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kureis-writing-hell · 3 years

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Nao figures out that normal counsoling he was taught wasn't going to work woth Chisaki. He's changing his aproach. And Kai seems to do so as well. Prompt taken from this list.

In which Chisaki Kai goes through therapy!

When Nao came for his meeting with Chisaki he was stopped and told to wait. It worried him at first but then he was told that it was a cleaning day and he came while Chisaki’s cell was still undone. Not having much to do he went to the observation room, curious of how the process was executed in a prison like Tartarus. Having a permit and already being recognized by most of the guards, Nao entered the room.

And almost took a step back.

It wasn’t the fact that on one of the screens he could see an inmate being held down on long, metal rods. It wasn’t even the fact that he could see another inmate being stripped in their cell for god knows what reason. It was the fact that his patient, Chisaki, was cornered by two guards and looked detached while the third aggressively changed his sheets. Nao held back the urge to turn around and storm there, to yell at them for treating Chisaki like that. It took Nao over a month for the man to finally start opening, it was a huge progress and now Chisaki looked like he was going to shut down again.

"Nao! Hi!"

Nao flinched and looked at the guard that greeted him. He smiled at the other man and made a little wave of his hand.

"Hi. Sorry, I was told to wait."

"Yeah but they're finishing. I think you can go now." The guard waved at him and Nao nodded. Without a word he left the room.

If it wasn't for the confidentiality agreement the first thing Nao would do after leaving the Tartarus was spill everything he saw till now. The terrible treatment of the inmates, irregular meals, showers and how violent guards could be. How most of those people needed help from professionals, how broken and sick they were. Nao understood they were horrible criminals, he knew their cases from TV and couldn't fathom doing most of their crimes, yet he could see humans in them. Contrary to most of the guards here.

And most of the people outside - he reminded himself. Even if he broke the agreement and spoke about the inside of Tartarus he knew no one would really care. All they cared about was themselves and their safety. Understandable, but nonetheless annoying.

With a growing lump in his throat Nao went down the corridor, nodding to the guards that passed him. He forced his thoughts to think about Chisaki, how to approach him now. Nao was sure he's going to be difficult again.

A guard standing under Chisaki’s cell greeted him with a scowl. After a routine check of his belongings, the last one from plenty he got on the way here, Nao was let inside.

Chisaki was standing in the same corner that Nao saw him on the camera. He flinched when the door opened but didn’t do anything else.

“Hi, Chisaki.” Nao smiled at him.

The other, younger man took a moment to look up. Then he took another moment to recognize Nao and it was obvious. His wide eyes relaxed and he breathed visibly.

“How long…” he started but then trailed off.

“Two days, like always.” Nao kept smiling. He didn’t want Chisaki to notice his previous anger.

“There were… guards here.”

“Yeah, they just left. They changed your sheets.”

Chisaki looked at the bed, cringed and then visibly relaxed. He leaned heavily on the wall. He nodded at Nao and the hero took it as his cue to start their routine. With a huge relief.

“Do you want to talk about something today?” asked Nao when they were done, with Chisaki sitting under a wall. He readjusted the new sheet the way the former villain asked him to and was sitting on the bed.

And Chisaki made a pause. Normally he immediately answered, with a no. Normally Nao had to nudge him to have a simple conversation about his likes and dislikes and even that didn’t always work.

“I want to leave this place,” finally said Kai. “I want to see the boss. But I don’t, I don’t know how.”

Nao considered his hunched position, the way he didn’t look at him. Chisaki was a big man, muscular and for sure strong. They were probably the same height and Nao usually stuck out in the crowd in Japan himself. Yet right now that big, strong man looked small and lost.

“Do you understand why you are here in the first place?” asked the hero. They didn’t talk about this before and he wanted to know what Chisaki thinks about his situation. He needed to know where he should start.

“Of course!” There was a click in the walls and Chisaki stiffened. Nao waved at the camera to let the guards know he had the situation under control. After a moment he looked at Chisaki and the former villain continued, quieter. “I’m not an idiot, I know why I’m here.”

“I didn’t say you’re an idiot, you’re not,” agreed Nao. “But I still want you to tell me.”

Kai chewed on his lower lip not looking at Nao. He obviously thought hard about his answer for a bit. His jaw tensed, he licked over the bruise he made on his lower lip and Nao wondered why he struggled so much with the answer.

Then, he realized Chisaki could be thinking what Nao wanted to hear. He wanted to believe in the man, but at the same time he knew Chisaki just wanted to get out to see his former boss. And the word “manipulative” from his files became uncomfortably obvious for the hero. He still waited in silence.

“I- Because of… Eri. And the league.” Chisaki still didn’t look up at Nao.

Nao sighed and brushed his forearms, even though they were covered with his turtleneck. It was a tick he never managed to get rid of, a nervous one. This was going to be a difficult discussion.

“Can you elaborate on that? What do you mean it was because of Eri?”

Chisaki looked uncomfortable. To the point Nao wondered if he should change the topic. But before he could propose it Kai answered.

“If she didn’t run… that kid, no one would find out. Till now everything would be done, boss would be fine, my plan would work, my arms-” he looked at his stumps and cringed, shook his head and started brushing his shoulder against his chin. Nao quickly realized it was his mysophobia kicking in. “She just couldn’t sit down for a little bit longer to make it better for everyone.”

Nao wanted to bite his nail but the glove that he wore stopped him. Instead he brushed his chin and scratched his ear. He knew he’s not a good person to do this and couldn’t understand why Rei, his boss, wanted him to lead Chisaki so badly. He was still a newbie and Chisaki obviously had some real issues he didn’t know how to handle. Also Nao didn’t have the most… therapeutic approach. All he wanted to do after hearing shit like that was to stand up and shake Chisaki till he realized what he was saying. Rei always seemed so composed when dealing with criminals and he just couldn’t do the same, he was salty, hot headed and most of the time spoke without thinking.

He sighed, already hearing Rei’s scolding once he was going to call her at the end of the week.

“Is this what you really think?”

“...yes.”

“Let’s think about it then.” Nao’s smile got sharper, he heard his inner voice whispering to him to yes, tell this man everything, make him feel like shit. He shushed it away. “You experimented on your boss’ granddaughter while he was under coma, induced by you. You planned, no, you started to sell drugs that would greatly mess up the world. Not mentioning organized crime. Did that girl make you do all this stuff?”

For a long moment Chisaki was looking at Nao as if he didn’t recognize the hero. When Nao started questioning himself and scolding himself for his long tongue, the former villain spoke.

“She didn’t…” he said slowly. “But, but she couldn’t understand, she- This is bullshit!” Even Nao jumped at the sudden outburst. This time the clicking in the walls didn’t follow. “Why are you even talking about this?!”

“Why?” Nao sighed. “Because I want you to realize you won’t get anywhere with that attitude.” He watched how Chisaki’s anger shifts into despair. “This is not ‘helping prisoners get out of prison’ program, nor ‘make a wish’. It’s a redemption program, where you’re supposed to understand the mistakes you did, come out with a way to better yourself in the eyes of society and be able to live a normal life. I’m here to provide you help, not lead you by a hand.” Kai was biting his lip again, not looking at Nao. He looked shaken, angry in some way and depressed. Nao brushed his face, unhappy for yelling at his patient.

“This is why I was opposed to Rei’s decision to put me as your counselor. Your case angers me. You’re too proud and honestly, I’m surprised it took me so long to snap. But then we didn’t really talk about this before, right?” Nao laughed, to relieve his own tension, and noticed that Chisaki looked at him. “Anyway, I enjoyed meeting with you, I really did. You can be enjoyable, honestly, when you’re not like that.” He waved his hand in the direction of Chisaki. He wasn’t giving up, he didn’t want to give up. But he stepped over the line and assumed that was what he was supposed to do. “But it’s obviously not working. I’ll call Rei and tell her to send someone else. Unless you want to end this here-”

“No!” Kai jolted up, straightening his hunched position against the wall and cringing at his arms. He looked back at surprised Nao. “I don’t want anyone else and I don’t want you to stop coming. This is- you’re right. You know I decided on this only to get out of here, I need to see my boss. I don’t care about Eri, about what happens later to me I just, I need to apologize to him.”

Manipulative, full of himself, with anger issues and radical world views. Hopeless case. Nao had the words before his eyes. He didn’t have to know this beforehand to quickly realize it on his own. But, what he saw now, was a broken, desperate man in need of help. And he wanted to help him so badly. Not only to lessen his guilt against the old Shie Hassaikai boss. He wanted to find him a purpose to continue living.

He didn’t want to think about how much he could relate to Chisaki right now.

“Okay.”

“...okay?”

“If you don’t mind then sure. But it’s gonna work on different rules now.” Rei was going to kill him. “I’m not gonna be your nice therapist anymore. I’ll visit you as myself from now on.”

“Did you visit me as someone else before?”

“Yes and no,” chuckled Nao. “Let’s say… Nao is more professional and has a better approach. Nikodem is going to slap your head for saying dumb shit.”

“Ni...kodem?”

“That’s my real name. You can keep calling me Nao though, it’s shorter.”

Chisaki nodded, said Nao’s name again to himself and looked down. Nao tilted his head lightly.

“Why do you even want to come here?” he asked, not looking up.

“Because you asked me to.” Nao shrugged. “And, eh, Rei’s gonna kill me. I can relate to you. A little bit.”

“What?” Now Chisaki was the surprised one. He lifted his head.

“She got to me when I was in jail. I did some shit before, too. Looking at you right now… I can imagine myself if she didn’t get involved. Assuming I would still be alive.”

“In jail…” Kai blinked, frowned and looked to the side. “But you’re a hero now.”

“Sure, because I went through the redemption program. And it was different for me too, to be honest.” Nao scratched his chin but quickly shrugged. “It took me almost two years to be able to leave the jail.”

“What did you do?”

Nao blinked, finally catching Chisaki’s eyes, then smiled. He leaned back on the bed, supporting himself with his hands.

“You really want to know?” Oh, Rei was totally going to kill him.

“Yes.”

“Well.” Nao looked at a watch he had hidden under one of long sleeves. He still had some time till his hour with Chisaki passed. “This… is kind of a love story, to be honest.”

#bnha #overhaul #kai chisaki #mha #mha oc #original character #fanfiction #my writing

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mistkissedmoon · 4 years

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Blankets made of Trust

“You have one night to decide”. Jason felt the words thrum through the air on loop before slamming into him, nearly knocking him over as he clenched his teeth until the words in his mind became an indecipherable ringing in his ears. You’ve got to be kidding me. One Night to decide whether I want to become a zombie or an attack dog?! He thought furiously. He wrenched his head up and caught the warning stare of the Bat through the bulletproof glass - Who called him again, Jason thought scathingly - who raised an eyebrow. Careful, he seemed to be saying. Don’t talk, or I’ll take away all your options. Options? That was a fucking joke. There was no other option! The Lazarus pit’s madness had been growing more overwhelming by the hour, and if he went without some kind of spell he would become a mad serial killer. At the same time, what they were proposing was out of the question. Jason scoffed and turned to stare out between the thin bars of his cell. It was a damn miracle the idiots hadn’t been broken into already, most of their walls being made of glass, he thought sourly. It’s not like they leave a guard behind when they fight.

“Red Hood. Did you hear that?”

Jason snapped his head back and levelled his most threatening glare at Nightwing. The idiot puffed his chest out and gazed at him like he thought he was actually intimidating.

“Yes.” He gritted his teeth and forced out the next words; “thank you.”

Batman - you poor excuse for a father mentor, Jason thought bitterly - motioned for everyone to exit his cell and they left without a backwards glance. That self-righteous Bat, the lapdog golden boy and the rest of his fantastic five crew including his replacement left- how humiliating low, to be replaced and then judged, in every sense of the word, by both my brothers him, while he stood in a cell that only had a toilet, sink and bed - with that absolute bitch of a magician. When everybody had left, the door of the enclosed witness area clicked shut, the scrape of a lock echoing soon after. Jason’s head fell back against the wall as he let his breath out explosively.

“Anyway,” Zatanna had said, glancing meaningfully at Batman, “I can definitely block the Lazarus madness, but seeing as he is a criminal I think we should add a few rules to the spell.”

Of course, their pet magician would insist on a few more rules being thrown in; Jason would lose the ability to kill, there was a ‘code phrase’ to make him do whatever they say (paranoid old bat and his lousy replacement) and Jason would hold the spell up with his own energy stores, making him tired easily. Lap dog or Rabid beast. Jason grimaced, closing his eyes to stop the burning sensation just behind them. Doomed if I do, doomed if I don’t, he thought grimly. A flash of purple light had his eyes snapping open in shock as a figure with an armload of objects materialised in the shadows of his room. Jason tried not to stare as the residual smoke revealed the objects to be a shiny diadem, an old - and well preserved, he noted approvingly - tome as well as a few bottles of what seemed to be softly glowing…somethings.

“Hey there, lucky little ravenclaw. You coming out? What's up your ass?” He inquired tiredly.The figure - Raven, he remembered- looks like a literal shadow, clad in a deep blue cloak that seemed to suck at the very light around her until she was little more than a barely discernible silhouette against the dark walls. All the same, the way she carried herself made him think of a sorceress or queen of old from the books he used to read. Heck, maybe even a goddess, like she’s saying ‘I have made a decision, and nothing you say or do will stop me’. Like she wasn’t thinking about how much care that book deserved or whether she should consider giving it away.“I’ve made a decision,” She answered in a low, musical voice. “And nothing you say or do will stop me.” Well. That was serendipitous. “I’ve thought about what Batman wants Zatanna to do to you, and…” Raven hesitated. “I don’t think that this is right.”

Dully, Jason wondered if she would ever gain the courage to do more than just voice her disapproval with Batman’s methods. If any of these ‘heroes’ would. Probably not; there must have been a reason she worked here, after all.

“I’m willing to offer you an alternative solution; I can cast a spell on you instead.” Her words were delivered with complete certainty, taking an subtle breath and squaring her shoulders afterward. Pure unadulterated rage sprang to life within his veins. Jason’s face rearranged itself into a truly ugly, fearsome expression, his muscles tensing in preparation for a fight.

“So, what? You’re just going to put your own spell on me before she does?” Jason spat bitterly.

“No. I’m going to -”

“I’m not going to be your slave, or anyone else’s, for that matter. You can tell Zatanna that, too.”

“I don’t want you to be my slave. I want you to pick and choose the words of the spell that will seal the Lazarus away, so I can, with your consent, cast that specific spell on you.”

Jason’s eyebrows decided to try defying gravity to fly into his hair. After a startled second, he barked out a laugh. He crowded the female titan against the wall and glared down at her, clenching his hands. To his annoyance, she seemed apathetic to the point of boredom.

“Give me a break, sunshine. In what universe would the golden boy -”

“Don’t call him that.”

“The Bat’s loyal bitch-”

“Language.”

“-ever send you to free me without stipulations?”

“As far as I know, none. Which is why I am here of my own volition, without his knowledge.”

Raven swept passed him and laid her belongings on the bed. Jason’s eyebrows held an unanimous meeting and promptly decided to retry their earlier flight. “What?”

Raven paused her idle flipping of her book to spare a dry glance at him. “Are you hard of hearing, Jay-son?” she carefully enunciated. Jason scowled.

”Forgive my surprise, oh smart one. I’m just surprised you of all people would go against his back. You aren’t ruled by your emotions, and you always do what your leader says -” Raven twirled around to face him suddenly, something flickering in her eyes, gone before he could decipher it.

“I don’t do what Nightwing tells me to do. I do what I think is right.” she corrected, a hint of soft rebuke in her tone. She resumed her flipping of the books pages until she reached her goal and moved on to sort the eerily glowing crystal bottles.

“And helping a convicted criminal is part of your moral obligation, is it?” Jason slouched against the wall, raising his hands incredulously.

“Helping anyone and everyone who truly needs it is a part of my moral obligation.” Raven declared proudly without hesitation. Was this girl serious? One look at her face and Jason knew she clearly was. “I understand you heroes think all killers were beyond redemption.” He commented with wry amusement.“You shouldn’t stereotype.” She said coolly, “Or tell your assumptions to a hero, who happens to be a demon.” Jason paused, mulling that revelation over. It was common knowledge among those who fought in the same circles as him that Raven’s magic was uncommon. Several unscrupulous magic users he talked to had fearfully claimed that her energy was ‘demonic’. Jason silently apologised for rolling his eyes or dismissing these accounts as fanciful or exaggerations and resolved to buy any of them drinks if he happened to see them again. “Besides, it’s usually unwise to be so presumptuous of a person you desperately need help from.” “What makes you say that?” He parried defensively, scratching his chin. “For all you know, I could have broken out and found another gullible magician to give me a few potions or something.”

“But you won’t. You’ve already tried, and none of them were powerful enough.” She supplied bluntly. “I..” She looked away, almost shamefaced, “I felt it.”

She… what? Ah. Right. Empath, he suddenly recalled, wincing. He was good at concealing his facial expressions, but nothing could have masked the sheer desperation he felt when he showed up at their door. Merde. He must have looked like such a fool for trying to seem like he didn’t need her help.

“I’m not trying to control you, Jason. The book is a dictionary; you can pick and choose the words you want me in the spell and I’ll perform it.” Her soft, persuasive tone urged him to believe her.

“Why should I believe you?” Jason snarled, lashing out with a feeling of vicious satisfaction upon seeing her take a step back. “What if this is one of Nightwing’s tricks to rummage around my head gathering intel?”

”I will not enter your mind - that’s not necessary at all in this circumstance - and if I do, you can easily overpower me while I am in a trance.”

“What use would that be? Then we’d both be in here, and I can add resisting arrest to my list of crimes.”

Raven looked like she was having difficulty stopping herself from rolling her eyes. She waved her hand, magically unlocking the cell door. “Are you always this paranoid?”

“No. Just when I’m in the headquarters of sworn enemies and about to be magically lobotomized within twenty-four hours - not to be rude, but at least a third of your colleagues have tried to send me to Arkham asylum.” Jason reminded her flatly, crossing his arms.

“Exactly! What do you have to lose!?”

“My life. Also, I’m doing fine. I could easily break out of here if I wanted too.” Raven looked pointedly at her spell book, exaggeratedly feigning patience. Jason’s lips twitched, satisfied. Annoying her was fun.

“Although I appreciate your sense of derring-do, I really must insist I block the madness trying to make you go on a killing spree before you leave.”

“While telling Nightwing all the extra little details you’ll happen to hear while we talk, huh?” Jason’s eyes bored into her, suddenly agate-hard. It really isn’t fair, he thought suddenly, that Raven could so easily try to deceive me like this. Life wasn’t fair. Jason knew this, and didn’t understand why he felt like crying right now. It must have been the stress. Or the Lazarus pit. It certainly couldn’t be anything else, since he’d been lied to so many times before and he’d generally been unbothered. In fact, he had started expecting certain people to lie about being on his side and had taken to wearing a doubly reinforced Kevlar suit. It had saved him from knives in the back - literally - more than a few times. The bruises still hurt like a motherfucker, though. Raven slowly took out her communicator - and slid it towards him.

“There. Now I can’t contact him in any way. Is that all?” He bent down and slowly picked it up. Jason thought about it for some time. He disliked any kind of spell on him, especially spells that would be permanent and affected his mind, however positive the effect might be. All the same though, it was necessary and Raven was giving him as much freedom that he could want. Something akin to grudging respect; or gratitude welled within him.

“Fine.” he complied gruffly, resisting the stupid urge to thank her. “I just have to pick out words in this book, right?”

He strode over to the tiny cot and picked it up, carefully not taking his eyes off her nor touching the freaky looking vials. “What’s the language - oh, right, English is this half of the page. Okay, this should be easy enou- no. Stay where you are. I don’t want you to move while I’m reading this book.” She threw him an exasperated look and disregarded his command, sitting beside him and leaning against the headboard.

“Of course, Jason. Would you like me to hold your hand?” she asked sardonically. “That should be reassuring enough, shouldn’t it?”

Jason ignored that, trying to concentrate on being irritated with her instead of the thought of his hands, warming and covering her tiny ones. He cleared his throat and tapped several words in quick succession to distract himself. “Would those words work?”

Raven, he learned, had a incredibly wide vocabulary and impressive command of tone. She could add inflections that added entire volumes of meaning of her words. On the whole, though, he would have preferred a less exhaustive running commentary of the kind of gruesome implications his miswording could cause. In retrospect, he realized that he should have chosen to ‘block’ the madness, instead of ‘concentrating’ it in his head, but Raven took great pleasure in describing the resulting explosion that would cause. Raven went on to describe - very unnecessarily in his opinion, the other various failings that would stop his heart, give him wings on the sides of his heads and cause his face to erupt in highly painful tentacles in glowing terms with apparent relish, never mind that any one of them was good enough reason to reword the spell. Raven tended to overdramatise certain things, he noticed. Especially things that would result in giving him a terminal injury, which, ha, he was sure wouldn’t be permanent this time over, either, especially if the Lazarus was still in his system. He said as such to Raven, who promptly whacked him over the head with her book - ow, it was heavier than she made it look - and told him to “focus, you leather-skulled domnoddy.”

“You aren’t afraid of me? I’m apparently a very unhinged serial killer, after all.” Jason grumbled half-curiously, rubbing his complaining skull.

“I could ask the same of you. I’ve never met someone who was so calm upon learning about my heritage. I’m practically a descendant of lucifer.”

That- That was something he had not considered. “If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization.” Jason quoted, shrugging.

“Well said.” Raven said after a pause.

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit - a quote by Robert Green Ingersole. I’m more than willing to share his belief when it comes to you, though.”

“That’s kind of you. Although, I think you give the serpent too much credit. I like to think we would have eaten the apple eventually anyway.”

‘We’ he mouthed. Not ‘you’. Interesting. “I can’t tell if your view is cynical or optimistic, little birdie.”

“Optimistic. I like the thought that we’re curious enough to try to better ourselves, no matter how flawless we may be.”

“Hypothetically, could it be said that the humans were truly flawless before they ate the apple?”

“No. If they were flawless, their faith would have made them invulnerable to tempting. Besides, their children became the first murderer and victim of the world; seeing as how humans learn from their parents, they couldn’t have been close to flawless.” Raven countered.

“Fair enough. If neither of us can accept that eating the apple was evil, and that faith isn’t our greatest strength, what is?”

“Perception. Just because one person sees it differently doesn’t mean either is wrong. It’s what makes us human and helps us advance - If Eden’s humans were perfect, it must have been a pretty bland place.” Raven smiled shyly, - cute - like what she just said had a special meaning for her. “And if you define perception as a type of knowledge, then it was gained by eating the apple.” Jason stared at her, a little in awe. His debating skills had been blunted by his lack of intelligent company since Alfred, but he had enough wits to recognise a superior orator. “You’re delightfully witty, little bird.” He complimented. There was a lull in conversation while she focused on reading the spell. Idly, he wondered if she was avoiding his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure if that meant he’d made her flustered (of course, he would want to make any girl flustered, Jason thought, consciously not questioning if that was true). “Thank you. This wording ought to do it.” Raven withdrew a rod from within her cloak, upon which closer inspection revealed a point easily as sharp as a dagger. Jason felt the blood rush from his face and stumbled away from her, falling off the cot and sending one of the vials flying, shattering on impact with the wall next to the cot. Raven jumped and refocused her eyes on Jason, befuddled. After a awkward pause, in which Jason remained frozen with consternation half on and half off the bed, acutely aware of the foul-smelling concoction dripping onto the cot, Raven coughed, folding her sleeve over her nose and gingerly edging away from the liquid.

“Jason.” She scolded nasally, “I need to draw some symbols on your skin before I can cast the spell on you.”

“No way.” He refused flatly, surreptitiously putting the cot between them. “The last person to approach me with a piece of metal that big killed me and I’m not letting you inscribe stuff into my skin.”

“First on all, if you want to recover from that trauma, I know a couple of therapists who won’t care about your alter ego. I can accompany you if you really want help.” She spoke haltingly, turning away to dip her instrument in one of the vials while a curtain of hair shielded her expression.Jason’s snapped to hers in astonishment. That was not the response he was expecting. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was most certainly not that. “Secondly, I would never kill you, ever! If you can’t go with me, don’t you have someone else to accompany you to therapy?” Raven looked at him, fire sparking in her plum eyes. Jason sat back down on the cot and put his interlocked hands behind his head. “You saw how Bruce looked at me, little birdie. I don’t trust my brothers one bit with this and the one person who might go with me is back at the old Batman HQ. I can’t exactly pop in and ask him to come to therapy with me; god, what would he think anyway?” Jason scoffed, too jaded for tears.

“I believe you.” Raven admitted quietly. She sighed, her exhale sounding like branches rattling in the wind and Jason suddenly remembered Catherine, tired, Catherine, jaded, Catherine, with a sigh like branches rattling in the wind and a will like a dying ember. Jason frowned. That sound was far, far too tired to match one so courageous and lovely as her. If it was up to me, she’d never make that sound again. He thought firmly.

“You don’t belong there anymore; I know what that’s like.” Raven looked even more tired then, not angry, just… sad. Her eyes looked old. Her lashes fluttered, as though just keeping them upright was causing her effort, and Jason had a strange impulse to wipe that look of her face. “But.” Raven straightened, Jason mirroring her, and suddenly the formidable titan was back. “That doesn’t mean you have to cut off contact with that person. Dick’s told me about him - his name is Alfred, right? If what Dick has said about him was true, then you should write to him - he’s been worrying about you.” Jason looked down, wishing he’d had the foresight to smuggle in a cigarette with him.

“He wouldn’t welcome my letters, little bird.”

“Yes, he would! You’re so smart,” she protested. “How can someone as smart as you not see that!”

Jason felt the tips of his ears glow in an odd kind of embarrassed pride.“Alright. I’ll try.” He coughed, feeling foolish. Raven looked oddly proud, her eyes more tender than Jason felt was appropriate.

“Try to write about something you love or admire. It’ll be easier that way,” she advised, placing her rod - which emanated an uncomfortable burning sensation - directly over his heart. Jason tried not to flinch unsuccessfully. “What is that?”

“A toothpick of a giant.” Raven replied nonchalantly, focusing on her work. Jason blinked. “How?” He was unable to articulate further than that, but Raven must have gleaned what he was asking through his gobsmacked expression. After quelling a fit of laughter with a snort, Raven explained, ”We were sucked into another dimensions on one of our missions. Nightwing, in his infinite wisdom, took one look at the sleeping 30ft giant and decided to punch it in the nose, and then got us both sucked in it’s left nostril when it snorted.” Jason cackled wildly. Raven shook her head jokingly, smiling at him. “Honestly, if we hadn’t acquired such a valuable tool climbing out of it’s mouth -” Raven punctured her tale of woe with a horrified shudder, to Jason’s renewed cackles growing ever-louder. “I think I would have left him there when we managed to teleport back here.”

“So it was like a series of unfortunate events, huh?” Jason lilted flippantly. Raven swatted at him mock irritably, but he could see the hint of a grin on her face before she composed herself. Why did she do that? Jason immediately began running through his repertoire of book references for something that might bring that beautiful smile back. Woah. Beautiful smile? He questioned himself, mentally shooing away from that thought. Bad thought. Go back to wherever you came from, because you certainly did not come from The Red Hood’s esteemed intellect. Jason cleared his throat, his palms unreasonably sweaty for some reason and almost dropped the book he remembered he was still holding at the last minute. “Aren’t you afraid of Nightwing catching you red handed?”

Raven’s eyes dropped to the whitewashed floor. “No,” she uttered softly. “He’s much too busy fighting with Starfire right now to worry about anything else”. Raven met his gaze with a pained smile, her eyes soft with sadness. Jason’s stomach twisted nauseatingly and he suddenly regretted his question.

“Trouble in paradise?” he joked feebly, raising an eyebrow. He wanted to take back the words as soon as he said them. “Something like that.” Raven crossed her arms and blinked away any emotions that had been present in her gaze. No, no, dammit! Look what you did, he snarled inwardly, you made her close up!

“Starfire’s people are traditionally polyamorous but Dick-Nightwing refuses to talk to her about any options or - well, anything outside of work, now.”

Her words, although sudden, were unusually soft and tired compared to their earlier banter. Jason jolted up to look at Raven, who had apparently taken his silence for an inquiry.

“Uncommunicative as ever when it comes to love, those bats, I see. ah, lord, what fools these mortals be.” he blurted impulsively, wincing inwardly. Raven threw her head and her hood back - she has such lovely plump cherry lips! - and laughed. Her laugh was deep, and husky, he noted absently, as it quieted to infectious chuckles, and quite possibly the warmest thing he had ever heard in his life. Somehow managing to be on the quiet side, yet filling the room with her vibrant presence until he felt like he could hardly breathe. “Nobody who loves is a complete fool, and if it indeed foolishness, then it is divine folly.” She teased playfully, the tiredness in her voice vanishing like mist on a hot day, the corners of her mouth still twitching. Jason let out the breath he had been holding, a chuckle of his own beginning to rumble in his throat as he leaned back on the small cot.

Jason reached for a flask among the glowing vials, to find Raven curling protectively over it, calling it her Assam; her favourite tea. He had to release a few more chuckles upon seeing her so passionate of her tea - she’d get along well with someone he knows. After that, however, the tension surrounding them eased into something easy and almost familiar, almost distracting him from the complicated patters Raven was twirling over his bare chest.

“Do this often, little bird? Only artists like painters normally have this level of precision.” He commented.

“I don’t just do it for other spells.” She admitted reluctantly. “I make art of all kinds.” Jason tilted his head, curious. “I use paint to draw murals, I draw the stories I read about, and I draw the plants and animals I’ve seen from other, um, other-” She elaborated eagerly. Her eyes sparkled and she tossed her head, displaying a burst of passion Jason found himself unable to look away from. “Places?” He offered.

“Planets.” She finished wryly. “And sometimes dimensions, too.” She frowned, studying him closely. “Hold still. I need to kiss this seal in order for the spell to activate.” Without waiting for his reply, Raven swooped down and planted a light, soft kiss on her glyphs, which began to glow with the same light her vials had. Jason started, lowering his hand from behind his back to touch the place she had kissed him - and whacked her soundly on the nose as she looked up. “Ow!” Raven slid in his lap.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Jason yelped. “Are you okay, little birdie? Oh, god, I haven’t broken anything, have I? Deep breaths, Deep breaths. Should I call an ambulance - do you even have a doctor in this place?!”

Jason’s arms fluttered uselessly around her as she pressed against the bridge of her nose gingerly.

“I’m good.” She winced. “I have healing powers.”

Jason felt unbearably awkward. Would turning himself into the bat end the feeling of wanting to climb under the cot and never come out? Jason wasn’t sure, but he seriously considered it for a few, long silence filled minutes. Raven exhaled heavily, her breath touching his neck, and Jason suddenly became excruciatingly aware of their position. His heart kept banging against his chest like it was trying to reach her. Jason could have counted every single one of her eyelashes. Her brow creased. Oh, god. She could hear his heartbeats, couldn’t she? Geez, had they always been this loud? Ugh. Jason felt like he could die of embarrassment. Raven cleared her throat and gracefully stood up on the cot, moving around him to inspect the mess on the wall. Always so graceful. Jason stood up hurriedly and turned to face her back, rubbing his neck.

“The spell is complete; the pit’s madness will never affect you again. If you want, you can leave; There isn’t anything very interesting to do now,” she murmured, almost apologetically, beginning to clean the stain away with magic.

“Why would I? As if you could ever be boring.” he said reproachfully.She blushed, which shot a thrill up his spine that manifested in what must have been a thoroughly dopey smile on his face. God. What was she doing to him? Jason wondered. Whatever it was, it made his chest feel confused and happy and tight and yearning at the same time, so he pushed the feeling down and forced himself to smirk.“What is that, by the way? You didn’t use it, did you? That looks nasty.” Jason cringed as another drop of the mystery liquid reached his bedding.

“No, I didn’t. You didn’t choose any of the words that required it. It’s human blood.” Raven explained absently, rolling his eyes, at his disgusted expression.

“It was one of the men we were too late to save - he tried saving another man who had been framed who was imprisoned in his kingdom’s palace dungeons.”

“He was idealistic for trying to save someone in the government’s headquarters” Jason decreed firmly. Raven gave him an amused look. Damn, she was way too perceptive for her own good.

“Or perhaps he was honourable to not condemn the prisoner to an unjust fate.” She lilted, almost playfully. Did she just flutter her eyelashes at me?

“You know what I‘m implying. If robin figures out you did this, he could kick you out, little bird. I’d be happy to host you as a selfless citizen, myself, though.” Jason brightened, not at all selflessly.

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. You should not have to suffer for his need to micromanage everything related to the Titans. Besides, he’s so emotionally stunted he’d never punish me in a way I can’t see him gloat over my misery.” Raven retorted pertly. Jason tried to choke back a cackle, staring at her incredulously. He ended up making what he imagined to be the sound a dog toy made when it broke, which was why he tried to stop imagining and change the subject. Did she really just say that? “And if he puts you in this cell?”

“I’ll tell him to stop sulking like a spoilt brat. He always looks like he needs to take a shit.”

Jason struggled to control the tide of snickers pouring out of him. Okay, he decided, she wasn’t just witty, she was hilarious.

“He probably won’t try anything too painful, with you long gone and I being as valuable as I am - oh!” Raven slipped off the bed, into Jason’s instinctive embrace. Sudden, burning fury roared within him, the type that threatened to lash out if provoked.

“And if he tries to hurt you like a spoilt child, I’ll cut off his cock and nail it to a sewer wall somewhere until he remembers his manners.” Jason growled fiercely. She stared at him from their close proximity, the laidback energy between them tightening and fraying with tension. Jason fidgeted, realising how protective that statement had sounded. What was she doing to him?

“Since you’ve been so good to me, and all.” He added hastily.

“That’s gross, Jason.” She said, relaxing in his arms - too close, too fucking close, her back was curving against his arm - and he set her down carefully, supressing a shudder. Jason’s eyes widened.

“Here!” He thrust her communicator back at her. She glanced at it, surprised, as if she had forgotten about it too. When she reached to take it, Jason impulsively clasped her hands with his other fingers.

“Would…” Jason licked his lips, steeling himself, noting how raven’s eyes traced where his tongue had been and drawing strength from it.

“Would you like to come to dinner with me?” he waited, breathless.

“I’d like that…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tensed her shoulders like she expected Jason to reprimand her or make her feel guilty.

“What convinced you?” he asked, curiously. She looked up in surprise and blessed him with a gentle smile. Jason found it oddly adorable.

“I hadn’t realized what a charmer you were.” she drawled.

Jason blushed furiously and rubbed his neck, glancing at Raven, who seemed to be more amused by the second.

“So, where should we meet? Your place? You don't exactly have a secret to keep, now.” She pointed out. Jason guilty thought of the red x costume in his condo.

“I do have a secret, actually.”

“I'm sure it must be simply dreadful.” Raven said placidly, reclining on the cot. Jason thought about the way she hadn’t hesitated to help him regardless of what her leader said. He thought about the look she’d given him when he had told her about not being able to go home. He thought about how she looked when he’d said he would write to Alfred. He swallowed and cradled her cheeks. If he was feeling particularly brave when remembering this later, he might have thought that she had nuzzled into the cradle of his hands.

“It might be, honestly. I can’t tell how you’ll see it as. But if you come to my condo next week, I promise I’ll tell you everything.” he whispered hoarsely - apologetically - in her ear.

“Everything?” Raven echoed. There was an unspoken question in her eyes, and Jason wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and rock away the doubt in her eyes until she felt secure again. He settled for wetting his lips. Later, he reminded himself. Later. “Yeah, Little Bird. Everything you want, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you. In our world, telling me your information means a lot.” She looked at him with growing respect and a touch of admiration in her eyes. “That must have taken a lot of courage.”Jason smiled at her. What a weird person. What a weird demon. She was simply wonderful, he decided. Absolutely wonderful. Jason stared into her amethyst shining with hope, and privately managed to gather enough thought to decide on writing to Alfred about her. He thinks that he’ll write that his lady (if it would not be presumptuous to call her that) is unapologetic when breaking rules, brutally honest, a real demon but that she paints for fun, is loyal to her ethics first and foremost, keeps her books in pristine condition, a true hero yet a gentle soul and would look terribly, terribly breathtaking if he can convince her to wear a flower crown and get her eyes to sparkle like they were again.

Ripping his eyes away from her reluctantly, he backed out of the door and looked back - to see a flash of purple smoke. Of course! He felt like hitting his temple with the palm of his hand. She has magic; she could have left or alerted Nightwing at any time without his knowledge! For some odd, indecipherable reason, this revelation caused him to break out in bouts of uncontrollable snickers as he jumped out the closest window. He decided to add Assam tea to his shopping list.

Epilogue.

“Little Bird.” Raven spared a questioning glance at her - their - bed’s other occupant, who winked at her and waved lazily. Raven pursed her lips and aimed her gaze back at the novel in her hands, stifling a yawn. “It’s time to sleep.”

“One more chapter.”

“Mon petit oiseau, you know I adore a good book as much as you do. But I adore our bedtime ritual even more, love. Haven’t you finished that tea yet anyway?”

“Almost.” She turned a page and cradled her mug with both hands, draining it.“Awesome.” Jason stole a languid kiss to distract her as he plucked her book out of her hands and set it down on his bedside table.

“Mmm- Jason!” Raven protested weakly. He grinned at her and palmed her hips slowly. “What is it, darling? You know neither of us can sleep properly unless you do your ritual.” It had started about a year into their relationship, after a particularly bad nightmare. She set down her cup down with a mellifluous rap and squirmed to straddle his lap. Jason quickly draped a blanket around her shoulders and held her in a warm embrace. He'd quickly learned that she would get cold very easily and took full advantage of this fact to shamelessly encourage her to press every inch of herself against him whenever she was cold. Privately, Jason thanked whoever was up there that she hadn't caught him turning their 'broken' heater off yet. Raven exhaled as her fingers slowly caressed his face. Starting with his jawline, pressing kisses to his temple, lingering below his ears - he had to focus on not keening when she suckled beneath his earlobe -then combing his explosion of hair back, her dainty fingers travelling lower to his temples.

Three years onward and she still did this ritual every night, he thought fondly. “You have wrinkles”. she breathed abruptly. Wrinkles? On his gorgeous face? Jason thought. Oh, hell no. They were not wrinkles. They were the bags beneath his eyes. A few good nights sleep with his Raven and it’d clear right up. If not, the wrinkles had better pray for nothing more than skin lotion.

“Where?” Jason demanded indignantly. Raven touched the corners of this eyes gently, her eyes glowing tenderly.

“Did you know”, she began conversationally, “that there is one smile that cannot be replicated unless you are happy? It’s the only smile that includes the eyes - that’s where the saying ‘smiling eyes’ comes from.”

Jason sat back, wondering where the hell she was going with this, but happy to let her talk for as long as she wanted.

“If you smile that smile enough, well” she shrugged, tapping his wrinkles. “You must have been smiling a lot for some reason.”

“I wonder why,” Jason quipped, looking at her dimpling mouth hintingly. Raven let another of her low chuckles escape, curving her mouth invitingly - success! Jason rejoiced, part delightedly, part triumphantly - and leaned forward and brushed her lips against his - alright, fine - wrinkles then teasingly nibbling his lips before withdrawing, smirking impishly and batting her eyelashes coyly. Jason growled as she licked her lips deliberately. “I’m glad you’ve been smiling more,” she whispered earnestly, the look in her eyes taking Jason's breath away. He softened and swooped to capture her lips in a kiss that made her head spin and forced a swoon out of her mouth.

Jason wondered how she’d react to the information of her own acquired stunning wrinkles. Better not tell her, he decided lovingly, before Raven purred his name in his ear and he lost all coherent thought.

________________________________________________________________ “A series of unfortunate Events” - references a series of rather unpleasant, old children’s books.“Lord, what fools these mortals be!” - A midsummer’s night dream (Puck)“Nobody who loves is a complete fool. And if it is, then it is divine foolishness.” The squire, his knight, and his lady by Gerald Morris (Ganscotter and King Arthur)If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization. - Robert Green Ingersole. ________________________________________________________________ uhghhhhhhhh this was an absolute monster, @theplacewherebeautylies. “Let’s start writing! It’ll be easy! I can quit at any time” AND I CHOOSE TO MAKE A FREAKING 6341 word fic. IT’S 2AM. This is my first fic and I can already relate so much to those sleepless writer’s post. I hope you enjoy and thank you to @bluescove for beta-ing, I think it really helped!

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arigatouiris · 5 years

Text

out of my league // t.h — 13

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: swearing; eventual fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; pining; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: Yay no more angst! Well, sort of. Anyway, I just feel like since the likes on this story has dropped, the people reading it has as well. I would really appreciate it if you guys let me know if you still like reading this or not. Sometimes, your comments and likes would work as a motivating factor for me to write more. Let me know what you think? I’d really appreciate comments from you guys :”)

Also, if you want me to add you to the series taglist, just drop a note or comment! ^^

Word count: 2841

Series Masterlist

12 | 13 | 14

The question that floated around in her head was simple. Why was she doing this? What did Susannah have to gain? (y/n)’s mind had hit a new low; she had locked herself in her home, hadn’t eaten in two days, and refused to speak to anyone who tried to get in touch with her. Harrison was worried most of all, he had managed to call Aditi and speak to her regarding (y/n)’s state of affairs. After learning that she had lost her job in the way that she had, his heart went out to her, but he knew that there was quite possibly nothing he could do to help.

So he told Tom.

Tom’s shoot luckily was ending in a week, and he wanted to come and surprise (y/n) first before letting even Harrison know he was coming back. He wanted to come back and confess to the woman he was in love with and let her know just how important she was to him. However, that afternoon changed everything in his mind.

“What?”

“Her boss, Susannah, she fired her two days ago. (y/n)’s taken it quite hard.” Harrison said, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Haz, you have to go there and speak to her… Y-You have to—”

Tom stopped. What more could he say to Harrison? Firstly, he felt incredibly powerless at the moment that he himself wasn’t able to speak to her and help her, but telling Harrison to go do these things that he himself wanted to made him feel worse.

“Haz, I…”

“Tom, I know. I’ve spoken to her friend, Aditi. You remember her?”

Tom nodded, but then answered a moment later.

“Aditi’s heading over to Susannah’s right now to speak to her. It might be possible to get (y/n) her job back. Or at least know if the reason behind Susannah’s actions were spite. Because, well…”

“Actually,” Tom gulped, “I don’t think she should work there.”

Harrison was thinking the same thing, but considering how much (y/n) loved her job, he knew she’d never agree to move on that easily. It wasn’t that she was dependant on her job, she was more inclined to plan her every step. And losing her job wasn’t part of that plan.

When Aditi reached Susannah’s, she half expected her not to be home. However, when she opened the door for the Indian woman, it looked as if she was expecting her to show up at her doorstep. Aditi’s scowl did little to phase Susannah, and she only let her inside cordially. It was as if there was no anger left in her, there was no feeling, nothing. Susannah had a blank expression on her face, and this angered Aditi more.

“You don’t have the right to look like you’re sad—”

“I know you’re mad at me. I half expected you to show up sooner—”

“Susannah, what the fuck?” Aditi bellowed, hands on her sides.

Susannah looked at the woman before blinking twice. There was only very little she could say, very little that could make it seem as if what she did was not wrong and was for (y/n)’s benefit. But, now was not the time to make it seem better. Now was not Susannah’s time for redemption, it was her time to sit and take the blame. She was ready for it, after all.

“What the fuck, Susannah? I can’t believe you would treat (y/n) that way. After everything she did for you, after everything that you and her have been through! You’re heartless, aren’t you?”

Aditi has no clue what she’s talking about, Susannah told herself, feeling fresh tears in her eyes. She loves her friend and I admire that about her.

“If anything, (y/n) deserves better than what she got. Ever since the Tom Holland scandal, her life has been nothing but brutal to her. It’s one bad experience after another, and I know. I know that William leaving you the way he did was hard on you, but come on! You cannot fucking take it out on someone who only wanted to—”

“Are you done?” Susannah forced herself once more.

Aditi stood there, shocked. She was staring at someone who looked and sounded like Susannah, but was not. Susannah of the past was long gone, she told herself. Quietly, she turned on her heel and slammed the door on her way out. Aditi got in her car and made her way to (y/n)’s, knowing that the woman was probably hungry out of her mind and hasn’t eaten anything. Stopping at an Indian place, Aditi packed some food for her friend and made her way.

She knocked twice and she knocked hard. The door opened and Aditi let herself inside, coming face to face with a rather fresh looking (y/n).

“You going somewhere?” Aditi asked, confused.

(y/n) shook her head. “You brought food?” She asked, her voice low.

Aditi could hear it—(y/n) had cried so much that now she was out of tears. She must have felt miserably lying in her own sorrow, so she went ahead and took a shower. This, however, did not change how terrifyingly sad she actually was, but was instead covered in layers of a fresh looking (y/n).

Aditi handed her the package of Indian food and sighed.

“I won’t sugarcoat anything to you, (y/n). You don’t deserve this.”

(y/n) said nothing. The two of them went and sat on her couch, quietly, basking in the atmosphere around them. It was eerie, a chill in the air represented the moments in her recent past that marked an end—however, Aditi was not a hopeless person. If anything, she was positive beyond her strength and some people often forgot that she too, breaks.

“(y/n), you have to kick yourself out of this.” Aditi said, looking at her friend.

“I know. It’s just… So shocking that—”

“As terrible as this sounds, grief changes people. They become the worst versions of themselves and it isn’t uncalled for. She couldn’t handle what happened, and that’s—”

“But, Susannah is so kind. There is so much kindness in her. She always put herself before me, she loved me—”

“That’s not who she is anymore and you have to let go!” Aditi raised her voice a bit, causing (y/n) to flinch.

“Sorry.”

(y/n) shook her head before sighing. “You’re right. She’s changed, but it’s so hard.”

Holding her hand, the Indian woman smiled, “I’m always here for you.”

“That’s great, Tom! Alright, cut!”

The director yelled, and Tom broke a sweat. Rushing back to his tent, he took the napkin hanging on the chair and wiped the sweat off his brow. Sighing, he took the water bottle and had a couple of sips. A moment later, he heard it—a soft vibrating sound. There, on the desk was his phone, vibrating and then stopped. Someone had tried to call him four times. His heart leapt as he grabbed the device, wondering if it was (y/n), but it wasn’t. It was an unknown number.

He called the number back and wondered who it was. In three rings, the person picked up.

“Hi, my name is Spencer Moralis, Assistant Director.”

“Hi, you know who I am.” Tom said, confused.

“Your friend, Harrison Osterfield?” Tom blinked.

“Uh, yes—”

“You’re aware that his show was cancelled.” The man on the other end said.

“Yes, I am—”

“Well, he doesn’t know this because he didn’t stay long enough to know why, but it’s not a production pull-out that caused the show to shut down.”

Tom frowned. “Then, what was it?”

“The lack of a good script. The script was poor, the dialogues weren’t good after the first few episodes, and the director hated the rest. The production team was close to the scriptwriter so that’s why it was initially approved. Anyway, could you have a word with your friend, Jean Marcel? He’s a good script writer, so I was wondering—”

It was as if an epiphany hit him out of nowhere. There was only one thing he could think about, and that one thing turned his stomach to jelly.

“Actually, I know someone who might be really good.” Tom said, his heart banging against his chest.

When Tom called Harrison that evening, Harrison flipped. A sudden rush of excitement hit his veins and there was very little he could tell his friend without sounding like an absolute idiot.

“Tom, this is great—”

“But, will she do it?”

This, neither of them knew. Harrison knew that Tom would take a week to get to London, but they had only one month for the scripts to be finished. And a week is a long time in one month. Harrison then decided he’d go visit (y/n), convince her to write, somehow—and now it seemed that Susannah firing her was the best thing that ever happened.

“Hold on,” Haz said, questioning the situation. “(y/n)’s never said anything bad about Susannah, has she?”

Tom hummed. “Never before. This is why this is so shocking. Why?”

Haz hummed this time, “Nevermind. Not really our concern right now. I’ll go visit (y/n) and break the news to her. Does she know you’re coming back in a week?”

Tom’s heart flipped. “No, don’t tell her. I wanna surprise her, Haz.”

Harrison smiled. “She told me she’d cast me as the lead for her show if she ever wrote one.”

“It seems like that’s happening now.” Tom said, grinning.

For a long and hard moment, Harrison stood there, with a wide smile on his face. He felt a joy that he couldn’t quite put into words. But, this was all shaky at the moment. Everything depended on (y/n) accepting his proposal to write for his show. And his own doubts about the way things ended could be addressed later. He rushed to (y/n)’s house and knew he’d reach in less than 30, but had to break the news to her before she did anything else.

He found that there was another car parked near her house, which meant that she wasn’t alone. Harrison let out a breath before heading to her door, knocking a couple of times and hoped that she was in a better mood than she was in his head. Aditi opened the door and was frozen in shock seeing Harrison there, waving at her awkwardly.

“(y/n), a celebrity is here to see you.” Aditi said, making Haz chuckle.

“Haz!” (y/n) said, before hugging her friend.

Harrison hugged her back and was glad she didn’t look too sad. However, he knew she must probably be breaking on the inside.

“So, I have news.” Harrison said, getting right to it.

“News? It’s all been news. Can’t we just gossip?” Aditi said, rolling her eyes.

Harrison frowned a bit when (y/n) giggled, and soon turned to the kitchen table and saw the culprit. A bottle of wine, almost empty. He turned back to the two girls and smiled widely, amused but also understood how bad the timing was.

“Harrison, what brings you here?” (y/n) was cute when she was drunk.

“It’s 12:30 in the afternoon.” Haz said, wide eyed and smiley.

This earned a giggle from both girls, causing Harrison to chuckle at them both. He sighed before reaching out and sending Tom a message, saying they were drunk at daytime and the scriptwriting talk had to happen some other time.

“Are you texting Tom?” (y/n) asked, whispering.

Harrison laughed before nodding. “Yes, Tom Holland. Wow. (y/n), a day drinker.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “Haz, don’t judge.”

“Of course not. I’m enjoying myself right now.” He teased.

He saw that her cheeks her flushed and that she was smiling very wide. It warmed his heart a bit, and instantly understood that her friend, Aditi, was the reason (y/n) wasn’t wallowing in self-pity or her sorrow at the moment. She’s a good friend, he thought before turning to Aditi who stood on the table.

“Oh my god, how much did you drink?” He helped the woman down and she tumbled backwards.

“I think I need to sit.”

“Yes, yes you do.” Harrison helped her on the couch and she leaned back.

“Haz, I miss Tom.” (y/n) said, staring rather angrily at the ground.

“Darling, he misses you too.” Harrison said, knowing this to be true.

“I think I love him.”

His eyes widened at this, but chose to remain quiet. “I love him too! Who doesn’t love Tom Holland.”

Haz fought back a grin. “No, Aditi, you see… I’m in love with him.”

He suddenly took his phone out to record this and send it to Tom, but chose not to. He’d record it, but he wouldn’t send it. For when things turn brighter than it is at the moment, Harrison would reveal this moment for its glory. Until then, it was his secret.

“Really?” Aditi asked, her eyes wide.

“I love him. He’s kind and has the cutest smile. And…” (y/n) pressed her lips together, not aware of being filmed at that second. “He makes me want to never lose sight of what I am.”

Harrison brought his phone down and stared at her. (y/n) was beautiful. (y/n) was beautiful at that moment, with everything she did and said. She was a dreamer, who was afraid to dream but dreamed the way she lived; she was a beautiful dreamer. The kind of girl, who kept her head in the clouds, loved above the stars and left regret beneath the earth she walked on.

However, the thing about (y/n) was her fear of taking risks. Every time writing scripts was brought up, she’d brush it off as if it was something unimaginable. As peculiar as it was, it was simply because she didn’t believe in herself. She didn’t believe she could do it. Since she was so good at writing critiques, she had that supporting her and that was what she thought she was good at. Harrison knew he was smart, but turns out, he had missed this from the start.

Only one other person knew of (y/n)’s fear of taking risks.

“(y/n),” Harrison spoke, when he saw her drinking water an hour later. She had sobered down a bit, Aditi had fallen asleep on the couch. “Now that you don’t have a job, what do you say you try writing a script?”

(y/n) scoffed, and Harrison observed. He wondered if it would be easier now to convince her to do something different—to embrace her dreams instead of chasing it away. He looked at her and waited for a response, and he didn’t know why milliseconds felt like hours.

“A script?” Her voice was devoid of disbelief, but was low and cautious.

Her gaze didn’t leave his, and she knew, even in her slightly drunken state that he was not joking.

“My show was dropped because of a poor script. We want someone to write it better. (y/n),” Harrison stood up and walked over to her, a few feet away from her. “Tom’s first thought was you.”

Her face reddened with the mention of the actor’s name. Her heart was beating erratically, and she thought of her job as a critic; but, there was no job. Nothing was stopping her from trying, nothing was holding her back and withheld her from her dreams. She looked at Harrison for a good long minute before tears began to fill her eyes. He smiled at her and nodded just once, understanding what her mind was telling him. Her hands flew to her mouth and she nodded, once and twice, before covering her hands over her face and breaking down. She cried at that moment because she felt relief and a weird satisfaction for losing her job, and Harrison wondered if he could understand what had actually happened.

Aditi hated Susannah for being cruel to (y/n). Tom hated Susannah for treating (y/n) the way she did.

(y/n) never followed after her dreams because she had a job to fall behind. If she was ever told to quit and do what she wanted, she wouldn’t have—if it meant quitting on her own accord, (y/n) would rather be a critic permanently. However, this wouldn’t have been the case if she were fired. And if it meant firing her and becoming the bad guy, there was only one person that seemed to fit the role.

Harrison didn’t know if Susannah knew (y/n) would get a chance to write soon. He didn’t know if she had planned it ahead this much. All he knew was that Susannah had let (y/n) go because she deserved better, and even in her bitterness, all Susannah could think of was (y/n)’s benefit.

Because he knew—better than most—that this was the only way (y/n) would have agreed.

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff, @aestheticgaybish, @noobmaster63, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay, @wonders-of-the-multiverse, @boushalaivre, @jackiehollanderr, @nerdypisces160, @yourwonderbelle, @quackson606, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff, @fandoms-stuff, @danicarosaline, @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo, @multiverseprincess @spider-mendes @jazzhandspotter @the-rad-mad @itsjlynadaxoxo

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom hollander #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom #holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

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sevi007 · 5 years

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Gifted to @rex101111 and @fuckoland, for always listening to my ideas and giving me that last little push of confidence I so often need when writing. Thank you both so much. =D

Spoilers for DMC 5

Summary: Finding a way back to himself, back to his brother, and out of Hell - Vergil learns that those had been the easier parts of his new journey. Because redemption is not simply offered on a silver plate, and bonds take time to forge. But Nero might just be worth all of that.

Warnings: Uh, swearing, cause it’s Nero, and probbaly a bit OOC-ness on Vergil’s side (first time writing him, and he’s a difficult fella, I tell you)

Word Count: 7227

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fortuna.

Of all the places he had been to in his life, this city was not one he had expected to return to one day, with his business here finished and other goals to be chased.

Ah, but you didn’t think you would return to anything, a tiny voice in his mind mocked, sounding suspiciously like the croak of a bird. Didn’t think you would come back from this last fight, did’cha, boy?

Vergil scowled into the sky before him, banning the voice – memory, ghost, whatever it was – back into his subconsciousness. No more of this. I woke up from you.

Part of him expected a reply still. Waited for the flutter of wings, the pressure of claws on his shoulder, mocking and taunting in his ear. It didn’t come. Of course it didn’t, he told himself sternly, that part of him was gone, chased away like dark dreams in the morning sun.

The only noise left behind was the avid chatter and laughter drifting up from the garden stretched down below. People talking over each other, laughing together. The sound of cutlery being set on tables, glasses clinking and chairs and tables being pushed together to make room for everyone, interspersed with easy chats.

Below him, life continued on, as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t all been in danger of being wiped of this earth mere months ago.

Easy companionship. High spirits. Celebrating their return from Hell, had been said, but he had the hunch that these people did not really need a reason to sit together and celebrate, if they felt like it.

Nero had seemed at ease in the middle of things. Not as open and enthusiastic about it as the girl (Kyrie, Vergil recalled, the name not easily forgotten due to her very resolute reception of him upon his return). But still, the young man had easily greeted the various people who had showed up, accepting hugs and pats readily, striking up conversations freely.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. The boy considered these people friends, most of them family, even.

Vergil, on the other hand, must have counted for neither of those options.

He had left (not fled, never fled, he told himself) the scene at the earliest chance, when not too many people had been looking. Had chosen the highest point of the house’s roof as his refuge, to watch attentively and think.

Bright blue eyes had followed him, he knew, had all but burned into his back, but he had ignored it. If his brother wanted something from him, he would find him. Not even the deepest depths of hell or the highest point of a cursed tree had stopped his brother before. A roof would be a joke in comparison.

A deep voice started a sing-song right behind him, words full of mockery and taunt, “Vergil, Vergil, sitting on a roof, K-I-S-S-I-…”

Speak of the devil.

“If you keep that up,” Vergil warned without even turning around. “I will stab you. Again.”

“Aaaah,” Dante nodded wisely while he dropped beside his brother, legs dangling dangerously over the edge for the blink of an eye until he shifted and settled. Sprawled out leisurely, he flapped a hand at the other. “Still pissed cuz I one-upped you, I see.”

“Your counting is getting worse. I am currently leading.”

“Pfffft, sure, bro, sure.”

A fall from the roof, Vergil reflected, would sadly not do his twin any harm, even if he put all his strength into giving him a much needed push.

“Did you want something, Dante?”

Dante hummed non-committally, lounging so close to the edge it was a miracle gravity didn’t take hold of him yet. He didn’t start talking – which, probably, was the most ironic thing the more talkative of the two could have done.

Finally, Vergil’s finger already twitching as he went over the idea with the push again, Dante spoke up. “You know, I would have figured you would at least try before running again.”

Pretense would not work, not on him, but Vergil tried, anyway, eyes closing as he summoned whatever calmness he still had left. “No one is running from anything, dear brother.”

“Dear brother. You only call me that when you’re seriously out of it. And you don’t even mean it.”

“I do wonder why that is.”

“So, you’re running,” Dante ignored the comment which dripped with sarcasm, going in for the kill instead, “Because how I see it is - you’re up here, and the kid is down there, so do tell me how you guys are gonna talk this out?”

Of course. Vergil closed his eyes for a moment. Suddenly, the prospect of a trusty nightmare at his side was more enticing than having his twin here instead. Then again, there was not much difference between the two. “What should we talk out, in your opinion?”

“Hm, let me think about that…,” Dante drawled. “Right. Perhaps that he’s your son? Happy Father’s Day, by the way. I think you missed a few of those in the last years.”

“You are simply stating a fact. There is nothing to discuss about it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Vergil, I thought we talked about this - at least give the kid a chance to get to know you, you stubborn asshole.”

Avoiding the other’s gaze when he could all but taste the disappointment in his words was no longer possible, and Vergil glanced over, feeling horribly tired. “I am not who he remembers.”

“Well, yeah,” Dante stared back at him, slightly askance, fully exasperated. “Not much he could remember, with you being phenomenally absent for… eh. All his life?”

The urge to snap And whose fault is that? was there, clawing at his insides like a living beast. Vergil swallowed it down, forced himself to think No.

He had been the one too blind, not Dante. He had been the one to jump head first, without thinking of what exactly he was possibly leaving behind.

It had taken him breaking apart to put together what mistakes he had made. He would not forget again.

One breath, two, three, and the urge subsided. He was getting better at ignoring that old, bitter part of himself which tried to convince him everything was his twin’s fault. A reflex honed over years, and not easily unlearned now. He fought to banish it, dispatching it every day a bit more, with each interaction with his… his family.

Family.

That particular word would take some time to get used to.

Dante was still watching him, expectant and accusing at the same time, he knew, yet Vergil didn’t meet his gaze. There was nothing he could say in his defense, and the only explanation for his statement was one Dante wouldn’t understand.

He didn’t even understand it fully, himself. He only knew that there was… something. Something which was his, but not quite. Memories in his mind, fuzzy things, like a nice dream he once had and now couldn’t recall clearly. A part of him that remembered a helping hand, a shoulder offered to lean on, a now-familiar becoming voice reminding him to rest, to take it easy. Remembered the relief that came with it, with having someone to count on, to trust.

There was a man who remembered Nero as something more than a stranger.

(- “V you gotta rest” - )

(- “I guess I owe you one.” -)

(- the tool, the last hope, the boy, Nero, Nero-)

(Why had his first thought upon reassembling the halves of his very being been to thank this boy, someone who had been a stranger to him then? It had been there, the words right on the tip of his tongue, stronger than the old urge to win and proof himself right. His heart had beat and beat and beat, each thrum a whisper of You remember him, you do, you do…)

But he wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t remember. Not really. Not himself.

Tche, and not gonna do anything about that, are ya?

This time, his hand nearly twitched upwards to shove someone off his shoulder – before he noticed there was nothing to shove at. No feathers nor claws, no sharp beak pecking him for trying.

Deliberately, he lowered his hand again, balling it into a fist to keep it where it was.

If Dante had noted his sudden movement, he did not to comment on it. Instead the younger rolled around with a grunt, away from the edge, and stood in a way that somehow managed to be casual yet graceful. Stretching with a loud yawn, Dante squinted into the setting sun for a moment – only to turn and kick his brother in the lower back. Hard. “That’s for being an obstinate asshole.”

Vergil grunted, glared, but didn’t so much as budge or fight back. “Obstinate. I’m surprised you even know what that means.”

The grin Dante sent him back was more teeth than anything else, eyes a hard glint to them. “Good thing the kid is better in this whole family department than we both are, jackass. He isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.”

It took Vergil a second to make the connection, and once he did, he nearly cursed out loud, out of character as it was. Head swiveling around, he did indeed catch sight of the young man standing at a distance, balanced on top of the roof as if gravity didn’t concern him, hands shoved into his pockets and watching the twins with a slight frown.

Nero noticed his gaze and lifted a hand in greeting after an awkward, fidgety pause. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders tense and clearly uncomfortable – but also like someone on a mission, not ready to back down a single step, jaw set and head held high.

Vergil hadn’t felt him coming, much less heard, too caught up in the presence of his twin… which probably had been the plan all along.

Much to his displeasure, Dante proved to be immune to his death glare, shrugging at him. “Told you. Not off the hook.”

“You just can’t mind your own business, can you.”

“You knew that already,” and then, all casualness was gone. Dante moved with the speed of a striking demon, too fast for the human eye, and all of sudden he was there, right in Vergil’s space, hand on his twin’s shoulder like a vice, forehead to forehead, blue boring into blue. “Listen up here, Vergil – no idea what’s going on in that head of yours, but Nero is not me. He is not you. I learned that the hard way, and you will have to learn that, too. So whatever got you all stuck up about this; get over it, and quick. You’re not gonna get an endless amount of chances, capisce? You already got a lot more than others did. ”

Instinctively and beyond his control, Vergil tried to avoid the gaze burning into his, only to find that it was impossible, partly because of the hand on his shoulder like a steel shackle, partly because of the sheer intensity in those eyes. Trapped and backed into a corner, he ground out between clenched teeth, “I know that.”

“Oh, good.”

In the blink of an eye, Dante had backed off again, rocking back with the biggest grin on his face, hands put on his hip as if nothing had happened just now. A quick glance over to Nero – the younger still kept a respectful distance, staring off into the distance now as if this did not concern him – and Dante got serious again, voice low, “Like I said – he’s better at this than we are. He’s better than you. Better than me. So get a move on and try, you deadbeat of a father.”

Then, softer, but no less stern. “He deserves it. Don’t fuck this up, Verge.”

With one last salute, mocking through and through, Dante turned and wandered off, leaving Vergil behind to comprehend everything that had been flung at him. Dimly, the older of the two noted how Dante stopped when he reached Nero, clapping the younger on the shoulder with a bright grin. A quick conversation, an eyeroll from Nero followed by an elbow into the elder’s rips, answered with a loud, bellowing laugh from the man. Then they separated again, pushing past each other gently.

Dante jumped off the roof without looking back once.

Vergil turned to look out over the city again (not much had changed, he noted, even if his memory of it was blurred and apparently the place had seen some rebuilding after demon attacks).

He made a point out of not looking, not checking what Nero would do. Cursing to himself for getting tricked into this so easily.

Quiet footsteps resounded, firm, not hesitating. They stopped next to him, before Nero lowered himself to sit beside him, feet dangling over the edge.

They sat in silence for a while, Nero’s gaze wandering down to the group in the garden, then over the city that had been his home all his life.

Then, finally, the younger spoke up, “You didn’t come over to greet us.”

Teeth grinding together for a second (not even straight to the point), Vergil tightened his shoulders, pulling himself up straight. “There were enough others to do so.”

“Right. Sure. So, what now? You avoiding your own party?”

“This party has nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah?” Now there was sharpness to Nero’s voice, even though he had tried to sound casual before. “The whole thing is about celebrating you guys getting back out of Hell alive. Would think that does concern you.”

Something cracked inside of Vergil – too many people trying to talk to him when all he wanted was silence to sort his thoughts, too many suspicious looks, too many voices in his mind not his own, too many decisions to make – and he snapped, ice lacing his words, “And me being alive is something to celebrate for you, yes?”

“After I busted my ass off to keep you dumbasses alive?” Nero’s voice had risen for a second, before he seemed to remember that there where people down there who could hear him. Obviously restraining himself through sheer willpower alone, he finished in a hiss, “Yes, dammit, it is.”

It should have made him angry, this child speaking in such a manner to him. The flaming gaze and bared teeth and balled fists should have put him on defense.

Surely, Vergil reflected, angry and confused at himself, surely this simple, angrily thrown out statement shouldn’t have made him feel relieved.

(You remember him, you do, you do…)

He closed his eyes against the heady, unfamiliar rush of emotions, willing them back, back into a heart that beat stronger and steadier than it had in years, demanding to be heard in a way he hadn’t felt in decades.

Better get this over with, before he did something stupid, Vergil thought – and took the leap. “If you have something to say, then speak.”

“I still think you’re a damn asshole.”

The words were quick, blurted out in such a rush as if they had wanted to come out of their own volition. For a second, Nero himself looked as if he was surprised by his outburst, before he frowned, turning away. He talked to the skyline instead, probably unaware of the way Vergil stared at the back of his head as he went. “I mean… fuck. Fuck, you cut my damn arm off! And you tried to kill Dante, who… who tries to kill their own brother?! That’s not even all you did – fuck, you, just – fuck you, okay?! Fuck you, for all the shit you tried to pull. But, Dante, me… You did that to your own family, you dick, you don’t just… you don’t just do that. Okay? It’s fucked up, that’s what it is. You’re fucked up.”

Silence settled between them, charged and heated, only interrupted by Nero’s heavy breathing, as if the young man had just fought a tough battle and was out of breath for it.

Then, just when Vergil had half a mind to up and leave (clearly, the boy had said what he had to say know, right, this was it, this was over) Nero breathed in deeply, a hitching sound, before letting it out again in a hiss. When he spoke, his shoulders had lost some of their tension, and he seemed to ponder something. “But… like a friend of mine said not too long ago… without you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re my family. And I know there’s more to you than all that.”

Too late, much too late, did Vergil realize that Nero’s gaze had dropped to something in the younger’s hand, gripped tightly but carefully.

All his anger evaporated as he caught sight of it - the old, slightly battered book gleamed golden in the light of the setting sun. A soft spot left wide open for all to see.

No.

Left in good, caring hands.

(- “Hold onto that until then” -)

As if sensing the elder’s gaze, Nero snapped up and around – eyes so bright they were nearly luminous, brows furrowed, the book raised like a weapon. A proof. Voice like steel, he repeated, “I know there is more to you.”

They stared at each other, blue into blue, nothing between them apart from a book and a decision. Nero looked like he dared him to disagree, to deny what he had just said.

Vergil found that he couldn’t do so.

And finally, when the denial didn’t come, Nero seemed to come to a decision. Nodding to himself, he all but jabbed a finger of his free hand against Vergil’s chest, not heading the fact that the older didn’t budge and merely lifted a quizzical eyebrow at him.

“So this is how this show is going to go from now on – you fucked up big time. And I saved your ass more than once. You owe me,” there was a hint of knowing and smugness in Nero’s expression, and Vergil had a sense of déjà-vu, since that looked all too familiar, “You said so yourself. In fact, I would say you owe me several times over, asshole. That’s one ripped off arm, at least two times I saved your sorry ass, and I’m pretty sure there’s more. Would say that means you have some redeeming to do.

And you will,” now, Nero’s voice was sharp and unforgiving, eyes blazing as he jabbed again, not minding the twitch in Vergil’s face. “Because, again – you owe me.”

For a moment, Vergil was struck speechless. There would have been a time, once, when this young one talking to him in such a way would have made him furious, would have had anger roar inside of him like wildfire.

It didn’t come, this time. Because the boy was right. He did owe him, had said so himself. If he broke his word now, Vergil knew with certainty, then he would never get another shot at… this. At getting to know Nero, the person he had caught glimpses off and had been proud of.

And that person - his son - wouldn’t let him off the hook, not that easily.

Vergil felt a smirk stretch over his face, respect and amusement flickering inside him. “Did you already plan on how this… redemption is supposed to go, as well?”

Narrowing his eyes, Nero mulled the answer over, the gaze sweeping over his opposite calculating. Finally, he snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms, chin raised. “You’re going to help with the rebuilding of Red Grave City, for starters. I don’t care how – if you send money for repairs over or fucking lay bricks yourself to rebuild, your decision. That destruction was your fault, and you will make up for that.”

His breath was momentarily knocked out of Vergil at the prospect of having to see that city again – roots of his he had believed to be unrooted now – before he nodded jerkily, teeth clenched.

Satisfaction gleamed in Nero’s eyes. He seemed to grow surer about this the longer the other didn’t disagree. “Next of – fucking stop trying to kill Dante.”

“That,” Vergil pointed out, almost mildly, “we have already stopped.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, don’t start it again. It’s bullshit, and I would just have to beat you guys up again,” Nero waved it off, clearly disinterested in hearing any more about it. Missing the way Vergil’s lips twitched into a grin for the blink of an eye. “And – turn it down with the asshole attitude. Not saying you gotta become a damn saint here, but nobody here is trying to slit your throat in your sleep, so stop acting like it.”

There was probably no point in telling the younger that he wasn’t all that sure if nobody ever at least felt the urge to do just that to him, so Vergil simply nodded mutely in response to that before, “Anything else?”

“A lot, probably,” Nero answered without missing a beat. “We will see about that when we get there.”

Vergil huffed, amused despite himself.

Nero looked him up and down again, considering. Then his posture relaxed slightly, forearms resting easily on his knees, shoulders slumping. “You’re actually not complaining about it.”

“Would it change anything?” A frown pulling at his expression, Vergil rolled his eyes. The quiet awe in Nero’s voice about that fact did not feel good at all. Had he not thought that Vergil would at least try?

“Nah. Just thought you would try to bargain at least.”

“I do not bargain about things,” Vergil frowned at the thought – well, perhaps there had been times where he should have done so. “I face what comes my way.”

“Head first through walls, huh?”

“I’ve been told I can be stubborn before, if you meant to imply that.”

At that, Nero laughed, quiet and deep. It was a surprisingly joyful sound nonetheless, and touched something in Vergil that he had thought long gone.

When Nero looked back up, past him and upwards, he was fully relaxed, eyes crinkling in silent amusement. “Hey, I just thought about something else you could do.”

Barely holding back a groan – did the younger have a list of deeds for him? – Vergil tilted his head in the other’s direction, signaling he was listening.

Nero kept his gaze on the sky above them, biting down on a smirk while he scratched his nose, pretending to think. “You know, I could use some help doing the dishes later.”

Vergil could feel his eyebrow twitching up in obvious surprise before he could stop it – the lapse in his expression clearly noted, since Nero’s smirk widened. At least his voice was still under his control, flat and cool as he more stated than asked, “The dishes.”

“You heard me.”

“You are not serious.”

“This is how I sound when I’m serious. You better get used to it real quick.” Nero must have noticed the disbelief on Vergil’s face, for he smirked, shoulders moving in what could have been a tiny shrug or suppressed laughter. “You did see how many people we invited, right? And Dante eats for three. There’s going to be a lot of dishes, and I’m not gonna do it alone.”

Vergil could only stare at this curious young man (son, family, his), who surely must be mocking him right now.

Who could have, should have put him down, should have torn into him, should have- he should have hated him.

The younger could have asked anything of him, in his debt as he was.

And he asked him to do inane chores.

“He’s better than you. Better than me.”

Was that… was that an offering? A chance?

His mind drew blank as to what he should do with this information, this turn of events.

“Don’t fuck this up, Verge.”

The rest of him, however, seemed to know, deep down. There was a mixture of warmth and something else, bright and strong, spreading through him, curling gently in his chest as if to stay there permanently.

Vergil didn’t feel like analyzing it. Not right now, at least.

He closed his eyes, tilted his face towards the setting sun. For the first time since taking this place high above the buzzing, lively group down in the garden, he felt the warmth on his face, the breeze caressing through his hair. Free enough of the thoughts repeating over and over in his head that he could pay attentions to the world around him again.

“Very well, then,” he conceded at last.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t see it, but the smirk in Nero’s voice palpable. “Alright, sweet. Counting on you.”

This time, the silence that settled between them held no anger, only a sense of calm.

Only to be interrupted from an outside source a minute later.

“GUYS!”

They both looked down to see Nico waving up at them with one arm, her free hand cupped before her mouth as a makeshift megaphone.

“What?!” Nero bellowed back.

“GET DOWN HERE, FOOD IS GONNA BE READY SOON!”

“If it’s not ready yet, there’s no need to yell at us already!”

“MOVE YOUR ASS, YOU HANDSOME DEVIL!”

“I told you not to call me that,… oh fuck’s sake,” Nero sighed, even though it didn’t sound sincere, and rock back and forth to push himself to his feet in one fluid motion. Clapping some dust off, he hesitated, gaze flickering down to where Vergil was still sitting. “You, ah. You coming?”

Gesturing vaguely, Vergil shook his head. “In a minute.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m not bringing you any food up here.”

It was a good thing Nero had already turned away, else he might have caught the little upwards twitch of Vergil’s lips in response.

Vergil, however, saw full well how Nero gingerly, almost tenderly, held the book full of poems against his chest as he made to leave, thumb caressing over the thin spine mindlessly.

It was a kind of care Vergil remembered clearly, from days long gone – days spent in libraries and bookshops, surrounded and soothed by bound pages and written words. And the books he had been most careful with had been those… Those he knew and loved.

“You read it.”

The question – statement – seemed to throw Nero for a second. He turned, gaze following that of the older back to the book, and realization dawned. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips (tugged at Vergil’s loud, demanding heart) as he ducked his head a little.

Scratching his cheek, Nero shook his head, “Didn’t finish. Missing a few poems yet.”

He must have misread something in Vergil’s expression, since he coughed lightly, scratching again, not meeting the other’s eyes. “I might have read a few of them multiple times. That takes time, okay.”

A quick glance over at the older, then Nero frowned, seeming to realize something. “What, you want it back? I mean, it’s yours, so…”

“Keep it.”

Nero halted in his movement, the hand offering the book halfway extended, eyebrows arched. Staring.

Vergil wasn’t much better off, surprised that he heard himself speak so quickly, so thoughtlessly. He clucked his tongue – at himself or Nero, he wasn’t sure – and gestured at the book between them. “Missing a few, you said. You should not leave things unfinished. It does not… seem to be your style.”

A beat, two… then something flickered over Nero’s face, the shift too quick for Vergil to analyze. Eyes narrowing then widening, before a slow, warm smile stretched over the young man’s face, growing into a crooked grin.

(It was the first time he had the younger see truly smile in his vicinity, part of Vergil noted.)

“Yeah, well,” Nero said, slowly, smile still there and softening his expression into something warm and open. He pulled the book back, safely tucking it into his jacket again. “Guess I inherited a stubborn streak from someone. Don’t do well with giving up halfway through.”

Processing that for a second, Vergil huffed, shaking his head as he turned away from the younger. “I see.”

Retreating steps could be heard, and Nero called over his shoulder. “Don’t let the food get cold.”

Vergil waited until he sensed that he had been left alone on the roof, before allowing himself to breathe out, deep and slow.

His heart beat steady and strong.

No urge to blame, to fight, to leave. No drive to chase after faraway goals.

Only quiet and peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe his disappearance hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he had thought, since there where very obvious reactions once Vergil tried to slip back into the middle of things without being seen. People fell silent in the middle of their sentence, heads turned and gazes followed him about.

Opting to ignore them, he straightened and made his way past them, keeping his attention on getting something to eat. Behind him, the conversations picked up again, yet he could feel the prickle of being watched every now and then, the hairs at his neck rising under the scrutiny, skin feeling itchy and tight due to it.

He didn’t let it show, didn’t let it deter him. Used the satisfied little curl of Nero’s lips once the younger spotted him in the crowd as his guide instead.

At least to the young man, he was welcome here. That would have to be enough for now.

He walked along the table that obviously served as the buffet, almost buckling under its load of an assortment of different food. Passing the stack of pizza cartons, smirk twitching around his lips at the sight, he halted, considered his options, and settled on some pasta, filling one of the plates at hand to the brim much like he had seen the other guests do.

For a moment, he almost forgot about the people around him, until a soft voice addressed him. “Vergil?”

A gentle hand on his elbow, the touch soft and light, stopped him in his tracks, more efficiently than any foe could ever had. He dropped his gaze to the fingers resting on him – asking for attention, not demanding, not restricting – and followed the length of the slender arm, up to Kyrie’s face.

She was smiling, eyes soft and warm with… amusement, of all the things. “I just wanted to tell you - don’t mind what Nero said.”

Alerted, Vergil narrowed his eyes at her, pondering what she could have heard of their conversation. It had not been all that personal, yet still it was… more than he felt comfortable with, to share with a stranger.

Kyrie blinked, before she laughed, raising a hand to her mouth to smother it. “Oh, no, I wasn’t listening in! I meant about the help with the dishes. Nero told me about it. You don’t have to do that of course - you’re our guest, after all.”

She didn’t mention any of the other demands Nero had made, even though Vergil was suddenly very sure that she knew about those, too. Even to him, it had been clear how close those two were, how much his son counted on the strong partner by his side, and vice versa.

Yet it was not her place to discuss those with him, and she knew that as well. He felt a sudden respect for this young woman well up in him, impressed by her loyalty to Nero.

Shoulders relaxing minutely, Vergil was about to answer, when it abruptly occurred to him that she had read his thoughts easily that, simply from his expressions. How curious and… confusing. Carefully schooling his face back into a neutral expression, voice quiet, he murmured lowly, “It is of… it is no trouble.”

Of no matter, seemed wrong, he reflected, for it felt like it did, simple a task as it was.

Kyrie examined his expression, pursing her lips – only to start smiling again after a moment. “Alright, if you say so…”

“Hm.”

“… then, thank you in advance.”

The hand on his arm squeezed lightly before she pulled away, turning to survey the buffet. Taking up a plate and selecting a menu for herself, she smiled one last time at him, looking him straight in the eye, clearly happy when he inclined his head ever so slightly at her. And then she was gone again, easily weaving through people who made way for her.

Vergil watched her reach Nero at the other side of the garden. Watched still as Kyrie rose to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek, causing a bright smile to stretch over his face while he leaned down to murmur something into her ear, causing loud, happy laughter to echo over the little crowd. Was still watching as Kyrie picked something of her plate to offer it for Nero to eat…

Something old and long forgotten steered in Vergil’s memory –peaceful days, when father had come back home, carrying with him presents and tales. Mother’s eyes that had shone bright with laughter as her husband lifted her and twirled her around. Evenings spent curled together, four bodies all but wrapped around each other while father’s deep voice told them stories of places far away, and mother’s laughing protests when the stories got too adventurous and bloody rang out, even though the twins had fake-pouted for more.

This… this little scene he was witnessing here was a private scene, achingly familiar and yet something he was a stranger to. Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Vergil resolutely turned his back on the pair and walked away, aiming for the table that had been set up in a corner of the garden.

Much to his displeasure – at least he told himself so – Dante had already found his way to the table as well. Feet kicked up onto a corner of the wooden surface, arms crossed behind his head and rocking dangerously on the back legs of the chair, his twin grinned up way too smugly at him as he approached. “What did I catch back there? You, doing chores?”

Not dignifying with an answer what the other obviously knew already, Vergil picked a seat nearly at the opposite end of the table, getting comfortable.

“Kid must really have kicked your ass if you agreed to that.”

“He had good arguments to base his demands on. In fact, this part was the easiest one,” Vergil relented, ducking his head to hide his own smirk as Dante laughed at that. “He will make me work for it.”

“As he should. Good kid.”

Nothing in Dante’s voice gave the feeling as if he was joking with that comment, only fondness and respect audible when one listened close enough – knew him well enough.

And Vergil found himself agreeing with it. There would be a lot to do and atone for, yet… the reward might just be worth it. He considered the situation he found himself in in silence for a while, and came to a conclusion. “… I will. Work for it, that is.”

Will work to make it right, was left unsaid.

“Yeah?” Dante tilted his head to look at his twin, blinking in surprise, then grinned brightly and turned away again. “Good for him. For you both.”

“Hm-hm.”

“Would you look at these guys,” an amused voice cut between them, both twins turning as Trish approached, carrying a glass and nothing else with her. “They started without us.”

“Rude,” announced Lady, skipping past the blonde woman and around the table to look for a seat herself. “Must run in the family.”

“Okay, you take that back,” Nero shot back, snorting to himself as he observed the table. Behind him, the rest of the guests followed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Fine, leaving you out of this one.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Okay, just to make this clear,” Dante announced, letting his chair fall back into a horizontal position and leaning over the table to accept the plate Kyrie handed him with a cheeky wink and mischievous grin. “I want a new, clean plate for every pizza I eat. No cartons. We got to give Mister Dishwasher here something to do.”

Vergil looked up from his plate just enough to send another inefficient glare in his twin’s direction. He received a toothy grin for his troubles. Figures.

“Dante, don’t be a di-…,” Nero stopped himself, eyes flickering to Kyrie who hid a smile behind her hand, before he turned back to scowl at Dante, “Don’t. Just, don’t.”

“Aw com’ on, kid…”

“No.”

“It’s just fun! Good ol’ fun between…”

“I’m going to punch you again, old man.”

Dante closed his mouth abruptly with a quiet click of teeth, leaning back with his plate and one hand raised in surrender.

The gesture of submission drew a bout of laughter from the people around them. Trish was grinning so brightly it must have hurt, and Lady was hooting with mirth. Even Kyrie was shaking with barely withheld laughter.

Morrison wiped away at tear before clapping Nero on the back, who looked up a bit perplexed, but ultimately grinned back. “Kid, I’ve never seen someone shut this guy down like that. Respect!”

“Hey, his bitch slaps hurt!” Dante protested. “Nearly killed me with that one!”

“Oh god,” Lady sniffled, still giggling. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Nero, next time, give us a call beforehand,” Trish added, hand on Nero’s elbow as she leaned over to him. “We have to see that.”

“Sure, deal.”

“Probably went like…,” Nico imitated being slapped in the face and falling over with dramatic flailing, earning another round of laughter. She resurfaced with one hand propped on the table, laughing so hard she was nearly crying. “S-Sorry, sorry, that was just too good to pass up.”

“Okay, okay, we get it, punching me in the face is funny ….”

“It is,” Nero interrupted, eyes dancing with laughter. “It really is.”

Glowering at the younger, Dante stuffed a slice of pizza whole into his mouth, chewing near defiantly on it. The muttered “Punk.” was almost lost in cheese and tomato sauce.

“Alright, boys, no more fighting,” Kyrie announced, hands on her hips, fondness in her voice and smile on her lips. “We will enjoy our dinner together in peace.”

“Hear, hear!”

“That peace is gonna last two minutes, max.”

“The lady of the house has spoken, everybody shove some food into your mouth and shut up.”

“I can do that.”

“We know you can.”

“Was that a jab at my healthy appetite?”

“Nothing healthy about that, old friend.”

The chatter started up again easily, quips and jabs flying left and right, gentle shoves and punches being dished out while everyone laughed and talked over each other, all the while taking seats and getting comfortable. In all the ruckus, it seemed to be forgotten that one of them was more stranger than friend, the good mood and company easing any suspicion for the time being.

Vergil found himself sandwiched between Dante’s old partner Morrison, who nodded at him before turning around to strike up a conversation with Trish, and Nico, who was so caught up in explaining a new gun to Lady she didn’t even seem to notice who sat on her other side, exactly. Dante was talking with his mouth full, getting whacked over the head by Trish for it and laughing, the sound muffled, looking unapologetic to boot. A few of the children living with Nero and Kyrie were still running around the table, laughing loudly, rushing from one of the adults to the other to ask for stories about their demon hunting adventures.

It was an absolute mess, and noisier than Hell itself, but the urge to stand up and leave for peace and quiet never came, much to Vergil’s surprise. Deciding that was just as well, he tasted a bit of the food before him.

He actually had to pause and savor the bite for a second, flavors bursting on his tongue. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten anything this savory.

“Hey, can anyone pass the pepper?” Nero’s voice rose above the ruckus, but he was still mostly unheard, everyone too caught up in something else.

It wasn’t even a conscious move, but Vergil had already reached out and handed the item across the table to his opposite before it really registered with him, making him pause in the middle of it.

Nero looked just as perplexed as he felt for the blink of an eye. Then surprise made way for a crooked grin as he accepted the shaker “Thanks… father.”

Vergil didn’t find any words to offer, mouth suddenly dry as his gaze met Nero’s, the same blue eyes as his own looking back at him without any sort of resentment – simply warmth.

There would be a lot to do and atone for, and yet… yet…

The reward would be so, so worth it.

“So,” Nico piped up, startling both men out of their silence and then drawing the attention of everyone towards her. “Are we supposed to do a toast at this kind of thing? Like, hey real neat that you didn’t die or somethin’?”

“You have a way with words,” Nero grumbled, leaning back. There was still a smile stuck in a corner of his mouth, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Ah, you’re one to talk, smartass.”

“I think a toast is a great idea,” Kyrie interrupted the argument before it could even start. Raising her glass, she offered, “To Dante and Vergil?”

“Aw, don’t make me blush, kiddo,” Dante gave back, fluttering his eyelashes that made Trish snort loudly next to him. “How about – good to be back?”

“Still alive and kicking!” Lady offered, raising her own glass.

“To new beginnings?”

“To being too though to die!”

“To good food.”

“To family.”

Heads turned, surprised gazes straying to Nero, who held his glass high above his head, looking somewhere between amused and embarrassed.

“That’s a great idea,” Kyrie agreed, sending a soft smile his way that made Nero’s shoulder relax visibly.

“Yes.”

Vergil didn’t blink as all those gazes now snapped towards him, openly staring at him as if nobody could believe that this single word had just come out of his mouth. He ignored them, focused fully on Nero opposite of him as he reached over and lifted his own glass to tip it towards the younger in silent acknowledgement.

The smile on Nero’s face widened, bright and sincere, and all the perplexed staring in the world could stop Vergil from feeling his heart grew lighter than it had been since he was a child.

It was Dante who spoke next, breaking the silence and bafflement by declaring, swinging his own glass up. “Best idea I’ve heard in a long while. To family!”

That seemed to break the spell over the group, and everyone laughed, cheered, agreed with bright smiles on their faces as they reached for their own glasses. Somewhere next to Vergil, Nico announced “You guys are gonna make me cry” and Nero laughed loudly at that, head thrown back, and even Vergil smiled, unseen in all the commotion.

“To family!”

“Yeah!”

“CHEERS!”

Their combined voices, united in one bright, happy shout, could be heard over half the city.

#dmc5 spoilers #spoilers #my writing #dmc #devil may cry #vergil #nero #dante #fanfic #kyrie #lady #trish #morrison

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klobes · 6 years

Text

The Fall (Infinity War Spoilers)

“The numbness now is merciful. A last few moments of it. Then, the fall.”

- Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS INFINITY WAR SPOILERS. Also, it’s excessively sappy and I apologize for that. But also, whatever.

Genre: Angst. No fix-its were written today.

Pairing: Loki x Female reader.

Notes: Hello. I don’t usually post my writing on this site (or at all), but I just had to process some of my feelings about IW somehow. Again, this post contains spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War. Enjoy!

Loki opened his eyes.

He was greeted with a view he had not expected.

“What? Is it not to your liking, dearest?”

The inquiry was guileless enough at surface level, but Loki knew better than to trust such an innocent tone when it bubbled from your lips.

“It’s not that, my love, it’s just that this is all so - is that Fandral singing with the choir?”

You whipped your head around to follow Loki’s gaze, searching until your eyes settled on the dashing casanova situated at the center of the gaggle of performers you’d hired for the event. In your opinion, he looked far too happy to be sober, and your suspicions were confirmed as you spotted a couple of empty goblets by his feet.

You sighed and turned to the trickster, who was busy grinning at the sight of Volstagg demolishing the long table that carried the appetizers for the night.

“Yes, well, I suppose that is what happens when you’re forced to plan a banquet on your own,” you murmured, stepping towards Loki so that you were close enough to clasp your fingers around the lapel of his overcoat. “I’m not surprised that such a hiccup would occur when your own husband arrives nearly an hour late to his own party.”

Loki glanced down at you with interest, mimicking your gesture and snaking his hand up your neck to twirl a lock of your hair around his finger.

“What exactly is there to celebrate?” he ventured, relishing in the small scowl that he coaxed from you.

“Oh, spare me,” you rejoined with a huff. “Don’t pretend as though this isn’t of the utmost importance to you. Am I to believe that even your pompous ass can scoff at an official pardon for your crimes from the Allfather himself?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “You really think it beyond my nature to do so?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I think,” you mused, smoothing your hands out over his shoulders, “that you’re secretly pleased. But you’re afraid that people will see that you actually care about what your family thinks of you. God forbid that Prince Loki of Asgard show regard for people who matter to him.” You brought your hand to your chest in a show of dramatics, but Loki did not look amused.

“I am a god,” he reminded you shortly, withdrawing his hand so he could cross his arms over his chest petulantly.

“You are,” you conceded with a small smile. “But you bear a man’s ego, my love. Ever so fragile.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “There are no men like me.”

You patted his cheek affectionately. “Quite right, too. But I imagine even gods love their families.”

This elicited another eye roll, but this time it was accompanied by a smile. “You clearly have not read up on Greek tragedies.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but you were distracted by a sudden flash of red that came dashing behind Loki.

“Brother!”

A mass of muscle and armor draped itself over your husband’s back. You blinked in startled confusion for a moment, but you relaxed as soon as Thor’s kind, blue eyes met yours.

“Hello, brother,” Loki greeted reluctantly, peeling Thor’s arms from around his neck. “Are you inebriated?”

“I’m offended,” Thor spluttered indignantly. “I come over here to congratulate you on your pardon and the first thing you think to ask me is if I’m inebriated?”

Loki gave him a dubious look. “Well, are you?”

“The mead is really good, Loki.” Thor shrugged. “Sister-mine, I have to commend you on such a job well done. I do not doubt that this banquet will be heralded as the celebration of the century.”

“You’re very kind, Thor,” you replied graciously, trying not to look too much like you were preening under the praise. “But I think it’s too early to make such a declaration.” You gestured towards Fandral and Volstagg, who were being chased down by an exasperated Sif.

“Not to worry, sister,” said Thor cheerily. “I will take care of it!”

“I believe that is cause for more worry,” Loki called after him matter-of-factly. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at you with an expression that begged the question, what can you do?

You beamed. “It’s nice to see how much you love him.”

Loki balked at this. “How much I - My love, you jest. Love? That oaf? How could you even say such a thing -"

“I’m serious, Loki." You adjourned to a nearby chair and patted the seat next to you. Loki begrudgingly complied, plopping down onto his chair with an unrealistic amount of grace.

“I haven’t the faintest idea where you get these strange notions from,” Loki mumbled, moving slowly to lean his head on your shoulder. You suspected it might have been done to avoid looking you in the eye.

“My dearest heart, you are so keen to have the world believe that you are cruel and heartless,” you lamented with a sigh. “Even now, even after all you’ve overcome, and after all the things you’ve done to prove yourself wrong, you’re still holding onto this façade of - what? Not caring? Why?”

Loki hummed thoughtfully. “I am the god of mischief, after all.”

“Loki.”

“Oh, very well.” He let out a put-upon sigh. “I suppose I’m afraid.”

You tried to turn so you could face him, but he stubbornly kept his head planted upon your shoulder.

“You? Afraid? I can’t even imagine it,” you said softly. “Afraid of what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Loki bit out harshly, finally relinquishing his perch on your shoulder and turning away from you. “That I may not be good enough despite all that I’ve done to prove that I’ve changed. It’s not that outlandish of a thought; I spent eons trying to get Father to see me as Thor’s equal, to no avail. How could I expect for him to look past all the atrocities I’ve committed just because I decided to save my brother’s skin a couple of times?”

“Oh, Loki -"

“Don’t, love,” he cut in, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I know what I did. I know how many I killed. And I can’t even bring myself to regret it. What’s done is done, and I cannot erase what is past. Perhaps - Perhaps I’ll always be the villain.”

Loki had rested his hands on the table in front of you, and he started to fiddle with them. You recognized this as a nervous tic he had inherited from Frigga, and you could not help but smile as you covered his hands with your own.

“You did bad things, dearest,” you agreed. “Unspeakable things. But you are trying to reform. You have reformed. And I believe that so long as you recognize that there is still room for growth - for redemption - then you cannot call yourself a bad person.”

Loki finally turned to look at you. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Dearest, you are a thousand and five-hundred years old,” you pointed out. “You aren’t twelve. You know I would not say such things if I didn’t mean them. You have heard what I have to say about you. Now, what do you have to say?”

There was a beat of silence during which you thought Loki might not reply. Then, you heard him take a breath.

“That I am eternally glad and grateful that you are the person with whom I am sharing this second chance,” Loki said in earnest, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. “I have finally found a place where I belong, where I don’t feel as though I have to be anything other than myself to prove that I am worthy of respect and love. For the first time in my life, I…. well, I don’t envy my brother. I don’t feel like I have to compete with him or try to prove that I am his better. I feel like -" Loki broke off suddenly, fixing his aquamarine eyes on yours.

“Like what?”

“At the risk of sounding like a fool, I - I must say that I feel like I can finally breathe,” Loki concluded, staring at you with a smile so pure and hopeful that you felt the sudden urge to cry.

“Like I told Thor, I think it’s a bit early to make such a declaration,” you said, trying your best to maintain a neutral expression.

Loki’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there is another reason for this celebration, you see,” you continued, cursing internally at how the excitement had already begun to seep into your voice. “A rather interesting development.”

“A…. good development?” asked Loki skeptically.

“Oh, I think you’ll find it most agreeable,” you assured him. “Considering how eager you are for a clean slate and a second chance.”

“Wha -" Loki was interrupted as you took his hand in both of yours and placed it over your abdomen.

Loki’s face was completely devoid of emotion for a few seconds. You worried for a bit that you had broken him. Then, he leaned down to gaze at your stomach with unabashed wonder. His eyes were brimming with elation as he stared up at you, and so much adoration was emanating from him that you thought he actually might have believed that you had hung the moon and stars in the sky.

“Got any ideas for a name?” you prompted sheepishly, unable to deal with the amount of jubilation that Loki was radiating. “I was thinking -"

“Váli,” said Loki immediately.

At the same time, you said, “Narvi.”

Loki snickered, though you could tell that the action was done more out of nerves than out of amusement.

“Well, how fortuitous,” you commented coyly. Loki’s eyebrows knit together once more, and you delighted in the feeling of having him wrapped around your finger for once. “I’ve spoken to the palace healers about it, and they have told me that….”

“What?” Loki urged, running his thumb anxiously over the back of your hand.

“There are two.”

Loki was stunned into silence. Birds flew past the palace window. Thor rounded up Volstagg and Fandral with the help of Sif. The choir continued to sing. You asked a nearby servant for a goblet of water.

Yet Loki would not blink.

“Dearest?” you said at last, waving your free hand in front of his face. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Two?” Loki was able to choke out. “Two children? Twins.”

“Yes, that is what that means,” you confirmed with a giggle. It was not every day you saw the trickster prince be dumbfounded to such a degree.

“Narvi and Váli,” Loki tested out shyly. “Our children.”

You tried to swallow past a lump in your throat upon hearing that. “Our children.”

“My love,” said Loki with a startling conviction. “I am quite sure that I have never been happier than I am now.” His hands hovered over your stomach hesitantly.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to memorize him as he was now: free of burden and strife, hopeful for a fresh start. Father to your children. The redeemed prince of Asgard.

“I love you, Loki.”

His head snapped up to look at you. “An announcement of your pregnancy and a profession of love?” he teased, eyes aglow with a soft light. “And here I was thinking that there was no cause for celebration.”

“Dearest,” you chided, but there was only mirth behind it.

“I love you,” Loki said suddenly. “You’ve given me everything. Arguably more than I deserve. Even though I might have been aggravated that you were a constant source of light trying to draw me back from the path of ruin that I forged, I’m - I’m grateful that you never gave up on me.” He leaned closer to press a chaste kiss upon your lips, laughing when you leaned forward to chase it.

“You’re being especially sappy tonight,” you observed. You brought a hand up to his face to trace his infectious smile. “I’ve half a mind to milk this for all that it’s worth and get you to join the choir.”

“Well, if not now, then when?” Loki placed his hand over yours, leaning his face into your touch. “It feels like we only have tonight.”

You pursed your lips then, trying to keep your eyes from revealing anything.

“Loki? I intercepted this goblet from a servant over there who said you needed it. Are you alright, my son?”

Both you and Loki looked up to see the Lady Frigga standing before you. You waited with bated breath, trying to gauge Loki’s reaction.

Beaming, Loki retrieved the crystal goblet from his mother. “So, Mother, I suspect that my wife has already told you the news?”

Lady Frigga exchanged a conspiratorial glance with you. “Well, we wanted it to be a surprise for tonight.”

“Unbelievable,” said Loki, shaking his head. “To think that you would be able to pull one over me, the god of -"

All of a sudden, the sound of something shattering against the floor pierced the banquet’s tranquil air.

“Loki?” Frigga came to kneel by her son’s side. Loki stared blankly at the goblet he had dropped. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He turned his gaze on her. “You - You. You should be dead.”

Frigga withdrew with a look of shock and pain twisting her soft features. “Loki?”

The sky began to fracture. Tendrils of lightning splintered the clouds even further, and Loki shut his eyes tightly, refusing to look at his mother.

“Always so perceptive of everyone but yourself.”

“I knew it, I knew that this could not be true. Not for me.” Loki kept his eyes closed, shaking his head vigorously. You looked on helplessly, knowing better than to interfere at this point. “You’re not real, you’re not here.”

“Then am I not your mother?”

“Stop,” Loki hissed, clamping his hands over his ears. “Please stop.”

Loki opened his eyes.

His mother was gone. The halls of the Asgardian palace lay bare, its guests having disappeared. All that was left was him, sitting idly on a solitary bench, and you, watching him piece together what was really happening.

“How long have we been here?” Loki demanded, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists.

“A couple hours, I’d wager.”

“And how much time has passed in reality?”

“Maybe a few seconds.”

“This was a good trick, my love,” he admitted at last. The resignation in his voice almost broke you. “My mother would have been proud.”

“It isn’t a trick,” you argued quietly. “I didn’t do it out of malice. I wanted - I only wanted for you to have a taste of the life we could have had, if only for a few moments.”

Loki let out a humorless chuckle. “Where are we, then?

“Loki, I don’t -"

“Show me.”

“Fine, but before I do - Loki, look at me.” You placed a hand on his cheek, mirroring your gesture from earlier. Loki refused to humor you. “Dearest, please.”

The uncertainty and fear that Loki’s eyes housed were almost too much for you to bear. You would not have thought that these were the same eyes that were filled with such joy mere moments ago.

“I want you to know that I really do love you,” you said, hastily wiping the tears that had begun to shed from your eyes. “Alright? If you are to lose sight of everything else, if you become too angry to remember anything else about us, remember that. I was here and I loved you.”

“I have a feeling that I’m really not going to like what I see.”

You closed your eyes and focused on withdrawing the spell. Slowly, reality started to take form around you. You and Loki were enveloped in darkness. While his face had been kissed by the Asgardian sun before, he was now met with the inhospitable darkness of space.

He remembered now. Asgard was gone, and so were half of its survivors. He looked around at the bodies strewn haphazardly across the floor of the Statesman he had commandeered from the Grandmaster. He could faintly hear Thor’s battle cry as his brother valiantly tried to hold his own against the Titan that had taken over their ship.

Finally, he looked down at you. You heard his sharp intake of breath as he took in your broken form, and the blood that stained your robes. The last of your magic seeped back into your hand, which still rested on his face.

“Love - what is - we can fix this.” Loki nodded furiously, his hands hovering over your stomach hesitantly, trying to find the source of the bleeding. “We can fix this. Heimdall can bring you to Midgard, and Thor’s friends will -"

“I don’t think Heimdall is going to bring me anywhere, dearest.” You looked to your left and waited for Loki to follow suit.

Loki was horrified to find the guardian of the Bifrost sprawled out over a piece of debris. He could tell that Heimdall still had breath in him, but he was slipping.

Loki gulped. “I could, I could ask him to use his dark magic to transport you back to -"

“Stop it, my dear. It is no use now,” you shushed him, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s alright. I’ll be alright. And you must promise me that you will be, too.”

“How could you ask that of me?” Angry tears began to well up in Loki’s eyes. “After the trickery you’ve played on me?”

“In another universe, we are living that happy life,” you said, trying to sound reassuring. The pain in your abdomen was making it hard for you to speak above a frail whisper. “But I’m afraid that in this one, I will have to leave you first.”

“No, please -" Loki was cut off by a loud thud as Thanos threw Thor aside with ease. He was running out of time. “Don’t do this. You are -” He muffled a sob with his hand.

You entreated him to continue.

“You are my whole world.”

“I assure you, I am not.” You smiled, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each blink. “Your brother is over there, fighting for what is left of our people, for the whole universe. And I think that you have a decision to make.”

Though he did not hold it in his hands, Loki felt the weight of the Tesseract burning his skin.

“You are a good man, my love. A little rough around the edges, but a good man. And you’ll make the right decision.” Loki could hear the finality in your tone, and he clasped your free hand in both of his.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. This was his last resort. “Don’t go. I need you here. I need you with me. I swear to you I will find a way to get you back to Midgard. One of Thor’s allies has technology that can heal you, so all you have to do is hold on, and for the love of the nine realms, please don’t go.”

“I don’t want to go,” you confessed weakly, wiping away one of his tears with your thumb. “But we’re on borrowed time. Thor isn’t going to hold against that Titan forever.”

“Love -"

“My dearest heart, I am so sorry,” you interjected, your breaths growing ragged. “But I seem to recall asking you not to lose sight of something. Do you remember what it was?”

Loki held back another sob, closing his eyes to try to keep his despair at bay. “I….I was here, and I loved you.”

“I was here, and I loved you.”

Loki did not feel your hand fall from his face. When he opened his eyes, you had already gone from him, a ghost of a smile still etched on your face.

Loki passed a hand over your eyes and closed them, not wanting you to witness any more of the carnage that would ensue. Sniffling, he placed a last kiss atop your head and stood, stepping out of the shadows. Proxima Midnight pointed her spear at him, and he greeted her with a sneer. He was given pause once he saw that Thanos had subdued his brother, who knelt under Thanos’ crushing grip.

Loki was brought before the Mad Titan, who he fixed with his meanest smirk.

“Hear me….and rejoice.”

Loki turned away. He did not want to face the barbarian who had taken your life, along with the lives of thousands of other Asgardians. He looked to Thor, who was staring back at him intently as if begging him for one last escape plan. Loki then looked down at his hands, the very same ones that would offer the Tesseract to the giant, purple blob that stood in front of him.

He closed his eyes, trying to picture you in a happier time. In his mind, he practiced the spell to conjure a knife in his hands - the very same one he’d used in his childhood to attack his brother. Oh, he would miss him. He would miss the kingdom that they could have built together.

But he knew now what he had to do.

I will see you soon, my love.

Loki opened his eyes.

#infinity war spoilers #avengers: infinity war #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #in all honesty i'm probably going to delete this #tag as spoilers #dumb shit i write

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karama9 · 7 years

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A Core Belief Crushed

Reblogging for the morning people, and added convenience: you can now read it right here under the break.

A Core Belief Crushed

A Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir fanfic.

Two birds with one stone with this story: it is essentially a possible start of a redemption for Chloe, and more importantly to me, it allowed me to to put a head canon that is very dear to me out there: Nat being transgender.

Summary: Everyone adores Chloe Bourgeois… or so she sincerely believes. When she finally discovers otherwise, Cat Noir and Ladybug attempt to nudge her towards being a better person. No shipping, but no anti shipping either… just no romance depicted.

Read under the break or if you prefer, on fanfiction.net or a03. Username karama9 and story title A Core Belief Crushed.

Notes:

I wanted to get this our for pride month, because although there is a fair amount of fan work, for Ladybug and other shows, featuring same sex pairing, you don't often see much more representation in fan work than in canon for transgender people.

So this story features my head canon that one of the secondary characters in Ladybug is in fact transgender. I'll explain what gives me the impression in the end notes.

The story also features another head canon of mine, although this one will only be hinted at. See if you can spot it! Probably not. I might tell you about it in the end notes too.

Just the same, this is a story about Chloe. I don't like her much, but I do like redemption stories, so I'm opened to the idea of her becoming a better person. This is one potential first step towards that.

A Core Belief Crushed

Chloe Bourgeois checked the time on her phone for what must have been the hundredth time in twenty minutes and scowled. They had been trapped in this classroom so long, prevented from leaving by Kaepora Gaebora, the giant human-owl hybrid their principal had turned into, that she would end up missing her mani-pedi appointment.

Even with Adrikins by her side and Marinette Dupain-Cheng on the other side of the room, pacing and pulling at her ears like some kind of maniac but blissfully quiet, the whole situation was unacceptable. Being trapped by an akuma was bad enough; the fact that her father would refuse to punish the akumatized person because he was protected by the Akuma Victim Forgiveness Act was bad enough; but the worst part, the insulting part, was that the Parisian duo of super heroes were not coming. She, the Mayor's own daughter and Ladybug's most prestigious fan, was being held as bait and the heroine was nowhere to be found.

She groaned in frustration. "Where are those useless Ladybug and Cat Noir?" She demanded out loud, glaring at nobody in particular.

Adrien inexplicably winced before putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure Ladybug is on the way," he said with his trademarked gentle smile.

It nearly mollified her.

"He's right, Chloe," Sabrina stammered encouragingly. "She'd never abandon us. Especially you!"

"She better not!" Chloe snapped. She turned her glare towards the window, through which Ladybug was still failing to come crashing through, and spotted a downright miraculous distraction: Nathanael was sitting by the window and doodling.

She smirked and sauntered over. This was perfect: she'd grab whatever version of Marinette the poor lovestruck idiot was drawing this time, make a joke, and not only would it be fun but everyone would thank her for lightening up the mood.

Their resident artist was so absorbed that he never noticed her until her hand slapped down on his page. Chloe grinned as his eyes widened in horror, and she yanked the sheet away from him. It was another comic, so more likely than not, Nat had drawn himself as some super hero again, rescuing damsel in distress Dupain-Cheng. She skimmed the page to confirm, ready to deliver her witty remark about how rescuing that girl was a waste of super powers even when those powers didn't actually exist.

The clever joke died in her throat as her eyes widened. Both Nathanael and Marinette were drawn as heroes this time, and they were fighting a blond supervillain that was unmistakably her self. She dropped the sheet as though it burnt her hands and looked at Nathan in shock.

"You drew ME as the villain?" she asked angrily.

Nathan's face was nearly as red as his hair. He shook his head without meeting her eyes.

Chloe barked a laugh and willed her frown away. Anger was an acceptable reaction when faced with an insult, but amusement was better: it established that the insult and whoever was guilty of it were beneath her. "That's just stupid; I'm the opposite of a villain! And besides, everyone adores me."

Adrien, who had materialized next to her, put his hand on her shoulder again, but this time, there was an ever so slight pull to the gesture. "Forget it Chloe," he said. "Come on…"

She shook him off. "Almost done, Adrikins," she said in as pleasant a voice as she could manage. She shouldn't be angry. She should be amused. This was FUNNY because it was SO ridiculous.

Adrien sighed and slumped. She ignored him and focused on Nathanael, who seemed to have recovered a little and had stowed the offending comic away. He was avoiding her eyes.

"I'm NOT a villain," she repeated, her voice far less composed than she would have liked it. Amused. Be amused at the inconsequential people and their nonsensical little jokes. Nat's opinion didn't even matter. "Why would you draw that? Ivan threw me from the top of the Eiffel tower," she added, gesticulating at all their classmates. Forget amusement: anger was still acceptable. "Max and Alix zapped a bunch of people for energy, including ME, Alya wanted to reveal her precious Ladybug's identity live, Juleka forced me, and everyone else, to wear that horrible outfit and makeup, Rose made me stink in front of Prince Ali, and I'm the villain?" She was aware that her voice had risen as she talked and that she was now nearly yelling, but she was past the point of caring. "You just don't like me because I'm the Mayor's daughter and you're jealous! That's it, isn't it?"

"Let it go, Chloe," Marinette called out from the other side of the room. "We don't need this right now!"

"You kiddin'?" Alya asked with a laugh. "Let her humiliate herself if she wants to, it could be fun to watch. We're with you Nat!" she added louder, cupping her hand around her mouth in a makeshift amplifier and raising her fist in the air.

Chloe dismissed the two of them from her mind and focused her attention on Nathan again. "You of all people," she said venomously. "And here I am ALWAYS being nice and acting like you're a boy!"

There were a few audible gasps. Thanks in no small part to Alya, everyone was watching them by now, even Kaepora Gaebora, so everyone had heard. It's not that it was news to anyone – Nathanael had been Amélie until halfway through the fifth grade and so, pretty much the whole school knew he had been assigned female at birth. The gasps, Chloe knew, were because it wasn't too often that anyone bothered to remind him that he owed them at least a bit of gratitude.

Nathanael, for his part, was staring at his desk. He opened his mouth, but another voice cut in from behind Chloe.

"Logically, Chloe, pointing out that you act as though a particular statement is true actually means that you believe that same statement to be false."

Chloe turned to stare Max down. She had no idea whatever he had just said actually meant, but she was pretty sure she wouldn't like it if she did.

"Forget it Max," came Nathanael's voice. "It's okay."

Chloe dismissed Max and his undecipherable babbling from her mind and turned back to Nat. After all, she knew for sure that he had definitely insulted her, and badly. Chances were her words had knocked some sense back into him and he was ready to apologize.

Nathan was looking straight back at her, and, astonishingly, FROWNING. It wasn't particularly fierce, but it was most certainly not apologetic.

"You don't get to be angry right now, Nathanael Kurtzberg," she said with a snarl. "YOU just called ME a bad person through your art! You owe me an…"

"I drew you as the villain because you're always mean to everyone," he cut her off. He took a deep breath. "You're the reason I got akumatized. Apparently, I FORCED Marinette to go on a date with me, because of YOU. It's got nothing to do with my gender."

"You got Rose akumatized too," Juleka muttered from a few steps away.

"And Juleka," Rose added. "You and Sabrina."

"And me," Alya pointed out.

"Mylene, too," Ivan rumbled.

"And Kim," Max joined in.

Mylene nodded timidly. Kim fidgeted.

"Even him," Nino said, pointing his thumb at Kaepora Gaebora, who had actually given up watching the door to make sure nobody escaped in favour of watching the scene. "And seriously Chloe, you think Nat owes you? Like… you figure people owe you whenever you're not the absolute worst or something? And that it also makes you a nice person?"

"Yeah," Alix piped in. "There's kind of a lot of room between total monster and decent human being, ya know?"

Chloe was shaking her head in disbelief. She was about to come up with a comeback to simultaneously prove them all wrong and humiliate them – really, she was - when Ladybug and Cat Noir FINALLY kicked the door in, irritatingly not even giving her the satisfaction of coming in through the window like she had envisioned.

Ladybug and Cat Noir did come through Chloe's bedroom window later that evening. Chloe glared at them, obviously still angry over the day's events. Marinette felt the tension lift from her shoulders, replaced with the familiar annoyance Chloe never failed to elicit: the blond brat was still looking like herself and was not on an actual rampage.

"Hawkmoth one, Francoise-Dupont two," Cat Noir joked.

The light tone failed to hide that he was just as relieved as Ladybug. They had just checked on Nat, and although saying he was fine might have been pushing it a little bit considering he had been drawing a comic where bee themed villains with blond ponytails were getting fumigated, the artistic vengeance had obviously served its purpose: he had been in fairly good spirits and in no danger of getting akumatized.

Chloe being fine as well was icing on the cake. To Marinette, it felt like a victory of her class over Hawkmoth… just like Cat had said. It almost made up for the fact she was having to be in Chloe's presence again.

"Yep!" she said cheerfully in answer to Cat Noir. She winked at him. "Fuming a bit, but no akuma."

He snorted, but any reply he might have come up with was interrupted by Chloe.

"What do YOU want?" she asked. "Look, I don't know WHY Mr. Damocles got all mad like that. Everyone automatically blames me whenever someone gets akumatized anywhere near me! Seriously, like it's my fault Kim had a crush on me? What was I supposed to do, go with it even if I didn't want to?"

Ladybug blinked, thrown off track. As surprising as it was, Chloe kind of had a point on that one. But then, Kim might not have reacted as badly had he not been publicly humiliated and that was one, possibly maybe unavoidable akumatized victim out of Chloe's record setting tally.

Cat Noir cleared his throat. "We heard about what happened today," he said. "We thought we should check on you."

Chloe tackled Ladybug in a hug, her frown evaporating. "I'm so glad SOMEONE understands!" she sobbed. "They treated me like… like…"

"They were being honest, Chloe," Ladybug cut her off, disengaging herself from the hug. She sighed, her forehead in her hand. "Look, here's what I heard. You were about to make fun of one your classmates, the one that turned into Evillustrator. Nathan, right?"

"I was just going to tease him to break the tension," Chloe corrected. "He's always drawing Marinette Dupain-Cheng, he's madly in love with her, and I was going to rib him a bit. Nothing mean. Sheesh."

"Right. Okay, let's go with that, it's not the issue anyway," Ladybug said.

"You got upset because he drew you as a villain. Right?" Cat Noir asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Chloe asked, rolling her eyes at Ladybug's partner. She turned to the heroine again. "Can you believe him? I'm NICE to him. See? He was actually a girl first, but I say him! I'm SUPER accepting. And he draws me as a villain for him and Marinette Dupain-Cheng to beat up!"

Ladybug groaned and palmed her forehead again.

Cat Noir sidestepped her and put his hand on Chloe's shoulder. She brushed him off with a pointed frown.

"Sorry," the super hero stammered, stepping back with an apologetic grin, his hand on the back of his neck. "No touch. Got it. Anyway... err…"

"Okay, first," Ladybug cut in, one finger up. "If you make a big deal out of how accepting you are, it's kind of obvious that you're actually not, because you're making it sound like it's an effort you're making, like you should get a medal or something. It's like bragging that you're modest."

"Why should I have to be modest?" Chloe asked with a sneer.

"Think of it this way," Cat Noir piped in. "How would you feel if someone pointed out to you that they always act like you're important?"

Chloe immediately flustered. "What kind of comparison is that?" She pointed at herself. "I'm the Mayor's daughter! I AM important! Nat is…"

"Nat's a boy just like you're important," Ladybug cut her off. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth but she soldiered on. Everyone was important, that's all she was saying. She wasn't calling Chloe a VIP, even if that was precisely what the blond believed. "If you say you ACT like he's a boy," she continued, "it sounds the exact same way as someone saying they ACT like you're important."

Chloe paused for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "FINE," she said. "Okay, that was poorly worded."

Ladybug kept her face as neutral as she could: that was as close to an admission of being wrong they were going to get out of the Mayor's junior politician of a daughter. She didn't reply, expecting Chloe to start talking again, and was not disappointed.

"That's no reason for all of them to gang up against me!" Chloe said, lifting her nose. "They basically called me a monster!" She let out an exaggerated sob and threw herself in Ladybug's arms again, sniffling.

Ladybug felt her eye twitch but, as agreed with Cat Noir on the way here, did her best to remain friendly and merely slipped away from Chloe rather than push her away.

"Chloe, we're here because they told us you were upset," Cat Noir said. His arm lifted slightly as he walked towards the blond girl, but he put it back down again.

Chloe scoffed, crossing her arms. "So you were only worried I'd get akumatized and cause trouble."

"We'd have left by now if that was the case," Ladybug pointed out.

It was true: checking that Chloe had not fallen for Hawkmoth's promises again had been one of the reasons for coming here, and arguably the most pressing one, but Cat Noir had insisted on a secondary objective. By staying here, Marinette was fighting against her own desires to leave Chloe's company, but if Cat Noir was right, it could be more than worth it.

Cat Noir was nodding at her statement. "We also wanted to talk to you, because you wouldn't be upset at everyone saying those things if you didn't care at all."

Ladybug was not as convinced of that as Cat Noir was but she couldn't exactly correct him without revealing she knew Chloe well, and even she had to admit there was a small chance he was right.

Chloe was glaring daggers at the floor. "I'm fine. So some people in my class don't like me. Who cares? I don't."

Ladybug swallowed back a loud grunt and almost managed not to roll her eyes. Chloe had just switched from dramatically heart broken and begging for sympathy to uncaring and blasée, and was obviously under the impression her audience would just buy it.

Cat Noir leaned on the wall, arms crossed and head tilted as though he were puzzled. "Weren't you saying they ALL ganged up on you?"

Chloe turned her glare on him. "So? I. Don't. CARE!"

"You know I don't like lies, Chloe," Ladybug said. She was just about out of patience. If Chloe was going to be like this, there was no point in their staying here.

"I'M NOT…"

"Okay, fine, you don't care and you're not lying," Cat Noir interrupted, standing up straight from his leaning position and crossing his arms. He was obviously just about done with the Mayor's daughter as well. "Just be quiet and listen, ok? There's something I want to say to you, and then we'll be out of your hair. Okay?"

Chloe huffed. "If it means an end to this conversation, fine."

"You spent most of your life so far completely confident that everyone loved you. You're pretty, you can be funny, you can be generous and YOU certainly feel like you're loveable."

He raised his hand in a surprisingly authoritative stop gesture: Chloe had opened her mouth. She shut it back and contented herself with narrowing her eyes at him.

"And today," Cat Noir continued, "you found out that most of your classmates don't actually like you much. They think you're mean. They blame you for their getting akumatized. And you're trying not to care, you're trying to just dismiss it as their being stupid for not loving someone as perfect as you, but you can't because you know that a lot of what they're saying is true. You DID cause several of them to be akumatized. You can say it wasn't your fault, you can say they overreacted, but you're not stupid: you know you had a part. And that means they have actual reasons to dislike you. It means they're NOT just being stupid and they're NOT going to wake up tomorrow feeling silly for it all and adoring you again."

Chloe was clearly not appreciating the amateur psychoanalysis. She had turned her back to the both of them, arms crossed again and staring out of the window as though the same view she'd had for years was suddenly completely engrossing.

Cat Noir continued undeterred. Ladybug had to admire his dedication: he was really doing his absolute best to help a girl who was after all a stranger to him become a better person.

"You keep hurting people, Chloe. If that's not what you're trying to do, you need to start being more careful. And if it IS what you want, get used to people not liking you." He sighed and uncrossed his arms, holding out his hands palms forward in a surrendering gesture. "Okay, I'm done," he said, shaking his head slightly. "We can go, my Lady."

Marinette nodded, looking at Chloe. The blond had not moved, still standing straight as a board, arms crossed and looking out the window. Ladybug threw her yoyo out of the same opened window Cat Noir and herself had gotten in through and when it caught on something outside, she swung away.

Cat Noir followed his lady into the night. She kept going for a short while, using her yoyo to swing from building to building. When she stopped, stowing her yoyo away after landing on a convenient flat roof, he landed next to her.

"Do you think I got through?" he asked. It was technically a bit of a risk to show he cared for the bratty blond, but he couldn't bring himself to worry too much about that risk. Despite Ladybug's and Plagg's warnings, he just didn't see the point in keeping their identities secret from each other. He only did it out of respect for his partner's wishes.

She smirked briefly, and he could tell she was thinking of teasing him, but her face grew serious again. "I don't know," she admitted. "Time will tell. You did your best."

He nodded and sighed. "Thanks for going along with this. I know it's a long shot."

"A long shot? Hoping Chloe Bourgeois, after being told nobody likes her, would be more receptive to criticism of her general behaviour and would turn a corner and start becoming a good person?"

"…yeah."

"I think "long shot" might be a little bit of an understatement there, kitty."

Chat Noir shrugged. He knew that even better than Ladybug herself. "I think it was worth a try."

Ladybug shrugged back. "Oh, definitely. Just think," she added with a wink, "if it works, we're probably going to see a 50% drop in akuma attacks."

He chuckled in spite of himself. Chloe had been his first friend and he wanted to think she was redeemable. She hadn't always been this bad, had she? But then, how would he have known either way? He had only ever seen how she was around him until he had started going to her school. He had already known she was no saint, but he'd still been unpleasantly surprised that day. And things had not exactly improved since.

Ladybug excused herself and he bid her goodbye with as much of his usual good humour as he could fake.

He sighed and started back home himself, resisting the urge to go check on Chloe again, either as Cat Noir or Adrien. It was no good torturing himself: his lady had been right. Time would tell, and he had done his best.

The rest was up to Chloe.

End

Author's Notes

Thanks for reading! Please comment/review/let me know what you think.

So, the headcanons…

First: Nat is transgender. I want it to be true for representation, but I honestly think it is possible because of a few in-show details. His body shape, particularly visible when he's the Evillustrator, is kind of hourglass like in that his chest his wider than his waist. The only other male student with that kind of shape is Kim and in his case, it's because he's very athletic and muscled. I think we can safely assume that's not the case with Nat. To me, he looks like he's got a female body shape and compresses. He is also one of only two boys wearing an open layer. I think that Adrien has one because his design needs to look more stylish than average, and that Nat has one because it is a fairly well known trick to camouflage your chest for trans boys and men. Finally, he reacts very strongly to the idea of people looking in his bag, much like Marinette. I theorize body dysphoria causes him to be uncomfortable with the thought of anyone seeing feminine hygiene products. That one is admittedly a stretch – he could just not like the idea of all of his drawings being looked at, but hey, it just solidifies it for me.

So, you heard it here first, people, and I hope some of you will like the idea enough to spread it because representation matters: NAT IS TRANSGENDER.

Second, the subtle one. I said I might tell you but I think I won't… or at least not outright. Just a hint then… it's about Alya and how she behaves. And it's a major plot point in my next story.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfic #transgender #transgender Nat #Chloe Bourgeois

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