stamped his foot more.

Of course, you couldn’t let him go to the first of the month meeting like this. His pride would be wounded beyond compare if anyone else saw him like this. But reasoning with him wasn’t working. You had to resort to more, unsavory tactic to win. “But the meeting was cancelled. Lord Diavolo called earlier to let me know.”

Lucifer stopped stamping his feet and waving his arms to look at you with a vacant expression you didn’t know he could muster. “Really?”

Gods help you. “Yes, really.”

He seemed to think about this for a moment before he beamed, “ok!” His mood instantly brightening. “I believe you, because [Y/N] would never lie to me.” ‘Forgive me Lucifer’ You think to yourself. “What are we gonna do instead then?”

“Why don’t we play a game instead to pass the time? Would you like that?”

“I know chess!” He exclaimed loudly. “Let’s play that.”

Of course, knowing and being good at it were two different things. In this state you were actually able to beat Lucifer several times. When he retuned to normal the day was ‘conveniently’ put away for sometime after.

Mammon

“Mammon. Please. I’ll just be gone for a minute.”

“Nooooooo!” Mammon wailed when you tried to get up again. Clinging to your waist tightly to keep you on the couch. “Onii-chan said you had to stay with me! Stay with me! Stay with me!”

After reading The Forbidden Book of Toddlerization, Mammon had, of course, reverted to the personality of a small child. His brother made fun of him, say ‘what’s the difference’, but Lucifer knew that this could be a disaster if he was set to wander free in this state across the Devildom. So he sat you to babysit him.

“Mammon, I promise I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get us some snacks for our movie.”

“Then let me come with you!” He whined, still clinging to you. In this state it seemed he had also taken on the personality of a baby duck. Imprinting on you and following you around everywhere you went in his room. He hadn’t left you alone for 5 seconds since he got this way. “I promise I’ll be good!”

“It’s not a question of you being good or bad Mammon-chan.” He liked to be called Mammon-chan right now. “It’s that you need to stay here. If someone sees you like this well…they could use it to tease you.”

“No…I don’t want to be teased anymore….” His voice was low, and sad. His bright eyes looking on the verge of tears, like kids do when they’re said, before he buried his face into your side. “Mammon-chan doesn’t want to be made fun of anymore. Mammon-chan also doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

You sigh. Unable to argue with him when he was like this. Your hand lifted to pet his head, which he seemed to appreciate, before you text Satan to bring you some snacks. He was always reliable and would do it for you.

Once the affects of the book had worn off, Mammon denied any of this happening. The mere mention would cause his face to turn red and yell about how, “that didn’t happen!” You almost wish you had taken a video of it to show him. Guess you would just have to keep Mammon-chan forever in your heart.

Levi

You went to Levi’s room after class to check on him in his….condition.

Since he did remote learning a lot of the time, being an otaku, it was pretty easy to keep him away from people so they did see him in the current state he was in. Apparently as a toddler he didn’t like being around people either.

So, you had set him up comfortably in his room before heading to class. Promising to come back that afternoon to be with him.

“Levi! I’m back! How are you—what are you doing?!?!”

“Playing with my toys.” Levi replied, with an obvious expression, as a sea of toys stretch out in front of him where he laid on his belly on the floor.

Your brain stopped. Completely at a loss for words. Levi was going to kill you when he returned to normal, because toddler-Levi, left unattended, had unboxed nearly all of his figurines from their packaging. Some of which were incredibly rare, and unable to get anymore.

“I just…I mean…Why?? Why would you do this??”

“They’re my toys.” Levi replied with a pout. Sitting up. “I can do what I want with them. What’s the point in having neat toys if you aren’t going to play with them??”

He did have a point there. But adult-Levi was going to be so mad!

“Do you want to play with me?” The demon asked with a hopeful expression. “You can even be blue Ruri-chan.” The limited edition, color swap Ruri-chan from 1999. He was gonna blow a gasket!

“Yeah. Ok.” But then again, when were you ever going to be able to touch them again.

As expected, Levi totally lost it when he came to his senses. Of course, there was no one to blame but himself, in the end, so he just had to be upset and mope alone. Thankfully, none of them were broken or beyond just out of their originally packaging. He bought them all clear showcase boxes for his ‘ruined’ figurines. Some of them he could rebuy to replace; which seemed to make him happy to have two.

Satan

It had been hours since the affects of the book had taken ahold of Satan. You were starting to wonder if they would ever wear off.

Lucifer had left in search of another book, one that might help speed the process along, and left his younger brother in your care. Of course you were happy to help, but you were getting nervous you would never see the old Satan again.

“[Y/N]-chan?” You look up from your phone, waiting for Lucifer to text you back, to see the blonde demon looking timidly at you from around the corner.

“What is it Satan?”

“Would you….read to me?” His hands holding out the small children’s book he had some how found in the piles of books covering his room.

You smile softly at him. Your heart warmed by his request. “Of course,” you tell him, and the demon scampered over to sit on the bed beside you. His long legs and body tucked neatly into you as he waited for you to tell him the story of a little lost chicken and it’s journey back home. “[Y/N] tells the best stories!”

After 3 stories, he had fallen asleep. When he woke up, Satan was back to normal. He doesn’t answer your questions on where the children’s books had come from, but you spot the red & gold spines on his book shelves sometimes.

Asmo

There was no denying that Asmo was fascinated by art and all things beautiful. He went on and on about it any chance he got. So you shouldn’t have really been surprised when his toddlerfied self just wanted to draw all day.

“Look, look [Y/N]-chan! I finished another one!”

“That’s great Asmo.” You praise. Just like you had done with all the other ones he had handed to you. “Wow! This is really great! Is that a….chicken?”

“No, silly! That’s the white horse for our carriage when we get married!” The demon beamed, then shuffled over on his knees to instruct you on his picture properly. “That’s you, and that’s me. That’s the princess carriage that’s going to ride us off into the sunset. That’s Solomon and Simeon throwing flowers at us. That’s my brothers crying because I got to marry [Y/N]-chan and they didn’t.”

“You certainly seem to have all the parts here.” You praise. Giggling at his enthusiasm and picture.

“I want to have a perfect picture of when we get married. Because I love [Y/N]-chan! And we’re gonna get married and live happily ever after.” He replied, with certainty, with a smile.

“Well, I’ll be glad for that. Why don’t you draw me our perfect house for after we get married?” Asmo scampered off and did just that.

When Asmo came to, and back to his normal self, he took all the pictures he had drawn and framed them. Forcing his brothers and Solomon to take a tour of his mini-art gallery. The piece ‘Marriage of Two Bonded Souls’ was met with some controversy.

Beel

Beel, in his younger days, seemed to have boundless energy. Or you at least had to assume he did, because ever since he had read that stupid book he had been running around.

Lucifer had told you to take him outside. Irritated at hearing his large feet clump around the house, but trying not to show it since it wasn’t his fault. He even let you both take Cerberus outside to help run Beel out. It would be good for the pup too. Get some exercise, he said.

That had been sometime ago, and it seemed baby-Beel and Cerberus were an even match in energy. They had been running around, chasing each other, and play fighting in the back yard all afternoon. You were tired just watching them.

“Beel! Do you want to come in? I think it’s time for a break.”

Both Beel and Cerberus pop their heads up, in a comical and adorable unison head tilt, before jogging over to you. “Break time means snack time right?!”

You chuckle a little. Somethings never changed. “I brought some apple slices & peanut butter for you, for now. We can get you something bigger when we go inside.”

Beel grinned and sat in the grass with the container. “I like apple slices!”

“You do hn?” You don’t think you’ve seen Beel eat an actual fruit on its own. It was usually attached to, baked in, or covered in something, to get him to eat it.

“Yep! They’re crunchy and sweet. Just like you! Though, I guess you aren’t crunchy. Do you want one of my apple slices [Y/N]?”

You blush a little at Beel’s bright, unwavering expression. How could he look so innocent while still looking like that?

He finished his apple slices, minus one, before asking if he could go play again. You let him, but then all of a sudden he spotted playing with Cerberus and stood straight up. Seeming confused on how he got out here and what was going on. “Did I eat an apple? I haven’t had one since….do you think we have more in the kitchen?”

Belphie

It was honestly hard to tell if Belphie was under the spell of the forbidden book or not. He’d been asleep for most of the time; which was not uncommon for him. Then he would wake up and whine a little about something; again, not uncommon for him. Then he would take another nap.

You had figure out that he was still under it’s spell by the requests he was making when he woke up. Juice boxes. More plushies. His ‘blankie’. Eventually it would run its course though, and Belphie would be back to his own sleepy eyed, grown up self. “[Y/N]?”

You walk over to the bed when the demon called your name. The boy half sitting up, but still tucked under his covers. “What is it Belphie?”

“I can’t sleep.” He stated. Which seemed ridiculous since he had been sleeping most of the day. “I miss Lilli. And Be-be. Can you sleep with me?”

You blink at little at the request. You supposed it made since. Kids often wanted someone to sleep with them, so they didn’t have bad dreams or could keep them safe. Maybe that’s why he had been sleeping so much. Because he hadn’t been sleeping well, just sleep.

“Sure Belphie. I’ll lay down with you.” The demon smiled softly, sleepy, before he scooted over to give you some space to lay next to him.

He slept for a while this last time. Clinging onto you in his sleep, with a soft smile on his face. When he woke up, it seemed he was back to normal. “Gosh [Y/N]. If you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to trick me with that lame book.”

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Note

I know this is like taking a bat to the beehive but... I really wanna hear your opinions on the whole... Imprinting thing

(Note before we go any further: this meta is written purely about the shapeshifting aspect of the Quileute characters, I don’t at all get into the racism in Twilight or any kind of social commentary. This is a purely watsonian meta. Others in this fandom have already addressed the racial dynamics at play, far more eloquently and knowledgeably than me. If I say something in here that’s in any way offensive, that’s not my intention and I’m open to criticism.)

Ooh imprinting.

I touch upon it here, basically I hate it.

The imprinting is part of this theme where the shapeshifters lose their free will and autonomy, and I find it tragic, cruel, and unnecessary.

First of, the fact that they have to phase at all.

They’re made warriors to protect their tribe. There’s no choice involved, only genetics and magic irrevocably changing their lives, and at a ridiculously young age, too. Sam is the oldest of them, and he is 19.

Violence is an inherent part of what they become. Their purpose is to protect the tribe, by fighting vampires. Not only is this insanely dangerous (we see Jake get so injured by a single vampire that he’s bedridden for weeks), but if they succeed, they will have killed. In the singularly brutal manner of tearing apart and burning someone who looks a lot like a human, who talks and might beg for their life, at that. And I remind you, most of these shapeshifters are literal children. They might not see vampires as people, but all the same, killing one can’t be good for their mental wellbeing. (Thought: Perhaps an argument can be made for Laurent’s death having a part in the turn Jake’s personality took? Some, though not many, of the symptoms for PTSD do fit. I don’t know enough about PTSD to pursue this train of thought, but it occurred to me just now, in particular he becomes quite aggressive and prone to outbursts after that incident, so into a parenthesis it goes)

Not to mention how inhumane that responsibility is. Vampires in the Twilight-verse are terrifying, and the shapeshifters might have the power to fight them. But (and this is where I plug one of my all-time favorite animes, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, as it asks the question “Is it okay to sacrifice yourself for others?” because that’s... well there’s a parallel to be made to the shapeshifters. It’s on Netflix!) does that mean they should? Is it really their responsibility? Again- they’re kids!

Then there’s the time Sam lost control, and accidentally mauled the girl he loved. And it’s so cruel to both him and Emily. Sam never chose to have to control himself in the first place, he never chose shapeshifting. He didn’t choose to imprint on Emily either, and he didn’t choose to lose control that day. At no point in the series of events that led to Emily being mauled did Sam have any real choice, and yet he will shoulder the guilt for what happened for the rest of his life.

These kids get superpowers, and several of them seem to enjoy being shapeshifters, but the fact remains that they now carry this huge responsibility to protect their families and homes, doing so is incredibly dangerous, they lose out on their regular lives, and they can’t opt out of it.

This all sucks, but then we get to the fact that they are deprived of their free will, as their alpha can issue an order they physically can’t break. The alpha becomes alpha because of bloodlines, not because of a democratic election. Jake got a mockery of a choice in that he could choose to become alpha himself, or let Sam continue, which was really just choosing between a rock and a hard place. There is no limitation to what this order can be, from “don’t say X to person Y” to “let’s kill someone you love”. Jake has to struggle to break that last one, and he’s only successful because of the bloodline thing letting him become his own alpha.

Oh, and there’s the massive invasion of privacy when they have a hive mind. Cool concept, less cool to have it be reality. Leah is the poster child for how a hive mind can backfire, and they can’t opt out of this.

I’m not good at gifs, but the shapeshifters just make me think of that gif of someone flicking a lightswitch on and off, “WELCOME TO HELL!”. Of course, Twilight in general is a pit of despair for everybody, so I suppose that gif really is... well it sums up all of canon.

So, we have these kids aged 19 or younger, as of Breaking Dawn they skew as young as thirteen, their lives are turned upside down by something they can’t opt out of, they must shoulder this huge responsibility to protect their homes and families from the terrifying threat of vampires, and on top of all of that, they must obey orders that are so irresistible, they can compel them to harm someone they care for.

With all of that in mind, you’d think that the shapeshifters had enough on their plate. That through all of this they would at least retain their selves, and be able to look forward to a future where they could stop phasing, and go on to live normal, human, lives.

Yeah, NOT IF THEY IMPRINT.

I’ll just quote Jake’s description:

Everything inside me came undone as I stared at the tiny porcelain face of the halfvampire, half-human baby. All the lines that held me to my life were sliced apart in swift cuts, like clipping the strings to a bunch of balloons. Everything that made me who I was—my love for the dead girl upstairs, my love for my father, my loyalty to my new pack, the love for my other brothers, my hatred for my enemies, my home, my name, my self—disconnected from me in that second—snip, snip, snip—and floated up into space.

I was not left drifting. A new string held me where I was.

Not one string, but a million. Not strings, but steel cables. A million steel cables all tying me to one thing—to the very center of the universe.

I could see that now—how the universe swirled around this one point. I’d never seen the symmetry of the universe before, but now it was plain.

The gravity of the earth no longer tied me to the place where I stood. (Breaking Dawn, page 237)

Everything that made me who I was disconnected from me.

Jake’s love for his father, his home, his very own self, it’s all gone now. And while I have thoughts on the authenticity of this imprint, whether it was organic, the description above is apparently how imprinting feels. It’s along the lines of what Sam, Jared, and Paul all describe.

I don’t think I can put into words just how devastating I find imprinting, I think the above quotation speaks for itself. And as with all other shapeshifter things, there is no choice involved.

We see its devastating effects in the Emily, Sam, and Leah debacle. Sam and Leah were serious together, so much so that they were engaged. Sam had fallen for and chosen to be with Leah. Perhaps they would have broken up eventually, but Leah was still the choice he made. Then he imprints on Emily, and all that is for naught. He had to break up with Leah, who if she hadn’t phased never would have learned why, Emily and Leah’s relationship is ruined, and Emily must forever live with the knowledge that if Sam had his free will intact he would be with another woman.

Then there’s Jared and Kim. Kim crushed on Jared, but Jared never noticed her. The fact that they were in the same class is damning: if a boy is attracted to a girl, he's gonna notice her. Jared never did.

Quil imprints on Claire, who is a toddler. That’s just a recipe for misery and disaster all around.

And I’ve only touched the shapeshifter side of things. They lose their autonomy and freedom, but the imprintées draw the short straw too. They’re now responsible for this other person’s happiness. Sure, having someone who’ll be whatever you need them to be sounds nice (well, it sounds horrifying, but I’m playing ball) on paper, but you can’t opt out of them being like that. The imprintée can’t say “Sorry, not interested,” and she certainly can’t shut the imprinter out of her life, not without irrevocably ruining the imprinter’s life. The imprinter needs her. She’s the center of his earth now, but she didn’t choose to be.

Imprinting is a liferuiner for everyone involved.

Then we have the question of what imprinting is even for. I’m afraid I agree with Billy, that it’s for procreation. We see Sam, who was dating a woman about to phase (even if Leah isn’t infertile, she’s a warrior now. She can’t run in the woods and fight vampires, and gestate and nurse a child at the same time) conveniently imprint on her cousin, who as cousin to Leah is from a shifter bloodline. Claire, as Emily’s cousin, has those same genetics. Paul imprints on a woman from the Black family line. Jake is the outlier, but either Renesmée’s gift helped that imprinting along, or he imprinted because of the offspring they could potentially have (I firmly believe it’s the former because the latter... NOPE. Also, I can’t imagine whatever magic drives imprinting would want vampiric progeny for the future generations. Regardless of Renesmée’s person, her biology is wired to desire human blood. That’s exactly what Jake is supposed to protect people from. Bad match.).

I just.... ughhh. God, I hate imprinting so much, and on every level.

To me, everything about the shapeshifters is about free will, autonomy, and the loss thereof. And it would have been beautiful if their story was about reclaiming that, but it isn’t. None of this, with the exception of the alpha orders, is even acknowledged.

So, in summation, yes I hate imprinting, but it’s only the horror cherry on top of a very sad and problematic cake.

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fatiguing-thoughts · 3 years

Text

Chaotic Imprint - Pack Preference

Request: “Hey hey!! Can I have a preference for the pack having a younger kinda chaotic platonic imprint? 👀”

I kinda changed it up a little bit, I didn’t make the reader younger as I always age the pack up a bit in my writing and I just wanted to keep it general.

Jacob:

Jacob and you vibe well. He has his moments where he can match your chaotic energy, but overall is always worried that you’ll end up in a ditch or something. Overall, he will always end up agreeing as long as it makes you happy, so long as you’re safe in the end. Just like that time where you asked him to cliff jump with you on his back.

“Yeah, it’s very reckless, dangerous even. But when do you wanna go?” He asks with a smile on his face.

“Uh, right now?” An ear to ear grin plasters itself across your face.

“Let’s get going, you better hold on tight.”

He’s just happy to see you happy, especially if he’s able to be the one to put the smile on your face.

Seth:

Seth is known to be the soft, nice guy-- though he’s definitely one of the most playful people you know. He’s always down to go have some fun. Like Jacob, he’s willing to do anything to put a smile on your face. At first, he was a little worried about how disorderly and random your actions and speech were, but over time he understood it more. Eventually, he just stopped questioning a lot of your ideas and just went along with them, hoping for the best.

“What if we tried to make an entirely new language… but only we get to know it?” You ask randomly at 3 in the morning, waking up Seth to do so.

“What? Right now? It’s three am, (Y/N).”

“When else? Now’s the perfect time, my mind has been racing!”

So that’s the only way you talked for the next few days, Seth was the token translator. It took you hours that night to make a language that worked for the both of you.

Leah:

She had grown to be more open to new things and had a lot more fun since you came around. Leah was always down to follow your ideas, whether that meant you randomly calling her at 3 am to go for a drive to god knows where or if you wanted to show her something new and exciting. Though, she knew where to draw the line-- she was the voice of reason that you needed.

“(Y/N), maybe you should really think about this, is it really a good idea?”

“But I don’t care if it’s a good idea, I’m curious!”

“Okay let me rephrase that-- it’s a horrible idea. I did the thinking for you, we aren’t doing it.”

“But Leah…”

“No, we are not going to see how long it takes for you to go into anaphylactic shock. I don’t care if you have your epipen with you.”

“Jared and I thought it was a fun idea.”

“Jared? Where’s Jared?” She asks, narrowing her eyes.

And just like that, she’s always what stops you from letting your really stupid ideas from coming to life, even if Jared encourages you anyway; but he usually gets his ass kicked for that.

Paul:

Paul is a lot of fun, there’s nothing to argue with there. But sometimes, he might not think your ideas are as great or fun as you think. When he knows it’s something that’ll end poorly or get you hurt, he says that he doesn’t think you guys should do it and that he won’t help you or come with.

“(Y/N), I think this might be too much. Let’s maybe do something else.”

“Alright.” You sigh, sending a text on your phone.

“Are you talking to Quil and Jared?”

“What?”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“What? You just said…”

“Nope, let’s go. We’ll do it.”

He often just wants to make sure you’re safe and that he’s there to diffuse any situation. Uncertainty doesn’t sit with him well. Also, let’s face it-- Paul doesn’t share well. He’d rather suck it up and do whatever it is with you before you go do it with Jared and Quil instead.

Embry:

Embry and you have a ton of fun. Always down for a random adventure. Random calls in the middle of the night to go out and have some fun.You spend a lot of time working on dirtbikes and taking them out for random trips. Overall, you spend a lot of your time together doing urban exploring, or as some may call it: trespassing in random abandoned buildings. You take pictures of each other doing crazy stuff, climbing onto things that definitely shouldn’t be climbed on. Due to his overall indestructibility and accelerated healing, he’s always the first one to try something to make sure it’s safe for you.

“Let’s climb onto the roof.”

“We’d have to scale the building.”

“Great thinking, how do we go about that?”

“I don’t know. Get on my back and I’ll try to figure it out.”

Quil:

Quil is absolutely thrilled that you’re on the chaotic side. He loves that you can keep up with him and that you guys could always have a lot of fun. You want to go mess with the guys? He’s down and he’s prepared to up the ante. He wants to go do something stupid? You’re down and ready to go nuts. You often go out and pull pranks on the rest of the pack. Just the other day you two decided to replace the Sunny D in Jared’s fridge with watered down kraft mac n cheese powder. Let’s just say, Jared chugged a lot before noticing, and Quil ended the day with a broken arm.

“I’m sorry you have a broken arm.”

“It’s alright, broken arms aren’t forever. They only last a day or so.”

“You really take advantage of that accelerated healing, don’t ya bud?”

“You bet. What’re we doing next?”

“Let’s get Paul.”

“I like the way you think.”

Jared:

As one would assume, your guys’ energy bounces off one another like no tomorrow. You guys are an unstoppable force. Jared and you get along so well, always down for whatever shenanigan the other has planned, down to do whatever, whenever. Sam often has to step in and make sure nobody burns the house down. It’s one of those things where often enough, the pack doesn’t trust either of you to ever get anything done without breaking something else in the process. You tried to cook dinner together the other night, almost setting the entire kitchen on fire when you couldn’t stop messing around in the kitchen, spilling oil next to the stove.

“Don’t tell Sam!” His eyes widen, cleaning up the oil and spraying the fire extinguisher.

“Don’t tell Sam what?” Sam asks, walking in, before turning right back around and walking straight out of the house.

“Fixed it.” He triumphantly states with an enormous smile on his face, fire extinguisher residue taking over the entire kitchen.

Sam:

Sam is the dad friend, so it’s to no surprise that your chaotic energy is something that keeps him on edge. Despite him being used to the chaotic energy he deals with on a daily basis from the pack, he knows you’re not indestructible. He’s always trying to keep you grounded, but he does let you have your fun. Safety is his top priority, but understands that you’re going to have fun and he’s always there to have fun with you. Sam began to help you come up with and perform more tame and harmless pranks. Like today, we decided to move every piece of furniture three inches to the left and watched the rest of the pack enter the house very confused and a bit off balance.

“Something feels… off.” Quil says, cautiously sitting down.

“I don’t understand.” Jared says, tripping over the table that wasn’t normally there.

“How bizarre.” Sam says.

“Yeah, how bizarre.” I look at him with a smirk.

#jacob black #seth clearwater #leah clearwater #paul lahote #embry call #Quil Ateara #jared cameron #sam uley #wolf pack x reader #jacob black x reader #seth clearwater x reader #paul lahote x reader #embry call x reader #quil ateara x reader #jared cameron x reader #sam uley x reader #leah clearwater x reader #twilight

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lulu-zodiac · 3 years

Text

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Jeremy Bradshaw

Tags: Early seasons Dean, pre-podcast Professor Bradshaw, denial, unresolved sexual tension, bickering, smut, gratuitous owl references, case fic

Summary: It's the fall of 2006, and a string of grisly deaths linked to local lore brings Sam and Dean to the village of Bridgewater. There, Dean finds himself working closely with the frustrating and unexpectedly compelling Professor Bradshaw.

---

Dean feels about as comfortable in old colleges as he does in churches. There’s the same sense of exclusivity, that same reverence of things Dean has spent his life stuck on wrong side of. This campus even feels a little like a church, with its old architecture and sprawling ruby ivy and slit windows like narrowed eyes. His footfalls echo heavily along the cold stone corridor, making him feel uncomfortably aware of his own existence.

The door he’s looking for is old and made of oak, nestled in an alcove near the staircase, with a small plaque on it that reads Professor J Bradshaw.

Dean pauses for a moment, then knocks abruptly, suddenly noticing his knuckles are still smudged with earth. From within, a muffled voice instructs him to enter, and he does so, wiping his hand surreptitiously against the side of his leather jacket.

The first thing that hits him is the sheer volume of books in the room; they clutter every available surface, piled high in front of the big bay window like a strange line of defense. There are stacks of loose papers everywhere too, haphazard but clearly organized, some held in place by empty coffee mugs or odd-looking artefacts. The air is bright and warm, like this room catches the sun when it’s slow and mellow in the afternoons.

The second thing that hits him is the man sitting at the desk.

He doesn’t look up at Dean’s entrance, continuing to scribble away in a leather-bound notebook with intent dexterity, seemingly utterly lost in his own thoughts. He’s not what Dean expected; surprisingly young, maybe approaching forty, with a sharp jaw and tousled hair that just brushes his broad shoulders. When Dean clears his throat awkwardly, the man finally looks up with striking blue eyes that immediately pin Dean in place.

“Yes?” his voice is inquiring and several octaves deeper than Dean would have imagined, low and gravelly. He sets down his pen, looking at Dean with piercing focus.

“Uh – hey. Professor Bradshaw?” Dean feels distinctly self-conscious.

“Who wants to know?” the man closes his notebook with a snap and stands with surprisingly fluid ease, eyes still intent on Dean as though he’s cataloguing him.

He’s wearing a faded navy-blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up, slightly crumpled shirt tails poking out at the hem, just visible.

Drawing on years of sizing people up, Dean guesses that the guy probably has no one to go home to at night. If he goes home much at all, that is; the office has a distinctly lived-in look. It’s strangely reminiscent of the makeshift home feel of the impala’s interior.

“Um – Dean. Dean Collins,” Dean answers hastily, suddenly realizing he’s spent a little too long looking. “I’m uh – a student in one of your classes,” he lies the best way he knows how: with a charming smile. “I was wondering if you’ve got a moment? I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your work.”

“Come in, please,” Professor Bradshaw sits back down behind his desk, and gestures for Dean to close the door. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Dean shuts the door and awkwardly removes three hardback books and a small, slightly drooping fern from the only available seat in front of Professor Bradshaw’s desk.

“Sorry – let me –” Professor Bradshaw leans over the desk to relieve Dean of the books and the plant. Close up, Dean can see faint lines softening the corners of his vivid eyes, and when he breathes in, he catches a hint of peppermint and the musk of warm skin, strangely compelling. Their hands brush for a moment as Professor Bradshaw takes the items, and Dean flinches, jerking away and planting himself firmly on the chair.

“So – Dean, yes?” Professor Bradshaw settles back into his seat. He’s still looking intently at Dean, gaze startlingly blue.

Wordlessly, Dean nods. He doesn’t know why he can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re not in any of my classes, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, with a slight edge to his voice. He reaches for a half-drunk mug of tea on his desk, expression skeptical.

Dean feels his stomach drop. “Uh, yeah – I’m new, just transferred a couple weeks back,” he bluffs quickly, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He feels strangely flustered, visible.

“No, I don’t think so,” Professor Bradshaw says, flatly. “I believe I would have noticed,” he adds, wryly, with a kind of impatient warmth in his expression that makes Dean’s cheeks flare with heat all over again. Professor Bradshaw merely swallows a mouthful of tea and sets the mug back down, still looking at Dean. “So. Who are you?”

“Alright,” Dean puts his hands up in mock-surrender, smiling wide even though he feels stupidly on edge, knocked off course. “You got me. I’m – uh – a journalist. My boss has me writing a piece on local legends, and I was hoping to pick your brains. Heard you’re the expert on all that stuff around here, and thought I might be in with a better chance of talking to you as a student instead of some annoying reporter.”

“I see,” Professor Bradshaw leans back in his chair, contemplative. A shaft of sunlight filters through the bay window behind him, illuminating a hint of tawny in his dark, untidy hair. Dust motes hang everywhere like suspended snow. “Well, luckily for you, Dean, I find that my students can be just as annoying as reporters. And I still talk to them on a daily basis.”

Dean grins a little awkwardly, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I do get paid to do that,” Professor Bradshaw adds, dryly. “But perhaps I do them a disservice. Some of them are really quite inspiring.” He pauses, raising his mug to his lips. It has an owl on it, Dean notices absently. An overly fluffy one, with a slightly threatening glare. “I daresay I can spare five minutes. What is it that I can do for you, Dean?”

“Uh, so you study the supernatural, right?” Dean asks, clumsily. His hands are sweating where they’re shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “Ghosts and demons and all that shit?”

“I study the lore and mythology of supernatural beings, and why it’s important to humans to create such stories,” Professor Bradshaw clarifies, shortly.

“Right, got it,” Dean agrees, hastily. “But you’d know a bit about the Bridgewater coven?”

“I am familiar with the legends, yes,” Professor Bradshaw replies, reaching for his mug again. There’s an ink stain on the side of his index finger, smudged deep blue. Dean fleetingly wonders if it would rub off easily if he touched it, if it would leave a ghostly imprint on his own skin.

“Yeah – uh – so there’s been quite a lot of interest in the coven recently,” Dean blusters, annoyed with himself for how stupidly flustered he feels, “You know, since those bodies were found last week? At the burial site in Bridgewater Forest that’s associated with the legend? Yeah. Well, anyway, I was – hoping you might be able to tell me a little more about the legend of the coven.”

“I don’t see what the recent tragedies could possibly have to do with the legend,” Professor Bradshaw narrows his eyes skeptically.

“Right – yeah – nothing, I’m sure,” Dean lies hastily, “But the location of the crimes has definitely raised awareness about the existence of the legend, and that’s what we really want to provide for our readers.”

“Well, certainly, I can tell you the history,” Professor Bradshaw replies, briskly, “In fact, I teach an undergrad course on witchcraft in history and my lecture this Wednesday actually covers the legend of the coven. If you want a more detailed, nuanced version, you’re more than welcome to come along then – it’s at 11am in the Milton building. But I’m happy to give you the short version now, if that would be helpful?”

“Thanks – yeah, that’d be great,” Dean says, gratefully. “On a bit of a tight schedule today.”

“Well, the local legend about the Bridgewater coven has existed for almost two hundred years,” Professor Bradshaw starts, and immediately Dean can picture him talking in front of a lecture theatre full of kids. He’s a natural, something inherently captivating about the way he speaks. “In the 1800s, this village was an important site of religious pilgrimage. However, according to the legend, the village was also home to a small coven lead by a witch named Iris. Iris’s coven was said to have lived in secrecy in the forest on the outskirts of Bridgewater for years, and not to have troubled the village people. However, by 1816, the legend claims the coven had become very hostile, specifically towards the church. There were fears the coven had begun indoctrinating – or bewitching – members of the congregation.”

Professor Bradshaw pauses, swallowing another mouthful of tea. The muscles in his throat work, drawing Dean’s attention to the way his pale blue shirt isn’t buttoned up properly. He’s filled with the sudden, inexplicable urge to button it up correctly.

“More and more people started disappearing in connection with the coven,” Professor Bradshaw continues, setting his mug back down on the desk, and Dean jerks his gaze guiltily away from the line of his throat, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his leather jacket. “The rapidly diminishing congregation lived in terror. The remaining members of the church all turned against each other. Then, at the height of local hysteria, Iris is said to have murdered Blanche, the minister’s daughter, in what is portrayed in the lore as some kind of statement of the coven’s power over the church.”

“Bet that didn’t go down too well,” Dean remarks, sardonically.

“Quite,” Professor Bradshaw catches Dean’s eye, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, according to the legend, the tragedy of Blanche’s death united the warring members of the congregation. They captured Iris and entombed her alive, using her own magic against her to keep her trapped. Iris’s death broke the spell on the members of the congregation who’d been indoctrinated against their will, and peace was restored to the village. The few remaining members of the original coven fled and were never seen again.”

“Wow,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “Very love-thy-neighbor.”

Professor Bradshaw snorts, “Yes. Religious leaders in the 1800s were renowned for sitting down and resolving their problems through compassionate discussion,” he remarks, dryly.

“Okay, but what about the other versions of the legend?” Dean asks, trying to remember the things Sam had told him to ask about, but drawing a total blank. His brain feels weirdly scrambled. It’s hard to remember what happened before walking into Professor Bradshaw’s office. “The other stories about the coven I’ve come across so far all seem pretty different.”

Professor Bradshaw frowns slightly. “It’s true, there are many conflicting accounts. Which is often the case with legends, being human constructions of the past,” he regards Dean slightly disapprovingly over the rim of his owl mug, a kind of skeptical stubbornness in the set of his mouth. “It’s not about knowing which ‘to believe’ – it’s about looking at why historically people have favored one version over the other and what that tells us about them.”

“Right, yeah, but aren’t legends often based on fact?” Dean pushes.

Professor Bradshaw pauses, contemplatively, “Yes. That’s certainly true in some cases.”

“Do you think it’s the case in this one?”

“Possibly,” Professor Bradshaw replies, haltingly. His expression is serious and he hesitates for a moment before elaborating; “In fact, I’m currently writing a paper about the historical figures who feature in the legend of the Bridgewater coven.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” Dean presses. He’s used to having to fake interest to get information out of people like Professor Bradshaw, but for once, he finds he’s genuinely interested. There’s something compelling about Professor Bradshaw’s evidently obsessive quest for obscure answers, something that resonates with all too much familiarity.

“Iris, predominantly,” Professor Bradshaw replies. “I’m very interested in the historical reasons women were condemned as witches. Often, it’s as simple as jilted male lovers using accusations of witchcraft as a means of revenge, or the women using herbal remedies that threatened contemporary male ideas of medicine and the body. Sometimes it’s to do with female homosexuality and society’s unacceptance of same sex relationships or women as sexual beings. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for gay men to be condemned for witchcraft either. But statistically, more homosexual women died as a result of such accusations.”

“Uh – right –” Dean swallows, looking away. His hands are sweating again, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the insides of his pockets. Clearing his throat, he changes the subject, suddenly remembering the other thing Sam had told him to ask Professor Bradshaw about, “What about the runes?”

“Ah yes, the runes on Iris’s supposed tomb,” Professor Bradshaw’s gaze is suddenly inscrutable in a way that makes Dean’s heart thud uncomfortably in his chest. It sweeps over Dean, lingering and unnervingly blue for a moment, before he continues, “Very interesting. I’ve been studying them a great deal as part of my research. The true nature of them has always remained a mystery, and any attempts to discern their meaning haven’t fitted with the legend at all. I believe they may be key to understanding the history behind the creation of the legend. But,” he smiles, wryly, “It’s not an easy task. They’re unlike any runes I’ve come across anywhere else before.”

“Can I see?” Dean asks, partly out of interest, and partly for some way of distracting himself from the way his heart is still thumping uncomfortably fast.

“You’d have to visit the forest burial site to see them in person, but I do have a couple of sketches of the lines I’m working on at the moment,” Professor Bradshaw gets to his feet and crosses to the cabinet by the window, pulling the top drawer open.

The fall chestnut trees outside smolder amber behind his silhouette, midday sunshine pale gold and still where it filters through the window. Time seems strangely irrelevant. Dean watches as Professor Bradshaw flicks through a green binder, fingers quick and dexterous, skilled and uncalloused in a way Dean’s have never had the chance to be.

Dean swallows and looks away, ignoring the thud of his heart as he stares around at the rest of the room. He clocks a bunch of compendiums of mythology on the bookcase nearest him, and two other eccentric and slightly neglected looking plants. There’s a thick plaid rug on the couch in the corner, not quite concealing a plate of half-eaten toast. On the windowsill, there’s a little tin mug with a toothbrush in it that makes Dean wonder again just how often Professor Bradshaw goes home at all. He finds himself wondering whether Professor Bradshaw has always had nothing but an empty house to return to, or whether that’s a more recent development. He’s definitely old enough to be going through a divorce. The thought sits uncomfortably in Dean’s chest for reasons he doesn’t particularly want to identify.

“Here we are.” Professor Bradshaw’s gravelly voice, suddenly much closer, makes Dean jump. He glances around to find Professor Bradshaw standing beside him, holding out a sheet of paper. The smell of warm skin and peppermint catches Dean off guard, stronger this time, and still strangely compelling.

“Uh – thanks,” Dean says awkwardly, taking the proffered page. He feels Professor Bradshaw’s fingers brush against his fleetingly, warm and ink-stained.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to focus on the page in front of him even though his cheeks are hot with something he doesn’t want to think about. The sketches are good, a few strange vaguely Norse reminiscent symbols drawn hastily with accompanying, scrawled notes in the margins. There’s something about the runes that niggles at Dean’s brain, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like something he’s known his whole life but can’t put his finger on.

“These are interesting,” Dean he frowns, tracing his finger along the two last symbols.

When he glances up, he finds Professor Bradshaw looking at him intently, blue eyes inscrutable. “Yes,” he says, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms across his chest. “Those are the ones which struck me too,” he’s speaking a little quieter, low voice distracting Dean from why the runes are so familiar. He hopes he can remember them, that Sam will be able to place what he can’t about them.

“So, uh, this tomb. The one with the runes on it – that’s definitely where that guy’s body was found last week? It wasn’t just nearby or something?” Dean forces himself to ask, ignoring the way his heart is suddenly thumping again. “And the girl found the week before – she was directly linked to the burial site too?”

Professor Bradshaw clears his throat, unfolding his arms. “I believe so, yes.”

“And that doesn’t seem – I don’t know – a little strange, to you?”

“Human beings committing violent acts against each other is generally something I find a little strange,” Professor Bradshaw replies, in clipped tones. “But beyond that – no. Now –” he breaks off, glancing at his watch. “I’m afraid I have a seminar to deliver in ten minutes,” he confesses, and there’s something unfinished about the way he says it, something almost reluctant. Like he half wants to stay here talking with Dean.

“No problem,” Dean stands, and takes a last glance at the sketches before handing them back, trying to commit them to memory. “Thanks, Professor.”

Their eyes meet as Professor Bradshaw accepts the page, and the room suddenly feels very airless, a pause suspended between them. Neither of them moves away.

This close, Dean can see miniscule flecks of grey like tiny stars lost in blue of Professor Bradshaw’s eyes, the way that his full lips are slightly chapped, like maybe he worries them between his teeth when he’s thinking. They’re soft pink and warm-looking, and Dean wonders fleetingly if they taste like peppermint tea.

“It was nice meeting you, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, gently, and his eyes are so blue.

“Uh – yeah – you too. Thanks. I’d – uh – I’d better get going,” Dean stammers, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and cursing the way his cheeks are suddenly flaming with heat. His thoughts churn unsteadily; he ignores them the way he’s learnt to.

Still feeling strangely wound-up, he nods awkwardly at Professor Bradshaw and turns reluctantly towards the door.

“Wait a moment, Dean –” Professor Bradshaw’s voice halts Dean in his tracks as he reaches the door, and Dean turns expectantly, heat thumping a little painfully.

“Yeah?”

“Here – you’re welcome to borrow a couple of books on local history,” Professor Bradshaw is pulling a couple of books down from the overflowing cabinet by the window. “They should have a bit more about the legend of the coven that you might find interesting. Divergences of the legend and so forth. I’ll need them back by Thursday morning as I’m teaching a class on them in the afternoon, but you’re welcome to borrow them until then if they’d be helpful.”

“You sure?” Dean takes the proffered books awkwardly, and swallows the strange disappointment sinks in him like a stone as Professor Bradshaw steps back again. “Thanks.”

“As I said, I’m also giving a lecture on Wednesday where I’ll be examining the history behind the legend of the coven. I meant what I said - you’d be more than welcome to attend,” Professor Bradshaw says, sincerely. His eyes are intent, and there’s a hint of something almost like hopefulness hidden in the depths of his gravelly voice. Working on long ingrained instinct, Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Thanks, I’ll – I’ll see what my schedule’s like,” Dean replies, haltingly.

“Of course,” Professor Bradshaw agrees. He turns back to his desk.

“Can I ask –” Dean pauses, watching Professor Bradshaw stuff another notebook and a stack of handouts into his briefcase. “You said you’re writing a paper about the runes at the forest burial site– do you go to there much?”

Professor Bradshaw glances up, distractedly. “Yes, I spend time there every week.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything – I don’t know – anything unusual when you’ve been there recently?” Dean ventures.

“Unusual how?” Professor Bradshaw closes his briefcase with a snap and looks up at Dean properly, eyes narrowed with sudden skepticism. It’s stronger than the hints Dean has caught at other points during their conversation, sharp and blue, a world away from the observant warmth of a few moments ago.

“I dunno – odd noises, sudden drops in temperature, shadows –”

“Just what are you asking me?” Professor Bradshaw demands, voice clipped and defensive.

“Have you seen anything like that?” Dean presses, stubbornly. Irritation prickles his skin.

“No, I haven’t,” Professor Bradshaw says, bluntly. “And you know why? Because yes, I study the supernatural – but it’s not real, Dean. I don’t know what kind of sensational article you’re writing about local lore, but I can assure you, lore is all it is.” He winds a striped scarf haphazardly around his neck, and grabs his briefcase off the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

Sam is eating some gross looking granola yoghurt pot with a plastic spoon when Dean eventually clambers back into the car, feeling distinctly frustrated.

“You took your time,” he remarks idly, raising an eyebrow as Dean adjusts the mirror with an unnecessary amount of force and turns on the ignition.

“Goddamn waste of time was what it was,” Dean mutters mutinously, pulling out of the space and then immediately being forced to hit the brakes when a cluster of students cross the parking lot in front of him. He grinds his teeth and resists the urge to honk the horn. “Thought I was getting somewhere but he completely shut down the minute I asked him if he’d noticed anything weird at the burial site.”

“Suspicious?” Sam frowns, through a mouthful of granola.

“No, don’t think so. Just really damn touchy,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as he waits for the students to move, “And a bit of an asshole. I dunno, suppose working in his field he’s probably used to people thinking he’s just some lunatic who believes in the supernatural.”

“And does he?”

Dean snorts. “No way. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it. You’d think someone who’s spent the last twenty years with their head buried in books about ghosts and covens and demonic possession might be a little more open to the idea,” he shrugs, and gives in to the temptation to lean on the horn, reveling in the brief satisfaction of making the students jump and scurry out of the way, “But no. The guy’s absolutely blind to it all, and could rival you on stubbornness.”

Sam purses his mouth in annoyance, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Get anything useful at all?”

“He did lend me a couple books,” Dean admits, nodding in the direction of the backseat. “Have to take them back on Thursday morning, though. He needs them for some class.”

“He leant you his books?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, skin prickling in annoyance, “What of it?”

“Dunno, that’s just,” Sam swallows a mouthful of yoghurt, “Pretty trusting. Academics usually treat their books as if they’re their first borns.”

“Don’t mess them up when you read them, then,” Dean says, dismissively, as they pull out onto the main street. “You find out anything useful about the victims?”

“Not really,” Sam leans back in his seat with a sigh, “Both from middle class, religious families. Seem to have been pretty well liked by people. Hard to establish any link more than that. The wife of the guy that was killed last week seemed a bit cagey, though,” he shrugs, “Might be worth a second visit to see if she’s holding out on us about something.”

“Right,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as they wait for a light to change. It’s starting to drizzle, tiny flecks of grey hitting the windshield. “Are we still definitely thinking ghost?”

“Seems like it,” Sam affirms, “The way the victims died definitely points to a vengeful spirit. But the place they were killed – connected to the burial site associated with the coven? I don’t know, I was thinking maybe it’s no ordinary ghost. Maybe it’s the vengeful spirit of a witch, and that’s why it’s so powerful?”

“Hm,” Dean mulls it over, flicking the windscreen wipers on as they continue to wait. They squeak slightly, repetitive and familiar. “You could be onto something there.”

“Yeah?”

“Professor Bradshaw was telling me about the local legend of the coven. Apparently, its leader was entombed alive by a bunch of angry churchgoers,” Dean steps on the accelerator as the light finally changes, and the rain-slicked village slides past in a blur. “That’s got to be some pretty good vengeful spirit material right there. And you said the victims were both religious, right? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why now, though?” Sam frowns. “It’s been what – two hundred years? There must have been plenty of churchgoers who walked by the burial site before now.”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs, staring out at the rainy smudge of fall colors. The chestnuts trees lining the street are the same smoldering hue of amber as the one outside Professor Bradshaw’s window.

They drive in silence for a few moments, wipers squeaking.

“Okay,” Sam says, at length, “So I’m thinking – we go check into a motel, get through as much of these books from your professor as we can while we wait for the rain to stop, and then check out the burial site later this afternoon before it gets dark?” Sam asks, chucking his plastic spoon in the empty yoghurt container.

“He’s not ‘my professor’,” Dean says defensively, and suddenly has to step a little too hard on the breaks to avoid running a red light.

“Alright,” Sam says, slowly. “Okay.”

“Anyway, yeah,” Dean blusters, hastily, ignoring the weight of Sam’s gaze on the side of his face, “Works for me. But first,” he flicks on the indicator and pulls into a space near a little line of local shops. “Food. Not that yoghurty shit you’ve been eating. Real food.”

The forest is steeped in quiet in the way all ancient places are, fall singing the leaves on the gnarled branches that claw their way towards the fading gold of the late afternoon sun. Dean breathes in the wet, cloying smell of moss and follows Sam’s careful path through the trees. There’s a chill in the air, but the handle of Dean’s blade is hot in the palm of his hand.

“How much further to this place?” he hisses at Sam’s back, swatting a frond of bracken out of his face and casting his gaze edgily through the twisting branches and burnt amber.

“Nearly there, according to –” Sam stops so abruptly that Dean nearly collides with him, throwing out a cautionary arm.

“What?” Dean whispers urgently, instantly drawing his blade. His heart is racing now, whole body tense, coiled, ready to attack. His gaze flickers rapidly through the mess of branches and he stands on his tiptoes, trying to see past Sam’s stupidly large frame. “Sammy,” he hisses, impatiently, when Sam doesn’t immediately answer, “What is it?”

“There’s something there,” Sam breathes, almost inaudible. His posture is still, alert. Dean can see Sam’s hold on the gun in his back pocket tighten.

“What kind of something?” Dean whispers, craning his neck to try and see. The light seems somehow dimmer already, the fading sun sliding further towards the ground. When he breathes in, the smell of wet leaves is stronger, now that they’re in the heart of the forest. His heart is thrumming so fast but everything else feels suspended in time, unnaturally still.

“I think it’s a person,” Sam murmurs, and somewhere close, Dean hears the brittle rustle of dead leaves, loud and unnerving in the wooded quiet. He watches the quickened rise and fall of Sam’s shoulders as his breathing suddenly sharpens. “They’re holding something. They – shit, Dean, they’re coming this way.”

Dean reacts immediately and on nearly twenty years of protective instinct; he shoves Sam out of the way and stumbles out into the clearing, blade brandished in front of him.

---

#did i really just create a new ship tag on ao3 just because i couldn't get the idea of early seasons dean and pre-podcast jeremy meeting?#yes #yes i did #feedback truly makes my day <3 #crossposting from ao3 #bridgewater #bridgewater podcast #supernatural #dean winchester #jeremy bradshaw #dean x jeremy #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #my stuff #my posts: fanfic

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friendlylocalweebtrash · 4 years

Text

Happy Accident: Ban x thicc!Reader

Prompt 37 “Wow. That outfit…let me help you out of it.” With Ban

A/N: Okay so I am definitely working on that Bakugo fic BUT I started this one first as a gift for a friend and figured that I would also post it here so that y’all have something to read while I work on the other one! I also have a Toshinori fic that’s finished and I’ll post that either before or after depending on how long it takes me to write the Bakugo one! Anyways this is like the smallest amount of backstory sorry in advance but hopefully you all like it!

Pairing: Ban x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, pure filth, cursing, light choking, marking (y’all I’m a sucker for the fangs), ummmmm I think that’s it!

Word Count: 4248, she’s kinda long, I’m not good at short works lmao

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You hadn’t planned on joining up with the Seven Deadly Sins, but Elizabeth was your best friend and after everything that had happened you couldn’t even think of letting her go off to Camelot with them alone. Not that you didn’t trust them to keep her safe, you knew Meliodas would die before he let anything happen to her, but still you worried. So against the wishes of your father you had packed your things and joined the Sins on their journey.

It was honestly nice to be around people other than the stuffy royals you were used to. Not that you had anything against your heritage, you just longed for something more…exciting, dangerous, something exhilarating. The Sins ended up being much more interesting than you expected too, and you quickly became friends with Diane. King and Gowther were much more reserved, but they were friendly enough. Of course Meliodas was the life of the party, and always cheerful. Then there was Ban. Charming, sexy, crazy Ban. At almost 7 feet tall he towered over you, and he used that to his advantage when teasing you. He would always catch you at the worst possible moment, caging you between his arms at the bar and leaning down over you like a predator. He loved the way your face would flush every time he got close to you. Truth be told, the man was already head over heels for you though he wasn’t even close to being ready to admit it to you. He may be an overly confident immortal being, but deep down he had a soft spot in his heart that he didn’t necessarily like to show. So for the time being he would be happy enough to flirt with you just to see that pretty blush dust over your cheeks.

You had only been in Camelot for a couple of days thus far but you were beginning to realize that the flowy dresses and skirts you typically wore were going to be a bit impractical for all the running around you were doing with the Sins. So one morning you asked Elizabeth and Diane if they would accompany you into town to do some shopping for new clothes. After a fun filled afternoon with your girlfriends you returned to the Boar Hat to try on one of your new outfits. It was a tad more risqué than anything you would normally wear as a princess, but you figured if Elizabeth could get away with wearing such a skimpy uniform then maybe you could stand to take a few risks too! The leather skirt was a bit shorter than you’d expected, barely hitting past the tops of your thighs and the way it hugged your curves it almost felt like it had been sewn specifically to fit your plush body. The deep red color complimented your skin beautifully, and the matching top fit you just as well. You had to admit that the new outfit did make you a tad bit self-conscious, you’d never shown that much skin before. The top was sleeveless with a deep plunging v-neckline and a corseted back. The small strip of skin showing between the high waisted skirt and top was definitely out of your comfort zone, but you really wanted to try new things, to reinvent yourself. As you stared in the mirror at yourself, fiddling with your hair and mulling over whether or not you should return the outfit you heard the creak of your door being opened and Bans’ voice drifting towards you. Crap! You thought as you whipped towards the door. No way in hell you wanted Ban of all people to see in such a skimpy outfit, at least not in this state, but you were frozen in place as he entered. “Hey y/n the Captain wants us all t-“ he freezes in the doorway, hand still on the knob as he stares at you wide eyed. His eyes rake slowly over your body and you can see the barest hint of red tinting the Fox Sins’ cheeks as he appraises you. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest and you’re sure he can hear it as he slowly approaches you. “Wow. That outfit…” he lets out a shaky breath, reaching to grasp one of your hands so he can spin you around and get the full view. When you’re facing him again he has a devilish grin on his lips. He brings the hand he’s holding up to his lips while the other snakes around your waist pulling you flush against him. He releases your hand only to place his index finger under your chin, titling your head up to meet his gaze as he leans closer, lips a breath away from your own as he asks, “let me help you out of it, eh?”

At this point he’s so close you don’t even think your heart is beating anymore, you’re sure you must have died and gone to heaven. But he’s still gazing into your eyes with a hunger so carnal you can’t even think straight, so you do the only thing that makes sense to you in the moment. You stretch up on your toes, closing the distance and pressing your lips hotly against his. Ban wasted no time in kissing you back with all the passion he had stored in him. Sure this wasn’t exactly how he had wanted it to go when you two got together at first, but to him this was a sign that he had waited long enough and now he needed to take action. He needed to show you just how beautiful you were to him, even if he didn’t deserve you, even if you didn’t want anything more from him after this, he just needed to feel you.

Your hands slide up the expanse of Bans’ chest, reveling in the contours of muscle. You’ve always admired his strength and how toned his body is but to finally be able to feel it after admiring from a distance for so long was unreal. Your hands continue up over his defined shoulders and his neck, nails scraping over the skin lightly. As your hands weave into his spiky hair, which is rather soft you notice, his tongue comes out to sweep across your bottom lip. At the same time his hands move down, squeezing your ass before gripping your thighs and lifting you up. The motion earns a small gasp from you and he quickly uses that to his advantage, letting his tongue slip past your parted lips to explore your mouth with fervor. Your tongues dance, fighting for dominance while you grip his hair and wrap your legs tightly around his hips. You can already feel how hard he is beneath the leather of his own pants and you roll your hips teasingly against him. Ban groans into your mouth nipping lightly at your kiss swollen bottom lip before moving down to place even more hot kisses on your jaw, working his way to the juncture where it meets your neck; stopping there momentarily to suck harshly, a dark hickey forming immediately. You arch into his touch, moaning softly as he starts sucking another mark below the first.

Ban walks over to your bed with you still wrapped tightly around him and sits on the edge, allowing you to straddle his lap while he continues his assault on your neck. Then you feel the light scrape of his fangs dragging across the sensitive skin of your neck and you draw in a shaky breath, your grip in his blue locks tightening. You feel Ban smirk against your neck before biting ever so gently at your flesh. Your hips roll against his involuntarily while a soft moan escapes your lips. “Harder, please Ban.” You breathe out. Ban can’t help but groan at your words, his cock twitching impatiently beneath his crimson pants. His grip on your hip tightens while his other hand moves up your back pressing you even further against his solid chest. As his fingers undo the ribbon on the back of your corset top you feel his sharp teeth biting down hard on your soft flesh and you cry out at the immense pleasure your body is deriving from the sting of his fangs. A new wave of pleasure ripples through you as Ban runs his tongue over the mark he just made, soothing it before he moves to leave another on your chest just below your collarbone. All the while his skilled fingers are unlacing your top while you grind against him lost in the sensations of his mouth and hands all over your body.

You’re a panting mess above him and Ban can’t help the way he aches for you as he leaves imprints of his sharp teeth all over your neck and chest. His own chest is heaving with desire as he finally undoes the ribbon on your top, pulling away from you so he can rid you of the tight leather garment. He takes in the sight of your generous curves, nearly drooling as his eyes rake appreciatively over your form. His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you into another searing kiss as his other hand travels languidly over the newly exposed flesh. The way his calloused fingers move softly over your skin has chills racing down your spine and heat shooting straight to your core. You know you’re already dripping wet and all he’s done is kiss you. Ban pulls back for a moment, lust blown eyes gazing tenderly into your own as his lips draw up into a soft smile. “You’re so fucking beautiful y/n.” You feel heat creeping into your cheeks at his tender words, but before you can respond his lips are back on your neck trailing soft kisses down to your chest. His hands come up to palm roughly against your breasts, thumbing over your sensitive nipples making them stand at attention for him. You arch into his touch as his lips travel further down before wrapping around one hardened bud, sucking lightly before laving his hot tongue over it. “Ban, please.” Your voice is breathless; you don’t even know what you’re asking for you just need more of him. He pulls off your nipple with a gentle pop before kissing back up your neck, pecking you on lips sweetly. He presses his forehead to your own, gazing intently at you as he speaks. “I love the way my name sounds falling from your lips babygirl. Let’s see if I can make you say it louder, yeah?”

Ban stands briefly before laying the two of you down on the bed, settling himself between your plush thighs. Your skirt has long since been pushed up around your full hips and at this new angle Ban has a perfect view of the black lace beneath it which is now soaked with your arousal. His hands caress your thighs as he stares down at you, drinking in your flushed cheeks and the marks littering your beautiful skin. He leans down to capture your lips in another heated kiss as one hand moves closer to your aching core, just barely grazing over your panties, but it’s enough for him to notice his effect on you. He kisses from your lips to your jaw before stopping right by your ear, nuzzling against you before whispering “fuck princess, you’re that wet already? I’m just getting started.” He licked along the outer shell of your ear before moving down your neck once more, fingers grazing teasingly along your clothed pussy. You’re practically panting at this point, aching for him to touch you more. Ban sits up, removing his jacket and then his pants before crawling back up your body to place a quick kiss to your lips. As he pulls away your eyes rake over his body and you can’t help but stare at the impressive hard on straining against his black boxers. “Like what you see babygirl?” you can only nod, your eyes still glued to his cock. You want to taste him so badly, feel the weight of him on your tongue. It’s as if he can read your mind, his fingers gripping your chin firmly, tilting your head up to look into his crimson eyes, a smirk plastered on his face. “Maybe later princess, right now I wanna devour that pretty little pussy of yours.” Your cheeks flush as he releases your chin, trailing kisses down your torso until he reaches the bunched up material of your skirt. He hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls your skirt and panties off in one go, tossing them haphazardly to mingle with the other garments littering the floor.

Ban is what you could call a pleasure dom. He gets off on getting his partner off, but man does he love to draw it out, to tease until they’re begging for release. Ban wants nothing more than to have you a dripping, moaning mess for him. To take you higher and higher until the only word that falls from your lips is his name. Which is exactly what he plans to do. Ban settles himself between your thighs, nuzzling against one before trailing kisses, hickies, and love bites from your knee all the way up to your hip bone. He hums against your skin, kissing and licking his way across your lower tummy before treating the other thigh with the same care and attention as the first. You’re whining and panting, hands balled in the sheets as he continues to tease his way up your leg, stopping just before he reaches you center. He marvels at the beautiful sounds you make, like a song made just for his ears. You cry out as his teeth sink into your thigh, feeling yourself drip with even more arousal at the mix of pain and pleasure. Ban was going to be the death of you. Writhing beneath him you pleaded with the fox eyed man, “Ban please, please, I-I need more- ah!” he silenced your begging by running his tongue up your dripping slit, collecting the juices there. He lapped lazily at your folds, enjoying how you cried out for him softly, relishing in the taste of you, all for him and only him. He pulled back for a moment, looking at you with hazy eyes. “You taste so fucking sweet princess, I could lick this pretty pussy all damn day.” You moaned at his words, throwing your head back against the pillows as he continued his ministrations, moving upward to circle his tongue around your sensitive clit. He sucked on it gently and you keened, hands flying to his hair and tugging hard. “Mmmm…” he moaned against you, doubling the pleasure you felt as he continued to suck. His grip on your thighs tightened, spreading them wider as his tongue trailed from your clit back down to your entrance. He teased it for a few moments before plunging his tongue into your wet heat. “Oh fuck, Ban. That feels so good.” Your hips began rolling against his face as he plunged his tongue in and out of your core with abandon. You could feel the coil in your lower belly tightening, you were close. “Ban I –fuck- I’m so c-close, please can I cum?” He smirked against your pussy, such a good girl asking for permission. He removed his tongue from your core, making you whimper until he replaced it with two long fingers, pumping them in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. “Yes princess, cum all over daddys’ fingers.” Ban began to pump his fingers faster, crooking them to hit that spongy spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Your back arched off the bed as your orgasm ripped through you, crying out Bans’ name like it was a prayer. His fingers slowed their pace as you came down from your first release, panting as you tried to clear the fog of pleasure washing over you. Had you ever cum that hard before? If you had you certainly couldn’t remember doing so. Ban removed his fingers from your spasming hole. You looked up in time to see him sucking the last of your release from his fingers, humming in approval as he gazed down at you.

You didn’t even feel Ban get off the bed momentarily to remove his boxers, you were still trying to steady your breathing as you felt him start kissing up your flushed body. His lips found yours and he cradled your face in his hand as you kissed. You could taste yourself on him and it immediately had that coil tightening in your belly again. Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, pulling him closer to you. You ground your hips up against him, urging him to keep going, to fill you up and claim you. “Eager are we?” He teased as he placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Ban lifted up slightly, lining his cock up with your entrance and running the head teasingly along your slit, collecting your arousal to help ease his massive length into your tight heat. “You ready princess?” You nodded up at him, biting your bottom lip before answering out loud. “Yes daddy, please, I want you to fill me up so bad.” He smirked down at you, bracing an arm beside your head. You both let out a loud moan at the feeling of the head pushing in, already stretching you deliciously. Inch by inch Ban eased himself in until he was buried to the hilt, allowing you a moment to adjust before he started a slow pace. His hips rolled languidly against your own, both of you letting out little gasps with every thrust. It was too much, you needed him to go faster. “Ban…” you whimpered in his ear, before taking the lobe between your teeth and tugging gently. “please I need you to go faster, I want you to fucking rail me daddy. Make me cum so hard, please.” Ban growled against your neck before pulling himself up, bracing his hands on the wood of your headboard. His breathing was ragged; cheeks flushed a beautiful red as he stared down at your writhing form beneath him. “Okay princess, but you may want to hold onto something.” He smirked at you before pulling his hips back only to snap them brutally back against yours going even deeper than before. Ban set a brutal pace, fucking into you mercilessly while you cried out beneath him. His hands gripped the headboard so tightly his knuckles were white and there beads of sweat dripping down his neck and chest as he rammed into your pussy over and over again. Your hands clawed at his chest leaving trails of red down the toned muscles. “Fuck princess,” he panted out between thrusts “you feel so fucking good squeezing my cock like that. You like how I fill up that sweet little pussy? I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard you forget your own name babygirl.” His words had you almost over the edge at this point, your body overcome with pleasure and dangling on the edge of release. You were so fucking close. Ban knew you wouldn’t last much longer with the way your walls were fluttering around his cock and honestly he didn’t think he’d last much longer either at this point. He removed one hand from the headboard, bringing it between your bodies to rub harshly against your clit. “Oh fuck! Don’t stop, fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Ban thrust faster into you nearing his own release. “Go ahead princess cum all over daddys’ cock. Fuck!I’m gonna fill your pussy up with my cum, fucking paint your insides and claim you. You’re mine babygirl.” The last part came out closer to a growl and had your orgasm slamming through you so hard your legs started shaking. A strangled cry left your lips as you rode out your high, Ban releasing right along with you. You could feel ropes of his hot cum filling your insides as your walls milked every last drop from his cock. Ban leaned down to nuzzle against your neck, pressing kisses to your flushed skin. You ran your fingers through his hair pulling him in for a soft kiss.

You stayed there for a few moments, both trying to catch your breath as you held each other close. You began planting kisses to Bans’ neck, nails grazing over his back. You felt the taut muscles in his back tense under your touch and suddenly you could also feel his cock, still nestled inside you, twitch and start to get hard again. Ban planted a kiss to your jaw before leaning close to your ear. “Careful princess, you keep that up and you might regret it.” He punctuated his sentence with a nip to your earlobe before trailing more kisses along your jaw. Feeling bold in your post orgasmic bliss an idea popped into your head. Raking your nails more harshly down his back you raised your lips to his own ear tugging gently on the lobe before whispering “Why don’t you make me, daddy?”

In mere seconds you were flipped onto your stomach, Ban grabbing roughly at your hips to pull your ass up into the air, his cock already teasing at your entrance again. Ban leaned his large frame over you, a trail of love bites forming up your back in his wake, before biting harshly at your shoulder. You hissed out a breath at the sensation, pushing your hips back against him, needy and wanting. “You asked for it babygirl.” He growled out as his fingers twisted in your hair pulling your head back and causing your body to arch further underneath him. His other hand had a bruising grip on your hip as he slowly inched his cock back into your slick folds. A loud moan fell from your lips. Fuck, you thought. He was hitting so much deeper from this angle and you immediately felt that familiar warmth growing in the lower region of your body. Ban pulled his hips back only briefly before snapping them forward and setting a brutal pace, rutting into you like his life depended on it. The room was filled with the sounds of both your moans, your skin slapping together, and the sounds of just how wet you were as he pounded his cock into you. You were sure the other Sins could hear everything but at this point you really didn’t care. You were so caught up in the feeling of Ban stretching you, his breath hot on your neck. Ban straightened up, momentarily releasing your hair so he could grip your other hip, doubling his pace as he thrust mercilessly into you. “That’s it princess, you take my cock so fucking well, you’re such a good girl for daddy.” Bans filthy words were emphasized with a sharp smack to your ass, causing you to cry out his name at the intense pleasure. Bans’ hand found its way into your hair again, pulling your body up and flush against his. He moved the hand in your hair around to grip your throat, squeezing just enough to bring you to the precipice of pleasure. “Oh god, Ban please I’m s-so close, fuck!” His other hand snaked around your front and down to your clit, his calloused fingers working your sensitive nub expertly. “Cum all over daddys cock princess, I know you want to, come on cum for me.”

“Fuck!” You cried out as white hot pleasure coursed through your body, blurring your vision with tears from the intensity of your orgasm. Bans’ released followed yours and he slowed his thrusts, working you both through your highs as you came back down to reality. After a few moments of panting and heavy breathing Ban pulled out of you gently, walking to the bathroom to find a rag to clean you both up with. When he returned you were face down on the bed, still trying to catch your breath. He kissed his way up your leg before cleaning up the mess he’d made and tossing the towel somewhere amongst your discarded clothes, he would deal with that in the morning. For now Ban crawled back into the bed, pulling you against his chest so he could wrap you in his arms. You nuzzled your face into his chest, leaving soft kisses along his skin. You were starting to drift towards sleep when you felt Ban grip your chin gently and tilt your face up towards his. “Hey, you know I love you, right?” His eyes were soft as he spoke, and there was a gentle smile on his kiss swollen lips. Your eyes teared up a bit at his words, you had always felt there was something there, you just didn’t want to get your hopes up. Yet here you were, wrapped in the arms of the man you’d grown to love since the Sins came into your life. You leaned up to connect your lips in a deep kiss, smiling softly back at him. “I know,” you whispered as you placed your hand against his cheek. “I love you too Ban.” The two of you fell asleep in your bed that night and every night after, always wrapped in each others arms.

#sds #sdsban #ban x reader #ban smut #sds smut #seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins smut #seven deadly sins ban #undead ban #insert reader #anime #anime fanfic

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phoenixtakaramono · 3 years

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So I'm here to say that I really love your Bingyuan fic! The research you do for it and share with us is just amazing! I also have a q regarding LBG. From SV we know that he felt admiration for his Shizun so do you think that if SJ wasn't cruel to him LBG's admiration would've grown into love and attraction like it did in LBH's case for SY? Which then also raises a question: would LBH/LBG fall in love with any Shizun who was kind to him? Or was he just drawn to SJ's type of personality. WDYT?

Hi there, Anon! I’m glad you’re liking the Untold Tale! Thanks for reading! I think it lowkey helps when the story I’m writing (in general) is from a culture I’m familiar with and that I know some of its language nuances (just general Mainland dialect; I’m unfamiliar with Shanghainese, the Beijing dialect, etc etc). So fortunately for me, as someone who is Chinese but was born in the Western side of the world speaking Mandarin to family and friends, emulating the Chinese aesthetic and atmosphere in TUT comes a little bit easier to me than someone who did not grow up with this culture. I bet if I had been raised in China, I would be able to write something even more multilayered and deep but, alas, the youthful rebellious me of the past hadn’t taken my pinyin and Chinese character writing lessons seriously so I can only communicate verbally and understand audibly 😫. It’s very special for us writers in fandoms to be able to write a story of a culture that we actually know and can identify with. But high key it’s been immensely fun injecting some references of things I’ve come to notice from watching period C-dramas and the C-novels I’ve read, and I’ve come to learn interesting things about Chinese history and mythology even I didn’t know! So the story really writes itself.

Shen Jiu (OG!Shen Qingqiu)

To answer your question 🤔, to be honest this is why the SVSSS fandom is great—because there’s so many interpretations of the original source material. That’s why we have our headcanons and fanfictions to explore these many different possibilities. So for me personally, I can see it happening both ways: *1) LBG does develop a crush/falls in love with SJ, or 2) no matter how SJ treats him LBG regards him respectfully or coldly. I think Possibility 1 is more likely, since SY transmigrated into SQQ and we saw what happened with “Bunhe.”

Now, mind, for Possibility 1 to be more likely to happen, the SJ in PIDW will have to undergo a massive personality change/ a change of heart/ develop a good conscience and will need to clean up his image aka clear up the massive misunderstandings from PIDW canon (like him being mistaken as a pervert for Ning Yingying, visiting whorehouses, killing LQG, etc). It’ll be difficult though considering who Airplane has changed SJ into for his stallion harem novel (reading through SVSSS, my impression of PIDW besides it being the harem stallion novel is that it sounds similar to a “dog blood plot,” where audiences tune in to see how the villains are brought to justice). I literally have a line from TUT in a future chapter where SY says this about SJ since I will resurrect SJ and bring him into the story for closure:

People like Shen Qingqiu naturally had a set of deeply-rooted values. If one wanted to change them, it’d be easier to just have them reincarnate. (—TUT, ch???)

At his core, he’s a flawed man (which makes sense with the underlying cycle of abuse theory, considering his upbringing and backstory). He’s jealous and petty and prickly. His image is that of a proud and cold immortal. In Chinese terms, he’s the type of character archtype who I can see being àojiāo (definitely not canon characterization; this is just a stray thought that amuses me) in a romantic relationship.

LBH will have to recognize that^, or be in a position where he finds SJ’s caustic side endearing instead. He will also have to be extremely patient with him (although, since the joke in SVSSS is that LBH is an incurable M, it shouldn’t be that hard).

A fun thing about OG!SQQ is that he’s the cannon fodder scumbag villain of PIDW. He’s the reason LBG blackened from a white lotus. And, as you know, villains aka antagonists aka bad boys resonate strongly with people for a reason. That’s why we see a lot of Enemies to Lovers tropes, etc. It squicks me to use this phrase but “the allure of dating a ‘bad boy’ is strong.” SJ is that type of bad boy we could identify as a “fixer-upper project” (ugh, that phrase)—even with the red flags and warning signs—especially for those said to have a troubled past with rejecting neglectful parental figures/ family members/ friends and have have not outgrown their wish to convert that sort of person into a loving, accepting person. When we want something we can’t or shouldn’t have, our desire for it grows exponentially. In fanfiction this is a concept writers and readers can explore safely in a world of the imaginary.

From a Meta Perspective

Although, if we look at it meta-ly, the cold and proud and/or knowledgeable Shizun (teacher/ master) character who comes to know love and “is redeemed” by whomever is the love interest (typically a cute and quirky girl who may or may not have started off as naive to the innerworkings of the Cultivation World and therefore needs an established and mature mentor to guide them) is a very well-known archetype for a reason in Chinese fan culture.

Seeing a terrible person change their ways and try to become a better person because of the influence of the one they love is also a popular depiction for a reason.

It’s almost like gap moe. The crueler and aloof one starts out as (arrogance is a staple), the more impactful the shift is when we see such characters soften their edges.

The draw of the sacred master/disciple relationship is that it’s taboo, so I think it’s fair to say that such a relationship in fiction is a popular trope precisely because of this aspect. From a writer’s perspective, the main appeal is to show that there is someone out there who can cause this respectful figure to lose control (undergo emotional change) and go to great lengths to protect his/her precious person. That precious person also has to fall into the “not like other girls” trope (so they can show the ML a different world he would not have seen the beauty of before). On the other side, we look forward to the point of the story where the love interest has their “Oh” moment and realizes their admiration has somehow shifted into love and attraction over the course of events.

Other Romantic Possibilities

It’s very likely. I personally like the fanon headcanon where anyone with Heavenly Demon blood running through their veins feels a compulsion to “obsessively fixate on one person” (TLJ —> SXY, LBH —> SQQ). Personally I don’t recall if this was canon or fanon, but someone had written something about LBH imprinting on one person in his lifetime on the account of his demon nature. And I like that theory (I think it’s likely more fanon than anything but it’s an intriguing idea full of possibilities!).

For him to fixate romantically on one person, I personally don’t think the prerequisite is just by being kind to LBH (but it probably adds to the person’s appeal). There’s probably other factors that go into this to capture the male protagonist’s eye, such as him finding someone attractive (or passes his own personal standards) and/or having good chemistry with that person. So I could see him being into other Shizuns and whomever else. Personally I also think there is appeal in the unobtainable. It’s one thing to have someone’s affection (see LBG and his harem of 600 wives who definitely aren’t shy about giving him affection), but it’s another to know you’ve earned the affections of someone you really like and respect (especially if it’s someone thought to be unobtainable).

As long as the writer can provide a plausible justification for me to suspend disbelief and they set up events to justify it, I can swallow just about any ship possibility. It doesn’t necessarily have to be SJ’s type of personality. (For example, I read a very good fanfiction before where the writer paired Luo Binghe with Ming Fan. Ming Fan, people!!! And they actually pulled it off! What a madlad! Mind, it’s Shen Yuan who had transmigrated into MF in that premise, but the writer set up events that showed how these two characters came to bond and develop a deep friendship which inevitably had LBH developing a crush on his shixiong. I use this as an example because this is the type of unexpected (crack)ship, but because the writer did their work trying to make it seem plausible, we can only admire their hard work and effort at pulling it off.)

As the saying goes, there are plenty of fishes in the sea! As the protagonist, LBH/LBG can have many OTP possibilities with just about anyone as long as the writer can make it plausible. It’s all about the character development and the story/ central themes they wish to tell with the ship!

(Note, these really aren’t hot takes, lol. I’m just having fun answering to this casually from the perspective of a writer. Thank you for your Ask, anon!)

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e-milieeee · 4 years

Text

hey cutea

Summary: In which Marinette brings Adrien to a bubble tea shop only to witness him order the most unappetizing flavour on the menu.

All’s well until Chat Noir does the exact same, and Ladybug makes an unsuspecting connection.

Tikki is also very unamused. If only they’d stop dancing around each other.

Notes: a month of procrastinating, the boba reveal,,, is finally here for day 1: cafe of @auyeahaugust! also for @buggachat because kelly started this with a drawing of an adrienette boba date and i spiralled :’)

Word Count: 6.2k

AO3

The shop is called Thirstea, a pun which makes Adrien laugh for a whole thirty seconds as he stares at the storefront.

“Seriously,” Marinette is saying as he pushes the door open for her. “You’ve seriously never had boba? At all?”

Adrien shifts his backpack. He’s hit with the smell of something sweet—foreign, as well, but it’s pleasant enough—and the sight of a bustling interior. A small line has already formed, so Marinette tugs him aside and points at the large menu displayed on a colorful board behind the cashier.

“You can decide on which flavour you want,” she tells him.

Adrien peers up at the board. There’s so many to choose from—hundreds, even—from milk tea to fruit tea to mixed flavours and smoothies and…

His head is spinning when he turns back to Marinette. “Do you have any recommendations?” Because I have absolutely no clue. “What do you usually get?”

She tilts her head. “I have five go-tos. Roasted milk tea is a classic, but the honeydew milk tea is pretty good as well if I want something fruity. If I want something lighter, I’ll get a fruit tea—I like lychee black tea. Uh… there’s also the real fruit bobas, and I usually get taro. Oh! And the matcha latte is one of their best. And I usually get it with tapioca, but if you want to be healthier, grass jelly or aloe vera both taste pretty good. But I mean, it is your first time here and you should probably try getting tapioca just to see if you like it. And brown sugar milk tea, but they said they ran out today…”

The words go in one ear and out another, because Adrien is too busy staring at the way she talks: enthusiasm shining in her eyes, the way she waves her hands in the smallest, cutest gestures to make her point, and…

“Adrien?” Marinette tilts her head. “Um, have you decided? Or do you need more time? Because that’s completely alright too.”

In a panic, he nods and blurts, “I’ve decided!”

She nods sagely, and they enter the line. Adrien has not yet in fact decided.

He continues to stare at the menu from the corner of his eyes, going through all the categories until he settles on real fruit smoothie. Adrien goes through the list: watermelon, strawberry, mango, peach, blueberry, raspberry, winter melon—

“What would you like to order?”

Adrien snaps back into reality. He is not ready to order.

Oblivious to his conundrum, Marinette smiles at the cashier and fetches her wallet out of her backup. “I’m paying for us both!” she tells the girl cheerily. “I’ll have a peach green tea with half ice and thirty percent sugar. With tapioca.”

Adrien gawks at her order. She’d lost him after peach green tea—is he supposed to order like that too?

“Adrien?” Marinette prompts, now waiting for the order that he does not have.

He squints at the menu again, hoping his panic isn’t visible on his face. He scans them. Watermelon. Strawberry. Mango. Peach. Blueberry. Raspberry. Winter melon. Durian.

Durian.

“Durian,” he settles.

Marinette’s mouth quite literally drops open.

He’s not too certain what’s that surprising about his order—is it the wrong thing to order? Perhaps it doesn’t exist on the menu and he’d hallucinated it. A double-check later and the word is still clearly imprinted underneath winter melon. “Marinette?” Adrien asks carefully. “Um, I’m not too sure about the sugar and ice—which do you usually choose?”

She finally snaps her mouth shut. “Durian?” Marinette echoes at last, ignoring his question.“Ah, are you certain about that?”

Adrien nods. “I can still add the pearls—the tapioca in, right?”

“Yeah,” she agrees absentmindedly, “but—durian?”

Adrien takes another peek at the menu. “The real fruit smoothie, right?”

“Have you… tried durian?” “When I was younger, once. Have you?”

Marinette swallows, and Adrien waits for her verdict, concerned. He’s honestly baffled why she’s so confused about his choice, but a moment later, Marinette squares her shoulders and gives the cashier a smile, this time slightly shaky. “And a durian smoothie with tapioca for him. Um, sugar and ice levels?”

Adrien has no clue what to ask for, so he tries, “The standard one for both...?”

Apparently that’s an acceptable answer because the cashier nods and jots down his order on a small notepad. Marinette pays, and they wait at the side for their order.

Marinette has gone quiet. She sorts through her bag for a little while, and Adrien waits in apprehensive silence. There’s quiet jazz music playing in the background and it makes him feel like he’s in an elevator. It’s becoming unbearably awkward.

Finally, Marinette lifts her eyes to look at him. “Sorry about that,” she apologizes. “I just… didn’t know you liked durian.”

“Oh.” He sounds equally awkward. “I liked the fruit the last time I had it which was about two years ago. Do you not like it?”

Her nose wrinkles. It’s cute. Wait, what?

“My mom really likes durian,” Marinette is explaining, and she motions with her hands again. “Apparently her hometown back in China had a dessert store that sold durian pastries and she had this brilliant idea of making them for Chinese New Year a couple months ago and the whole bakery reeked of durian and I could smell it all the way up into my room—” She clamps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I forgot you liked it.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he replies, flustered. Marinette has a habit of saying a lot in very little time and it doesn’t help that he gets easily distracted by her movements. “I didn’t realize durian was so… controversial. I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable or something with the smell.”

“I guess it’s not that popular here,” she replies with a shrug. “But my mom did say that people either hate or love durian. And the smell’s fine. I don’t like it, but once you spend a week with it stinking up your room, you kind of develop immunity.”

Just then, the waitress behind the counter sets down their two drinks. “For Marinette?” she calls.

Marinette takes the bag with a quick thank you, grabs two straws, and then returns to Adrien. She holds up their drinks.

Adrien takes the cup from her extended hand. The durian smoothie is a creamy white, and the black tapioca bubbles sit at the very bottom. He follows her movements as she shakes her cup then stabs a straw into it.

He can see Marinette eying him in his periphery as he raises the straw to his lips and takes a sip. The drink is cold and sweet and has a rich taste that explodes on his tongue in a plethora of flavours, and Adrien decides he likes it. He really likes it.

“So?” Marinette asks. Adrien wonders if she knows how skeptical her expression is. “Do you… like it?”

He chews on one of the pieces of tapioca. “Yes. Yeah, this is really great.”

The skepticism doesn’t disappear from her face, but she raises her boba to his. “Cheers,” Marinette says weakly.

***

On a good day, a cup of boba has two hundred fifty calories when the tapioca is replaced by grass jelly and the sugar level is brought to less than half. On a bad day, if her sweet tooth demands regular sweetness and tapioca, it can be driven up to seven hundred calories.

It’s why Marinette has begrudgingly limited herself—for the sake of her wallet and health—to only drink boba once a week.

And it’s why she and Chat Noir, decked in hoodies and track pants in an attempt to look normal, are lined up underneath the blazing sun at Thirstea.

Their disguises don’t do much, because a crowd has formed around them. First there are whispers of is that Ladybug and Chat Noir, then a girl summons up her courage to ask for a selfie, and finally, the press starts driving in. By the time that happens, they have luckily made it inside the shop, where the air-conditioning blasts out on the highest setting.

Another snap of the camera. Chat Noir is staring pensively at the menu when a thought hits Ladybug. “Have you ever had boba before?” she asks him.

He nods absentmindedly, still looking. Everyone in line is whispering or peering at them, and Ladybug sees a phone held up in the back, most likely recording.

They make it to the counter when Nadja Chamack and her team, armed with cameras and microphones, invades the shop. The girl at the register looks slightly overwhelmed and a little alarmed, but she doesn’t tell the press to leave.

“Ladybug!” Nadja calls. “You’ve been photographed once or twice coming to this shop in the past month—is this your favourite bubble tea shop?”

“Yup!” she replies.

“What’s your go-to order?”

“Depends on the day.” Ladybug turns back to the cashier, leaving Chat to deal with the press. He has the uncanny ability to drag on a brief topic for an unsolicitedly long amount of time. “I’ll have an original milk tea with tapioca,” she tells the cashier. “Regular ice and seventy percent sugar.”

The girl looks a little starstruck, but she jots down the order. With a tug on Chat’s tail, he turns around from entertaining the press to place his own order.

“One durian smoothie, please!” he chirps, chipper as always.

Ladybug chokes on air.

The girl taking their order also seems taken aback, but her recovery time is much quicker than Ladybug’s. Instead, offering him a quick, slightly strained smile, she jots his order down. “Is that all, then?”

Chat takes the chance to pay for both of their orders while she’s caught in her confusion. By the time Ladybug snaps back to her senses, it’s too late—Chat is already pulling aside to wait for their bobas to finish. Nadja and her crew take the chance to start their questions again.

“Chat Noir,” Nadja addresses when it’s clear Ladybug’s still out of commission. “If I heard you right, you chose a durian smoothie?”

He gives a nod so proud that Ladybug swears she dies a little inside.

“Could you tell us why? From what I know, durian is a well-debated fruit. Many people love it, but many also cannot stand the smell.”

Chat ponders the question thoughtfully. “The smell is rather funny,” he finally replies. “But I like the flavour! It has a very rich texture as well, and tastes pretty different from the smell, so it doesn’t actually taste bad.”

“Ladybug?” Nadja gestures for the cameras to face her. “What are your thoughts on durian?”

She’s too busy thinking about Adrien Agreste raising his cup of boba to bump against hers—a durian smoothie—and his casual enthusiasm for the fruit that Nadja’s words don’t even click in her brain. Who would’ve expected Chat Noir to have the same (terrible) taste as her crush? The coincidence leaves her feeling disjointed.

“Uh… Ladybug?” Chat waves his hand in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She finally snaps out of her reverie long enough to scramble for a response. Ladybug manages a sheepish smile in Nadja’s direction. “I’m doing fine, thank you.”

Chat frowns. “Ladybug, that wasn’t her question—”

Before either of them can say anything more, the girl making the drinks pops her head out from the counter. “Your drinks!” she says, then beams at both of them. “Here’s a buy-one-get-one free coupon! Please come by often!”

Chat’s eyes glimmer when he accepts his durian smoothie. Ladybug takes her own with much less enthusiasm. Focus is hard enough with the snap of Nadja’s cameras and the chaos all around them—the fact that an even larger crowd has gathered outside Thirstea in order to catch a glimpse of their favourite superheroes makes it worse. It’s all too much to take in, and Ladybug’s brain is still stuck on Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir and durian smoothies.

“We’re going to take off,” Chat tells Nadja, then waves at the camera. “See you guys around! Come on, LB.”

She allows him to drag her out of the store, then with a flick of his baton and a snap of her yo-yo they’re swinging off, bobas in hand and the rest of Paris watching them go.

But Ladybug isn’t thinking about them at all.

When they finally settle down somewhere secluded, Chat immediately stabs his straw through the top of his drink and takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. Ladybug can smell the scent of durian from where she’s sitting, and instinctively, she wrinkles her nose and shifts away. She pokes her straw into her own drink, still staring off at the distance.

A coincidence, yeah. Her crush and her partner both have awful taste in bubble tea flavours. It’s nothing but a coincidence.

“Are you going to drink yours?” Chat is asking, still slurping obliviously. “I wanna try your flavour.”

He makes a grab for her drink, and Ladybug ducks away. “Your breath smells like durian. You can’t drink from my straw.”

“Hey! Let me try!”

For a little while Chat wrestles for her drink, nearly spilling his own in the process. In the end he snatches out from her fingers, laughing raucously. Ladybug is giggling as well, forgetting about her predicament for the moment. This is what she’s used to; their routine of banter and playfulness that’s easy—it’s straightforward. Not confusing.

That snaps her right back to the problem. Chat sips her drink, smacking his lips in a purposefully annoying way, and makes his verdict. “Not bad. I like mine better. Wanna try?”

Ladybug shakes her head and reclaims her drink. As casually as possible, she asks, “Do you get boba often?”

“Mm, no. This is actually the second time I’ve gotten the drink.” He swirls his straw around. “Honestly, with all the percentages you give for the sugar and the ice, I’m not too sure what to say. My friend took me to get boba a little while ago, so…durian is actually the only flavour I’ve ever tried.”

A casual dump of information, information that really wouldn’t have meant anything. It’s vague enough that any other person wouldn’t have made any sort of connection; it’s the information they often share between each other.

Except for the fact that she—Ladybug, Marinette—might be the friend in question. And Chat Noir—Chat Noir is…

She stares across the building, where an ad of Adrien, the Fragrance is displayed.

No way.

“Um,” Ladybug stammers. “Your friend took you out for boba because you’ve never had it before?”

He’s painfully oblivious to her panic. “Yeah, about a week ago. You know, it’s pretty funny because she had a similar reaction to you when I ordered the durian smoothie. Apparently she hates the smell too.”

“Your friend?” Ladybug echoes.

“Yeah, my friend. Are you okay, m’lady?”

Can’t really breathe properly, so I’m not really okay, but youcan’tknowandIdon’treallyknowwhat’sgoingonrightnow—

“I, um, just realized I have something to do,” Ladybug stammers out, because it’s the only thing she can think of saying. She flails, but somehow manages to get to her feet. “Uh—uh, do you want my milk tea? I can’t swing around very well if I’m holding it because it might get on my suit and my hair—oh my God, my hair! I got ice cream once and tried to eat it while going around Paris on my yo-yo and it went so badly and honestly I feel like the bubble tea will do the same so you can drink mine too since I can just get another one by myself soon but I really gotta run—”

She all but shoves the cup into his confused hands. It’s a whole miracle Chat doesn’t drop it then and there, just like it’s a miracle Ladybug hasn’t screamed or slipped up or promptly tripped over air and simply… lay there crying.

“Ladybug–” she hears him call, but it’s interrupted by the zing of her yo-yo.

She takes off as fast as possible.

Marinette has never been so hasty in detransforming, but as she slips through the rooftop back into her room, she’s already calling Tikki out before she touches down onto her bed. She slams onto pillows and the soft mattress in her regular clothing, buries her face into the nearest cushion, and screams.

She really doesn’t deserve Tikki’s patience, but her kwami stays beside her and pats her with tiny paws until Marinette’s throat is hoarse and she has more or less yelled the remaining cinders of her panic and confusion into her pillow.

When Marinette finally raises her head to look at Tikki, her kwami has her hands on her hips. “Well?” she asks. “I didn’t want to interrupt your breakdown, but now that you’re through, can you tell me what it’s about?”

Marinette thinks about the cup of boba and the boy she’d left back on the roof. Then the one that sits in front of her in class, with the same shade of blonde hair and emerald eyes, both ordering durian boba.

“I think Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste,” she tells Tikki weakly.

Tikki has a scarily-good poker face. “Have you now,” she replies with calmness Marinette is incapable of. “And why do you think so?”

“Because—because—because they both like durian!” It comes out as a distressed wail.

Tikki ponders the question. Then replies, “I see.”

It’s such an awfully vague response that Marinette is tempted to bury her face into her pillow to scream some more. But she doesn’t, instead pulling out her notebook from the stand and a pencil. “I’m going to draw a venn diagram,” she announces with newfound determination. “I might just be jumping to a conclusion too quickly. And—and there was that one time when Chat was there but Adrien was too, right? When Gorizilla attacked?”

“Right,” Tikki agrees. “But you also did a similar trick with Multimouse and the fox Miraculous, so…”

“Chat didn’t have the fox or mouse Miraculous. Anyway… they both have blonde hair and green eyes.”

She puts that in the similar column. She thinks about it for a couple seconds more, and writes “composed” in Adrien’s column and “a mess” in Chat’s.

“Oh, come on.” Tikki flits closer. “You know very well Adrien isn’t as composed as you make him out to be. The only reason you don’t recognize it is because you’re even worse around him.”

Marinette stubbornly keeps those two where they are, even if she knows deep down that Tikki is right. For a while, she goes on making her list, with Tikki criticizing almost every decision she makes. Adrien Agreste has neat hair, a polite smile, the best grades in class and manners that would woo anyone’s parents. Chat Noir’s hair is messy and untamed, his smile is almost always accompanied with a raucous laugh and shutting up isn’t in his vocabulary. He steals food and drinks and everything he can from her whenever she brings it.

She scribbles and erases and thinks and stresses, getting a week’s worth of confusion down and then some.

“Marinette,” Tikki finally advises when Marinette has run out of ink. “Why don’t you just ask Adrien tomorrow at school subtly about it? If he didn’t mind telling Ladybug he went out for boba with Marinette, he probably wouldn't have qualms telling Marinette about getting boba with Ladybug. It’s not as if your identities need to remain a secret anymore.”

Ask Adrien.

Sure, they’re on good terms now. They’re friends. Marinette’s crush has faded into a more manageable level, and she can talk to him without her voice rising an octave higher than its usual key. She hasn’t tripped and fallen on her face in front of him for at least two weeks.

But this—with the possibility that Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir? To think she’d waxed poetic about Chat Noir to Tikki every night for months? It’s unspeakably insane to think about, and she doesn’t have the courage and probably never will but Marinette thinks she’s genuinely going to die if she doesn’t get closure—

“Okay,” she agrees at last, because it’s the only logical answer.

***

Adrien is the one who comes to find Marinette before she can go find him.

“Hey!” he calls from behind her.

In a quite frankly astonishing display of improvement, Marinette doesn’t scream or fall on her face, even if she does freeze for a good couple seconds too long.

“Uh… Marinette?” Adrien taps her shoulder. “I wanted to return the physics notes to you. You gave me your notebook from last time because I missed the class. Here.”

She takes the notes from him, movements stiff. A million words to say come piling from her throat, but they stick to the top of her mouth drily and none make it past her lips.

Adrien Agreste. Chat Noir. They’re the same person? How can they be the same person? Is it just a huge coincidence? Who is Chat Noir? Who am I, even?

Before she can work herself into more of a panic, Marinette gives him a forced smile, hugging her notebook to her chest. “Thanks!” she shrieks. “I gotta—I gotta run. See you around!”

She trips over air on her way out, face beetroot.

***

“Listen,” Tikki whispers to her, munching on her cookie as Marinette locks herself in a stall of the girls’ washroom. “You gotta do it. Just… just don’t think that he’s Adrien Agreste. I heard imagining people as potatoes helps with stage fright?”

Marinette lets out a distressed noise. “Stage fright isn’t my problem, though!”

“Adrien fright? If you ask me, it’s pretty similar. Anyway, just ask him if he’s had bubble tea recently or something! You don’t know until you try. It won’t be that bad. What’s the worst case scenario?”

“That you-know-who turns out to be you-know-who!”

“We did not decide on these codenames.”

“Yeah, but what if someone hears—”

Tikki interrupts her by giving her a little pinch. “Calm down, Marinette! It’ll be fine. Besides, is it really that big of a problem if it’s true?”

No, it isn’t. Marinette has thought long and hard about it last night, lying awake on her bed, unable to sleep because of the heat and turbulent thoughts and theories all mixing together. Would it be a bad thing, if Chat turned out to be Adrien? No—she could think of a thousand more worse people for Chat to be, and if she were to be perfectly honest, no better person than Adrien. But at the same time, it’s overwhelming in the strangest way: the sort that sends her heartbeat spiking, thoughts scattering, stomach turning in a not-quite-unpleasant way.

Marinette really doesn’t know what to think about it, and that’s the scariest part.

“Okay.” Tikki interrupts her train of thought. “We should probably get going before you’re late for class. If you hurry, you can probably ask Adrien about it before the bell goes off.”

Marinette steels her back. “Okay,” she grinds out with wavering determination. “Okay, I’m gonna do it.”

Tikki lets out a squeak of Attagirl! before diving back into her purse. Marinette marches out of the stall, down the hallway, and into the classroom.

She really hates the way her throat still closes up when she scans the room and her eyes land on Adrien. All of a sudden, she’s reverted to herself months ago, when her crush on him had reached its peak; when she’d been a jumble of frayed nerves and blabbering and hand motions violent enough to whack any bystander that wandered too close.

No, Marinette tells herself firmly. No freaking out. No stuttering. I’m past that.

“Adrien,” she calls, and he turns away from his conversation with Nino.

“Hey!” his smile is a thousand watts too bright. “We were just talking about you. Nino said he’s never tried boba as well.”

The word boba nearly has her choking on spit. “Cool,” Marinette manages out. “That’s very… cool.”

Nino’s eyebrows furrow. “You okay?”

“Fine! Th-that’s great you want to introduce Nino to boba as well! I’m glad to hear you liked the drink.”

Marinette’s well aware that she sounds like a buffering tape-recorder right now. She marches to her desk, sits down just as stiffly, and pinches herself on the arm, out of Adrien and Nino’s sight. Alya has yet to arrive—it’s now or never, Marinette knows. The longer she waits, the more nervous she’ll make herself, and the harder it’ll be. So…

“Adrien!” she blurts out again, voice too loud. Even Rose and Juleka leave their conversation briefly to glance at her.

He’s good-natured as ever when he turns to her, and Marinette is struck with another wave of trepidation. It’s all too sudden. It’s all too much. She takes a deep breath, mind turning to absolute mush, and somehow stammers out, “Have you gotten boba since that one time?”

She really can’t blame him for looking so confused at her question, but to Adrien’s credit, he regains his composure rather quickly. The bewilderment on his face quickly shifts to mild curiosity.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I actually went yesterday with a friend. Thank you for introducing me! I’ll probably go more often now if I find the time.”

Marinette’s mouth is dry. Her hands are sweaty. Her head feels like it’s going to explode. Her heart has moved to her throat and she’s positive that it’s going to stop beating any moment now.

“Oh.” It’s the only noise Marinette feels mentally capable of forming. Sentences are hard. Speaking is impossible. “Um, yesterday?”

“Yeah, it was pretty hot yesterday. I went to Thirstea, actually!” He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s the only boba shop I know at the moment so it doesn’t really mean anything, but… my friend who I went with really liked it too, so I think I’ll stick to Thirstea for now. Until I try all the flavours I want.”

Amidst her own confusion, Marinette somehow manages to think, if you wanted to try all the flavours you wanted why did you get durian again yesterday? It’s second nature: if the boy in front of her is Chat Noir—a fact that, despite the inconclusive results given by her venn diagram, is becoming more and more clear—then Marinette can’t help but want to tease him back.

Except if Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir and Chat Noir is Adrien… God. She’s just going in circles and getting nowhere closer to the final destination.

It doesn’t even hit Marinette that she hasn’t responded to Adrien and that’s why he’s staring at her so apprehensively. The shrill ringing of the bell startles all the class back into their seats, Adrien included, who shoots her a small smile before turning back around.

The rest of the period finds Marinette unable to pay the slightest bit attention. Mme. Bustier’s words travel in one ear, out the other, all muted static compared to the main problem at hand.

And a problem it is. She looks at Adrien’s golden head in front of her, imagining the flicker of black ears. If she reached down and mussed his hair up, it would look like Chat’s. They’re the same height too, to think of it. All the differences she had listed on her venn diagram seem to melt away, until Marinette is faced with one terrible, wonderful, conclusion.

***

She doesn’t confront Adrien about anything after the first period ends, nor does she at lunch, nor after. It’s too overwhelming to think of, but it hardly seems fair to keep him in the dark. When she asks Tikki to confirm at lunch, the only thing her kwami does is shrug with an indecipherable expression on her face—Marinette takes it as a verification.

But it’s a different story after school. By then, Marinette has made up her mind.

Her first stop is Thirstea. It’s not as sweltering as it were the day before, even if she has to wipe the sweat from her forehead after waiting fifteen minutes outside. The store isn’t as bustling now that Ladybug and Chat Noir aren’t there, so Marinette takes advantage of the peace to calm her thoughts. They have patrol in thirty minutes; she has thirty minutes to gather her thoughts and figure out how she’s going to come through with this. But is thirty minutes really going to help? She’s had the whole day alone to her thoughts, and, like it or not, she’s barely gotten anywhere.

When she finally gets her order—a fruit tea for herself, a durian smoothie for Chat Noir—Adrien Agreste—there’s only twenty three minutes to go.

Marinette transforms into Ladybug, hidden in an alley, and goes to wait for her partner to show up on the rooftop they agreed to. Then, once she’s reached the rooftop, she calls off her transformation.

The boba is still cold in her bag, so she wraps her hand around them to fend off the blistering heat from the sun. It’s uncomfortable, waiting like this, but physical discomfort is still better than working up a storm in her own thoughts, which Marinette is trying to distance herself from. They come in waves of stress, anxiousness, uncertainty, and fear. But she has to do this.

Her mood must’ve been evident enough for Tikki to feel, even though her kwami has slipped inside her purse to give her thoughts some space. She pokes her head out.

“Marinette,” Tikki says, a hint of concern in her tone. “You don’t have to do this now if you’re not ready, you know. Chat Noir will understand.”

Marinette, having resorted to biting her nails—she must be really nervous, because that’s a habit she’d gotten rid of years ago—shakes her head. “I can’t keep pushing it back. It’s one thing not revealing each other’s identities, but now that I know… I can’t just… not tell him. It’s not possibly fair, not when he’s waited for so long.”

“...are you happy that it’s Adrien?” This question is more tentative, quieter.

Marinette props her chin in her hands and stares at the skyline. Is she happy that it’s Adrien?

“Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah, I am.”

***

Chat Noir vaults over onto the roof, and he’s six minutes early. Marinette sees him before he sees her; she watches him look around for a couple of seconds, slightly confused.

She takes a deep breath and steps out of the shade of the door. “Chat Noir!” she calls.

He jumps around. “M’lady, you—”

His voice trails off. “M-marinette? I—uh, hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I was actually going to find Ladybug but I might’ve gotten the wrong building! What—what, uh, are you doing up here?”

After a day of planning out the words to say, it’s rather funny how she can’t even form a semblance of the sentences she’s thought up.

It’s also a miracle in and of itself that she doesn’t stutter, panic, or go absolutely speechless. Even if her script lays lost and forgotten in the back of her head, Marinette says in a surprisingly steady voice, “I was actually waiting for you.”

Chat Noir doesn’t move from where he’s standing, so she heads towards him. “Did… Ladybug tell you I was going to be here?”

“Uhmh,” is the noise that makes its way out of Marinette’s mouth. She clears her throat and tries again. “I brought you boba because it’s hot today,” she explains. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

She sees it behind his eyes; questions, confusion, but most importantly, the beginning notes of a realization.

“Wait.” He doesn’t budge from his spot, eying her cautiously. “What do you want to talk about?”

“About the fact that you’re probably Adrien Agreste?”

Even the air, laden with the heat of the day, seems to still between them. Marinette looks up at him, and his reaction is the only confirmation she needs that she is indeed right.

Chat Noir’s reaction is less loud than she had expected. It’s shock, probably, the stage that Marinette has been stuck in for the good part of the day, because he still remains frozen. Then, in a shaky uncertain voice, he asks, “Ladybug?”

Her next breath escapes her in the form of a huff, a half-choked laugh. “We’re idiots.”

His lips lift into a wavering smile. “What.”

And then Marinette is laughing, because it’s so stupid. All the pent-up emotions come tumbling out uncontrollably and she’s laughing and laughing, doubling over and clutching at her stomach and nearly dropping her bag of their boba drinks.

Through her own giggles, she hears Chat mumble, “Oh my God,” and the way he says it makes everything all the more hilarious.

When Marinette finally gathers herself enough to straighten, she’s wiping tears from her eyes. Chat Noir is watching her, although his expression has softened into something that looks suspiciously close to fondness.

“Is this why you asked me about boba this morning?” he questions. “If I’d gone to get it with a friend?”

Marinette gives her eyes one last wipe. “Yeah. I just—when you ordered durian boba yesterday and all that you said—it was too suspicious for me to ignore.”

“Oh.” He tugs his hands through his hair—messy golden hair, how hadn’t she noticed how similar Chat and Adrien always were?—and lets out another groan. “Oh. I’m dumb.”

“You could’ve been any other person if I hadn’t been, well, me,” Marinette points out. “Tikki told me it’s due time, anyway. But yes, you’re dumb. So am I.”

“My identity got exposed because I ordered a durian smoothie?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Oh my God.”

She’s beginning to see why Tikki had found it endlessly amusing watching her panic. Instead of further antagonizing Chat, Marinette reaches into her bag to take out his durian smoothie. She stuffs it into his arms, and he’s too confused to do anything but accept the drink and the straw it comes with.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures him before she can stop herself. “I won’t tell anyone that number one model Adrien Agreste runs around Paris in a leather catsuit. My lips are sealed.”

The moment the words leave Marineette’s mouth, she feels her face heat up. It’s one thing to tease him before, now it feels like she’s treading on the edge of a cliff with a long, long drop. He’s still her partner, but there’s another aspect that they will figure out—with time, undoubtedly—and now is too soon to push it so much.

To her relief, Chat Noir’s face lights up, and a much wider smile slips across his face. “I’m still in shock, you know,” he tells her. If that’s his in-shock voice, then Marinette is thoroughly impressed. “But thank you. My father might have a bone to pick with this outfit if he ever found out.”

Relief is cool against the heat. “Your father won’t be the only one with the bone to pick with you,” she replies. “The bell is quite a… bold statement.”

He laughs once more. “I happen to like the bell the best, so I don’t know what your problem is.”

He has no business to smile so brightly like that, Marinette thinks to herself. In front of her is the boy she’s turned down countless times—the same one she would wax lyrical to Tikki every night before bed. God, what a coincidence. Or really, what a stroke of luck.

She’s jolted from her thoughts when Chat stabs his straw into his durian smoothie with a loud pop.

“Do you want to talk?” Marinette offers. “Somewhere shadier, that is? You probably have a lot of questions. I know I do.”

Chat nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that would work.”

She starts towards the small door on the rooftop, then stops when she realizes that Chat hasn’t been following her. Instead, his gaze is fixed thoughtfully on his drink, like he’s contemplating something important.

“Chat?” Marinette prompts. “Hey, are you okay?”

Then his face brightens. “I’m taro-bly sorry,” he says. “I just got distracted because you’re such a cu-tea.”

Marinette’s jaw drops open. It’s not that she’s particularly surprised by the pun, given his penchant for dropping them at the most terrible (taro-ble?) of moments, but she had half the mind to believe she’d permanently shocked the humour out of Chat Noir. Moreover, the fact that it’s Adrien Agreste saying these so casually is still new to her.

The grin he gives her is absolutely shit-eating, yet somehow, it works perfectly in her mind on Chat’s face as it does on Adrien’s. It also snaps her out of her reverie.

“Now my head is going to explode,” Marinette grumbles. “C’mon, cat-boy. We have a lot to discuss.”

He catches up with her with a quick jog, still slurping out of his boba. “I’m glad it’s you,” he tells her when they fall side-by-side. “In case you didn’t know.”

Marinette hides her grin behind her own drink, but she thinks Chat catches it nonetheless. “Me too,” she tells him. “Even if you have terrible taste in boba.”

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have terrible taste,” he points out, and they both share a laugh.

Notes: Here’s my fics masterlist!

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #ladynoir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #this was ridiculously long holy crap #identity reveal #boba reveal #its been a while kids #mlb fic #my writing

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dailytomlinson · 3 years

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While many artists would jump at the chance to tell you how lockdown has been a fruitful opportunity for self-improvement, full of pseudo self-help books and pompous podcasts, former One Directioner Louis Tomlinson is adamant that he has done, well, nothing.

“I’ve just watched loads of s___ TV,” he says after a long pause. “The Undoing is decent, isn’t it?”

Twenty-eight--year-old Tomlinson from Doncaster was always the down-to-earth Directioner, frequently describing himself as fringe member who spent more time analysing the band’s contracts than singing solos, known for chain-smoking his way through several packs of cigarettes a day and swearing like a trooper. A rarity, these days, among millennials who’d rather suck on a stem of kale and tweet about their #blessings.

He's getting ready to rehearse an exciting one-off gig that will be live-streamed from a secret London location on December 12, announced today exclusively via the Telegraph. The proceeds of the night will be split across four charities: The Stagehand Covid-19 Crew Relief Fund and Crew Nation, Bluebell Wood Children’s Hospice and Marcus Rashford’s charity FareShare, to help end child poverty.

The gig means a great deal to Tomlinson, whose first ever tour as a solo artist, to promote his debut solo album WALLS, was cut short back in March after just two concerts in Spain and Mexico. It was an album he’d spent five years working on: a guitar-led project that ruptured with the preppy pop anthems of One Direction, inspired instead by Tomlinson’s love for Britpop.

No doubt he was anxious to get it right following a decade “grown in test tubes”, as Harry Styles once described the band’s formation on the X Factor, where they came third before going on to make a reported $280,000 a day as the most successful band in the world. The pressure, too, was intense: all four bandmates had already released their own solo debuts.

Was he left reeling, I ask, unable to perform at such a crucial moment?

“The thing that I always enjoyed the most about One Direction was playing the shows, so my master plan, when I realised I was going to do a solo career, was always my first tour. It’s something I’ve been looking forward to for the best part of five years now. I got so close, I got a taste for it, and it’s affected me like everyone else, but I’m forever an optimist,” he says down the phone, with what I can only imagine to be a rather phlegmatic shrug.

Sure, I say, but the last year can’t have been easy. Didn’t he feel like his purpose had popped?

“You know what,” he says, reflecting, “maybe because I’ve had real dark moments in my life, they’ve given me scope for optimism. In the grand scheme of things, of what I’ve experienced, these everyday problems...they don’t seem so bad.”

Tomlinson is referring to losing his 43-year-old mother, a midwife, to leukemia in 2016, and his 18-year-old sister Felicite, a model, to an accidental drug overdose in 2018. The double tragedy is something he has been open about on his own terms, dedicating his single, Two of Us, from WALLS, to his mother Johannah, while often checking in with fans who have lost members of their own family.

It’s not unusual for Tomlinson to ask his 34.9 million followers if they’re doing alright, receiving hundreds of thousands of personal replies. It’s not something he will discuss in interviews, however, after he slammed BBC Breakfast for shamelessly probing his trauma in February this year. “Never going back there again,” he tweeted after coming off the show.

“Social media is a ruthless, toxic place, so I don’t like to spend much time there,” says Tomlinson, “but because of experiencing such light and shade all while I was famous, I have a very deep connection with my fans. They’ve always been there for me.”

In return, Tomlinson is good to them. Last month he even promised some new music, saying that he’d written four songs in four days. Does this mean that a second album is on the way?

“Yeah, definitely,” he says. “I’m very, very excited. I had basically penciled down a plan before corona took over our lives. And now it's kind of given me a little bit of time to really get into what I want to say and what I want things to sound like. Because, you know, I was really proud of my first record, but there were moments that I felt were truer to me than others. I think that there were some songs where I took slightly more risk and owned what I love, saying, ‘This is who I want to be’. So I want to take a leaf out of their book.”

Fans might think he’s referring to writing more heartfelt autobiographical content such as Two of Us, but in fact, he’s referring specifically to rock-inspired Kill My Mind, he says, the first song on WALLS. “There’s a certain energy in that song, in its delivery, in its attitude, that I want to recreate. People are struggling at the moment, so I want to create a raucous, exciting atmosphere in my live show, not a somber, thoughtful one.”

He sighs, trying to articulate something that’s clearly been playing on his mind for a while. “You know, because of my story, my album was a little heavy at times and a little somber. And as I'm sure you're aware, from talking to me, now, that isn't who I am.”

It must be draining, I say, the weight of expectation in both the media and across his fanbase, to be a spokesperson for grief and hardship. To have tragedy prelude everything he does and says.

“Honestly, it’s part of being from Doncaster as well, I don’t like people feeling sorry for me. That’s the last thing I want.”

Too many incredible memories to mention but not a day goes by that I don't think about how amazing it was. @NiallOfficial @Harry_Styles @LiamPayne @zaynmalik . So proud of you all individually.

The problem is, says Tomlinson, he doesn’t have the best imagination. “I have interesting things to say musically, but what’s challenging from a writing perspective is that I write from the heart, and I can’t really get into someone else’s story. And right now, being stuck at home, you have so little experience to draw from. It’s actually quite hard to write these positive, uplifting songs, because actually, the experiences that you're going through on a day to day basis, you know, you they don't have that same flavour.”

There is something that’s helping, though: a secret spot near Los Angeles, where he divides his time. “It’s remote and kind of weird, and I’m going to go there for three days and write. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to it. I found it via a YouTube video. It’s got some very interesting locals who live there, it’s sort of backwards when it comes to technology. It feels like you’re going back in time when you’re there. But I don’t want to give it away.”

Another source of inspiration for his second album is the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ back catalogue. “I grew up on their album Bytheway. And during lockdown I've been knee deep in their stuff. I’ve watched every documentary, every video. And I find their lead guitarist John Frusciante just fascinating.”

Has he spoken to Frusicante?

“I f______ wish,” snorts Tomlinson.

Surely someone as well-known as Tomlinson could easily get in touch?

“No, honestly, I think he’s too cool for that. He’s not into that kind of thing.”

Tomlinson’s passion for all things rock is also spurring on a side hustle he picked up as a judge on the X Factor in 2018: managing an all-female rock band via his own imprint on Simon Cowell’s Syco label. While the group disbanded before releasing their first single, and Tomlinson split from Syco earlier this year, the singer is keen to nurture some more talent.

“I'm not gonna lie, my process with my imprint through Syco, it became challenging and it became frustrating at times,” Tomlinson says a little wearily. “The kind of artists that I was interested in developing – because I genuinely feel through my experience in One Direction, you know, one of the biggest f______ bands, I feel like I've learned a lot about the industry – they weren’t ready-made. So I had lots of artists that I took through the door that were rough and ready, but major labels want to see something that works straight away. I found that a little bit demotivating. I love her and she's an incredible artist, but not everyone is a Taylor Swift.”

Tomlinson spends much of his free time scouting new talent either on YouTube, Reddit or BBC Introducing – he’s currently a huge fan of indie Brighton band, Fickle Friends. His dream is to manage an all-female band playing instruments. “Because there's no one in that space. And I know eventually if I don't do it, someone else will!”

Before he drives off to rehearsals, we chatter about how much he's been practising his guitar playing, and how he can't wait to take the whole team working at his favourite grassroots venue, The Dome in Doncaster, out ice-skating after he performs there on his rescheduled tour. “Because I've got skills,” he says, and I can hear his chest puff.

And then I ask the question every retired member of One Direction has been batting off ever since they broke up in 2015, after Zayn Malik quit. Rumours that his bandmates saw him as a Judas went wild after some eagle eyes fans noticed they’d unfollowed him on Instagram. Payne, Tomlinson, Horan and Styles have barely mentioned him since. Recently, however, they re-followed him, and Payne has teased that a One Direction reunion is on the cards.

So: might 2021 be the year of resurrection?

“I thought you were going to ask something juicier!” say Tomlinson witheringly. “Look, I f______ love One Direction. I'm sure we're going to come back together one day, and I'll be doing a couple of One Direction songs in my gig. I always do that, so that's not alluding to any reunion or anything. But, I mean, look, I'm sure one day we'll get back together, because, you know, we were f______ great.”

#telegraph uk #press #louis tomlinson #241120 #its FULL of stunts as telegraph usually goes #stunt mention #Eleanor Halls

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icequeenbae · 3 years

Text

Desert Flower (m) Ch. 4 [fin] | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader x Baëkhyun

Characters: EXO and X-EXO (not all of them mentioned)

EXO vs X-EXO dynamics, complicated relationships, angsty, action, smut (as usual)

Warnings: sorta mingling with your ex’s ‘evil twin’, mentions of blood/ violence (nothing too graphic… I suppose), Y/N gets teary a lot(?), explicit content, rough sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: ~13.5k (full), ~2.1k (Chapter 4)

Summary: Baekhyun, your beloved boyfriend of three years, suddenly breaks up with you and disappears from the city in an attempt to protect you. But leaving you alone and clueless means trouble will surely find you. For it is easy to spot a flower in the desert.

Masterlist >> One >> Two (m) >> Three (m) >> Four (fin)

Author’s Note: Yaaay, the finale is here! ✨ Hope you won’t be disappointed [I know it’ll be something you don’t expect, but the end can also be a beginning, right?] Please let me know what you think, I had fun talking to you about the previous chapters!! And thank you for following this story all the way through. Looove 🖤🖤🖤

Tags: @blahblahblah-boo @baeklightsx @wooya1224 @baekklove @usernameloaa @geniusloey

Chapter 4. The end of you and I [Finale]

Stepping out of the room the next morning, you felt like you were walking to the gallows. In a way, that would’ve been less devastating than the reality. The anticipation, or rather a bad feeling, settled in your gut from the moment you opened your eyes and made you feel sick to your stomach.

After declining an offering of food, you were escorted downstairs to a large space, which was essentially a parking lot, cars all around. The premises were dimly lit – some of the lights simply went out, some were flickering as if they were about to. It was mostly dull grey concrete, a few wide columns around the area, just like any underground parking would look. There were still quite a few vehicles left – EXO liked to have a good variety. Especially Baek- No, you didn’t want to go there.

If you were completely honest, it wasn’t like you hadn’t been in this place before. You’d spent quite some time down here when Baekhyun was trying to teach you a few car tricks for fun. Despite your unwillingness to recall any of that, you could almost hear his obnoxious laughter whenever you failed to disable the alarm or accidentally set it off and panicked. Yet now this place became wicked in your eyes due to the new context. Worse than any dungeon in this abandoned building.

Sat on a lonely chair, you had your wrists bound and scotch tape put over your mouth.

‘This is for your own good,’ Baëkhyun muttered as he placed it on you. ‘Just keep quiet and let it play out.’

Huffing, you looked away. Eyes wandering around, you took notice of the absence of windows in the area. They probably chose the most isolated place in the building, luring the opponent in here. Likely to block the exits as soon as they arrive.

You exhaled through your nose, wishing that the boys just didn’t show up. Not really expecting Baëkhyun to protect you in this case, you only hoped for Baekhyun to stay away and be safe. One thing you were sure of, was that your life was not worth that many others.

As you contemplated this scenario, a drop of water fell in your lap. Then another one.

You looked at the droplets in confusion. Then up – locating a spot on the ceiling that was leaking. The intensity increased with every drop, and when you lowered your gaze, you saw the water level rise quickly, creeping at the level of your ankles. This didn’t look like it could be caused by any leakage you could think of. It was like there was an invisible circle around you, that water couldn’t cross. Like you were sitting in a glass tube.

Breath hitching in panic, you fidgeted in your seat, trying to get out of the rapidly growing pool of liquid. You whimpered, drawing Baëkhyun’s attention, and as he saw your current state, he immediately turned to the leader.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘The sun is almost up. I don’t see a sign of our friends arriving,’ he shrugged, tapping at his watch.

‘Stop it,’ Baëkhyun snapped, hearing you squeak as the liquid reached your knees, rising above the ground unnaturally.

Were they going to drown you?

You tugged at your restraints in a poor attempt to free yourself, and Baëkhyun turned around, walking towards you decisively.

Until Chën stepped in front of him.

‘Get out of my face,’ Baëkhyun snarled, but his opponent only laughed.

‘Keep walking. If you want me to electrocute her before you’re done.’

A faint purple lightning bolt appeared around his right fist, and Baëkhyun’s eyes darkened further, sparks of red swirling in his orbs as he gathered his power in his hands. But the fight did not break out, as Sehūn walked between them nonchalantly, shoving them away from each other.

‘They’re here,’ he announced, taking his spot next to Suhø.

The water stopped climbing up, freezing at the level of your collarbones. It pressed down on you unpleasantly, holding you still, but it also allowed you to slowly start slipping your wrist out of the restraint. Baëkhyun left it a little loose, so taking it off was feasible, now that it was wet.

A rumble sounded from behind the farther wall where the entrance was, and a car came in, tires screeching. The yellow sports vehicle took a spot in the middle of the room, drifting and rotating a perfect 90 degrees. Then a van appeared, doing pretty much the same right behind it. The door of the latter flew open, and a blonde head appeared. You swallowed a lump in your throat. He was here, they were here. It was your fault.

Baekhyun’s eyes landed on you, and he examined your state, before eyeing the crowd in front of him and turning to Suhø.

‘Let her go. I’m here to trade myself in for her.’

Your own eyes went wide. Trade himself in? No, no, you could not allow this!

‘Mhm!’ You shook your head fiercely, trying to sound protesting with your mouth covered.

He met your desperate gaze, and his eyes looked so… remorseful, that you froze in place. Turning away, he continued.

‘I’ll surrender to you, but you have to let her go first.’

Suhø hummed, nodding seemingly in contemplation of this suggestion.

‘You know what, I have a better idea. Why don’t you all surrender, and then she walks free?’

He suddenly chuckled, looking Baekhyun in the eye. ‘Or she doesn’t.’

It was a split second later when you finally freed your wrists and ripped the tape off, ready to scream… But the sound didn’t come. It happened faster than you could register – you were underwater. Fully submerged now.

Struggling to float in the mass of liquid, you saw people around start moving. Baekhyun threw a ball of light in Suhø’s direction, presumably missing him since you were still drowning.

A shadow appeared out of thin air behind Baekhyun and you screamed desperately, losing oxygen and trying to rip yourself out of the suffocating pool of water. He reacted instantly to the ambush, as if he was waiting for it, and used his power to defend. On the other side, Baëkhyun blasted Chën in the back, to find his way to you, but got held up by Kāi, appearing now in his way. Your lungs were burning. Realizing that no one would make it to you on time, you lowered your eyes in resignation.

And then you saw it.

A small, maybe the size of an orange, bubble appeared at your feet and made its way up. It reached your face, and you took an incredulous breath. Another one appeared.

‘Sehun,’ you thought, breathing in and out as the bubbles reached your face.

As you were struggling to ventilate underwater, the whole battle was happening on the outside. There was fire, and blood, and flashes of red and white light…

You almost got startled when the water around you subsided, releasing you from its hold. Falling to your knees, you finally breathed in fully and looked around in confusion, noticing Junmyeon closing distance.

But before he reached you, a wall of fire appeared. Turning your head, you saw Baëkhyun, about to hoist you up, when he got an electric shock. Looking over his shoulder, you watched Chën approach.

‘B- Baëk-’ You stuttered as an arrow hit Chën in the side, making him slump to the ground from the impact and proving that Sehun was still watching over you.

‘Run to their van. Along that wall, behind the cars. I’ll give you cover fire as you go, okay? I got you,’ Baëkhyun instructed, tugging you up and shoving you forward. ‘Go!’

You ran towards the wall to your right, feet barely able to move after all you’d just gone through. But your instincts kicked in, giving you the adrenaline high you needed to function. Hitting the wall hands first to change direction, you then ran along the concrete surface, not looking back, only hearing blasts, and swearing, and fighting…

You almost made it to the van.

But the water in your sneakers made you slip as you jumped out of your cover to relocate to the safer spot, falling over and grabbing at your leg. Not thinking more than a moment about the pain, you got on all fours and began crawling towards safety.

‘Y/N, no!’ Baekhyun shouted, and you turned around, seeing lightning paint the room purple for a second before someone shielded you from its reach.

And then he fell on his knees.

Black leather and silvery white head.

‘B- Baëkhyun?’ You muttered as he pressed his hands to his eyes, thick streaks of blood instantly painting his long fingers red.

You gasped in horror, but before you could say a word, someone grabbed you by the waist and dragged you around the car you were hiding behind less than a minute ago.

‘Are you okay?’ Baekhyun looked at you, as he pressed his palms to your body, trying to assess your injuries hastily. ‘We need to retreat quickly, can you walk? Hold onto my shoulder, okay?’

You barely registered what he was saying, the horrible picture from seconds ago still imprinted in your vision.

‘Wait,’ you shook your head, getting up. ‘I need to help him!’

‘What? Y/N!’ You heard Baekhyun call out your name, trying to catch you by the wrist as you ran out into the ongoing fight, limping noticeably.

The silver light appeared, covering you as you reached your target.

‘Baëkhyun!’ You grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Did it hit your eyes?’

He turned to you, eyes narrow as if his vision was blurry, blood running down his entire face. Your hand trembled as he grabbed onto it.

‘What the fuck are you doing back here?’ He snarled.

‘Come on!’ You urged him to circle the closest vehicle, as Baekhyun still blasted the other side of the parking lot with his light.

‘Leave me here and run, while they have the upper hand. This won’t last much longer,’ Baëkhyun gritted.

‘No,’ you stubbornly gripped his leather jacket.

‘Y/N!’ He raised his voice.

You stared at each other intensely for no longer than a second, and then you took a quick breath and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in an abrupt kiss. Tasting metallic and salty from his blood and your tears, it was the most frenetic one in your life. As you broke it, he looked at you silently, eyes dark blue.

‘The next parked car is the one Baek used to teach me how to break in. It’s unlocked, so if you can make it inside, you’ll be able to drive off instantly. We’ll distract them, and you show us the other way out of here, okay?’

He slowly nodded, and you held his stare for another second.

‘Don’t die,’ you told him, getting up as Baekhyun appeared again and took your hand impatiently to finally get you into the van.

‘Go, go, go!’ He yelled at Chanyeol, who grabbed the wheel.

The tires screeched, and a black sports car drove off under your noses.

‘Yeollie, follow him! Baëkhyun knows the other way out,’ you shouted, catching a confused look from the driver, as well as others. ‘Trust me, okay? The one you came through is disabled in some way already.’

He nodded quickly, no time to hesitate, and went after the black car.

Jongin appeared in the crowded van, as an explosion sounded from behind.

‘That should hold them up a sec,’ he sneered.

‘Good job,’ Junmyeon praised, looking in the rear-view mirror, as the van sped up, making it out of the building right behind Baëkhyun.

He then fell back, diverting the attention of the cars that followed you, and driving in a different direction to lead them away. You were glued to the window, watching him being chased by another automobile, and wishing that he made it out safely. If he could manage that – with the horrific injury to his eyes, no less… It would be nothing short of a miracle.

The boys around you shouted something about the chase, and that they only needed to take a couple of turns to get to the parking lot where their other vehicles were waiting, so that they could individually shake the clones off their tails...

But you paid no attention to all the tactics. The world around you disappeared, narrowing down to just that one car, fading into the distance. Your bloodied hand left a red trace on the glass you were looking through.

‘Don’t die,’ you prayed, still tasting his blood on your lips as you watched the black vehicle disappear on the horizon. ‘Don’t you dare die, Baëkhyun.’

Masterlist

A/N: This is it! Thank you for reading this entire story <3 Probably not the ending you wanted, my beta was ready to throw hands too lol But it’s a pretty logical conclusion to this scenario, isn’t it? The OC is safe and reunited with Baekhyun... In any case, I hope you enjoyed this little journey and are willing to share your thoughts with me 💌

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #exowritersnet #byun baekhyun smut #baekhyun fic #baekhyun fanfiction #icequeenbae fics #Desert Flower #baekbaёk #exo smut #x exo #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun #exo baekhyun #byun baekhyun

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taetaespeaches · 3 years

Text

“Want me to kiss it better?”

taehyung x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.8K

a/n: In honor of Tae’s birthday, let’s find out how our two little soulmates met, shall we? Back in March of 2013, Tae and Peaches/reader met randomly on the street, and well, look at them now. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

p.s. and happiest of birthdays to the absolute love of my life, sir Kim Taehyung. Here’s hoping that the dearest boy has a happy year because he is so deserving of it <3

“I just got you a coffee,” you teased into the phone, Taehyung groaning on the other end, vocalizing his distaste for the stuff. Giggling at his reaction, you pushed through the café doors, the cold air hitting you with a gush of wind. “I thought you were outside,” you noted, looking down the sidewalk, peering through the crowds of people making their way to work.

“Huh?” He said, trying to pretend he didn’t hear you to cover up the fact that he was late.

“Tae,” you groaned, a passerby looking your way at the mild annoyance in your tone, you immediately shooting them a small smile and a bow. “How far are you?”

“Not far, just wait for me outside,” he told you, his breath becoming a bit bated as he must have started running to make it to you. “Don’t move,” he yelled into the phone, a smile overtaking your face.

“Stop running, you dork,” you giggled. “I’ll be here.”

“Good. Stay put,” he added.

“I just said I’d stay put,” you defended, looking at the two cups in your left hand, trying to figure out how you could take a sip of yours while holding the phone to your ear with your opposite hand. “I wouldn’t have to stay put if my boyfriend would show up on time,” you jokingly complained just before using your hand holding the phone to lower your face mask below your chin.

The man huffed through the phone before letting out a breathless yell. “I’m coming, Peaches,” he shouted. You giggled both at the sound of him but also the image you conjured up in your head of the man zipping through crowds of people, his dark locks flowing as he yelled into a phone.

Leaning down, you tentatively took a sip of your drink, immediately wincing at the hot temperature that startled your tongue, as well as the shockingly sweet taste. Inspecting the drink, you realized it was Tae’s hot chocolate. “I told you to stop running,” you commented into the phone, Taehyung’s breathing being his only response. “Do you want me to hang up so you can have a proper go of it, Usain Bolt?”

��No,” he breathed out. “Stay on the line, I miss you,” he said cutely, you scoffing at the affection.

“You wouldn’t have to miss me if you were on time, my Dearest,” you teased him.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, dragging the word out. “Let me live,” he added in complaint, you smirking.

Watching as people walked by, the sound of your boyfriend’s struggled breathing in your ear, your focus was suddenly pulled down the street when a loud, “Peaches,” rang out in both the phone speaker and the cold winter air.

Several people looked toward the man as he waved at you, slowing to a walk, but he didn’t acknowledge any of them, his adorable gaze set on you. The mask was covering the bottom half of his face but it did little to hide the rectangular smile he was hiding underneath, his happiness showing in his eyes.

Appearing in front of you, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his winded state. “Hi,” he greeted you happily, despite his current breathing troubles, leaning in to kiss your cheek but forgetting about the mask on his face.

“Hi, Dearest,” you giggled, holding out his drink for him. “Be careful,” you pouted as he took the hot chocolate out of your hands. “That burned my tongue.”

Pulling the mask under his chin, he gave you a wide-eyed look. “Want me to kiss it better?” He asked, leaning in to press his lips to yours, you giggling into the affectionate action as you kissed him back.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, setting your hand on his abdomen as you held him at a distance. “You’re gonna be photographed kissing me and then we’ll be the couple of the new year,” you pointed out, the man pouting at you.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you held his gaze until he relented and took a drink of his hot chocolate, humming in satisfaction. Swallowing the drink with a gasp of content, he grinned. “You know, this is where we first met.”

“I remember,” you giggled, sliding your hand from the front of his stomach to the side of his abdomen, holding onto his coat.

Looking down to your feet, he nodded. “Your shoes are clean this time,” he commented, you rolling your eyes as you thought back to your first meeting with Taehyung, the hectic morning forever changing your life in the best way you could have ever imagined.

Missing the bus was really just the cherry on top of your shitty morning. Not to mention the iced coffee you bought just minutes prior was knocked out of your hand by a power-walking passerby, the drink falling to the sidewalk and splashing all over your combat boots.

Reaching down to pick up the near empty cup, the busy morning work crowd kicked it all about, causing you to chase it around in a hunched-over position, your gaze darting to trail the object, trying to follow it as it absolutely should be recycled. Finally tracking it down, you grabbed it quickly and stood up, your face immediately heating as you became very aware of all the people who just witnessed you chase down a to-go cup like a fucking dork.

Staring down at your coffee stained shoes, you made your way down the sidewalk, setting the cup in the recycling bin gently, your heart racing at the possibility that you were still being watched by someone. Judged.

All you wanted to do was catch your bus and go to class. It was only the second week of university and there you were, already missing lectures. After a restless night, you thought coffee was necessary for a much-needed caffeine buzz, but the line was so long and you felt awkward leaving the middle of it as your bus quickly approached on its route.

So, you missed it. And now if you went to campus, you would have to walk into that lecture hall and draw all those eyes on you, and that was just something you weren’t too thrilled about that particular morning. Being shy was one thing. You had been reserved your whole life; you knew how to manage your introverted nature. But there were days when you just felt more insecure than most, and it was definitely one of those days.

As you pondered over what to do, whether you should brave the staring eyes and go to class or just call it a day and head back to your apartment, you made eye contact with a young man, seemingly around your age, beaming brightly at you through the flow of people.

Quickly averting your gaze, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket, checking the time but mostly avoiding the man’s stare. He was cute and looked sweet, but he put you on edge. Not in a threatening way, but rather, it felt as though he saw through you. And that was intimidating. You didn’t want to be seen.

Trying to put him out of your mind but failing, you quickly realized that despite the way he looked at you as if he knew all about you, you would probably be seeing the kind face of the stranger in your dreams, forever imprinted in your memory. He was intriguing, which was saying a lot for you as people rarely made an impact on you, especially with just one glance.

But his smile was one of if not the best smiles you’d ever laid eyes on and suddenly, you found yourself sneaking a glance at the man to get one more look. However, when you peered up, he was nowhere to be seen, and weirdly, your heart dropped a bit. You just wanted one last look to ensure the image in your head was an accurate depiction.

Frowning, you scanned the crowd. On the verge of giving up and accepting that he was just a one-glance stranger, or maybe even a figment of your imagination, a voice suddenly greeted you from beside your form, your head darting in the direction, falling upon the adorable man. All he said was “hello,” but the tone of his voice took you by surprise, the timbre much lower than you would have expected from the youthfulness of his features.

“Hi,” you said tentatively, suddenly feeling shy by his presence.

“I like your backpack,” he randomly complimented, your hands instinctively gripping the shoulder straps and tugging it closer to your back. “It’s cute.”

A light, single breathy chuckle left your lips as you craned your neck to look back at the bag. What a strange compliment. “Thank you,” you spoke softly.

The man stayed silent for a moment, his smile wide and pretty as he stared at you. However, his eyes were scanning your features. Curiously. Appreciatively. Almost as if he was taking everything down in his mind so he could remember you for years to come.

“I’m Taehyung,” he told you, reaching his hand out for you to shake. Staring at the limb, feeling too shy to take it, he giggled boyishly. The sound was adorable and you were extremely fond of it instantly. Putting his hand down, he cocked his head at you. “Can I replace your drink?” He asked you, your entire body heating in embarrassment as you realized he witnessed you not only drop the coffee, but watched as you chased it around the sidewalk. “Are you embarrassed?” He asked you with wide innocent eyes, a small bashful smile forming on your lips.

“You could say that,” you said. Or you could say you wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow you whole.

“Don’t be,” he smiled brightly. “It was cute,” he added. The compliment wasn’t spoken as a man trying to flatter you into bed or even on a date, but was rather a genuine thought that popped into his head, so he simply spoke it. His directness, and how unaware he was of it, was intriguing, and you quite liked it.

“It needed to be recycled,” you said softly, your voice quiet, due to the mortification.

Nodding enthusiastically, he beamed. “I know all about recycling, I’ve been doing it since I was born,” he spoke proudly, and though you knew he was joking, he said the comment so seriously it had you nearly bursting out in laughter. Holding it back however, you only gave him the satisfaction of your breathy chuckle.

“I’m sure it was amusing to watch me chase the cup down,” you commented with a smirk.

“I only laughed a little,” he said, lifting his hands up in mock surrender.

“A gentleman,” you teased, surprised by how quickly you were warming up to the stranger. Well, a sort of stranger. You did know his name.

Another youthful giggle left his lips as he nodded in playful confirmation to your statement. “Chivalry is my middle name. Stick by me if you want to be treated like a lady,” he joked.

“And if I don’t want to be treated like a lady?” You playfully retorted, you body heating in embarrassment at your own comment though Taehyung’s eyes sparkling in amusement, his smile only widening even more.

“Too bad,” he replied with a grin. “Now, can I replace your drink?”

“If you insist,” you nodded with a small shy smile, just before holding your hand out and telling him your name. “So you know what to tell them when you order my drink.”

“Right,” he nodded, taking your hand, his palm warm and soft against yours. As cliché as it was to believe it, it felt like his hand was meant to fit with yours. But no, that’s too cheesy. Dropping your hand suddenly, he started toward the café, leaving you standing there watching him. Turning around to face you, he gestured to the establishment. “Coming?”

And strangely, you were. Without a word, you simply walked toward him, and made your way into the café with him, shoulder to shoulder. Little did you know, you would be going with him anywhere and everywhere from that day on. Quite happily.

“And this time I’m buying you a drink,” you smirked. “Oh, how the times have changed.”

“Only because you insisted,” he frowned, the expression making your smile widen.

Bringing your hand toward his face, you booped his nose. “It’s your birthday,” you pointed out with a smile. “And I enjoy treating you,” you informed him. “Plus, I’m not a poor college student anymore, I’m a slightly less poor professional now,” you pretended to gloat, Taehyung giggling as he leaned toward you, pressing a couple quick kisses to your cheek.

“Damn straight you are,” he said proudly. Staring at each other, he watched as your smile gradually fell from your face, his eyebrows pulling together in question and slight concern. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “I just-”

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you sighed. Taehyung watched you carefully but patiently, his tongue poking between his lips to wet them.

“About being a professional,” you cocked your head to the side. “What if I told you I’m not happy with my job and it’s not getting better?”

Taehyung’s expression morphed into one of consideration as he peered into your eyes. “I would say you’re young and if you want to try something else, what better time than now?”

“You think?” You asked, appreciating the way his hand found the side of your face, as his thumb gently soothed over your cheek.

“You should enjoy your work,” he told you. “You have too much passion in here,” he tapped against your temple to indicate your mind, “and in here,” he used his other hand that held the drink to poke a finger against your heart, “to not enjoy what you’re doing for a living.”

Giving him a small smile, you nodded slightly. “I’m scared though,” you whispered.

“I know, Peaches,” he told you understandingly. “But that’s ok. It’s ok to be scared.” You nodded quickly in agreement, Tae’s lips quirking up. “What’s not ok is for the most vibrant person I know to be stuck in a job that doesn’t fulfill her,” he added, locking his gaze with yours to ensure you felt how much he meant the words he spoke.

“You’re sweet,” you complimented quietly.

“I just believe in you,” he countered. “And I’ll be here through every step of the way as you’re finding what you truly want to do,” he assured you.

“I know, Dearest,” you nodded.

“You better,” he smirked, just before bringing his lips to yours and kissing you a little too passionately for the public setting. But as your fingers threaded into hair at the back of his head, you lost yourself in the affection, not giving a damn about where you were or who was watching. “I’m going everywhere with you,” he whispered against your mouth when he finally got ahold of himself and pulled back slightly.

“And me you,” you told pressing a quick kiss to his chin. Nuzzling your face against his neck, Taehyung smiled at the small pecks you left to his skin. “Happy birthday, by the way,” you giggled, lifting your head to look at him. “Sorry to be all doom and gloom on your day,” you rolled your eyes at yourself.

“You could never be doom and gloom, Peaches,” he assured you. “And thank you,” he beamed, kissing your forehead quickly. “This will be the only gift I accept today,” he held up his hot chocolate, “So don’t even think about surprising me with anything else.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” you teased. “You think you have a say in how I spoil you?” Glaring at you playfully, you scrunched your nose in response. “You’re really gonna like one of the surprises,” you noted, Taehyung’s eyebrows raising to show his piqued interest. “Want a hint?” You asked, your boyfriend nodding slowly as he wet his lips again. “It’s at my apartment and it involves lace and silk,” you whispered near his ear with a smirk, just before pulling your mask up.

“Well those kinds of surprises are ok,” he teased making you giggle at him.

“Of course they are you horndog,” you joked, Taehyung pulling his mask up as well before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Only for you,” he continued teasing as you both started walking toward a nearby park to continue your simple date.

As you walked away from the very place you first met Taehyung, who was draped over you affectionately, you mentally thanked the asshat who knocked your coffee out of your hands back in March of 2013. For he changed the entire course of your life. And now you had Taehyung, right beside you everywhere you went. You would always have Taehyung.

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fatiguing-thoughts · 3 years

Text

“Fate” - Paul Lahote

Request: The reader (shy!fem!reader) meets Paul (twilight) in the woods while he is in wolf form and he imprints on her. Coz the reader is shy and has no friends (lol) she befriends the 'wolf'. So when they have been friends for a while Paul finally transforms into his human form and explains everything and then fluff? Thank you 😊❤️

The crunching of leaves. That’s all I can hear now. I continued walking forward, loving the noise and the smell of the pine trees around me.

This was my daily routine now, for the last week. The woods were always my safe place, where I went to clear my head. It’s where I always spent my free time, my time for my personal thoughts.

I had just moved to Forks about three week ago, I came from Oregon. I wanted to be closer to the Olympic National Forest, and for some reason, it just called to me. It called to be my new home.

I spent the first couple of weeks unpacking and settling, but the newfound freedom and time to explore the great forests around my small town were beyond enticing.

The loneliness was setting in, pushing me to go into the woods more and more. Even though I was still lonely out here, it was much better than being alone in the house. I missed my family and friends, but living here was something that just felt like I was doing something… right.

The loneliness out here wasn’t as deafening than in my small home. I felt better surrounded by trees, listening to the sounds of nature, or the lack of normal everyday sound; it was music to my ears.

As I pressed forward, I found the new clearing I chose the other day. This one a little bigger than the last, more calming to me.

I put my blanket down, played some soothing music; a beautiful composition. I took out my sketchbook, drawing my surroundings.

That’s when I heard the grass shift across the clearing. The leaves crunching, a shift in the atmosphere. The feeling washed over me, I was no longer alone.

I felt my breath hitch as I tore my eyes away from the sketchbook, looking across the clearing.

I saw a wolf. An enormous wolf. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ve seen wolves, and they’re not anywhere near the size of this. I wouldn’t even come up to the shoulder on this one, it had to be about 6 feet tall on all fours. This couldn’t be real.

I blink hard, but when I open my eyes, it doesn’t go away, my sight was not deceiving me.

That’s when it happened, our eyes connected. I couldn’t break the eye contact, neither did the massive creature.

The wind got knocked out of me, I felt something in me shift. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t fear.

No, fear was the last thing from my mind. What I felt was peace. I couldn’t imagine why I felt so at peace with a creature that could kill me faster than I could blink, but it’s all I felt.

I broke the eye contact away, hoping that I didn’t make the situation worse and frighten the wolf.

It walks a bit closer, head low. I still feel that feeling, the feeling of someone sitting on my chest-- but in the best way.

“Jesus.” I mutter as it moves closer.

The paws were easily the size of my head, thumping along the path to me. I felt the ground move as it got closer.

A look of curiosity and caution painted the enormous face, eyes never tearing from mine.

“Holy shit.” I mutter again.

It stops in its tracks, about five feet from me, looking at me as if it was asking for permission to approach closer.

I gulp and swallow the lump in my throat. The sense of peace and calm is still radiating through my body. I stood up from my spot, feeling as if it was the best thing to do at this moment.

The wolf nods its head towards me, in which I nod back.

It walks closer before bowing its head, eyes still looking into mine. I see my reflection in the iris. Its eyes were that of a beautiful chocolate brown. I admire the rest of the wolf up close, noticing all of the different grey and silver tones in its beautiful fur. I cautiously reach my hand out, knuckles out, offering it to smell me before I even thought about petting it.

As I outstretch my hand, I feel the enormous head under my palm. I begin to graze my fingertips along the top of its head, daring to dance my fingertips upon the center top of its snout.

Its ears laid back against the massive head, leaning more weight into my touch. The fur was so soft, I found myself growing more and more comfortable with the presence of this being. I was way too close now, I lost all sense of caution.

I smiled at the wolf as I returned the eye contact. It moved even closer, standing against my side. I laid my head upon the side of where its shoulder began. I never felt so small before. I felt a little grumble come from the wolf’s chest before it backed up, and laid down next to my blanket. I plopped myself back down.

I caught the wolf’s eyes wandering over to my drawing of the clearing.

“You like art or something?” I chuckled softly, knowing how silly it may seem to be talking to this wolf, though deep down I felt we had some kind of understanding.

The wolf nodded, before placing its head on my leg. The head was heavier than I imagined, but I enjoyed it. It was a soothing weight. The nod must have been coincidental, I tell myself.

I then begin to scratch behind its ears, and laying the rest of my body down, head still on the front of my thigh.

“This is the best, well only, company I’ve had in a month.” I smile to myself, once again trying to converse with the creature.

I heard a large huff of air and felt the warmth on my thigh grow, the breath passing through my jeans.

I check the time on my phone, seeing that it was later than I thought. The wolf and I sat here for hours, though they passed quickly.

“I should leave now, sunset is approaching. I gotta get out of here before dark. After all, who knows what’s in here.” I chuckle as I begin to sit up, getting my things together into my backpack.

The wolf looks at me, puffs again, and almost seems to roll its eyes. I could’ve sworn it looked just like it did.

As I begin walking, I notice the wolf walking beside me.

“Ah, walking me to my car? A gentleman, I see.” I laugh softly to myself.

As we approach the end of the forest, the beginning of the treeline and my parked car in sight, the wolf looks down at me.

I return the eye contact, and scratch behind the ear again, earning the leaning of the massive head into my hand.

“This is an everyday thing for me. Same place tomorrow.” I say laughing at how ridiculous I sound.

I earn another nod from the wolf and can’t help but feel that it truly understands what I’m saying.

I walk over to my car, the distance between the wolf and I growing. I felt empty as the space grew, a newer feeling. I walked over to my car and looked back to see the wolf standing where I left it.

I wave goodbye, earning a nod from the massive being. I get into my car and watch it run away, faster than I’ve seen anything move.

The drive home was quick, as it mostly consisted of replaying the days events.

I knew for certain that I was either insane or blessed.

Sleeping tonight came easier than ever before. No nightmares, though the eyes of the beautiful creature filled my dreams that night.

I woke up the next morning feeling at ease, but also if something was missing. I was almost counting down the minutes until I got to go back to my little clearing. Hopefully doing some work will make the day pass faster.

I ferociously finish my work for the day, hoping that it would make time pass. Though my mind continuously wanders back to yesterday.

Was it even real?

What if the creature didn’t show up today? Would I just have imagined the understanding that I thought we had? Was the connection just an imagination?

No, I know what I saw. I am not insane, I am not making any of this up.

As the agonizing hours passed, I sat and drew. I found myself drawing the eyes of the creature. They were all I could see all day.

I look over at the clock and basically spring off of my couch, grabbing my keys and backpack to head back out to the woods.

I walk over into the clearing and sit in my previous spot on the blanket. This time I had some snacks with me, as I didn’t eat today from being so distracted.

I began to peel my orange when I heard the snapping of a branch behind me. I took a sip of my water as I turned to look at what was behind me.

The deep, chestnut brown eyes looking down at me. I felt such a connection to this wolf, I felt safe.

It then moves next to where I sat, laying down once more.

I place my orange down back onto the brown paper bag.

“Blueberries?” I outstretch my hand with a few berries in it, offering it to the creature.

His snout found my hand, hot breath finding its way into my palm. The rough tongue and soft scraping of teeth against my palm as it took the berries from my hand.

I smile before getting some more, offering again. The wolf once again took the food from my hand.

I truly enjoyed the company, though it did confuse me more than anything. I couldn’t describe the connection I felt to this magical being, but it was there.

I began to make some small talk to the wolf, though I know I would not get a response.

“You’re my first and only friend, bud. I moved here a little less than a month ago. Still unsure of what brought me here, but I think things are starting to add up. I just miss having people around, ya know?” I look over to the creature, noticing that their eyes never left my face.

The wolf nods, putting his head back into my leg and nuzzling into me. I scratch behind their ears.

“Anyway, I left Oregon to come here. I miss my friends and family, but I think I’ll be happier here. So far, I’m loving the new scenery. I used to spend a lot of time in the woods back there, it’s where I have my personal thoughts, where I unwind. Now that I’m here, I already have a buddy so soon. I always did it alone, but here you are. Even though you can’t talk, I enjoy your company.” I spoke softly to the being.

Its eyes never broke from mine, just like always.

“Your eyes are magnificent.” I softly chuckled.

The wolf nuzzles closer to me, and I lay down on my blanket.

This is how I spent my days now. This continued for weeks. Getting closer to this beautiful creature, befriending the most beautiful being that ever existed on the planet.

Until one day, when I showed up to the clearing at the usual time. My new friend nowhere in sight.

I sat down in our usual spot, waiting for the arrival of the creature.

I waited for about ten minutes before I finally heard the relieving crunching of twigs and leaves behind me.

“It’s about time you showed up, I got worried.” I bit back my smile.

The wolf had a telling look in its eyes today, almost nervous.

I scratched behind the large ear, once again being leaned into. I grew to really love this.

As soon as I sat down, I noticed the wolf didn’t follow suit as per usual.

It looked me in the eyes, nodding its head to the treeline. My eyes followed as the wolf walked behind the brush.

I stood up, but didn’t follow the being out of the clearing. I watched from the treeline as it disappeared just out of view.

Then I heard it.

The shifting of bones. The brush disturbed from movement.

I back up cautiously.

A moment later, a tall, muscular man walks out of the tree line.

I back up a bit out of surprise. I observed him in his entirety. His cutoff jean shorts, t-shirt, and beat up old shoes. Beautiful russet skin, cropped black hair, and... deep chestnut brown eyes.

Those eyes. The ones that engulfed me into a state of peace with every look. I would recognize those eyes in a sea of people.

The tall man smiles at me, walking closer.

I don’t back up this time, confused yet comforted by the look in his eyes. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, I was drawn to him.

“(Y/N), it’s me.” The man says.

“How do you know my name?” I question.

“Well, you told me a few weeks ago. Well, my other form.” He chuckles.

“Okay, maybe I am nuts.” I laugh softly.

“No, you’re not. Well, after listening to you for weeks, you might be. But, I have a lot of explaining to do. I’m Paul by the way.” He chuckles.

“Hi Paul.”

We walk over to my blanket and he sits with me.

“So, I guess I’ll explain to you what I am.” He says, slightly smirking at me.

“I think you should, I’m very confused right now.” I smile back.

“Well, I’m what you would call a shapeshifter. I shift into a wolf. You met me in that form.” His chestnut brown eyes peering into my soul, pleading for my attention.

“But how? Why?” I manage to speak.

“Well, we’re not the only magical beings. But it’s a Quileute legend, well clearly a lot more than a legend… I’m a protector of the land and people. But these are tribal secrets.” He says, still never breaking eye contact.

“Protector? From what?” I was now concerned.

“Well, vampires.” He answered, laughing at how crazy it sounds to say out loud, to explain to an outsider.

“Vampires are real? And they’re here?” I ask, slightly getting fearful.

“Yes. There’s been some coming into the area for some, not for anything good. There’s a coven here, though they’re what you call ‘good ones,’ only feeding off animals instead of humans.” He explains.

“Wow, this is insane. But, how did you find me?”

“Well, one of the other members of the pack picked up your scent, as well as one of the vampires we were looking for. So we took turns watching to make sure they didn’t hunt you. Which by the way, you should not be spending so much time in the woods alone. Have you ever heard of bears? Or murderers? Have you learned anything from horror movies?” He laughed.

“Yes. I have. But it’s just, it’s what feels right for me.” I admitted.

“I understand. You seem like one with nature.” He laughs.

“So you guys protected me?” I jump back a step.

“Yeah, well we took turns while the others went other places.”

“Oh, so why did you stay for weeks? And why did you hang out with me?” “Well, when it was my turn, something happened. And then I couldn’t leave you. I needed to be the one who watched over you. I wanted to get to know you, I wanted to meet you. We connected.”

“I know, I felt that. I feel like I’ve known you for ages. But what happened? How are we connected? Why do I get to know the tribal secrets?” I asked, I needed to understand.

“Well, you’ve taken this so well. So there’s this thing. It’s called imprinting.” He finally looks down at his hands.

“Imprinting?” I question.

He looks back into my eyes.

“Well, it’s kinda like soulmates. Like love at first sight, almost. Although, it doesn’t have to be romantic. It’s kind of like-- when it happens, whoever a wolf imprints on, becomes the world. There is no gravity, it’s them holding you down to the Earth. You would do anything, be anything for them. A brother, a protector, a lover. It’s super intense, but it happens to some of us. And well, you’re my imprint.”

I looked at him and nodded. I was trying to take this all in, it all made sense as to why I felt so strongly connected. Why I felt so at peace, why I loved being so close.

“Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in. I understand. But just know that it is dangerous for us to be apart. It’ll hurt us both-- emotionally, physically, mentally. However, you hold the reins here.” He gave me a soft smile.

“This is a lot. You’re right. But, I feel so connected to you. I wanna be around you, I love being around you. I’m so glad you’re actually a real person. However, I do want to take this slow. I want to get to know you as a person, not just the wolf. I want to meet the real you. I want to expand the friendship before any kind of romantic relationship blossoms too fast.” I say honestly.

“That sounds like a great idea. Maybe you can come to the bonfire at La Push tonight. I think it’ll help you understand more. Plus then you’ll meet the rest of the pack. We could work on the friends thing, too.” He smiles from ear to ear, probably excited at the mention of a romantic relationship.

We talked for hours, more about us personally than the imprinting thing, wolf thing, or vampire thing-- we saved that for the bonfire.

The bonfire went well. I met the whole pack. A lot of banter and rough housing between the guys, especially when the imprint jokes came around.

I took a liking to Leah, though she was rough on the outside I felt that we would be great friends.

Over the next few weeks, Paul and I spent almost all our free time together. Things were great. Of course the friends thing didn’t last too long, how could I not want to have this amazing man as my partner? He was caring, sweet, protective, and even handsomer than anyone else I had ever seen. Our relationship was one purer than anything I could’ve ever imagined.

Getting closer to the pack was great, I always had friends around. I loved Emily and helping her cook for the bottomless pit-stomached boys. It was like I was meant to be around, I guess that’s fate for you.

Most of all, I cherished every moment I had with Paul. Stealing hoodies and having more fun than I’ve ever had before.

I loved Paul Lahote more than I could put into words. No words were needed.

This was happiness, this was pure bliss.

We spent our days on hikes, fooling around and rough housing at the beach, and doing whatever we could do together.

He whispered sweet-nothings into my ear at any given chance, causing me to smile, blushing like a maniac. His warm hugs and cuddles, sleeping next to him only brought me peaceful sleep I desired my entire life.

Fate truly is something.

_____________________________

Word Count: 3280

Yes this was long. No I’m not sorry. Yes I enjoyed it. Might have been a swift transition, but it’s super long and idc. Thank you for coming folks

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #sam uley #jacob black #jared cameron #Quil Ateara #seth clearwater #leah clearwater #brady fuller #collin littlesea #embry call #wolf pack x reader #writing

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

Text

A blog request from the @mlwritersguild ! Hope Anon sees it and likes it. It was a great prompt to write!

Warning: 75% of this hurts a lot, although nothing's graphic. I was feeling very angsty when I wrote it (and now I cry when I hear OneRepublic's Wherever I go). Happy ending, though!

---

Disappearing Act (AO3)

The magical ladybugs engulf Paris in their tornado and rubble falls back into place in puffs of dust, clearing the streets. Ladybug runs, tracing back her footsteps, until she finds what, or rather who, she is looking for, standing alone in the middle of the road, looking slightly disoriented.

“Chat Noir!” she yells as she picks her pace up to a sprint, hurling herself at the black-clad teenager in front of her.

Her voice has him turning towards her, and he barely has time to process the red and back bullet coming at him at full speed. His eyes widen and he manages to catch her in his arms without them both falling over. He feels her crying against his shoulder, and his arms instantly tighten around her.

“Shh, my Lady, it’s okay, I’m here,” he whispers soothingly as he strokes her hair.

Her head is buried against his chest, her body shakes with sobs, but her hands are balled into fists, striking his shoulders. Her punches are slow, void from the strength he knows she’s capable of, and he knows she doesn’t mean it.

He knows he’d deserve every one of them, though. His heart is still beating too fast from his jump to protect her earlier. He hadn’t even thought about it, his legs carrying him until the blast hit him straight in the chest. Everything had turned black.

Ladybug pulls away and looks up at him with tear- and anger-filled eyes, and he can’t help but think how beautiful she looks. He wipes a runaway tear from her cheek and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling tenderly at her. Oh, the things he’d do for her.

“You have to stop doing that! I thought I’d lost you,” she says through gritted teeth.

He knows it’s to keep more tears at bay.

“I’m sorry, Bugaboo.” He means it. “I pawmise I won’t do it again.” He doesn’t.

A loud crash a couple of streets away and her earrings' insistent beeps bring back their focus to the matter at hand. The Akuma is still running around, and Ladybug’s first Miraculous cure may have brought Chat Noir back, but not so much time. Ladybug wipes her eyes, takes a shaky breath, and stands taller. She doesn’t make a move to leave, though.

“I’ll hold them off, you go restore. I’ll see you later?” He picks her hand up, winks, and his lips gently brush her knuckles (the gesture is imprinted in her brain, she’s replayed it so much), like everything is going to be okay. He runs off, turning around one last time before he turns a corner, to flash her a confident smile.

Everything isn’t okay, though. Later finds the Akuma defeated, the Miraculous cure cast again, yet Ladybug is collapsed on the floor, clutching a lone, silver ring, at the exact spot where Chat Noir had stood a mere moment before.

As she screams into the void, she barely registers the rain that starts pouring down in a thick curtain, mingling with her tears, and part of her wonders if they will ever cease from flowing.

---

Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks.

Time passed so slowly, yet so fast. Chat Noir wasn’t the only one who didn’t come home on that fateful day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

There’s an empty space in class, right in front of Marinette, and although it could be a coincidence, she knows deep inside that it’s not.

Alya is supportive, and so is the rest of the class, but they don’t, can’t understand the extent of her despair. Nobody can, after all.

The other disappearing act is pulled by the one and only Hawkmoth. She’s surprised, yet relieved, yet furious not to see purple butterflies around anymore. Has the man suddenly grown some morals? Does he draw a line at murdering a teenager?

Because there’s no other word for it, and she knows he knows it, as she fiddles with the ring that now sits on a piece of yarn around her neck. It’s long enough that no one can see it, but she knows it’s there nonetheless, and the cold metal against her skin soothes her. As she holds it in her darkest hours, she can feel Chat Noir’s presence, and she knows his probable disapproval is the only thing keeping her from going on a rampage to find Hawkmoth and make him pay for his actions.

Instead, she does the thing her partner would approve of; she gets dressed in all black, and finds her way to the Agreste Mansion. Nathalie hugs her like she needs it just as much as Marinette does, and the teenager understands from the little she says that Gabriel finally realised how much his son meant to him. Marinette gives her a bitter smile at the news. If only it could bring him back.

A month goes by. Ladybug stops patrolling. It’s too painful to sit at the top of the Eiffel Tower, alone. To get flashbacks of all the battles they fought together anytime she lets her stare linger a little too long anywhere. To walk on rooftops knowing he’s not going to hop at her side at any minute. To feel her heart beat faster every time she sees a flash of black out of the corner of her eye. To feel the pain that invades her chest when she realises it was just a shadow.

More time passes. Mayor Bourgeois issues a communication out for her. A statue in honour of the fallen hero is to be unveiled at the Tuileries. He hopes she will be there, and possibly give a speech.

The day comes, and she hadn’t planned on speaking. She’d tried to imagine what she could say, but everything was too painful, and she couldn’t find the words, nothing felt worthy of him. Seeing so many people turn up, though, some she recognises, a majority she doesn’t, all united in their grief for one person, her person, makes her find her way to the microphone.

She sees the hope in their eyes. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Feels the sting of tears.

She turns around to regain her composure, and is faced with the statue. She hasn’t looked at it properly yet; she couldn’t bear to.

There is Chat Noir, standing in all his glory, wearing a confident grin and seemingly ready to jump into action. She wishes he would.

Behind him, Adrien sits cross-legged, a hopeful smile on his lips as he looks up towards the skies. She can almost hear him singing. She wishes she could.

Taking a shaky breath, she turns around to face the crowd.

“I don’t know where to start with Chat Noir. He infuriated me, so much. He was reckless, which got him in the end. But he was also a great partner. The absolute best. He was kind, caring, and so, so lucid. I… I loved him for it. He didn’t hesitate in the face of danger. A month, twenty three days and a couple of hours ago, he sacrificed himself. He did it for Paris. For us. May this statue be a reminder of him and what he stood for. Faith in Good. Selflessness. Justice.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I learned at the same time as you did that Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste. I’ve had time to think about it, and it makes sense that there weren’t two people as amazing as they were, that they were the same purr-son.” She tries to chuckle, but more tears spill out. She knows he’d like it, though. “He juggled his career, school, and a mask. Let him be an inspiration to us all; never back down from anything you’re passionate about, if it can make you happy. You might be afraid of launching yourself, but eventually you’ll just feel freer. That’s what being Chat Noir brought Adrien: freedom. And rest assured that I’ll still be there to make sure the freedom of this city remains. I’ll be there if Hawkmoth ressurfaces, or if Paris needs me in any other way. Even though it’s hard to imagine how I can go on without Chat Noir by my side, I know it’s what he would have wanted. And I know he’ll be with us in spirit, too.”

She chokes on her tears and has to yoyo herself out to avoid her tear-stained face to be on the front page of every magazine the next day, and to escape the question that’s on every reporter’s lips; will Chat Noir be replaced?

She doesn’t understand how people can even think about it.

---

Marinette waits until the dead of the night to make her way back to the statue. She brings flowers, this time. A red rose, which she tucks in Chat Noir’s hand. A peach rose bouquet for Adrien’s lap. Hyacinths and forget-me-nots, which she deposits between them both, amongst the multitude of flowers that cover the base of the statue.

Sorrow, regret, but also love, gratitude and memory. She wishes she could do more.

It’s late, she has school in the morning, but she can’t bring herself to leave. She walks around the statue a couple of times, tries to dislodge a black cat that has elected Adrien’s lap as his sleeping pad, before sitting on a park bench, facing them, facing him.

You promised you wouldn’t do it again. Her stare silently accuses him.

I know, my Lady. She knows him well enough to know exactly what he’d say.

You left me all alone.

I’m so sorry. She wishes the statue would come alive, and he’d come and hug her. It doesn’t, of course.

Whatever happened to you and me against the rest of the world?

There wouldn’t be any of that without you either, would there? She can almost see his sad smile.

Paris needs you.

They need Ladybug more. He’d counter.

I need you. A tear rolls silently down her cheek, just as many have before it. It hovers at the edge of her jaw before collapsing on her thigh. I can’t believe I never told you, I should’ve said it out loud every day, at every occasion. I love you Chaton, Adrien, the name doesn’t matter. And now you’re gone, and you’ll never know. More tears spill out. She brings her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and buries her face in them.

“Hello, m’lady.” She looks up at the sound of the soothing voice. Her vision is blurry with tears, and she knows it’s just a trick of her imagination before she even sees that the scenery hasn’t changed, apart from the light breeze that picked up, taking a couple of fallen leaves in its stride, but she can’t help it. Whatever happens, however much it hurts, she’ll always look, always hope. She shakes her head, pressing her forehead against her knees, and takes a deep breath.

It’s getting late. She should probably get going. A sleepless mind (not that she gets a lot of rest anyway, but every minute counts) will only play further tricks on her, and she doesn’t need that.

“That was some speech you gave.”

Her head snaps up, and this time, she wipes her tears.

She might be sleep-deprived enough to hear the things she wants in the wind, but this is too real. She wasn’t expecting it, either.

The night is still. The cat has lazily lifted its head from its paws, and for a second she wonders if it spoke to her, but it’s not facing her, and this is real life. Cats don’t talk. Right?

She pinches herself. Maybe she fell asleep on the bench.

“You know how much I love it when you speak passionately.” There’s a tender smile in the voice now. She remembers it so vividly.

A figure steps out from the shadow of the statue, almost sheepishly. The teen doesn’t look at her directly, so she doesn’t recognise him at first. His dishevelled black hair, leather jacket and ripped jeans are unfamiliar.

Then his green eyes meet hers, and she’s home.

“Y-you,” she stammers, trying to stand up, but she feels her knees buckle under her.

He’s at her side immediately, catching her in her fall and helping her sit back down.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he says while she touches his face, making sure that she isn’t dreaming, that he’s okay, that he’s alive.

She answers by hugging him like her life depends on it (and maybe it does), feeling her tears make a comeback. He rubs soothing circles on her back. It’s exactly what she needs, what she’s been craving for the past months. He’s here.

“Why?” she croaks against his chest. The question is cut short by a sob, but he understands all of its layers nonetheless.

Why did you leave? Why did you leave me? Why did you pretend to be dead? Why did you not let me know? What you were planning, then that you were okay? Why are you back?

“I… I overheard something. Not then, but during a previous Akuma attack. Hawkmoth asked his minion to spare me. Adrien Agreste. The Akuma was confused, and asked him to confirm. I couldn’t make sense of it at first, but the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that Hawkmoth had to be someone close to me, or to my father.” Marinette feels his body tense and holds him tighter. She’s not letting go of him anytime soon. “And then that day, when I saw what the rays did… I had to seize the opportunity. If I could just… disappear, lay low for a while, then maybe…” he trails off.

“Maybe you could get to the bottom of it.” Marinette sniffles. “I get it. But were you safe? It’s been months, Adrien. Where did you go?” She withdraws a little from his arms to look up at him with worry-filled eyes.

He seems taken aback by her questions. “You’re not going to ask me about what I found?”

“Adrien, I’ve just found out that the person I love most in the world, the person I thought I’d never see again but by looking at this damn statue,” she points towards it, but her eyes stay locked on his, angry tears gathering in her eyes, “is alive, I need to know you’re not about to collapse or disappear all over again. I couldn’t-” Her voice catches.

“I know.” He interrupts, cupping her cheek tenderly. “You’ve been so strong, my Lady. I promise you, I’m fine. I had some cash saved up, it paid for a small half-board hotel in the 20th Arrondissement, no questions asked, my makeover, and of course, my stalking.” His thumb stills on her cheekbone as he processes her words. “But wait, did you just say that you love me?”

A month ago, Marinette would have blushed and stammered in response. Today, her response is unwavering.

She grabs him by the collar of his jacket and their lips crash together. It occurs to Adrien that this is his first kiss with Marinette, Ladybug, he’ll hopefully remember. He makes sure to commit every last detail to memory.

It tastes like tears (hers, at first, and then, theirs - they’re all happy, though). Desperation. Disbelief. Thankfulness. Love. He hopes she feels it from him, too.

He takes it all in. Her chapped lips. The way she’s pulling him closer, clinging to him to keep him close, as if he’d ever run away from this. How soft her hair is under his fingers.

Nobody’s ever going to take it away from him.

When Marinette breaks off, leaving both of them panting, Adrien is awestruck. He knows it’s too soon to joke about being able to die happy, but the thought is there.

“So…” Marinette’s hands untangle from his hair to rest on his chest. “Now that my feelings for you are elucidated, and that I’ve established that you seem to be fine, how about you tell me if your disappearing act was at least worth it?” She sniffles a little.

“Marinette, I’ve just had the lights kissed out of me by the girl I love, and you expect me to be able to make a coherent sentence?” He nudges her nose with his.

“I just need to know you’re not going to disappear on me again,” she whispers.

“I purr-omise, my Lady,” he replies earnestly. “Never going to run around and desert you ever again. Not if I can help it.”

“Shut up.” She lets out a small giggle, her first in ages, and punches his shoulder lightly. A pun and a questionable reference. Her kitty’s back alright. “As if that wasn’t a coherent sentence.”

“Maybe the sentence was, but you’ll have to admit the thought wasn’t.” His smile vanishes as he looks around them. “Seriously, though. I’m not sure we should talk about it here.”

“Fine.” She gives him a small smile, and kisses his nose. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready, and we’ll deal with it.”

“You and me against the world.” He smiles.

“Forever.”

She buries herself in his arms once more, and they stay on the park bench until their heads start drooping. Even as they leave, she can’t bring herself to let go of his hand, and it doesn't take a lot of convincing for him to go home with her.

There’s no way she’s letting him out of her sight again. Not if she can help it.

#i apologise for this #it hurt to write but it was also very cathartic #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #miraculous reveal #writing prompt #disappearing act #elle writes

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a-froger-epic · 3 years

Text

The Queen fandom, Freddie Mercury and Characterisation

Or: Why are those anons like this? Why are those writers like this? Why don't we understand each other?

In this essay, I will-

No, I’m serious, I will. And this is an essay. It’s roughly 2500 words.

The friction, concerns and hurt in fandom around Freddie’s characterisation - most recently centred around a fic the author tagged as ‘Bisexual Freddie Mercury’, stating in the notes that they have chosen to write Freddie as bisexual - have given me a lot to think about. And if you have been asking yourself the questions above, this here might be of interest to you.

First off, why do I feel like I need to talk about this?

The answer is not: Because I’m so very influential in fandom.

I think my influence in this fandom has been vastly overstated by some people. If I were so influential, everybody would rush to read anything I rec or write. And trust me, they really don’t. My relevance is confined to a very specific part of the fandom. That part is made up of: Freddie fans, Froger shippers, some Roger fans, a handful of writers who like to support each other and like each other’s work, and people who are really into research.

There are many parts of fandom where my opinions are entirely irrelevant. Looking at the big picture, by which I mean only the Queen RPF fandom, I simply am not that important. Looking at the even bigger picture: the Queen fandom as a whole, the majority of which doesn't read or care about RPF - I am literally nobody.

Furthermore, everything I will be talking about here is in relation to the RPF-centred part of Queen fandom.

So why this public essay?

Because I have been deeply involved for two years in a divide of opinions concerning how Freddie ought to be written and how people think of RPF. I think this is in large part because I - like several other authors currently writing for the fandom - absolutely love research. It's my idea or fun. I love to dig into these real people’s lives. Not everybody does that and not everybody is comfortable with that. It’s a personal choice depending on people's levels of comfort surrounding RPF. But this does put me firmly in the camp of Freddie fans who like to explore who this man really was, and track down every last fact about him.

Freddie Mercury vs. Fictional Freddie

I’ll admit that I am one of those people who have the urge to speak up when they see somebody claim that Freddie was bisexual, and sometimes I will say: “Well, actually, we do know that he didn’t see himself that way, because…” For me, these have often been positive exchanges.

I think there is overwhelming evidence that Freddie Mercury identified as gay from his split with Mary to the end of his life (wonderfully curated here by RushingHeadlong). In the niche of fandom I have frequented over the last two years, as far as Freddie the real man is concerned, I have barely ever seen anybody argue with this.

But fanfiction and talking about real Freddie are not one the same thing, and they shouldn't be, and as far as I am concerned they don't have to be. Some writers like to put every last fact and detail they can find into their fic, in an attempt to approach a characterisation that feels authentic to them (and perhaps others), and other writers are simply content to draw inspiration from the real people, writing versions vaguely based on them.

But writing historically and factually accurate RPF is more respectful.

Is it? I've thought about this for a long time, and I really can't agree that it is. This, to me, seems to presume that we know what kind of fiction these real people would prefer to have been written about them. That, in itself, is impossible to know.

However, if I imagine Freddie reading RPF about himself, I think that he might laugh himself silly at an AU with a character merely inspired by him and may be really quite disturbed by a gritty, realistic take full of intimate details of and speculations about his life and psyche. Such as I also tend to write, just by the by, so this is definitely not a criticism of anybody. Freddie is dead. Of all the people to whom the way he is written in fiction matters, Freddie himself is not one. There is no way to know what Freddie would or wouldn't have wanted, in this regard, and so it isn't relevant.

Personally, I can't get behind the idea that speculating and creatively exploring very intimate details of Freddie's life, things he never even spoke of to anybody, is in any way more respectful than writing versions of him which take a lot of creative liberties. As I've said so many times before, I think either all of RPF is disrespectful or none of it is.

So who cares about Freddie characterisation in fiction anyway?

Clearly, a lot of people do. Freddie Mercury was an incredibly inspiring figure and continues to be that to a multitude of very different people for different reasons. There are older fans who have maybe faced the same kind of discrimination because of their sexuality, who saw Freddie's life and persona distorted and attacked by other fans and the media for decades, who have a lot of hurt and resentment connected to such things as calling Freddie bisexual - because this has been used (and in the wider fandom still is used) to discredit his relationship with Jim, to argue that Mary was the love of his life and none of his same sex relationships mattered, to paint a picture where "the gay lifestyle" was the death of him. And that is homophobic. That is not right. I completely understand that upset.

But.

These are not the only people who care about Freddie and for whom Freddie is a source of inspiration and comfort. What about people who simply connect to his struggles with his sexuality from a different angle? What about, for example, somebody who identifies with the Freddie who seemed to be reluctant to label himself, because that, to them, implies a freedom and sexual fluidity that helps them cope with how they see their own sexuality? Is it relevant why Freddie was cagey about labelling himself? Does it matter that it likely had a lot to do with discrimination? Are his reasons important? To some degree, yes. But are other queer people not allowed to see that which helps them in him? Are they not allowed to take empowerment and inspiration from this? Can you imagine Freddie himself ever resenting somebody who, for whatever reason, admired him and whose life he made that little bit brighter through his mere existence, however they interpreted it? I honestly can't say that I can imagine Freddie himself objecting to that.

This is the thing about fame. Anyone who is famous creates a public persona, and this persona belongs to the fans. By choosing that path, this person gives a lot of themselves to their fans. To interpret, to draw inspiration from, to love the way it makes sense to the individual. Please remember, at this point, that we are talking about how people engage with Freddie as a fictional character creatively. This is not about anybody trying to lay down the law regarding who Freddie really was, unequivocally. This is all about writers using his inspiring persona and the imprint he left on this world to explore themes that resonate with them.

This is what we as writers do. We write about things which resonate with us and often touch us deeply.

But don't they care about the real Freddie?

Yes, actually, I would argue that a lot of people care about "the real Freddie". It seems to me that depicting Freddie as gay or with a strong preference for men is what the vast majority of the RPF-centered fandom on AO3 already does. You will find very, very few stories where Freddie is depicted having a good time with women sexually or romantically. That he was mostly all about men is already the majority opinion in this part of fandom.

But another question is, who was the real Freddie? If the last two years in fandom have taught me anything, it is that even things which seem like fact to one person can seem like speculation to another. I have personally had so many discussions with so many people on different sides of the debate about the exact circumstances of Freddie's life and his inner world, that I must say I don't think there is such a thing as one accurate, "real" portrayal of Freddie. Even those of us who are heavily invested in research sometimes disagree quite significantly about the interpretations of sources. So that narrows "You don't care about the real Freddie" down to "You don't care about Freddie because you don't interpret everything we know about his life the exact same way I do". Sure, by that definition, very few people care about Freddie the same way you do.

The bottom line is, there are so many writers and fans who love him, people who are obsessed with him, people who care about him deeply. They might care about who they believe he really was or who he chose to present himself as to the world, the way he wanted to be seen. But ultimately, in my personal opinion, if somebody is inspired to write Freddie as a fictional character they feel that Freddie means a lot to them. And it is hurtful to accuse them of not caring.

But what some people write hurts/triggers me.

Yes, that can happen. Because the nature of AO3 is that everything is permitted. Personally, I am very much in agreement with that. You will also find me in the camp of people who are against any sort of censorship on AO3, no matter how much some of the content goes against my own morals or how distasteful I find it. Some people disagree with that, which is fine. We must agree to disagree then. Here, I would like to quote QuirkySubject from the post she made regarding this whole situation because I cannot put it better myself: “The principle that all fic is valid (even RPF fic that subverts the lived experience of the person the fic is based on) is like the foundation of [AO3]. The suggestion that certain kinds of characterisations aren't allowed will provoke a knee-jerk reaction by many writers.”

No matter how much you may disagree with a story's plot or characterisation, it is allowed on AO3. "But wait," you might say, "the issue is not with it being on the site but with people like yourself - who should care about "the real Freddie" - supporting it."

This is some of what I have taken away from the upset I have seen. And it’s worth deconstructing.

I've already addressed "the real Freddie". Moving on to...

The author is dead.

This is something others might very well disagree on as well, but to me the story itself matters far more than authorial intent. And what may be one thing according to the author’s personal definition, may be another thing to the reader. Let’s use an example. This is an ask I received yesterday:

This author thinks they were writing Freddie as bisexual. However, going by the plot of their story, I would actually say that it is largely very similar to how I see the progression of Freddie’s young adulthood. To me, personally, Freddie would still be gay throughout the story because he arrives - eventually - at the conclusion that he is. The author and I disagree on terminology only. And I think simply disagreements about terminology, given that some terms are so loaded with history in Freddie’s case, trips a lot of people up.

It seems to me that many people still equate bisexuality with a 50/50 attraction to men and women, when in actual fact many - if not most - bi/pan people would say that it is nowhere near that distribution. Some people are of the opinion that anybody who experiences some attraction to the opposite sex, even if they have a strong same-sex preference, could be technically considered bisexual. (However, sexuality isn’t objective, it’s subjective. At least when it comes to real people. What about fictionalised real people? We will get to that.)

Let's briefly return to real Freddie.

What I'm seeing is that there are several ways of thinking here, with regard to his sexuality.

1. Freddie was gay because that seems to be (from everything we know) the conclusion he arrived at and the way he saw himself, once he had stopped dating women. Therefor, he was always gay, it just took him a while to come to terms with it.

2. Freddie can be referred to as bisexual during the time when he was with women because at that time, he may very well have thought of himself thusly - whether that was wishful thinking and he was aware of it or whether he really thought he might be bisexual is not something we can say definitively. He came out as gay to two friends in 1974 on separate occassions, and he talked to his girlfriends about being bisexual. (Personally, I think here it is interesting to look at who exactly he was saying what to, but let's put my own interpretations aside.)

3. Freddie can be seen as bisexual/pansexual because his life indicates that he was able to be in relationships with both men and women and because there is nothing to disprove he didn't experience any attraction to the women he was with. Had he lived in a different time, he may have defined himself differently.

Now, I'm of the first school of thought here, personally, although I understand the second and also, as a thought experiment, the third.

I think all of these approaches have validity, although the historical context of Freddie's life should be kept in mind and is very relevant whenever we speak about the man himself.

But when we return to writing fictionalised versions of Freddie, any of these approaches should absolutely be permissible. Yes, some of them or aspects of them can cause upset to some people.

And this is why AO3 has a tagging system. This is why authors write very clearly worded author's notes. This is the respect authors extend to their readers. This, in turn, has to be respected. Everybody is ultimately responsible for their own experience on the archive.

Nobody has the right to dictate what is or isn't published under the Queen tag. As far as I am concerned, nobody should have that right. As far as I am concerned, everybody has a responsibility to avoid whatever may upset them. I understand where the upset comes from. I also maintain it is every writer's right to engage with Freddie's character creatively the way they choose to.

None of us can control how other people engage with Freddie or the fandom. None of us can control what other people enjoy or dislike about the fandom.

The best way to engage with the content creating part of fandom, in my opinion, has always been to create what brings you joy, to consume the content that brings you joy and to respectfully step away from everything that doesn't.

#Queen fandom #Freddie Mercury #bi Freddie

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