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bumblebeesfromvenus · 4 months

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Siren!Leon headcannons 🧜🏼‍♂️🐚

A/N: this was so much fun!!! I got a little carried away, but I feel there's still so much I could add here, so let me know if you want to see more! There's not smut in this one sadly, because um... idk.. how that would work?

~Fi 🐝

《Prompt》: lovely request by @maviettt is here!

《Warnings》: brief mentions of gore and Leon eating people, obessesive and possessive Leon, some angst, insecure Leon :(, lots of luv for the fish boy <3

《Word count》: 2.4k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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Siren!Leon, who spends his days luring all the pretty sailors to their demise, having himself a tasty meal of naivety and pure unawareness. I mean, what girl wouldn't be enarmoured with this handsome and so kind merman, right? With his blue, ocean eyes and shiny scales.

Siren!Leon, who lurs them in with promises of love and care, only to yank them into the deep sea and tear into them with his pointy teeth. He's not too fond of doing this, but he doesn't really have a choice, and you get hardened over the years.

Siren!Leon, who casually swims through a nearby Lagoon, catching a glimpse of you and your sisters lounging in the sun. You're laughing, and Leon swears that you're the Siren in this scenario. You look so pretty with your colorful, glittery tail. Your damp hair that's drying up from the salty water. The small trinkets braided into your locks and hung from your body.

Siren!Leon, who is always drawn back to this Lagoon, always wanting to see you again. He thinks you're a bright, shining pearl, and the world is your oyster. But he also understands that you're off limits to him. You would be scared of him, wouldn't you? You're such a pretty thing. His treasure.

Siren!Leon, who admires you from afar, always hoping to see you smile once again. He's infatuated with you. He's sighing dreamily when he sees you throw your head back in laughter or hiding your giggles behind your hand.

Siren!Leon, who looks for you after he hasn't seen you at the Lagoon for a while, only to find you washed up on the beach, all tangled up in a net. You look so... dry. The colors of your tail are dulled, and your skin doesn't look like it was kissed by the morning dew anymore.

Siren!Leon, who is so conflicted. He needs to help you, but what if he scares you? He doesn't want to risk that. You're the favorite part of his day! Alas, he relents and carefully swims up to you as close as he can before gently tugging you back into the water by your tail.

Siren!Leon, who holds you until you've gotten some of the ocean's energy into you. He can basically watch you flourish as you're returned to your home. But his heart breaks when you gain back consciousness and immediately try and get away from him.

Siren!Leon, who tries to explain to you that he just wants to help. You're still bound in the net, and you can't swim properly like this. You're obviously skeptical. Acting all kind and luring people in was kind of his deal as a Siren, after all. But there's something so soft about his voice and expressions.

Siren!Leon, who truly has no bad intentions, but he has to restrain himself from pouncing on you the second you give him the go-ahead to free you from the net with his sharp teeth.

Siren!Leon, who doesn't miss your blush, when his lips brush against your skin while he's chewing you out of your bounds. He can't help himself and grins, and accidentally bumps his lips against your scales more just to see you react.

Siren!Leon, who is quite flustered himself when you thank him and tell him that he's not as scary as you thought he would be. And when you tell him you like the color of his scales and his cute little fin ears, he is over the moon!!

Siren!Leon who tries to hide his malicious side from you as best as he can just because he is terrified that you would be scared of him. Maybe even disgusted. He doesn't want that.

Siren!Leon, who sees you wave to him on his usual morning round past the Lagoon, and he almost passes out. Yeah, he had saved you, but for you to so boldly be nice to him in front of your sisters? He's thinking of that for the rest of the day.

Siren!Leon, who gets bolder each day, waving back with a smile, maybe even greeting you and your sisters until he fully swims up to all of you! He's kinda crushed when your sisters scatter like little anchovies. He just wanted to say hi :(

Siren!Leon, who gets comforted and assured by you, saying that "they don't know you like I do." You explain how, although Leon is a Siren, he's so sweet! He saved you from certain death, after all.

Siren!Leon, who eventually gets taken in by your sisters, and he gets to lounge in the Lagoon with you. Some are still a little weary, but as time goes on, they all warm up to that smile and those pretty eyes.

Siren!Leon, who only has eyes for you. You are the sun in his sky, the moon that guides his tides. He's head over heels for you. It started off as forbidden glances, admiring your beauty, and now he is making you laugh and spending as much time with you as he can.

Siren!Leon, who knows you're falling for him too when you start bringing him little treasures and trinkets that you found. It's usually a shiny rock or a seashell, but sometimes you bring him valuable shinies from recent shipwrecks that you're not supposed to be around.

Siren!Leon, whose heart pumps out of his chest when he sees all your sisters nudging you in his direction with your hand behind your back and a red face. He revels in your cuteness when you shyly press the rock into his hand and speed off.

Siren!Leon, who starts calling you his treasure or his pearl. That's exactly what you are to him, and he needs the whole seven seas to know that. Plus, your pretty smile and the kiss to the cheek he gets from you after is a nice bonus.

Siren!Leon, who lets you decorate him and his tail when you run out of space on your own. You tie cloth and braided seaweed around his fin and arms, adding one of your little trinkets at the end. He wears them with pride because everyone knows they're from you.

Siren!Leon, who loves to braid your hair for you. You're always finding more pretty things to put in your hair, and you can't see the back, obviously, but he loves doing it for you. He gets so good to the point that he's doing all of your sisters' hair, too.

Siren!Leon, who rarely goes back to luring humans to their death, simply because he would rather spend time with you. He's acquired a taste for small fish, which unfortunately can't match the salivating taste of humam flesh, but he's willing to give it all up for you. he's still so worried that you'll catch him one day and see the monster he truly is.

Siren!Leon, who sits in the small tide pool close to a bay, soaking up the moonlight with you, and the way it makes you look ethereal. You look even prettier like this than in the sun. The silvery streaks reflect off of your features so beautifully, and he knows that he's doomed.

Siren!Leon, who spends all of his nights with you, not wanting that image of your lovely self dipped in the rays of Mother Moon to go away. He loves talking to you at night. Sharing quiet stories and tales interrupted by soft giggles.

Siren!Leon, who kisses you for the first time on the beach where he saved you. He melts when he finally feels your lips on his, and he's holding you so tight and full of love that you can't imagine being anywhere else.

Siren!Leon, who found a pearl at the bottom of the ocean, your favorite color, and he gives it to you as a gift under one of those moonlit nights. He's confessing his love to you, giving the pearl to you as a sign of always wanting to be with you.

Siren!Leon who doesn't know whether to blush and hide or be giddy like an idiot when he sees you wearing his pearl the next morning, showing it off to all your sisters who are all in awe of its beauty.

Siren!Leon, who loves to spend his days lying in the sand with you, playing with the many small braids and twists that adorn your silky locks. There's not much to do, but you make the days go by so fast.

Siren!Leon, who goes ballistic when your sisters rush to tell him that you've been captured by some filthy pirates while you were out exploring a new shipwreck, trying to find more odds and ends for your collection.

Siren!Leon, who can feel his blood boil in his veins. It's like a switch was flipped, and he falls back into his bloodthirsty and feral ways. It scares your sisters, but they know he's doing it for you.

Siren!Leon, who follows your scent and your soft pleads for mercy as the pirates decide whether to gut you or keep you for themselves. He has never swam this fast in his life. He had a strong tail, no doubt, but he pushed himself to his limit only to get to you.

Siren!Leon who feels so deeply and can feel the storm brewing inside of him. He can't help but feel somewhat reassured when dark, thick clouds rise in the sky and heavy winds, rain, and thundering streaks of lightning descend from the sky. He thanks Mother Moon with all his being for helping him rescue his treasure.

Siren!Leon, who sneaks close to the ship undetected, due to the heavy rain and loud thunder. He is out for blood, and one thing is clear; that ship will sink today, and he will make them pay.

Siren!Leon who punches holes into the body of the ship with his strong tail, making the ship sink slowly into the dark embrace of the ocean.

Siren!Leon, who when he finally gets to the bastard pirates, tears them to shreds without a thought. Thick crimson spills into the rowdy waters, and you can almost see the red reflecting in his eyes.

It's a mess of limbs and guts, the blood clinging to his pale skin like a curse. He doesn't want to admit how refreshing this felt- he was still a siren after all.

Siren!Leon who snaps out of his craze and immediately starts searching for you, calling out your name with desperation and fear. The lightning gets worse as he looks around frantically.

Siren!Leon, who finally spots you clinging to a piece of wood with bloody hands and teary eyes. He rushes over to you, and the relieved cries that rip from your throat make his heart hurt.

Siren!Leon, who scowls at the deep gash on your tail, no doubt courtesy of those pirates. He embraces you so softly, kissing your temple and whispering sweet reassurances to you.

You sniffled and looked up at him, the rain slowly washing away the blood that tarnished his skin. You spotted tears of his own welling up in his blue eyes, pained by the image of your wounded self. He never stopped stroking your hair and wiping away the rain that mixes with your tears as it falls on your face.

"They... they only hurt me because I didn't want to give them... this.." You spoke quietly, opening your bloody hand, revealing the pearl he had gifted you now smeared with blood. Leon felt his heartbeat all the way in his head. The gusting winds, loud thunder and the electrifying strikes of lightning died down and the surface of the water stilled into a soft ripple as he stared at you, not knowing what to do, or to feel.

Only the soft patter of rain on the ocean filled the silence that lingered between you two. Leon swallowed thickly and cupped your face, finding his words.

"My treasure, My pearl... why?"

You'd never heard him this hurt, defeated before.

"Because you gave it to me."

With your simple answer, he pulled you tight against his chest with his lips pressed to your forehead, hoping the rain would cover the tears that ran down his face, soaking into your hair.

Siren!Leon, whose blood freezes in his veins when you catch a glimpse of the massacre he had left and absolute horror washes over your face. He can feel his heart shatter with the way you look at him, with so much fear and- ...gratitude?

Siren!Leon, who gets the words knocked out of his head once again, when you softly touch his cheek and tell him that you're not afraid of him. You're still shaken up, in agony, and dismembered bodies aren't part of your usual routine.

But you tell him that you could never be scared of him. You know he would never hurt you, he loves you, and he only did what he needed to in order to rescue you. You're fully aware of what he is- a Siren, not a monster. He proved that to you many times with his gentle and kind nature. He feels pathetic when he breaks down as you whisper that you love him and press kisses to his hair. You're hurt, and he's crying, utterly overwhelmed by you and your love.

Siren!Leon, who will take care of you and the wound on your tail until it's fully healed. He gently drapes seaweed wraps over the gash and always makes sure you're not in any pain. He will make you hang onto him by his neck when he swims so you can still get around but not put any strain on your tail.

Siren!Leon, who plucks a scale from his tail and gifts it to you as full proof of his love and devotion for you. It hangs around your neck, right next to the pearl he had given you, and he can't help but smile when he sees how his shimmery blue scale looks against your skin.

Siren!Leon, who wears one of your scales on a cloth, tied around his arm, proudly showing it off whenever he can. Because he's as much yours as you are his. <3

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I loved writing this so much!! Lmk your thoughts on Siren!Leon <3

More Leon works are here 🩷

《Tag list》: @dmitriene @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy

Comment to be added!

#bumblebeesfromvenus #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #Siren!Leon #Siren!Leon Kennedy #f!mermaid!reader

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channelinglament · 1 year

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Sksjdjjkskskskskksk

I know I should be focusing more on reqs, but I had to take this off my mind skskksskks (btw I'm rn in the underground belobog part of story) (I kinda called it SAHSR as in self aware hsr)

☆•°Self-Aware Honkai Star Rail°•☆

Tw: no proofread, mentioned drowning(but it didn't happen), war, hate, religious themes, self awareness, kinda ooc, grammar mistakes because I am typing this at 12AM instead of sleeping, isolation

So, you know how in the beginning we play as Kafka? Yeah, I'm pretty sure she felt your presence. At first she was kinda weirded out, and was on guard. Who knows what you would do to her, while controlling her?

Oh look, you're helping her.. Hmm, maybe you aren't that bad after all. Still on guard, but thankful. With you she seems to fight more faster and is more efficient.

Same goes with Silver Wolf. They don't seem to mind your presence that much.

You even helped them to pick a trailblazer! But after picking them, you left Kafka and Silver Wolf. They didn't really mind it. They have been doing good without you, so it should be fine!

Meanwhile, the trailblazer is confused. First, they don't remember anything except their own name(or the name you gave them), then Kafka leaves and someone is watching over them. Oh how confusing and strange. But they caught early on that you're helping them. You're not an enemy.

During their "adventures" trailblazer starts thinking of you as a family. Kinda annoying since you control their body most the time (unless it's a cutscene) but you're cool nonetheless. They see you as a safespace.

Meanwhile March 7th and Dan Heng don't understand what is happening. Who is controlling them? Why after they met trailblazer? Why are you controlling them?

I think March would, just like the trailblazer, like you and find you annoying at the same time. Dan Heng would stay on guard (but also see you as safe space/nice person to hang with). Not as much on guard as when you first...met but still. It'll take him time to get off guard. The more time you spend with them, the more familiar they are with you, the more they like you.

Why annoyed, you may ask? Well, imagine you want to.. for example fight, but someone controls your movement and does it instead of you. Or goes the other way (aka exploring) instead of the path you've originally chosen.

They certainly would like when you make them stronger. No matter who is on your team, they'll like it (I mean, who wouldn't?)

But.. sometimes, even if they like you, they get tired of always being on the team. Thank you, yes, but they need to rest too. They mostly rest when you're offline, since..time kinda stops there. But when you're online? damnnn they walk and fight so much.. (I fr walk everywhere to find enemies to fight, so uhh, if you're like me, they would be tired and maybe annoyed at it)

I think some characters would even hate you. It doesn't apply to the main trio btw, they'll always like you. The reason some may hate you is that they have so much stuff to do, yet you choose them to walk around and fight all day. They're even supposed to be here! (For example, using Herta when fighting someone in Belobog)

If they could, they would scold you. But sadly game doesn't allow that.

It only appears in normal, self aware circumstances. Aka a normal self aware. Some like you, some hate you. You just kinda exist. (That one strange friend/sibling, y'know?)

But what if they would see you as a God? Something divine? Like in SAGAU?

Well, you're doomed, what can I say?

Everyone would want to be in your team. Oh, poor Gacha system.

They would hate it tbh. While in just self aware some would avoid you on purpose (aka busy characters), here? Where everyone sees you as a divine being? Oh dear..

Imagine several people trying to come through a single door, all at the same time? Yeahhh that's what happens. The standard and limited banner would literally fist fight while trying to get "home" to you. So don't be surprised if nobody comes home, at all.

But some may cooperate, and you may get more 5☆ or 4☆! Basically characters you wanted.

Those on your team would be proud! Mostly if the main trio are still there. Some would be envious of trailblazer. You're always with them, even if they're not on your team.(how could you?!)

Kafka and Silverwofl would be devastated. I'm pretty sure Silverwolf could possibly destroy the gacha system and come home. Only her (and maybe Kafka)

People in Belobog would hate the lore and everything game makes them do what they do. They're so happy they met you! You're here to save them! They don't want to fight you, so please don't be mad at them.

Honestly, if you were to get isekai'ed into hsr, I would recommend to the normal au.

The ones who hate you would just tell you off and never interact again, while your family/friends would hang out with you. Plus you could help a lot in Astral Express!

Maybe get Himeko and Mr.Yang some tea? Or help Pom Pom with whatever he needs?

If you get into the Worshipping Lunatics au..? I feel sorry for you.. You would never rest-

Whether you choose to stay at Astrak Express, or Herta's *I forgot the name* or whatever, they are all ready to wage war against each other. And if you decided to stay somewhere, that means you clearly favor them and their place more! Those who were chosen are happy/smug. While other try to improve their place/copy the place you've chosen to make you reconsider and stay with them.

The amount of gifts.. try to not drown okay?

They might even all agree to keep you in one place. Lock you in there and hope you won't be mad at them.

That's all for now

(Gotta work on reqs now or in the morning, they're still open btw)

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starqueensthings · 4 months

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A very Crosshair Character Analysis

I posted a poll the other day looking for some opinions, and the prompt was: does Crosshair ever truly miss a shot? Meaning, of all the shots we’ve seen him aim and fire, how many of the few that didn’t land, were intended not to land? Does Crosshair have the skill and ability to land every shot he takes, and what of the ones that go astray (because there are some!)? The overarching, collective opinion (77% of votes) is that the sniper only misses a shot when he intends to, but let me explain why I was asking— the "methods behind my madness," if you will… (Fasten your seatbelts, and keep all extremities— and pitchforks— inside the ride!)

If Crosshair “doesn’t miss”, then there are some things that demand consideration and possible explanation. Please accept this weird internet essay as a deep dive into Crosshair’s character based solely on how I perceived his actions throught season one and two, and opinions I formed while watching his character develop. And while this could not be a Tech-approved analysis without touching on both his perceived good qualities and “flaws”, please know this is not a hate-on-Crosshair post.

Before I get into specifics, I think it’s imperative that we establish a basic understanding of his personality before the chip’s activation. While there is, sadly, not much “footage” we can use to form a true characterization of him, there are some instances we can touch on. The Skako/Anaxes arc from TCW and the earliest few moments of “Aftermath”, Crosshair is shown to be quite sarcastic, uninterested in trivial conversation, measurably combative toward those with differing opinions to his (seemingly all regs, including but not limited to Kix and Jesse), moderately argumentative toward leadership outside of his own Sergeant (mainly Rex, as Crosshair seems to have no qualms following Anakin’s or Cody’s orders), comforting to those who need it (Echo), and an overall good tactical team player.

So, let’s start this analysis by dialling things way back to their mission on Kaller and the complications that arose once Order-66 had been dropped. More specifically, hunting Caleb down in the forest. One of the things I noticed upon first watching that scene and every re-watch since, is how often Crosshair toggles back and forth between blaster bolt and stun cartridge on his rifle, as if constantly battling the indecision of exactly how he wanted to detain the Jedi. Now, if you remember, Tech com’s in and basically says [paraphrased obviously]: “Shit is starting to his the fan, we better get our butts outta here,” to which Hunter responds: “Can’t. Haven’t found the kid yet.” Crosshair then chimes in with, what I have long-deemed to be his catch phrase: “Wrong,” and proceeds to shoot the branch that Caleb is perched on. Not Caleb, who, in Crosshair's mind, should be the rightful recipient of a kill shot… the branch. Hmmmm.

If every one of Crosshair’s shots is so masterfully aimed that its deemed an automatic hit, and thus every miss is intentional (a notion of which I also believe, less one particular shot which I’ll touch on a little later), then there would’ve had to have been a portion of Crosshair’s cognition overriding that Order-66 command to eradicate all Jedi, even if it was only enough to fleetingly switch his gun to stun.

Not long afterward, we see his beloved Firepuncher saber-whacked from his hands, and Crosshair opts to then continue his attack with his backup DC17. Missed shot, missed shot, missed shot, missed shot. Were these blown shots intentional as well? And if so, why does he continue to assail the Padawan? Is Crosshair only able to fight off the command to kill Caleb while his finger is on the trigger, possibly knowing that’s when the fight against his own mind becomes most crucial? Is he clinging to some autonomy in the moments where he’s not posing an imminent threat to those around him, like during the flight back to Kamino? Or can he only resist the chip’s influence when the urge to do something terrible is paramount?

Let’s skip ahead, shall we, to when the Batch is attempting to flee Kamino with Omega. Crosshair sashays onto the landing platform in his new gothboy armour, fresh out of an undescribed chip “augmentation” procedure (whatever that eludes to), and proceeds to have a small stand off with Hunter— both of whom have their weapons directed pointedly away from each other (interesting). During the succeeding fire fight, we see Crosshair line up several well aimed shots, many of which appear to be only inches away from landing on their “intended target”. He eventually succeeds in shooting Wrecker in the shoulder, and I’d like to point out that this shot lands almost exactly where Wrecker was hit by the training droid some hours/days previously. Was the placement of this shot intentional? Did Crosshair pick that particular target area knowing Wrecker would survive the damage?

The shot I find most intriguing is the one near-perfectly aimed at Hunter’s head (lol— brothers). You know, the one where Omega saves the day by unexpectedly blasting Crosshair’s rifle out of his hands. If the chip's activation was the reason he was now hunting them and claiming their treason, why had that moment seen him hesitate? Perhaps he needed a second to line up his shot, you might argue to which I would say argue: we’ve seen him use the active recoil from that same rifle to line up his next shot many times in quick succession with a zero margin of error (see the Skako/Anaxes arc in TCW and the first few minutes of Kaller), including when each shot was aimed at targets both more dynamic in action and further away than Hunter was.

Crosshair then takes several shots at the ramp of the Marauder as they take off, all of which are well aimed… and simultaneously redundant; the passengers are taking cover in the ship already, the Marauder has begun its take off, the ramp is closing, Crosshair running whilst knowing he can’t reach them. I personally attribute those last few shots as tokens of both anger and resentment for being left behind, not ones made with the intention of killing. I think that he expected his brothers to know him better than to believe these actions were of sound mind— he thought they’d be able to deduce that he was fighting a losing battle inside his own head, yet they were quick to believe he would actually entertain such sudden and aggressive hostilities toward them.

At this point, you might be itching to argue that maybe Crosshair's accuracy is largely diminished when he opts for a pistol instead of his rifle, and while I can't dispell this theory, I can provide some statistics. We see Crosshair use a pistol only four times in the entirety of the show so far: 1. against Caleb on Kaller (objective miss), 2. against the Batch Batch as their leaving Kamino (objective miss), 3. against a soldier while he and his new elite soldier squad infiltrate Saw's camp (direct hit), and 4. against Leiutenant Nolan when that asshole he gets on Crosshair's last nerve at the Outpost (direct hit). I will leave it up to you to decide if the theory of whether his skill level changes based on the weapon he's firing holds any merit, or is worth further discussion.

Moving on— the 99-clan is reunited on Bracca. Let’s turn our attention to the shot Crosshair takes at Tech whilst the latter was emerging from the ion engine, and I’m going to include pics this time to support my assertion.

Crosshair has an undeniably clear shot— his line of sight is not impeded, there are no environmental or atmospheric disturbances to disrupt his composure, he was ready and waiting for them to appear. The shot that he fires lands a good distance in front of Tech. Though the unexpectedness of it was enough to startle the genius into nearly falling out of the engine, I believe it was intentionally aimed this way (see below). A warning shot if you will. A “Hello, I outsmarted you and am waiting at your point of attempted escape. Stop trying, and get down here because I don’t want my new imperial cohorts to take aim for me and kill you” shot.

The next arc (Ryloth) quickly demonstrates that any neurological augmentations he’s been subject to (at this point, I believe we've been shown two, but have been led to believe there were several), have had no effect on Crosshair’s infamous sniper skills. First, he fires a perfectly aimed tracking beacon onto the moving target of Gobi’s ship. Then, upon the ship’s return, uses a single shot to disable one of the engines; a shot taken from, what appears to be, several kilometres away and having the immediate desired affect of disabling the ship. Finally, he makes the astoungingly precise shot (and I’m using astoundingly very heavily here) of blasting Senator Taa in the head. This shot, more than the previously mentioned two, are a sign of his impeccable marksmanship. Let me remind you, he was an undisclosed albeit very far distance away, on the opposite ridge of an enshadowed canyon, and is still able to shoot the senator in a place in which HE WOULD SURVIVE the attack. And not just survive, “make a full recovery” as Rampart claims afterward. This is unrivalled accuracy, and while I do not support the assassination attempt in itself, I can not deny how much skill was required to have achieved it.

My next point is something I have always personally found quite compelling, and it occurs in an off-the-cuff, likely forgotten about piece of dialogue.

Brief context: Crosshair has scooped Hunter off of Daro, they’ve landed on Kamino, and the duo (and a third soldier) are on their way to the Command Center to await the rest of the squads arrival. One of Crosshair’s elite troopers waits until he departs the platform before approaching Rampart and saying: “I question the clone’s motives with his old squad. I don’t trust any of them.” I’m intrigued to know where such a potent mistrust began. Is it simply because he’s a clone? A person born and raised unnaturally in comparison to someone with a traditional gestation and upbringing? Or has this soldier previously identified possible cracks in Crosshair’s imperial facade? Has Crosshair failed to hide his distress in quiet moments where he possibly longs for the life he had with his brothers? What is it that triggers this soldier to suspect Crosshair has an ulterior motive in capturing his old squad, and one that they’re apparently worried would not coincide with Rampart’s ideals?

Ramparts reply, in my opinion, gives us a well disguised clue: “If his plan fails, none of them will be a problem any longer.” If his plan fails. Crosshair’s plan. Crosshair has a plan for mobilizing his old family into one place, and what is it? Is he concealing the hidden objective of a reunion with his brothers under the guise of squad assassination? Was it always his plan to eliminate his new elite squad members, hence the perfectly placed mirror pucks we see him utilize in the training room, to make room for his old squad?

Remember, Hunter asks him some time later: “So this was your grand plan? Bring us here and kill us?” Crosshair answers: “If I wanted you dead, you would be.” And this is a statement which I believe to be incontrovertibly true. He has never wanted his family dead, despite having both the resources and skill to ensure they would be if that’s what he desired, but no. He’s angry that he’d inherently felt more loyalty to them than they had shown to him; frustrated that their choices post-Kaller did not align with his expectations of their choices, disheartened that they hadn't initially recognized to his choices to be ones made outside his character, and Crosshair now eagerly rebuffs their every excuse. Reference the spoken: “They don’t leave their own behind… most of the time.” . . . “You tried to kill us, we didn’t have a choice.” . . . “And I did?”

And follows the: “We’re loyal to each other, not some empire.” . . . “You weren’t loyal to me. I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. And it’s why I’m going to give you what you never gave me: a chance…” conversation. (Just stab me in the heart and twist the knife around, Jennifer!!!! Ouch!!! I'm still not over this!)

Was this his plan? To lure his brothers back to their home, and indirectly beg them to join the empire? To offer them the chance to join the ranks of those who have relentlessly hunted them, in the hopes that there might be some semblance of safety in conformity? To reunite the elite squad that they were in the days of the Republic (the original elite squad of which Rampart is trying to replicate with tactically inferior recruited bodies), simply for the safety that joining the empire could potentially promise? Is this the first demonstration of Crosshair using hostility to shield those he cares about from the callous clutches of the empire that he’d become painfully familiar with?

Regardless of the still-unexplained motive, Crosshair’s plan fails. Hunter has either become, or has always been, as protective of his family as Crosshair is stubborn, and he would never willingly subject his brothers (and now sister) to a life of committing abhorrent war crimes in the name of an Emperor who rose, uninhibited, to extreme and unnatural levels of power whilst abolishing the Republic of which they'd previously served. That’s not what their squad was made to do, despite Crosshair trying to convince Hunter perhaps maybe it was.

Unsurprisingly, Crosshair’s pitch falls on deaf ears, even despite killing his elite squad as an offering of trust. Once the training droids have been taken care of and the fray had subsided, Crosshair stands to find Hunter now has a blaster pointed directly at him, as does Wrecker— (Echo and Tech, curiously, keep their weapons pointed away), and the tables have quickly turned. Hunter begins his own plea to his brother, and it leads to a very ambiguous admission. Hunter: “Crosshair, forget the empire. This isn’t you, it’s your inhibitor chip.” Crosshair: “Wrong. I had my chip removed a long time ago.”

What degree of this admission is true? All of it? Parts of it? None of it? Was Crosshair only told that his chip was removed during one of the apparently many augmentations he’d been subject to? Was it removed and replaced with an alternative? Or was it truly extracted, and his questionable actions have been entirely his own? If so, was it the fall of the Republic that spooked him enough to join the ranks of an unknown empire? Did the thought of disobeying orders bother him enough to sacrifice the family dynamic he’s always known, and replace it with a safe sense of conformity? And if this is the case, was missing all of the shots he’d aimed at his brothers, a veiled display of love?

Atop the water hours later, Tipoca City has fallen. Due to their imminent death, Crosshair and his squad have been forced to work together to survive. Tech makes a lingering comment about Crosshair’s unyielding personality being outside of his control, and it’s still ringing in our ears at this point because it implies that a lot of this misunderstanding may just be because of how strongly Crosshair forms opinions, and how only one of his brothers understands that about him. Omega is mid-drowning trying to save her droid friend, Hunter is .4 seconds away from leaping into Kamino’s frigid and turbulent waters to try and retrieve her… and we see Crosshair grab his rifle. This is a shot, of any, that I would expect him to miss— water both impedes and shifts the trajectory of a projectile and mathmatically accommodating for this would take some serious, well thought out calculation; the only usable light for aiming is from the burning remnants of their home, and the container in which Crosshair is perched heaves and tips with every wave.

But he doesn’t miss. He, again, demonstrates that he can make any and every shot he wants to. He lands his shot on AZI’s chest (not dissimilar to where he shot Wrecker, on an obviously smaller scale), and pulls Omega from the depths of the water. Upon turning to see his brothers poised and ready to shoot him if they deemed the need appropriate, I think Crosshair realizes how monumental the fracturing of their squad was. They have no trust left for him. His actions, powered by an inhibitor chip or not, quickly led them to believe he was not the person they knew him to be. As much as he desperately wanted to them understand how powerful the control of the chip was, they didn’t. And I think this moment robs Crosshair of some of his anger and resentment he harboured toward them, and reaffirms that his only option now is to follow the path he was first influenced to follow, regardless of if it’s what he wants now or not. He then chooses abandonment. He chooses to be left stranded on that platform, likely aware that the potential he’d perish there was high. His separation was now his choice.

Let’s move on to Season Two! Episode 3, appropriately named “the Solitary Clone”, indirectly shows us more about Crosshair than I believe any previous episode ever has. Crosshair’s marksmanship is, once again, on full display as he takes down an old separatist tank with one shot (I’m still reeling over it, ok? That shit made me horny). And I can’t move on from this episode without also mentioning how it ended— we know Crosshair has respect for Commander Cody, that was demonstrated by his willingness to follow Cody’s command while he rebuked others’ in the Skako/Anaxes arc. I think it’s also apparent by the return of his notorious sarcasm, that Crosshair is happy to see a familiar face, one of which he may have previously deemed a friend. Cody, in return, places tidbit of trust in Crosshair (I’m also going to link this post in case anyone is curious about my thoughts on Cody’s initial comments). Not only does the commander inch toward the precarious conversation about “going rogue” and the Order-66 debacle, but Cody lets Crosshair take the lead after their shuttle crashes on Desix. “Trust me,” Crosshair begs, and Cody accedes.

They gain access to the strong hold; Crosshair, Cody and Nova (RIP) struggle only mildly with the droid forces ("Droideka's."). Crosshair demonstrates more inhuman trigonometry abilities and immaculate skill by using those mirror pucks to shoot around corners. Cody saves Crosshair’s tushy when a Commando droid gets a little too close to the sniper. Crosshair lowers his weapon at Cody’s request while they negotiate with Tawny Ames, a motion he had otherwise refused earlier in the episode (the civillians they come across behind a closed door— Cody lowers his gun and reassures them, Crosshair does not.) And when the Empire shows its true colours by demanding that Cody renege on his promise of peace and assassinate the governor, Crosshair does not hesitate to answer the call.

Now superficially, this act would appear as nothing more than a repeat of his crimes on Onderon, or Crosshair simply “following orders” as he had previously developed into a sort of mantra. But I think it’s much more layered than that. I think Crosshair recognized that Cody would be subject punishment did he not comply, a notion reinforced by his extended time at Rampart’s elbow, where it was regularly displayed that clones were of little significane and use to this new military regime. What would happen to Cody as a result of his disobedience? Would he simply be demoted from Commander? Would he be court-martialed and questioned? Detained and imprisoned? Killed? Is this why Crosshair took action into his own hands, and “did what needed to be done”? To protect Cody from the repercussions of disobeying a direct order? Or, more harrowingly and something that I am more inclined to believe, was Crosshair protecting Cody from the poignant shame and self-hatred that he knew the Commander would feel if he DID comply? Was Crosshair unwilling to let the mind of another clone be tainted by the emotionless demands of the empire, so he took the action upon himself? Was his objectively unnecessary and cruel attack, an action of deep seated respect and appreciation? Is this why Cody's comment about living with the consequences of their decisions affects Crosshair so deeply as they separate at the end of the mission?

Let’s dial back to the debated intention of Crosshair’s shots— are his missed shots deliberately missed? Our next stop on this journey is The Outpost (my personal favourite, and not because of the dreamy, sardonic, bearded Commander Mayday), but because of the overt growth that we see Crosshair attain. (Here’s an analysis I posted a while back about some of the messages I think the writers were trying to convey via symbolism throughout Crosshair's episodes to this point). If you've read it and even partially subscribe to my theory, then we can agree Crosshair’s mentality has been shifting little by little since we saw him last, and his attachment to Mayday (and the adjacent benefit that Crosshair rediscovers in companionship and brotherhood) is proof of this. So here’s what happens— raiders make it inside the perimeter of the Outpost thanks to limited man-power and degrading equipment. Crosshair heads directly to where he knows he can play to his strengths: high ground. He’s taking quick and careful aim at the retreating insurgent when the nearby shuttle explodes, and something peculiar happens. Whether it be the blinding flash of the explosion magnified significantly by his riflescope that had caused him such immediate discomfort, or something more (chip alert? Maybe? Or residual effects of having it augmented so many times?), but Crosshair’s subsequent shot is not of his regular quality. He hits his target, so I am not deeming this as a shot missed, but Crosshair has a track record of “one-shots” or “kill shots” of which this is not.

I’m inclined to ramble on for centuries about this episode because there is simply so much development, growth, and symbolism that occurs in those 28 minutes— it’s truly a masterpiece in story telling, but I’ve deviated too far from the intention of this essay (novel) so let’s trek forward.

Let’s get to Tipping Point, and what I would deem to be his only failed shot (and the implications of what it might mean). Crosshair has been sedated, interrogated, injected, neglected, confused, and abused since arriving on Tantiss. (You guessed it, I also have an analysis of this episode, structured a little differently than my previous but still helps to break down what I deem to be the motives behind his actions). Hemlock first attempts to bribe Crosshair with his freedom in exchange for information on his brothers, and as such, divulges his true need for Omega. Crosshair, who has never really had the chance to bond with her like his brothers have, refuses to provide any information. And why? Having only a surface level relationship with Omega, and having rebuffed her advances for companionship several times, why would he protect her in the face of imminent chemical torture? Because it directly protects them, and they are no longer being hunted by a squad of recruited bodies lead by an angry brother... but by a twisted and cruel doctor who's methods were proven unorthodox and tortuous upon immediate introduction.

Upon awakening from another round of interrogation, Crosshair understands the time to act is diminishing quickly, as is his ability to refuse Hemlock the information he wants. Each interrogation leaves him physically and mentally weaker; the time is act is now. He shoots and kills the pair of troopers, as well as the interrogation droid, with no difficulty. He stuns Emerie the scientist (possibly recognizing her clone accent for what it is, thus opting not to kill her?), steals her access card, and stumbles from the room. His body is no where near recovered from whatever toxin that droid injected him with, and he staggers through the unknown halls. Quickly coming across a pair of troopers guarding a doorway, the next shot is the only one that I believe he truly missed, and understandably so. It lands on the wall between their heads, and Crosshair quickly realizing his failure, shoots them with the following two rounds.

While missing that shot is largely inconsequential to the overall story, I think it’s an important anecdote for his character growth. In that moment, Crosshair is both physically weakened and mentally desperate to get a message to his brothers, and it’s the combination of those that had his aim faulty. He’s found himself nothing more than a man broken… stripped of the celebrated titles he’d once possessed and mentally mined until simply raising and aiming a blaster, a motion he’d once found more innate as breathing, was a motion difficult for him. He's forsaken his family, lost his purpose, been rendered nothing but an experiment and a tool.

So to summarize this egregiously long essay of Crosshair’s character, I’d like to reiterate that he is human. As we all do, he has faults. A lot of his reasoning is arguably flawed. He makes poor decisions, often in haste without considering the ripple effect it may have. He is extremely stubborn, and he does not communicate well. And there are things he’s done and decisions he’s made that I can not personally elucidate and would love to openly discuss with other Crosshair enthusiasts (example, trying to incinerate his brothers in an ion engine— did he assume Hunter would double back again, and this is Crosshair’s attempt at forcing them into the open? Or is this one of the moments when he cannot fight off the chips control?). You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to agree with him or anything he says. You don’t have to like me or agree with anything I say, but as we head into the third and final Act of this remarkable story, it is worth determining which of his actions are superficially misunderstood, and which have a deeper meaning that a casual viewer might simply overlook.

Thank you for attending the Ted Talk that no one asked for.

Holly ♥️

**forewent the taglist as this is not my typical content

#Crosshair character analysis #character analysis #long post #starqueensrandomthoughts #the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #tbb crosshair #Crosshair tbb #batch batch Crosshair #Crosshair bad batch #please don’t attack me lol

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rdr2gifs · 3 months

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I often wonder what sets Arthur apart and makes him particularly appealing to me compared to other characters (in general). One significant factor lies in how he perceives and interacts with women. Arthur views women as equals, rejecting any notion that he is superior because they often do tasks traditionally associated with women, such as laundry and other chores.

He also never doubts capabilities of women like Sadie, who perform tasks usually associated with men. It's essential to note that one of Arthur's initial scenes with Sadie may be misinterpreted, as Sadie herself belittles the work of other women, not Arthur.

Arthur maintains healthy relationships with the female gang members, with none of them serving as a love interest. He sees men and women as equal, believing everyone should be able to walk their own path in life. He treats women with respect and he doesn’t expect any reward for his behaviour (sadly this is how many men seem to think even in the current time). He doesn’t see women in the gang as a cover (Dutch) nor like a liability (Micah). He sees them as people and valuable members of the gang.

Even in situations where he has to help women, he never considers them any less capable nor downplays their abilities.

Arthur's respect for women is also shown in his interactions with individuals outside the gang, such as the circus lady and the rich widow. After the circus lady thanks him for his help, he’s quick to say she would’ve been able to do it without him. He encourages her to pursue her dream in a so far male-dominated industry. He doesn’t look down on the widow, who doesn’t know anything about survival. He doesn’t tell her to go back to the city where she came from. He tries to teach her in a natural and encouraging way, never acting as if he was better than her because he has more experience. He patiently teaches her without any condescension.

He initially doesn’t understand why Beau even tries to stop Penelope from participating in the women's rights march. I like to think this is because he thinks everyone should be able to fight for their cause/what they believe is right. Not to mention he very much enjoyed riding with these ladies and wrote about his experience with fondness.

Arthur's journal entries reveal his disapproval of mistreating women, recognizing the injustice in an era when women had limited autonomy. “He treats his daughter like a possession to be mistreated and abused as he sees fit. Strange creatures men.” It was definitely not common for men in this time to be thinking about women's autonomy.

I don’t want to praise Arthur for things that should be considered the bare minimum but these qualities definitely add more to his likability. And it’s great to see where your favorite character stands on important things like this.

⚘ While acknowledging that Arthur's antagonistic lines may be interpreted as sexist, it's important to consider them as optional elements mostly implemented to make 13 years old boys feel edgy.

#analysis? sort of #thank you for reading #please try to not take this post as me saying john doesn't respect women or that arthur is somehow better than him #i am an arthur fan first and foremost and i'm only interested in writing about him #i don't feel the need to bring one character down to highlight the traits of another ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #don't even mention the ''i didn't know i was talking to a lady'' scene #to somehow prove ''arthur doesn't respect women''#she disrespected him first totally unprovoked for no reason #my gifs #it was totally deserved #rdr2 gifs #text post

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yourheartandmind · 1 year

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Know You Don't

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Knowing didn't always translate to understanding, and loving Wednesday meant learning that the hard way.

The reality of dating someone rarely goes exactly as expected. Sometimes, this is for the better. Sometimes, the love transforms into a waltz of teaching and learning; a journey beyond yearning and into accepting and understanding. Sadly, however, most of the time it's not.

When it came to loving Wednesday Addams, you knew from the start that loving her would be unlike anything else.

How could it be?

From the beginning, the girl had been reserved and unaffectionate, more likely to commit murders for you than hold you through spouts of tears. And though you had always known better than to expect anything more than that, it would still prove to be your greatest oversight.

Because knowing did not always mean understanding, and for all that you might have tried to ignore this fact, it was the inescapable difference that doomed your relationship.

Watching the girl now, you held back your sigh of frustration as she rolled her eyes at you. The action made you bristle, and if it had been from anyone else, you might've snapped. Yet, because it was the girl you loved, you fought against the urge to let your irritation show.

Even as the lines around Wednesday's lips deepened, conveying her displeasure and etching it onto her face, you made every effort to remain composed. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice how her expression still bore traces of the stoic stare you had become accustomed to - once wonderfully intriguing. But now, those traces served only as a painful reminder of just how little Wednesday seemed to care, sometimes.

"I don't think I'm asking for too much," you pleaded, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation as you searched for any glimmer of understanding in her darkened eyes, "Just a little more affection, Wednesday, a small gesture here and there to let me know you're there for me when I need it." Your mind wandered to the countless sleepless nights, of the loneliness that always followed. It was during those times that Wednesday seemed to disappear, leaving you to confront your thoughts and solitude alone.

"In what ways, Y/N?" She pressed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, as if erecting an imaginary wall between the two of you.

Not that it seemed to really matter either way. Even when she was physically present, like she was now, it still felt like Wednesday was a world away. Her physical proximity held no comfort. Her gaze had no empathy. It felt as if your struggles were inconsequential to her; as if you were inconsequential to her.

“Affection?” There was the beginning of mockery in her voice, causing a pang of defensiveness to course through you, “As in physical gestures? You want me to embrace you?” Her words felt demeaning, as if your deepest desires were being reduced to childish wants. But just as likely was the possibility that it was simply your imagination playing a cruel trick on you.

"Yes, physical gestures, Wednesday," you replied, your voice attempting to stay calm despite how you might have been feeling inside.

It was as if your plea was falling on deaf ears, though, Wednesday's expression remaining unchanged - as if she couldn't even fathom what you were saying. You were just stopping short of practically begging the girl to show you love, yet the only emotion you found within her gaze was something akin to boredom. And when the raven hair girl finally spoke again, her words were measured and deliberate, only fueling your frustration further.

"I simply don't see the point in such trivial things," she replied, voice carrying a cold detachment, "Are my options for affection really limited only to meaningless, physical touch? Can I not express my love in any other way?"

Her words struck you uncomfortably, causing a knot of confusion to tighten in your chest. You had hoped for even a glimmer of understanding, any willingness to find common ground. Instead, Wednesday was challenging the very essence of your request, leaving you questioning your own needs and desire for affection.

"It's not about triviality or limitations!" You explained, a mix of frustration and yearning in your voice, "I know that you express your love in your own unique way, and I love that about you. But sometimes I just need tangible reassurance. Sometimes, I just need to know you're there when I get lost in my own doubts and worries."

But, in reality, the last sentence remained unspoken; the words that exposed your vulnerability lodged in your throat. Your hesitation was tangible as you found yourself unable to admit your need for reassurance any further, as if exposing your deepest desires would be an admission of weakness.

“I just…” You attempted again, but once more finding the right words escaping you. The unfinished sentence dangled in the silence, leaving the conversation unresolved.

Despite everything, you allowed yourself to silently hope that Wednesday would grasp the depth of the situation without your explicit pleas; that she would understand the importance small gestures of affection could have on the chains around your heart. But as the silence stretched on, it became clear that the unspoken plea would remain unheard; the usually acute and observant Wednesday somehow missing all the signs you were desperately trying to convey.

"You're not understanding," she exhaled, voice carrying a weariness that matched the heaviness you felt.

Suppressing the retort that it was her who failed to understand, you locked your jaw. The words teetered on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed in a moment of frustration and pent-up energy. But as you looked into Wednesday's eyes, vacant and unbothered, you felt all the fight drain out of you. The startling realization of your situation suddenly dawned onto you.

"I'm sorry, you're right," you admitted, the words slipping out with a sigh, carrying with it resignation and the bitter taste of defeat. The apology was empty, devoid of genuine remorse. It was like nothing more than an obligatory olive branch in your attempt to reconcile.

Wednesday, however, nodded, as if your admission was something she had expected all along, accepting your apology with an air of anticipated detachment. A silent scoff almost escaped your lips in response, a bitter reaction to her lack of acknowledgment.

But eventually, resignation seeped into your bones, and acceptance settled heavily onto your shoulders, weighing you down with the realization that your battle for understanding had been a solitary one - waged against an opponent who hadn't recognized the fight in the first place.

Wednesday turned away without a second glance, effortlessly resuming her day as if nothing had transpired, rubbing salt into your wound as you were left to wallow in the futility of your efforts.

Perhaps this time, it was she who had missed all the signs you had desperately tried to convey, consumed by her own world. But, you couldn't help but feel like the eternal fool, allowing her to emerge victorious once again, surrendering your own world to be lost in hers.

---

Unofficial Previous Part: Imposition

#wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagines #wednesday addams x reader fluff

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shinidamachu · 6 months

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kagome higurashi, occupation: it girl

We're constantly talking about what a fashion icon Kagome is, but I haven't seen many actual analyses of her style or how it got translated from the manga to the anime, so I thought it was a fun, innocuous discussion to have this @inuvember. I'm not an expert on the subject by any means, but here's a compilation of my observations.

The first thing I noticed is probably the most obvious: she thoroughly enjoys showing off her legs, which she does by wearing an obscene amount of skirts, rarely jeans and never shorts, not even as a PJ.

The interesting detail is that she mostly pairs them off with a top that would completely cover her arms and shoulders, which is smart because puts her legs even more in evidence and brings an elegant balance to it. Sundresses seem to be the only exception to that rule:

Now, when it comes to prints, the anime left me the impression that she favors solid blocks of colors rather than especific patterns, but comparing to the manga it's easy to see that's just not true.

Not only does Kagome rock any print she wears, she also seems to have a preference for plaid variations.

Sadly we only got to see in the anime through the sundress above and the iconic Day of Days outfit (the high school uniform doesn't really count).

She likes her flowery patterns as well, although that's only really a thing in the manga. Of course, I understand Sunrise probably toned down this aspect of her clothing choices to make them easier to animate, but we can still mourn it.

The next one is particularly sad to me because it was one of my all time favorite manga outfit of hers and they replaced it with one she had used before in The Soul Piper and the Mischievous Little Soul.

The same outfit was recycled again in Sota’s Brave Confession of Love. It was literally copy and past, except for the colors.

And to add insult to injury, this was the original look:

Another thing that was pointed out by @kagomehigurashi in this amazing post is that her "stay at home" clothes are incredibly versatile: she can go from very fashionable sweaters to her fun SHAM shirt collection just like that. But when she goes out, she goes all out.

Overall, I think we can conclude that her wardrobe was pretty colorful. Especially in the anime, there's not a lot of black, if any, and Kagome tends to go for pastel. She also seems to be a big fan of overlaying: her outfits are often completed with cardigans, coats or jackets.

Plus, I'd say comfort is a priority for her. The vast majority of her clothes don't seem restricting at all and her shoes consist basically on loafers, sneakers and ballet flats. Even the heel we saw her wear once was of a wedge type.

She rarely uses accessories, but she limits herself to one or two when she does. It's usually a purse and some jewelry or belt (at least in the manga). Her hair is always down except for the occasional braid (also only in the manga), PE ponytail and bath bun.

It could have been interesting if Takahashi had also used Kagome's fashion sense to showcase how much she changed during her journey, but Kagome's style remained extremely consistent. I guess she found it very early on what she was about. I'd describe it as romantic boho, but I don't even know if that's a thing.

What I do know is that it was far from basic, that she appeared to be having a lot of fun expressing herself throught it and that it felt more mature in the manga, even if most of them are just covers or bonus art.

#Inuvember #Inuvember 2023 #Inuyasha #Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #I think Kagome has very similar taste to Lara Jean Covey #I wish there was a Kagome doll with all of her manga clotes so we could buy it and play dress up like the Barbie she is #Sidposting

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808airsoftbros · 1 month

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Yujin's Wake Up Call

Author: This is a simple short story nothing too special and something that came to my mind that I want to write. If you want to see more of my stories check out my Masterlist.

Author's POV

It was another busy day at Starship, the IVE girls recently returned from their world tour and they were indeed exhausted after travelling the world for the past several months.

Yujin especially was tired along with the girls but she was disheartened when she heard that they would be visiting a patient with cancer as part of the wish foundation.

"Can you girls go for me? I'm too tired," Yujin asked and Gaeul rolled her eyes.

"Are you serious, Yujin? I get that you're tired from travelling the world but our manager says will be getting a whole month break afterward and we can do whatever we want from there," Gaeul pointed out and Yujin groaned.

"Yeah, and also our fans mean alot to us, and what about you?" Rei asked and Yujin scoffed.

"What are you on about? I'm only being nice because I have to and I hate that I have to be fake!" Yujin complained and Gaeul shook her head in disappointment.

Sadly, Yujin can be lazy at times, she'd be often caught slacking in dance practices when off camera, and you can bet every dollar that she tried every excuse you could think of to get out of her work.

This would annoy her members especially Gaeul and they'd always be fighting and arguing with one another.

"Yujin, do not start this shit again... We've been over this how many God damn times already?! When are you ever going to change?!" Gaeul angrily asked and Yujin rolled her eyes.

"When management doesn't constantly make us work to death," She answered spitefully.

"Well, if you do not behave, Ms. An Yujin, you will be one sorry woman, do you hear me?" Gaeul coldly warned but Yujin shrugged it off.

Because of how she always tends to act, the crew and management, and even her own members don't like nor respect her, but she doesn't seem to care.

Yujin also tends to have bad habits of drinking and smoking too much and Gaeul always catches her vaping when she's not supposed to.

Wonyoung and Yujin's friendship began deteriorating as she was fed up with her antics and was disheartened to see her friend changing for the worse.

One quiet night, Yujin snuck out of the dorm without waking up the girls and sat on a bench to smoke and drink.

It was quite foggy and there were hardly any noises to be heard besides the slight sounds of the breeze which was perfect for her.

"Perfect. No one to bother me," Yujin muttered as she takes a sip of soju.

"Excuse me," She heard a feminine voice asked and she turned to see a unfamiliar woman.

Yujin jumped in surprise as she didn't notice the woman approaching her.

"W-what do you want?" She nervously asked.

"Oh, sorry for startling you, it's quite a foggy night is it?" She kindly asked.

"I guess you can say that..." Yujin muttered to her and took a puff from her pod.

"Shouldn't idols be limiting how much they drink and smoke?" The woman asked as she sat down next to her.

"Why is it your business?" She snarled and the woman frowned.

Seeing Yujin's attitude, the woman just stared at her intently and then gave her a cold demeanor.

"I'll tell you why you're here... It's because you're lazy, useless, and a pathetic excuse of an idol," The woman coldly said and Yujin was taken aback.

"Who the fuck are you to judge me?! I can't help but get overwhelmed sometimes! Maybe if you were an idol then you'd understand!" Yujin retorts and the woman shook her head.

"Tsk. Overwhelmed? Only because you just have to visit a special patient? Is that your only excuse? As someone who has a chronic heart condition, you disgust me," The woman angrily replied and Yujin was now lost for words trying to come up with the words.

"I-" She was about to say but was cut off.

"Shut it! Did you know I was once an idol like you? I couldn't practice or sing on some days but I still give it my all! Unlike you, who has a management who at least cares for you and would get you the help you need... My management never cared for me, if they don't see me as efficient... Poof, they will simply get rid of me like I'm sort of a piece of garbage meant to be disposed of," The woman explained her story and Yujin gulped in fear.

"Every day I have to work through excruciating pain! The only person who ever cared for me was the custodian who works here, and I have to keep working no matter what just to survive, and here I see a spoiled rotten you always coming up with excuses just to get out of work! You leave me speechless... Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" The woman coldly asked with a tear shedding from her eye and Yujin tried to shrug off the feeling of guilt but no matter how hard she tried... It lingered inside of her but she refused to show it.

"There are many other idols left forgotten in the winds of time and talents wasted, they would give anything to be in your position yet you couldn't care less... It's pitiful," She finished and Yujin was boiling deep inside.

"And who the hell are you?!" Yujin asked her and the woman grinned.

"Consider me your wake up call, An Yujin, I hope one day you realize the error of your ways... Goodnight," The woman bid goodbye and got up from the bench.

Yujin watched as the mysterious woman walked into the fog and vanished out of sight.

After that, Yujin was left angry and confused, she wondered who the woman was as she had never met or heard of her. She quickly concludes her drinking and smoking session and goes back inside the building.

When she got into the corridor she finds the janitor Jake sweep mopping the floor.

"Hey, Jake!" Yujin called out and he paused.

"Yes?" Jake replied and Yujin sighs.

"Do you happen to know a woman who was an idol here? She claims to have a heart condition but... I don't know she's making it up or not to trick me into making me feel bad," She asked and Jake frowned before looking down.

Jake goes into his pocket pulling out a picture of the very same woman that Yujin encountered earlier and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Is this the woman you're referring to?" Jake asked as he showed the photo.

"Y-yes, that's her alright, who is she?" She curiously asked and he deeply sighed.

"Her name is Jennifer Jung, she was once a trainee here, she was also the sister of Jessica and Krystal Jung, but she had a severe and chronic heart condition... I tried my best to help her when management wasn't looking but it wasn't enough, she perished five months into her training," He explained the story and sighed once more.

Yujin froze in terror and shivers were sent down her spine as she could hardly believe that she was talking to the spirit of Jennifer this whole time.

She didn't know what to make of it but Jake didn't see her as a crazy person and he already figured she saw Jennifer. Yujin returns to her dorm and Jake continues his janitorial duties.

After that night, Yujin was a changed woman much to everyone's surprise, she eventually quit smoking and stopped drinking as much, although she mostly kept to herself, she stopped complaining and followed their schedules.

Yujin and the girls visited the hospital patient without issues or trouble much to management's delight and they were happy they were able to deliver someone's last dying wish.

Sometimes Yujin felt the urge to return to her old habits but refused and kept going no matter what. Yujin would never forget that encounter that night.

She never saw Jennifer again but on some foggy nights, she felt her presence was near but never again would she take anything for granted.

#short story #kpop #kpop idol #kpop gg #ive #an yujin #wonyoung #jang wonyoung #yujin #ive leeseo #lee hyunseo #ive liz #gaeul #kim gaeul #rei #naoi rei #kpop oneshot

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 7 months

Text

The Old Gods and the New - Chapter 5

There You Are | Loki x Reader

After your time in the medical wing you begin to explore the compoud again, as well as your powers. Thor and Loki do their best to make you feel at home, and Tony tries to make friends the only way he knows how.

Warnings: reader is still shaken, Loki is horny, suggestions of sex, making out.

Green divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Loki was true to his word, using his silvertongue to dodge any question about your burgeoning powers and weaving a tale of your attempts to recreate any of the fires or feelings that had scared the team so badly before. According to Loki you were capable of warming a room and making sparks, that was all. And that you could adjust your appearance and keep it stable enough to avoid their fear of the uncanny. There was no talk of your ability to conjure objects, stable objects at that.

The truth about your past he kept buried even deeper. He’d seen so much when you opened your mind to him, and yet so many of the memories were gray and hazy, with the details either missing or running together. Like a watercolour the images were blurred and he wasn’t sure whether it was because they were false, and badly done at that, or because something had been removed and meddled with. He was at a loss, trying to decide between whether someone would want to plant false memories, or meddle with old ones. But he had been able to establish, from his limited knowledge of Midgardian history, that you had managed to attend events some three or four hundred years before.

He was pondering it still, lounging in his rooms, while he fiddled with his new ring, his long fingers curling around the cold metal, his perfectly manicured nail tapped on the gem, the pad of his thumb rubbed over the delicate indent made in the silver, allowing the sapphire to lay almost flush to the surface. He marvelled in its simple intricacy, you had made this for him and he’d expected it to vanish, but it hadn’t. Even when you’d both slept, sadly in your separate beds, he had expected your magic to reset when your consciousness was resting, but he’d opened his eyes that morning to the sapphire glowing back at him.

“I thought about a real ring, I thought about drawing the metal from it and making it for you,” you’d explained, as you made your fourth lap of the building together, strolling in the mid afternoon sun while Loki pretended he couldn’t see the junior Agents that had been tailing you both for the last hour.

“That’s incredible. You understand how that’s different from, say, me making you a mirror to use once?”

“Well one is a mere illusion, I assume. The other, the ring, I thought about the metal, how it would move as I fashioned it. I thought it would fade too.” You swept a hand along the top of the neat privet hedges that lined the walkway, rustling each leaf experimentally and delighting in the way they seemed to become an even richer shade of green with each pass of your fingers.

“The mirror is an illusion, that’s correct. The other is more elemental, summoning the metal, smelting it with your magic until it’s real - that’s a lot more advanced. I’m impressed.”

Loki revelled in the way you became bashful under his praise. Smiling and ducking your head away while nodding in understanding and then turning to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Loki.” You whispered, and then pulled away, leaving the path to pick a few of the errant daisies appearing around the edges of the lawn.

You should be proud, he thought, he was so proud. It welled in him, blurring into an easy affection that had been blossoming between you both. Loki had to restrain himself from holding his hand out to you when you rejoined him, had to fight the urge to kiss the soft apples of your cheeks and the fullness of your lips. He clasped his hands behind his back.

He wasn’t sure what dance you were both engaged in, where you could kiss his cheek with abandon but you never expected more from him and, in his confusion, he became irrationally angry at this new desire for closeness, for more than lust and satisfaction.

Somehow you’d turned the tables on him and he wondered if this was the feeling that had been reported to him when he arrived. A drive to adore and love and consume.

“Loki? Let’s go to the lake and practice.” You suggested, turning away from the compound and towards the glassy expanse of water on the edge of the grounds.

These lessons did not seem to quench his desire for closeness.

During the day you would walk together in the grounds and talk about theories, practising some shape shifting skills and, when there was no one else around, attempting to summon and create other objects.

In the evenings you were often away in your rooms, preferring isolation to observation even more since your time in the medical wing. But if the common areas were free Loki was able to coax you out and, together, you pulled on the threads of your memory.

At night the memories morphed into dreams, wars, suffering, pain but also happiness, faces smiling at you from behind ever changing styles and locations. You would wake, sweating, as if you’d spent your night falling forever down a spiralling rabbit hole of recollections both real and imagined.

In the mornings Loki invited you to breakfast in his rooms before your walks, allowing you a change of scenery from your much smaller bedroom. Given the chance you would spend every moment with him there. Your room felt cramped and claustrophobic, even your window was restricted from opening. But here with Loki, with his rooms full of light and air, the sun shining on you while you shared croissants, you felt alive and free for the first time.

“I don’t like this.” Tony slammed his phone onto the table after reviewing the latest surveillance footage of Loki and - prisoner felt too cruel, but he’d yet to persuade you to join the Avengers or even engage with any of them since your time in the medical wing.

“We can’t stop them from talking, Stark, what are you so afraid of?” Natasha sat across from him in his vast office, her boots propped on the table in front of her as she inspected her nails.

“Afraid? She sets fire to things, she’s supposed to be out protege, not the Prodigy. I have nice things here -” he paused to lean across the desk and push the assassins heel with a pen, “boots - down.”

“She hasn’t done that since London, and besides Loki and Thor are both keeping an eye on her, she’ll come round in time. Let him mess up.” She shrugged, pulling a piece of chewing gum from the pocket of her skin tight combat trousers.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then we deal with it.”

Tony picked up his phone again, scrolling through the corridor footage of Loki knocking on your door every morning and escorting you across the hall into his own rooms, of you both laughing together in the grounds and of no magic, no training. “What’s he even doing with her all day?”

Natasha snorted a laugh, “who fucking cares? Seducing her? She’s a big girl, Stark, and you’re starting to sound jealous.”

“We have Steve God Damn Rogers in this building and she’s following Shakespeare around like he’s -”

“A god?” She snapped her gum and then left her mouth open, eyebrows raised.

“Shut up.”

“If you don’t stop I’m going to start assuming you’re jealous.” Natasha raised a neat eyebrow, put one foot on the table and lent back in her seat.

“I’m not jealous we just need her back on side, maybe a gift or something, what do you think?”

“Gifts are nice, what’re you thinking?”

Tony strode across the office to a large cabinet built into the wall and opened the middle draw pulling out a Stark industries gift bag, “have someone rewrap these, no Stark logos, just a gift, to help with her research or something. Just make it look nice.”

Natasha looked inside the gift bag, rummaging through the contents, she forwent the phone, socks, pens and mouse mat before settling on the tablet. “Just this, it’s flashy enough but not overally personal, and we can restrict her access - no calls, just google.”

“Great, thanks,” Tony looked at Natasha expectantly, “do you need money for wrapping paper or something?”

“I’m not your assistant.” Natasha smirked, handing the box back over and sauntering out of the room, “if you want to top up my account I wouldn’t say no though!” She called over her shoulder as the door slammed shut.

You found the elegantly wrapped parcel resting on the console table next to your bedroom door when you returned from your walk with Loki. The god stood behind you, eyeing the shiny paper from over your shoulder.

“Is it your birthday, darling?” He asked, concerned he’d wasted a special day training instead of celebrating.

“No, it’s not my birthday.”

If Loki had been suspicious it was nothing to the way you behaved, as if the parcel might jump up and bite you. Loki kept on hand on your waist, holding you close while he reached around to look at the tag, “hmm, it’s from Stark. A peace offering, perhaps. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.” He handed it to you and encouraged you to open it.

Inside was a sleek black box with a picture of an electronic device on, Loki was bemused but you were excited, “oh my god, a tablet!” You tore the rest of the wrapping off and, bouncing on your heels, dragged Loki back into his room so you could set it up together.

Tony’s peace offering did nothing to help your feelings towards the team, you were still cautious, refusing to engage in conversation. But you were finally able to leave the compound, in a way, using your new tablet. You walked down streets, viewing places your memory revealed to you and searching for information on everything you saw.

It helped your research as well, dating the dreams and memories that Loki helped you to uncover, so that you could recount the stories to him in the hopes that he might remember a detail as well.

The farthest back you’d been able to date so far had been somewhere in the 1800s, though you were sure Loki had seen further and had kept it from you. In your dream you’d seen yourself in spring, happy and dancing, the sun rising high and warm above you as you let the dew drops of the morning wet your bare feet.

You had told Loki, in excruciating detail, about a woman in one of these dreams. That they had been at a party with you, billowing dresses surrounding you both, suffocating you both until you found respite in the darkness of a maze in the gardens. There, you had hidden under the woman’s dress to pleasure her.

Loki had choked on his tea as you casually recounted the story, as if you were merely describing a walk around the park with a friend, and he had excused himself to relieve the growing pressure in his trousers.

When he returned you were talking to Thor, who was amused but otherwise unaffected by your stories, one arm thrown over the back of the couch you were sharing. A flare of jealous rose within him, but there was also something so familiar and comforting about the scene. Thor, in his half regal dress, sprawling in the pillows with you curled up next to him, your skirt a wash of colour and fabric around your knees. Between you Thor had set out a tray with his favourite Midgardian snacks, awful pastry items with sickly icing on top, as well as your beloved croissants and steaming cups of tea.

He had flashes of other times spent in such casual and easy intimacy, summer afternoons similarly spent lounging amongst silk pillows, laughing and sharing stories together with no other care in the Nine Realms.

You both looked up, seeing him trapped by his thoughts in the doorway, and Thor held out his hand, “come, brother, the little one was telling me about her memories, this one is particularly amusing.” You smiled at him too, shifting in your seat to create a space between you both and Loki’s heart sang, filled with that rare feeling of contentment that had eluded him for so long.

Yet Loki wasn’t the only one affected by your presence. Bucky and Natasha continued to feel uncomfortable around you, despite your generally genial nature. Thoughts both soft and wanton swirled and eddied around the minds of the Avengers, causing chaos in their work and interpersonal lives until the common areas were almost always empty, each inhabitant choosing to spend their time alone instead.

They brushed past each other in the corridors, blushing furiously and stammering like children.

That was okay with you, it suited you to be mostly alone, especially as you only really liked to talk to Thor and Loki anyway. It had taken you longer to warm to Thor, but he was kind, if not a little too loud, and he never looked at you with fear, only intrigue. You felt safe in his presence, familial and calm. With Loki there was always a draw, a fire that pulled the oxygen from the room when he entered and you craved the sensation of his presence, the way it tingled on your skin.

To the Avengers you said very little and, where possible, referred all your answers or conversation through the two Gods. Thor was quick to take your side, his booming voice a protection from whatever anxiety gripped you when questions were directed your way, and Loki was as fierce as a viper, waiting to strike quickly and with clean, cutting, precision, leaving the other party stinging from his words.

Thor found himself enamoured with your presence too, mostly because Loki seemed to be behaving himself for once, too afraid of being removed from the compound to do more than snap viciously. Focused and confident without the brash, over reaching aggression that was often his downfall. It was good to see him happy and well, and Thor enjoyed teasing him about his obviously deeper feelings. But he was pleased because there seemed to be a natural understanding between the three of you, something setting you all apart from the others, and though he knew Loki was keeping something from him, he was sure it wouldn’t be long before the two of you let slip your secrets.

It was how you’d found yourself standing in the dry grass at the centre of the compound, the pattern still burnt into the sod from Thor and Loki’s arrival, with both Gods flanking you.

“See how I can use the magic to call my battle armour.” Thor’s voice echoed from the flat surfaces of the buildings surrounding them. With a flash of lightning Thor summoned the red cape and metal plate armour that was his battle dress.

Loki was next, his familiar magic glowing around him as his black shirt and trousers changed into fine, forest green leather, his gold headpiece in his hand. He flipped it and winked, “your turn.” Before balancing the towering horns atop his head.

It was one thing to witness their Asgardian dress on the television, but quite another to see it in real life. Thor was larger than life, bright and bold, every bit the Prince of Asgard, his hammer swinging at his side. But Loki - Loki had taken your breath away. It was as if the horns and cape had made him taller somehow, impossibly imposing in a way that had you curling your toes in your trainers to stop your legs from pressing together. Every piece of golden armour curled around him like a lover's embrace, showing his broad shoulders and lean body off to advantage. In the brisk early summer wind his cape caught the breeze, billowing behind him and framing him in deep, forest green and revealing the tight fit of his leather trousers. You swallowed and snapped your eyes back to his, not missing the playful smirk that crossed his lips.

“Oh, I don’t think I could do anything like that, how do you know I even have any of this -” you waved at them both - “in me?” The idea seemed crazy, there was no way you could bring out anything even close to the regal majesty of the Asgardians.

“Call it an inkling, mere mortals couldn’t - but then, you are no mere mortal.” Loki stepped towards you.

“We have no idea what I am.”

“Exactly, it’ll be fun.” Thor clapped a meaty hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, “what’s the worst that could happen!?”

You thought back to the car burning outside of your flat, of the people you’d scared and the ability to even change the colour of your fingernails fizzled away in fear.

Sensing your distress Loki brushed Thor aside and cupped your face in his long, dexterous fingers. Gently he angled your head up until all you could see was his beautiful face, framed with whips of jet black hair. He looked every bit a God as he commanded your attention.

“Just try,” he murmured, and you followed his lips as they opened and closed, mesmerised by the movement.

“Okay.” You nodded.

Loki watched as you concentrated, your hands clenched and eyes closed as always, your clothes shimmered and then, from the depths of nowhere, they changed. It wasn’t quite the same bold and majestic outfits as the Gods, but you had managed to summon a tight, dark blue jumpsuit and black cloak, a silver headband held your hair away from your face and pinched just behind your ears. Far from a perfect fit, but a lot more than you’d anticipated being able to produce.

“Very stylish!” Thor boomed, a wide smile on his face. But you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You had secretly hoped to discover a weapon, a crown like they wore, even some armour. It was an impressive outfit to create from nothing, but that’s all it was, an outfit, not the warrior armour of a God.

Sensing your distress Loki held you once more, his long fingers touching the soft velvet of your cloak, “it is all practice. These things will come in time.” He murmured and, throwing caution to the wind still tugging on his hair, he kissed the top of your head.

When Thor left the next day he took the temperate weather with him, leaving behind a solid week of rain.

Instead of taking turns around the garden you confined yourself to the compound, finally brave enough to stake a claim to the large sofa in the common room while the Avengers were home. You had thankfully found a new app with crosswords on your tablet and, listening to the rain fall against the large glass windows, you’d allowed yourself to become lost in your puzzle until Loki sat down across from you.

“You know how you can see my memories,” you asked, eyes still fixed on the black and white pattern in front of you.

“Yes?” Loki answered but didn’t look up from his book either. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him lick his finger to turn the page.

“Do you think I could see yours?”

Loki put the book in his lap to look over at you, studying you closely. Curled into the corner of the sofa, feet drawn up under you. Since your attempt at summoning armour you’d managed to create your own clothes every day this week and you were rightly proud of it.

You had told him you were never allowed to shop when you lived with your grandfather, the man, whoever he was. You had three of four basic items that were brought in for you periodically. But now you had found fashion blogs online the limits seemed endless, you spent your mornings recreating the outfits gleefully.

Today was a simple day, just little black shorts and an oversized knit jumper that fell below your wrists and to Loki you looked so…Midgardian. He hated himself for enjoying it but, as he looked down at his own black jeans and the heavy knit of his sweater, he hated himself all over again for not realising what an influence you had over him.

Silence filled the room and Loki became aware that he had taken too long to answer and if he didn’t say something soon you were sure to come up with an even worse idea.

“Oh! Or, better, if we can see each other’s memories, do you think we could hear each other's thoughts? Imagine. And we could play tricks on people. That’d be so funny!” You were grinning to yourself now, still tapping at the screen and chewing on your thumb, but with a wide smile on your face.

The last thing he needed was you in his head. Not when his head was so consumed with thoughts of you. Just the night before you’d worn tight black jeans and a sage green translucent silk blouse to dinner and he had almost turned round and walked back out to hide his pink cheeks and filthy thoughts, if you could hear the depraved things that cycled through his mind you’d never want to come near him again.

And that would never do.

Not when you were more than happy to climb into his lap while he opened your memories, not when you kissed his cheek so softly, so chastly that he wanted to hold you there against him.

“Nevermind,” you mumbled, poking at the screen of your tablet and pulling the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands, “we don’t have to. I’m sure there’s lots of other things to learn.”

“No - no, we can try, if you’d like? Perhaps it will help us both understand the memories better.”

Loki thought his heart might beat out of his chest, he would have to be so careful, one wrong thought, one wrong step and he could spoil everything that you’d been building together. His every hand so far had been well played, but he still felt you were gaining on him with every memory returned, whether you knew it or not.

“Great!” You tossed the tablet onto the sofa cushions and shuffled closer to him. He stayed where he was, legs on the table in front of him. “Come on,” you tugged his arm until you were both crossed legged on the sofa, facing each other.

“Go on then,” Loki’s mouth twitched upwards into a teasing smirk.

“Well, I can’t just do it! You’re supposed to help me!”

“Put your hands on my face,” he brought your palms up to his cheeks, fingers on his temples and applied the smallest amount of pressure.

“Okay,” you closed your eyes and Loki felt the tickling feeling of your prying at the edges of his mind, like the picking of a label from a glass bottle and he allowed his mind to open just a little.

“I can do it - stop cheating.” You made a frustrated noise and shuffled in your seat. “Stop moving!

“I’m not moving,” Loki laughed, “that’s you!”

“Your brain is.”

Loki’s laugh deepened and he bent forwards into your hands. “How is that possible?”

“Stay. Still.”

With another grunt of annoyance you climbed into his lap, maintaining contact with his face, as you wriggled into position Loki took in a deep breath, willing his body to stay calm while your entire being pressed against him, not just your hands and your body, but your mind too. Clinging and clawing at his own. And there, in his panic, you peeled away a corner and slipped into his thoughts.

“There you are.” You whispered, reverently.

Loki fumbled for a thought that he could share with you, but all he could see, feel, think about was the way your bare thighs were pressed against his hips.

About the way you would slip your hand into his and squeeze it when you were nervous at the dinner table.

About the way you kissed his cheek and wished him goodnight like you truly cared for him.

They had warned him, The Captain and the Iron one and the others, they had all warned him to be careful of you. Yet here he was, mind and body open to you.

Your eyes darkened, fingers digging into his temples and an image appeared in return. It was almost the same as Loki’s, except as the thought appeared, your clothes melted away revealing only soft flesh, curves and dimples, pebbled nipples and the hard length of him sinking into the warmth of you.

Loki opened his eyes slowly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Well, that was interesting.

“Hmm,” you moaned, somewhere between pensive and lustful and for the first time Loki doubted whether your guileless touches were real or faked, “I’m sure we can think of some fun things to do with that skill,” and you climbed off his lap leaving him confused again.

Loki stood abruptly and grabbed at your wrist, yanking you close, his nose brushed yours as he held you to him.

“Of all your tricks, you must not tell them you can do that,” he insisted, his nose traced yours and then he kissed you, his tongue sliding against your own, tasting, owning, his teeth biting and filling your mind with thoughts of him again.

“Do what?” Natasha asked and you broke apart, throwing yourself backwards across the cushions to get as far away from Loki as possible.

You panicked, “uhm -”

“She can shapeshift better now, but I don’t want you using her, she’s not ready. So don’t tell the others.” Loki snapped, smile gone and stern, blank face secured.

Natasha looked pleased nevertheless. “Good we can use that - eventually” she placated, before Loki could react. “We have a mission, but it’s not for a while.”

Loki looked over at you, eyes on your crossword again. He did not want you going on missions and bonding with the super friends, he wanted you out of her, with him, safe and secure..

What was that?!

Did you not like it?

That’s not what I said ásynja

You smiled and flicked yours eyes at him. Then at Natasha.

Ask her how Bucky is

The thought floated towards him.

Why?

For fun

Well, he did like fun.

“Agent Romanoff, how is Sergeant Barnes today?” Natasha whipped her head around, glaring.

“I have no idea.” She snapped.

“Oh, nevermind then,” Loki went back to his book, turning the page slowly.

Ask her if the bruise has gone down

Darling, let’s not play with fire -

The bruise! On her neck!

The thought was as clear as a bell ringing in his mind. Would you always be connected this closely? He should have considered how he’d lock you back out again.

“I do hope his bruise is healing well,” Loki looked from his book to the window and then back at Natasha, the picture of nonchalance. “It’s such a nuisance to have such a thing upon one’s neck.”

“Right” Natasha put her hands on her knees and stood up, “I’m out of here.”

You looked at Natasha again, really looked, and images of Natasha and Bucky pressed against the kitchen counter bubbled to the surface. You bit the tip of your tongue to stop from saying anything to hinder their progress. You’d felt it as soon as they were in a room together, like air pressure before a storm, building and sparking. Hopefully they were finally figuring things out and you’d be able to breathe again.

Natasha left the room, banging her bedroom door as she went.

“That was fun, you were right.”

“I know, but I do really hope things work out for her. I can’t explain it, I get this feeling to match people up and they so obviously like each other.” You sighed, dreamily.

“Lots of people like matchmaking, you just need more hobbies.” Loki did not consider matchmaking to be an interesting hobby, but he wouldn’t say quite that much.

“It’s more than that, it’s like I really can’t help it. That’s why they don’t like me, I made them dream about each other.”

Loki put his book down again.

“Does it feel like it comes from somewhere deep inside, like when you use your magic?” He asked, seriously, “or is it because you are naturally very vexing?” He grinned.

You threw a cushion at him, “I’m not vexing, other people are just boring.”

That was certainly true, he smiled.

“See, glad you agree with me.” Damn he was going to have to be careful with his thoughts now.

<<Part 4

Part 6 >>

#Loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki/reader #Loki x Reader #Loki fanfic #Loki series #loki marvel #Loki x you #Loki/You #loki fanfiction #Loki smut #The Old Gods and the New

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t-lostinworlds · 9 months

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A Strange(r’s) Comfort | Peter Parker

A/N: had this idea right after i saw nwh which was...years ago now lol. rewatched it again recently so here’s me dusting off a wip that’s been sitting in my drafts. basically, this is just me giving peter some comfort in a way, bc that boy really needs one :((

》 PAIRING: peter parker x female!reader 》 TROPE/GENRE: strangers to lovers (mostly implied); soft angst; hurt/comfort 》 SUMMARY: Peter found a strange comfort in the graveyard, no less. But hearing about your day-to-day had been the highlight of his. And when one night led to the both you showing vulnerability, suddenly, Peter didn't feel so alone anymore. Maybe a stranger's comfort wasn't so bad. 》 WARNINGS: Spoilers? (i mean it’s been a while); bad jokes/puns (one about chicken & one about sex lmao); peter eavesdropping (sorta...ya know, enhanced hearing); it’s mostly set in the graveyard so...; mentions of: death, car accident, drunk drivers, being in jail for a moment, petty theft, peer pressure; and overall just dealing with grief and peter & reader bonding over their experience with grief. 》 WORD COUNT: 5.2k+ (issa baby fic)

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ P. PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Some might consider it unhealthy, but was there really a 'right' way to deal with the loss of someone you hold near and dear to your heart? They might even say it was excessive, but who were they to police him? They didn't know what he was going through. They could never understand what he was going through.

A part of him had excused it with his wounds being fresh, that with time, he'd be able to learn not to dwell too long on the remnants of the people he loves. Maybe with time, he'd be able to move on, something that seemed so impossible at the moment. But he'll get there—well, he hoped so, at least.

Either way, there was no doubt that everyone handled grief differently.

For Peter Parker, that was visiting May's grave every day.

Once was enough.

That was what he limited himself to, at least.

But still, it was barely enough to settle the demons in his head. Barely enough to stop him from replaying the scene over and over.

Peter had been recalculating in utter desperation as to what else he could've done better, what else he could've done more to save her.

That was what it was like most nights.

Some nights, though, his mind would switch things up a bit, thinking that maybe he was going about it wrong. Maybe it was a case of what he shouldn't have done.

Those nights Peter sometimes found himself picking apart every choice he'd ever made before it led to that point.

Maybe if he hadn't chosen to go on that stupid school trip to Europe then this wouldn't have happened. Maybe his identity wouldn't have been revealed and it wouldn't have led for that first domino to tumble, knocking over the rest that made his life turn for the absolute worse.

Or maybe, he didn't need to go that far back in the past. Maybe he simply shouldn't have chosen to question Dr. Strange's decision to send those villains back to where they came from immediately.

But sadly, that was all there was to it.

Peter's thoughts were simply and only just a whole bunch of unanswerable maybes.

Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe he owed it to them to try his best and fix things, maybe he didn't owe them anything at all. Maybe it was the wrong choice to try and save everyone, maybe it was right.

Aunt May said he did the right thing.

But it didn't feel like it sometimes.

Hell, it didn't even feel like it was even worth it. And no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was right, his thoughts still managed to convince him that every. single. choice he made was simply wrong.

It wasn't even difficult to come to that conclusion anymore. Because ever since he got bitten by that spider, his loss considerably outweighed all his wins. And from then onwards, it just felt like he kept losing, and losing, and losing, and losing.

Right now, the most mundane thing he'd been losing lately was sleep, at the very least.

He'd gotten a job as a delivery guy at this small chicken joint a couple of streets down his apartment. Some might call it cheating—in his opinion, it was simply taking a shortcut—but he'd leave the bicycle they'd lend him in an alleyway and just swing the chickens to their destination. Sure, changing in and out of his suit was a bit tiring but it was definitely far better than dealing with New York traffic.

Apart from that, he'd also begun with some freelance photography work, dusting off the old DSLR camera Ben and May got him. He got decent at it a while back. But it got long forgotten the minute they bought him his first video game console, two years later.

He was starting off small, from random birthday parties to taking photos of restaurants or any establishment that was looking to use the pictures for ads or whatever. He was up for anything, anyone who didn't mind getting an okay photo at best.

There wasn't much to it, though, since nobody was really keen on hiring someone who didn't have experience. As a matter of fact, he didn't even have a high school diploma. Which had now led to him sacrificing countless hours of studying for his GED tests.

So, it was safe to say that he was handling a lot, especially juggling it with his still ongoing nighttime patrols.

Yet all of that seemed so much easier compared to what he had to deal with once he was lying in bed, wide awake even if it was past midnight. What went on in his day-to-day was only a fraction of the reason why he was losing sleep because his damning thoughts just had a habit of being so loud once everything else had quieted down.

It was hard as it was dealing with grief, even though he for sure had dealt with it more times than needed in such a short amount of time.

But what was more difficult about it this time around, was dealing with alone.

And Peter Parker was truly and utterly, alone.

No fellow Avenger to advise on ways to deal with this. After all, they were the only people who could understand even the slightest bit of what he was going through.

Saving the rest only to fail at saving one, losing someone in the midst of fighting for the rest of the world.

No Happy to offer some guidance on dealing with the loss of someone near and dear to you. Or for him to just be there as someone Peter could relate to, just like when Tony had died.

No Ned and MJ to give him company, offer their different ways of comfort as best as they could. They weren't there to simply make him laugh, offer that tiniest moment of reprieve, distract him with their theories and arguments about anything and everything to help him escape from, well, everything.

Right now, Peter had no one.

Going from having the people he truly cared about be only one call away, to suddenly being someone labeled as 'unknown number' in their contact lists, it was difficult.

But maybe he would just learn to live with it.

And maybe the first step to being able to live with his grief was to visit May frequently.

It didn't matter what time of the day it was. Whether it was early morning or just a few minutes after lunch, or when the sky started tinting orange as the sun slowly set. Midday or midnight, dusk or dawn, it didn't matter as long as he could visit her just once.

Maybe a part of him was hoping that by some miracle he'd hear her voice again, telling him, even if it was the last time, that you're going to be okay.

Peter needed it, so badly. He needed to be told that things would turn out alright because him being fine? It seemed like a far-off dream at this point.

He'd been to space, been to the mirror dimension, fought villains from other universes, been the center of a spell that erased people's memories and made them forget who he was.

Surely hearing the voice of a loved one that had passed wasn't too much to ask?

Yet every day, every moment he ventured into the graveyard, he was met by silence.

Well, aside from the distant hum of New York as life moved on. There was also the deep howl of the wind at night, a few cracking branches accompanied by the soft coo of crows.

Some would probably find peace from all the white noise, but Peter couldn't say he found any comfort in it. He'd only grown accustomed to it, used to tuning out the rest of the world to avoid being reminded of a life he once had.

Still, quietness had always been typical during his visits.

That, until one Saturday afternoon.

•••

Peter sensed another person approaching before he could even see them.

The soft crunch of fallen leaves was what he heard first, followed by a soft humming of some holiday song.

He looked up from the book he was reading, curious eyes landing on someone carrying flowers, a slight pep in her step which was unusual given the location.

Still, there was something about you that Peter couldn't help but be drawn to.

"There we go, all nice and clean," he heard you say, rustling of dried leaves and the soft brushing of clothes following suit. "And flowers well hydrated with bottled spring water."

You were talking to yourself.

It was a habit, he assumed. You just seemed comfortable doing it, as if you were having a mundane conversation with someone else.

Peter found it oddly endearing.

"I brought your favorite this time Dad because I am sure you're complaining to Mom why I always bring her favorite flowers," you explained with a soft laugh. "I sometimes forget you're a flowers type of guy, too."

No—you weren't talking to yourself.

You were talking to the gravestone.

His curiosity piqued even more.

It wasn't that you were being loud, either. Not at all. You were speaking softly as you typically would if you were by yourself in a graveyard, no less.

But because of his enhanced hearing, he simply couldn't help but listen.

"Sorry I haven't been here for a little while, just been busy with you know, moving, college, finding a job with a minimum wage that will not cover rent alone so what even is the point? We look for a job to survive but when we do find a job it doesn't even pay you enough to get by? Some people don't even hire you because 'not enough experience' and I'm like, duh? I'm trying to gain experience hence why I'm applying? Who even invented this shithole?"

Peter found himself nodding along, unable to argue with your claims when they were filled with nothing but the truth.

"Sorry, sorry, it just doesn't make a damn sense," you sighed. He could almost hear you rolling your eyes. "Anyway, I then have other adult things I really don't want to deal with like learning how to deal with taxes and stuff which is so dumb given I'm close to broke and—where does my tax go, anyway? Some politician's tenth vacation to the Bahamas, probably."

For the first time in a long while, Peter cracked a smile.

"Ugh, I am sorry, I promise I don't come here only to complain to you guys," you said, "But I am doing okay…"

He couldn't really explain the 'why,' but the soft tug in his heartstrings was definitely real when he heard the melancholia in your voice.

"The holidays are coming up," you said softly, the slight shake in your tone unmistakable. Yet as it rushed to the surface, it was just as quickly replaced with a chipper one.

"They always tell me how you both are watching over me now. But I don't know if I really want that," you sighed exaggeratedly. "Not because I hate you guys. But imagine if I was having sex? I really don't want to think about you 'watching over me' because it's really uncomfortable."

Peter couldn't stop his snort, his eyes widening as he spared you a glance. He was as grateful that you didn't seem to hear him.

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was eavesdropping—well, maliciously, at least.

"It's a joke, Mom. See, Dad gets it."

Silence hung in the air after that, a sudden gust of wind blowing away the leaves that littered the snow-covered grass.

But he had a feeling the shake in your voice wasn't because of the cold.

"I really miss you guys…"

Peter left at that.

He didn't see you again for the next few days, probably because he never did visit at the same hour of the day. He never actively tried to see what time you were there, either—if you went every day at all. He'd just become a stalker at that point.

So, every time you did cross paths, it was entirely by chance.

The next encounter was when he brought his lunch with him to the graveyard. He'd caught sight of you sitting on a pink blanket that was laid out on the grass, legs crossed with a box of pizza to your right.

Instinctively, you looked up and over your shoulder when you heard his footsteps.

Your eyes immediately locked with his.

Pretty was the first word that came to his mind.

Beautiful, when you offered him a sweet and warm smile.

"Hello," you greeted.

Peter couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hi."

Nothing else was said after that.

You both respectively ate your lunches in your little corners, your soft humming bringing a comforting peace, one he still couldn't quite explain.

And from there on out, Peter learned that you did go there every day, but it was only either at lunchtime or late in the afternoon.

Because whenever Peter went during those times, you were always there.

As he said, he never actively tried to be there whenever you were. He didn't change anything with his routine. He still went there at random times of the day.

You and him crossing paths simply happened.

And most of those moments, Peter couldn't help but listen in on your rambles.

It might have been wrong, otherwise, creepy, but it wasn't like you were unaware of his presence. You weren't being loud, but you weren't exactly whispering into nothing either. If it were an unenhanced being, they would still hear you, but maybe only slightly inaudible. Peter just had the ability to make out your words a little clearer than the average person.

Besides, all your stories had been mundane at most, quite adorable at best.

Like that one time you ran into a post because you saw a cat wearing some boots and a clear raincoat across the road. Or that time you missed your stop in the subway because you kept talking to a Corgi who was lounging comfortably in their owner's backpack.

"His little legs were so cute!"

Like he said, adorable.

But if it was something personal, though, he'd learned to tune it out. He made sure to keep those matters out of his ear, leaving your private conversations, well, private.

Yet your silly and terrible jokes, your gripes about society and the unfairness of the world, to your little story times and mundane gossip of what you'd heard on the street, Peter couldn't help but tune in as if he was listening to the morning radio.

It made Peter feel lighter somewhat, a feeling he never once associated when being in a graveyard.

He didn't know if it was your stories, or if it was simply hearing that soft tone of your voice. Either way, he found it comforting, which was so strange.

Never had he ever thought he would find comfort from a stranger, no less.

A strange comfort.

•••

"People always ask why did the chicken cross the road. They never ask why the chicken didn't cross the road."

Peter perked up in curiosity, ready to hear another of the many jokes you'd completely ruined.

He found it absolutely hilarious how you were churning typical and old punchlines into horrible ones.

The funniest part was, it seemed like you were doing it on purpose.

"Why, you ask? Because they physically can't anymore," you said, pausing for added effect. "People enjoy eating chicken legs way too much."

Peter's eyes grew wide, gaze landing on the chicken leg he just finished. He couldn't stop the sound that escaped his lips.

It was a mix between a wheeze, a laugh, and a cough.

Loud enough to get your attention.

"Hey," you called, voice sounding closer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh—uhm, hi," he stammered, caught off guard when you were now suddenly in front of him. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "And yeah, I'm good,"

"Do you need some water?" You offered him a bottle.

"No, no, I've got my own," he declined, lifting his bottle. "But thank you."

"Oh okay," you said, smiling sweetly. "It just sounded like you were choking or something so I wanted to make sure if you were alright."

Peter blushed.

"No, I was…uhm—" He scratched the back of his neck. "I was holding back my laugh."

You tilted your head, bottom lip jutted out and Peter found himself thinking of ways to smooth out the little crinkled on your forehead, maybe kiss—wait what?

"Why would you do that?" you asked.

Shit.

Did I say that out loud?

"Sorry?" He blinked at you.

"Why would you hold back your laugh?"

"Oh," he sighed, mostly in relief. "Just didn't want to seem creepy and I wasn't…eavesdropping or anything but I uhm—heard your joke." Chuckling shyly, he smiled. "It was pretty funny."

"Funny because it was bad?" You raised a knowing brow. "If you say it was good then I'm really going to question your sense of humor."

"It was really bad," he admitted, breathing out a laugh.

The way your smile brightened made Peter's heart do a funny thing.

"Thanks," you giggled. "I pride myself in my bad jokes."

"Yeah," he breathed out, willing his heart to stop being so goddamn weird, what is going on with you? "And sorry for not helping the chickens cross the road."

You stared at him confused.

That was until he pointed towards the bag on the ground that had the logo of a chicken on it.

Your hearty laugh rang in the air.

Peter found himself growing warmer at the sound, the burn starting right in his chest and spreading to the whole expanse of his body.

"I—whew, sorry, wow," you heaved after a moment. "Haven't laughed like that in a while."

Both of you fell silent after that—not an awkward one. If anything, it was pleasant, like there was an unspoken understanding being exchanged with a simple look.

"This may seem like weird advice but try and talk to them," you softly said.

Peter looked at you, confused.

You gestured toward the tombstone with a sympathetic smile.

"They might hear it, they might not, there's really no way of knowing," you explained. "But what more could you lose if you try? Plus, you'll get it off your chest and that's always progress."

"I—" Peter nodded, the corner of his lips curling up. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

You smiled at that. "I'll see you around."

"See you around," he hummed, gaze never leaving your figure even as you left, his eyes steady on the path you walked on as he mulled over your words.

It was kind of weird advice, but at the same time, it made perfect sense.

Peter didn't question it nor did he judge—who was he to judge? After all, everyone handled grief differently.

But as he sat down on the ground, eyes steady on the lettering of May's name, he found the words flowing out so easily.

"Hi, May I—" Peter took a sharp breath, blinking away the sting that started to settle in his eyes. "Wow. It's been a while since I've talked to you, huh?"

It started out simple, filling her up with what was new with his life recently—the job, his education, all those mundane stuff.

But then as he shifted from one topic to another, he inevitably started talking about all the things that felt so wrong. And once that train left the station, it was so difficult to stop.

It wasn't a complaint. It was an unloading of the baggage he'd been carrying around alone for quite some time now.

All the loneliness and grief, the boiling anger and consuming regret, the love and the love lost, to the bleak look of what his future held.

Peter didn't realize he was crying until a soft gush of wind brushed his cheeks, the coldness making him catch his breath with a shiver.

And then, a small white butterfly flew right in front of him, stopping momentarily before disappearing into the now setting sky.

Peter let out a breath.

Lighter and relieved.

It could've been a coincidence, or maybe it wasn't at all.

But what more could he lose if he took that as a sign that she heard him?

So with a small, tearful smile, he sighed,

"Thanks for always hearing me out, May."

Since then, he'd grown to tell May about his day. Some were tougher than others, while some were snippets of his new life—mundane and simple but starting to become fulfilling the more he looked at it from different perspectives.

As the weeks passed by, Peter's everyday visits became every other day. At first, the guilt of missing a day was heavily consuming. But it didn't take long for it slowly turn into a soft lull—still there, but not as bad as it used to be.

There was one other thing he hoped for whenever he wandered into the graveyard, though.

To see you again.

If it was one last time just so he could say thank you, then he'd take it.

That didn't mean he wasn't wishing for it to be more.

•••

The hair on every inch of Peter's body stood up when he heard it.

It was definitely not his spider sense going awry. This was very much a human reaction.

Well, he could imagine that when the first thing a person would hear as they venture into a graveyard in the dead of the night was crying, even the toughest men would get spooked.

But as soon as Peter located the source of the sound, his heart broke.

He wasn't expecting to find you, sat on the cold ground alone, hugging your knees to your chest, body shaking with sobs.

His first instinct was to fight whoever it was that made you cry because how fucking dare they?

But with a controlled breath, Peter walked over to you, making sure to step on dried leaves so you'd be aware of his presence.

Your head snapped up at the sound, puffy red eyes landing on him.

His frown could only deepen as he slowly sat beside you, offering you a tender smile with his arms wide open.

You stared at him with furrowed brows, eyes switching between his face and his open arms, downright confused.

Peter couldn't blame you. After all, you didn't know him.

He was ready for you to yell at him for being a creep, to scream at him to get lost. He was prepared for you to push him away—hell, punch him in the face—and run as fast as you could.

But instead, your lips quivered, a broken sob following suit. With your head hung low, you fell into his embrace.

And Peter hugged you as tightly as he could.

He didn't say anything, didn't feel like it was needed. He simply held you close, rubbing circles over your back as he gently rocked you from side to side.

Crying it all out until you couldn't anymore was, most of the time, the best thing you could do at the moment.

So he let you.

Only when your sobs turned to sniffles to soft shaky breaths did you pull away.

"Your shirt," you gasped shakily, bottom lip jutting out as your eyes began to water again. "Oh no, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured, squeezing your shoulders before reluctantly letting you go. "I wouldn't have offered you a hug if I minded."

"Thank you," you whispered. "I really needed that."

"No worries." He nodded with a small smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just—" you sighed, wiping your face with the sleeves of your coat. "It's my first holiday alone so it's been kinda tough."

"Me too," he hummed, smiling sadly when you looked at him, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing your face. "My parents have been gone since I was a kid, and I was left with my uncle and aunt. My uncle died a few years ago so all I had left was her but now she's…"

"I'm sorry," you softly said, your hand finding his.

You gave it a squeeze.

Peter squeezed back.

"I only had my parents growing up," you started, gesturing at the tombstone. "Didn't get to meet my grandparents, never really met many of my relatives because they're all halfway across the world, so now it's just me."

Peter didn't know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was the warmth of your hand still holding his and your kind eyes bearing no judgment or pity. Maybe it was the sheer comfort you provided, one that he still couldn't quite explain.

Either way, he found himself sharing what it had been like for him. Sure, he left out details to keep his deepest secret uncovered, and to come and think about it, it was mostly things connected to Aunt May. But Peter definitely spilled way too much to someone he barely even knew.

He did not regret it one bit.

"I promised to protect her and I—"

"I'm sure you gave it your all," you assured.

"Not enough to keep her alive," he scoffed, tone far more bitter than he intended to. He caught himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, sorry—"

"Never apologize for how you feel," you said firmly.

Peter nodded, his attention caught by your thumb that was absentmindedly running circles over the back of his hand. You'd been holding onto it as you listened to his story, and he found himself not minding it at all.

If anything, a part of him wanted you to never let go.

"But I get it," you breathed out. "The whole 'this is my fault' thing."

"Was it an accident?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Car crash. Some drunk frat boys thought it was a good idea to test out how fast they could go in their new truck into an open road."

He frowned. "That's not your fault."

"It is," you insisted. "They wouldn't have been out on the road in the first place if they weren't coming to pick me up in the dead of the night." Shaking your head, you scoffed, "I wish I could say I was at a friend's house but they were coming to bail me out of jail."

Attempting to lighten up the mood, Peter softly bumped his shoulder with yours. "Am I in the midst of a troublemaker?"

That earned him a teary chuckle.

He took it as a win.

"Not quite," you sighed, your smile fading. "Got hung up with the wrong crowd. They kept teasing me that I was too much of a miss goody two shoes and that I should live a little."

"Peer pressure is one nasty thing."

"Yeah well, I still did it." You shrugged, anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip. "A group of us were walking home from a party and we passed by this random minimart on the way. My so-called friends thought it was a good idea to dare me to steal one thing from the store, to break my 'good girl' streak as they put it.

"They all gave me ultimatums, one of them was either I steal something or they'll tell the whole school that I was the real definition of 'The freaks in bed are always the quiet ones' so my loser reputation is no more. They said they can't hang around me anymore if I kept being the loser of the group. It was tough because they were all the friends I had."

Peter couldn't stop the surge of pure anger that ran through him. "They sound fucking horrible."

"Yeah, and I was stupid enough to go along with it." Shaking your head, you chuckled, tone void of humor. "It wasn't even the owner who saw me, it was some random white woman yelling bloody murder as if I was burning the goddamn place down. And the second my friends saw the security guards? Oh, they ran, left me there to fend for myself."

Peter unclenched his fist, settling to rub circles on your back instead.

"It was one candy," you choked back a sob, gesturing towards the tombstone. "But the punishment feels—"

Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a side hug when you started crying again.

"And you know what hurts most?" you whimpered, fisting his jacket as you laid your head on his shoulder. "Knowing that the last memory they had of me was just filled with disappointment."

"I'm sure that's not true," he said softly, squeezing you close. "They loved you."

"I know they did I just—"

"Wish you could go back and change every decision you made?"

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him, eyes glossy yet he saw the flicker of gratefulness in them.

Peter felt it in himself too, an appreciation to finding someone who could understand even the littlest bit of what he was going through.

"Yeah," you shakily breathed out, letting out a soft laugh as you wiped your nose. "God, what a way to celebrate the holidays, huh?"

He chuckled at that, nodding.

It was definitely something, crying your heart out, spilling all your trauma to a stranger in the dead of night at a graveyard.

But there was only one thought that stayed at the forefront of his mind.

Peter didn't feel so alone anymore.

"Yeah," he hummed, a shy smile playing on his lips. "But I'm glad I'm not alone."

Your whole face brightened, your fingers interlacing with his.

"Me too," you said, smiling. "We're going to be okay."

Peter felt some weight lift off his entire back at those simple words of reassurance.

"We're going to be okay."

Teasingly bumping his shoulder with yours, you hummed, "I'm Y/N, by the way."

You both laughed at the absurdity of it, getting to know each other's pain, regret, hurt and grief before even getting the chance to know a name.

"Peter," he sighed, squeezing your hand. "Peter Parker."

Later that night, he somehow gathered up the courage to ask if you wanted to get some hot cocoa with him. And when you said yes with that smile he'd grown to adore so much, Peter had an inkling that you wouldn't stay a stranger to him in the long run.

But for now, as you laid your head on his shoulder, your soft breaths visible in the cold air, tiny snowflakes on your lashes, face glowing underneath the moonlight, warmth and contentment bloomed in his chest.

Peter was smiling.

Genuine and pure, and perhaps a sign of a new beginning.

A stranger's comfort wasn't so bad, after all.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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