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fizzingwizard · 3 years

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Episode 41 was another fun one! It doesn’t seem related to the main plot, but that’s ok because we needed more world-building. And it does give us a bit of character development. Most importantly of all, it’s the DESPERATELY needed Sora-focused episode. And it’s all hers. We really needed this for Sora and I’m really happy with how it went down. It’s a simple, easy to follow story, and yet it was still cute and funny and good for Sora.

My one complaint would be that, though it’s great to see Sora be awesome and see her friends appreciate her, she didn’t seem to have something she needed to “overcome” like Jou and Koushirou, or something she had to prove like Yamato and Mimi. There’s definitely an important theme for Sora which, like the others, is related to her Crest. It just didn’t have the gravitas I felt it needed. It was a much sillier episode than Yamato’s, for instance. (But nowhere near as silly as Jou’s.) Still, overall very good.

Pic of the day:

A vision of perfection.

More below!

First off, the animation in this episode is really nice. Almost uniform througohut, and some seriously great expressions. CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

The kids are taking a break (yay!!!! again!! I sweat the producers are reading my blog, HELLO PRODUCERS, THANKS FOR GIVING ME EVERYTHING I ASKED FOR, lol). Taichi and Sora spend it teaching the Digimon to play soccer. Interestingly, some of the Digimon evolve in order to play x’D I guess I can see why Gomamon can’t really play unless he’s Ikkakumon. Plus Tailmon is already Adult level anyway.

It’s really fun to see how much Sora and Taichi both love soccer and love playing it together. Koushirou has a cute moment explaining to the others how awesome Taichi and Sora’s teamwork is.

Sora blows the whistle on Tentomon for grabbing her because you don’t do that in soccer. I think this is a little unfair given that Tentomon can’t really kick the ball that well since he’s got bug feet xD

The whistle Sora has, for some reason, is Jou’s, given to him by his brother so that if he runs into a bear in the woods, he can whistle for help. Lol. That is adorable and hilarious. Still wish it was Hikari’s whistle though

Speaking of Hikari, she and Takeru are happily engaged in making flower crowns together while Patamon smushes the grass.

All of a sudden, these weird, veiny meteors come crashing from a huge island floating in the sky, leaving a crater in the field. Could be dangerous!

Taichi: I’m not afraid. Besides, I’m curious.

Yamato: Be careful, Takeru.

Takeru: Yeah, be careful, Hikari.

omg too cute

I mean look at these expressions and body language. It’s fantastic. I love how Taichi looks like he’s trying not to get too close as he pokes the object with a stick and how Koushirou is like hiding behind his computer lol.

They discover it’s not a meteor, but a fruit. (And look another adorable Taichi face!) Question is, is it edible?

Agumon: Sure is!

Taichi: D:

no seriously I love Taichi being freaked out by his own partner. Lol. It’s one of the best things about Taichi & Agumon. I ate it up in Tri lol

So, I expected Yamato to be the downer of the group here along with Jou, but he’s just concerned that the fruit is too small for everyone to share. Aw what a mom.

It’s also pretty funny that, when a floating island appears and a mysterious fruit falls down with enough strength to leave a crater in the ground, the kids’ reaction isn’t to wonder about what’s going on, but to try to figure out how to eat it lol.

At this point they’re just so used to floating islands that it’s lost all novelty. They’re like, “oh, floating island, been there done that”

Agumon comes up with the obvious solution and Taichi and Sora fly up to the island together to get more fruit. Why only two of them go... is convenience for the episode xD

But it does lead to some good Sora moments and Taichi/Sora friendship. First, Sora is absolutely adorable. Even Agumon comments that she seems in a really good mood and Taichi can tell it’s because of how much she loves playing soccer. The way Sora talks to him, all fast and excited, is just so cute. You can tell she really loves soccer, especially with Taichi.

This episode kinda made me ship Taiora ;_; it was honestly more Taiora than any one episode in the 99 show...

Meanwhile, another giant object starts falling off the island towards the rest of the kids, and Palmon makes THE WEIRDEST SOUND. Like SO WEIRD. I think Yamada Kinoko passed out and made this noise while recording or something bahahahaha

Anyway it’s a refrigerator. Now appliances are falling out of the sky. I don’t understand why it makes the same size crater as the fruit despite being way heavier.

OMG baby Taichi’s hairrrrrrr I cannot

Soon they come across Flymon (why do Sora episodes always involved bugs...? This is the third time lol) who’s abducted a very helpless looking Digimon. They decide to help. Agumon gears up his Baby Flame but is stopped by Sora, who realizes that if they attack they might hurt the victim as well. I assume this is meant to tell us that, while Taichi’s brave and a strategist, another pair of eyes from someone like Sora whose first priority is others’ welfare is a big help.

... except that Sora’s plan for “tackle them” doesn’t seem to me that much better xD It still results in the poor abducted Digimon falling through the sky to her doom... I guess it’s better than falling out of the sky and alsobeing on fire tho

They catch the Digimon, who is Pomumon and just as pathetic as he looks. Meanwhile they’re being attacked by... Tropaliamon? Tropicanamon? lol I already forgot, a big bird with the ability to MELT ENTIRE FORESTS.

Pomumon explains that Evil Tropical Bird-mon and his Flymon invaded the island and started turning all the Pomumon into fruit. When the fruit ripen, they eat them. Pomumon is now the only Pomumon who hasn’t been fruit-ified.

Agumon: ... so... does this make me a cannibal?

Taichi: Maybe now you’ll be mindful of what you eat!

Okay and now the most AMAZING interaction ever, between Yamato and Mimi, and seriously it is a TRAVESTY that they don’t interact directly in the 99 series, I mean LOOK AT THE GOLD WE GET HERE,

Mimi says she hopes there’s fruit or juice in the fridge. Yamato makes an expression like someone just insulted his mother.

They then proceed to argue over what constitutes “juice” and Yamato’s all fired up about it and Mimi’s just like “lol not listening”

IT IS HILARIOUS. Quality content. Mimato shippers eat your heart out

And... this is all they do for the rest of the episode. bahaha. I DON’T EVEN CARE. I love the idea that they fought over this the WHOLE time and never even opened the fridge. The others just had to listen in baffled astonishment xD

Taichi and Sora fight Evil Tropical Bird-mon to save the Pomumon, but Taichi and MetalGreymon get knocked into the pitcher plant that turns Digimon into fruit.

Metla Greymon doesn’t quite fit into the fruit, his horns are really stretching it out lol.

and asdfghjkkl;’‘ TAICHI GETS TURNED INTO A FRUIT TOO, HE’S A DEFORMED BLUEBERRY, HIS GOGGLES THO, LMFAO

i really shouldn’t be as amused as I am

now... I have to say it - the one thing here is, the show has already played its trump cards like Omegamon and WarGreymon. I am sure they have more in store before the end, but the point is, it’s hard to believe Taichi is struggling against Digimon who seem like they shouldn’t have a chance against him. It’s like, you can defeat DoneDevimon, but not Evil-Tropical-Birdmon? You can escape the influence of Millenniumon’s miasma, but not a pitcher plant?? lol

Sora gets ANGRY when Taichi becomes Taichi-fruit. Her Crest of Love glows and brings out Garudamon. Taiora fans around the world screamed.

One way or another, this leaves Sora on her own (yay). And she is a busy girl. She wants to save Taichi first, but Pomumon also needs her help, and Garudamon needs her support while fighting the enemy.

Pomumon: don’t worry about me! I can fly on my own! *fails miserably*

Sora’s face says “I just don’t understand this world,” lol

They are then attacked by Flymon, and Pomumon still pretty much expects Sora to protect him. Sora’s like, “Fine, I’ll deal with Flymon, but you have to go save your friends,” and when Pomumon asks how, she just says “GOOD LUCK” and tosses him away, which honestly made me laugh out loud, you go girl

she’s like QUIT BEING SO USELESS DO SOMETHING ON YOUR OWN and just chucks him

buhahahaha

Pomumon, despite being useless, is able to free one of his comrades. After a brief discussion about how useless they are, they go to save the others.

I believe I can fly

I believe I can touch the sky

think about it every night and day

spread my wings and fly away

Sora thinks back to yet another soccer game where another student did a foul, I guess, on Taichi, and knocks him to the ground. Seeing Sora get so angry and protective of Taichi - omg, it totally squeezes my heat, gah. And it also makes her look so cool. Not just the girl in the back who comforts you when you fall down - also the one who runs up and tells the bully to back off!

that hair tho

Even though he’d been hurt, Taichi encouraged Sora not to quit playing and to win the game. In present time, Sora recalls that instance and uses it to push herself onward:

At this point, I could’ve gotten annoyed: as much as I loved the Taiora friendship and seeing their teamwork, it’s Sora’s episode, and I didn’t want her to succeed because of “what I learned from Taichi.” However, it’s very similar to Koushirou’s episode, where it was the faith Taichi had in him that gave Koushirou the confidence to find the courage he already had. It’s similar for Sora. Plus, since she’s got the Crest of Love, it makes perfect sense that love for her friend would be a motivating factor here.

On top of that - the things Sora thinks about Taichi are then echoed by Garudamon, only about Sora. Sora won’t give up because Taichi never does - and Garudamon won’t give up because Sora never does. You can see the chain reaction: friends building each other up through their support and faith in each other. Very sweet.

buhahahahahaha the freaking taichi blueberry

I really expected Taichi would be a little more wigged out about having been TURNED INTO A FRUIT, but once he’s free he’s like “Thanks, now let’s get back to the fight!” lol

to be fair there were only a couple minutes left in the episode, no time for freak outs i suppose

They save MetalGreymon who goes to back up Garudamon, but then Sora comes up with a plan.

Of course, it’s related to soccer.

Obligatory Cool Girl Soccer Star Sora shot

They kick the ball to lead the Pomumon’s seed? attack directly into Evil Tropical Bird-mon’s mouth. This... seems to be our kids’ favorite play this season, lmao

While choking on seeds, Garudamon and MetalGreymon launch their attacks and finally defeat him. Yaaaay goodbye weirdass fruit transmogrifying cannibal Digimon bird thing

Taichi tells Sora she’s awesome T______T It’s soooooooo sweet. My Taiora heart leapt

and my Taishiro heart whispered “he said カッコよかった to her but saves すごい for Koushirou <3 “ lol

Soooooo cute. MVP

Garudamon agrees that Sora is awesome

Ending card

So... the honest truth is yeah, this episode wasn’t necessary for the plot at all, and it would have been nice if it had been. But not all of the others’ center episodes were plot-related either. The important thing was for it to be wholly Sora’s episode and give her some Crest-related development. It did both those things.

I really would have liked a conundrum for Sora to fix, but I think the problem there is, since before now she wasn’t getting attention at all, they hadn’t set much of a foundation for that conundrum. The first time around, it was “oh, Sora is kind, so she wants to help anyone she sees” and there was a bit of personality clash with Yamato. Though it was small, it was a good bit of development and useful for two characters. It also led to Yamato and Sora’s friendship strengthening. With Taichi and Sora, we’ve been told they’re friends and teammates, but have not seen many strong examples of that. And, if there’s a fight between them, it could easily turn into a Taichi episode... that’s what I think anyway. So I guess the focus point for this episode was showing how Sora’s deep love for her friends strengthens her already, and maybe there’ll be more complex problems in the future, perhaps when she gets her next evolution... We’ll see.

Anyway. Good episode. So glad to see this show seems to be pretty solidly back on the rails. We only have like 20 episodes left though, seems like a lot but it’ll go fast.

That’s why I’m a bit surprised to see that next week looks like another not really plot-related episode:

Takeru and Yamato are going to a theme park. There’s no context for why they’re not with the others, but my guess is Takeru wanted to go and Yamato took him... easy as that xD I guess we’ll see, but I really hope this doesn’t mean the team is splitting up again.

However, we really do need quality time with Yamato and Takeru as well, so I’m all for this. It’s like the show really has got some self-awareness about how lax it’s been developing characters and relationships thus far and is now cranking it HARD to fit everything in we’ve been missing. Good.

#digimon adventure 2020 #digimon psi #digimon adventure:#digimon reboot #fizz watches digimon 2020 #digimon #didnt check for typos as usual

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dweetwise · 3 years

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i can’t remember the last time i wrote a proper date, this was a joy to work on and i hope you enjoy <3

ship: felix x ace warnings: none word count: 3740

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Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 5)

Felix despises meeting clients.

They're entitled, they're whiny, and in this particular case, they're obnoxious and unwilling to compromise.

It takes half an hour of their appointment to even get to its point, the client and his associates preferring to engage in pointless small talk, as if this small talk was worth Felix’s 18-hour flight. Still, he puts on his business face and laughs his polite fake laugh to humor them, since the project is important to Lauren.

When Felix finally gets to presenting his studio’s offer to the group, there's an influx of stupid questions that he hadn't prepared for. He improvises the best he can and ignores the rude comments about Lauren's design style, trying not to let the annoyance show on his face.

The hours tick by and his clients don’t seem to be in any sort of hurry, content to keep bullshitting and dragging out the appointment. Felix’s pulse is racing and he almost feels like he’s about to be sick, nerves mixing with dread as he realizes he’s going to be late for his date with Ace.

When he's finally allowed to leave, five excruciating hours and way too many fake laughs and handshakes later, Felix is almost ready to kill someone.

Instead, he calls Ace as soon as the office building’s doors close behind him.

“Hello?” Ace's voice sounds annoyed, and Felix doesn't blame him in the slightest.

“I'm sorry, my meeting ran late,” Felix apologizes hurriedly, checking his watch to notice it’s already six o’clock. “Do you still want to meet?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” Ace's voice perks up, his words difficult to make out through some strange background noise. “Don't worry about it, I kinda lost track of time too.”

“I can come straight from the office, I'll just get a cab,” Felix says, looking around the street for signs of a taxi.

“Uh, alright!” Ace’s voice sounds surprised. “There's this Italian place just a few blocks from the hotel. I can be there in twenty, I'll text you the address.”

“Sounds good,” Felix sighs, already feeling calmer now that he knows he didn't mess up his chance with the man.

Somehow, despite the taxi getting stuck in traffic for minutes on end, Felix arrives at the restaurant before Ace does. He hovers near the entrance awkwardly, not sure whether he should go inside to wait.

He decides to stay outside on the sidewalk, hoping the fresh air will soothe some of his overwhelming nerves. Standing there in his work clothes, clutching his briefcase and repeatedly glancing at his watch, Felix feels utterly ridiculous and is already starting to regret the entire thing.

Ace is either ten minutes late or is standing him up. Is it revenge for Felix neglecting to contact him earlier? Was Felix imagining the connection between them? Felix really shouldn’t have come; he's completely drained after the meeting and would much rather curl up in his hotel bed—

And then he spots Ace making his way over, and as soon as their eyes meet the doubts fizzle out and disappear.

“Hey, handsome!” Ace greets with a radiant smile, and Felix is instantly ready to forgive him. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” Felix lies, not wanting to sour the other's permanent good mood.

“I'm glad!" Ace says. “Hope you're hungry, because I'm starving,” he smiles, reaching for the restaurant door and holding it open for Felix.

Almost as soon as they step inside, Felix’s anxiety decides to flare up. The place looks more casual than he'd pictured, and he feels way too overdressed, his stiff suit and tie surely standing out among the crowd.

“Sorry I didn't have time to get changed,” Ace apologizes, coming up beside him. “I was planning to wear something nicer for you.”

Felix realizes Ace is in the same clothes as earlier today, apart from a blazer he's slung casually over his shoulder. It's reassuring to know Felix isn't the only one worrying about his outfit, even if Ace's patterned button-up seems much more fitting for the occasion.

“It's fine, I also would have preferred not to wear my work clothes,” Felix says, discreetly starting to tug off his tie to attempt to make the look more casual.

“Well, I do love a man in a suit,” Ace says and shoots him a wink, and Felix decides he definitely needs to remove some layers if he's going to survive the dinner without sweating buckets from the flirty attention.

While Felix is shrugging out of his suit jacket, a waiter comes to greet them and Ace effortlessly takes over, making small talk while they're shown to a table and given their menus.

"You got any wine recommendations?” Ace asks the waiter.

“Our house wine is a light chardonnay that goes well with most of our dishes.”

“Perfect,” Ace says, before turning to Felix. “You wanna share a bottle?”

“Yes, please,” Felix says, relieved at the chance to get some alcohol in his system. Maybe it’ll finally make him stop fretting so he can focus on their date.

As the waiter leaves to get their drinks, Felix follows Ace’s example and familiarizes himself with the menu. They make some small talk about the dishes, most of them unfamiliar to Felix, prompting Ace to make a few gentle suggestions. Following the advice, Felix settles on chicken risotto while Ace goes with some sort of seafood pasta that sounds way too adventurous for Felix’s taste.

The waiter returns to pour their drinks and take their orders, and Felix tries not to cringe in embarrassment as he butchers his dish’s pronunciation after Ace fluently orders his own.

“So, um…” Felix starts once the waiter leaves with their orders. “What do you do? For a living?”

The question feels clunky on his tongue, but isn't that what people ask on first dates? Felix takes a bigger gulp of wine than is appropriate to wash down his embarrassment.

“Straight to business, huh?” Ace says, his voice teasing, before taking a sip of his own wine. “You could say I'm a professional poker player.”

The surprise must be clear on Felix's face, because Ace chuckles.

“Not the most conventional gig, I know,” Ace offers good-naturedly.

“That sounds… interesting,” Felix says, realizing that somehow, the job makes sense. He should have guessed the strange man would have an unconventional occupation. “What is it like?”

“Unpredictable, risky and infuriating,” Ace huffs, before grinning. “But I love it.”

Felix nods in acknowledgement and stays silent, wordlessly encouraging Ace to go on.

“It’s just…” Ace eagerly continues. “The feeling of winning a high-stakes game? The anticipation and nerves when you don’t really have a good hand but have to keep going anyway, and finally manage the card you need at the very last round? Nothing else even comes close!”

Felix happily listens to Ace talk, enraptured by his ever-growing smile and eyes shining with pure, childlike excitement. He always enjoyed hearing people share their passions in life, and it sounds like cards are to Ace like architecture is to Felix.

“So I might be known to take a few more risks than most players,” Ace adds with an impish smile. “But it mostly works out—I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been told I’m quite lucky,” he says, shooting Felix a wink.

Felix chuckles against the rim of his wine glass, enjoying the attention even if it makes his cheeks feel warm. He can’t deny Ace took a gamble by approaching him, though he wouldn’t necessarily attribute the success of that gamble to luck.

Speaking of gambling...

“Is your name a coincidence, or…?” Felix asks.

“Oh, funny story, that!” Ace chuckles. “I actually had it changed because of a bet.”

“I—excuse me?” Felix says.

“I was on this insane blackjack win streak in Vegas,” Ace says. “Got to play at the high rollers’ table; big bets, even bigger wins. It got to a point where people were crowding around the table, the other players dropping out just to make wagers on when I’d finally lose.”

Felix leans closer, listening raptly as Ace tells his story. He’s never been one for gambling, but he can almost see the scene play out in front of him; others looking on in awe and horror as risky bets were made, Ace reveling in the attention in the middle of it all.

“So, eventually, I bet everything on a single round,” Ace grins. “Crowd gasps and cheers, guy next to me says I’m a complete dumbass for pushing my luck.”

Felix can’t help but agree with the nameless player, but he bites his tongue.

“And wouldn’t you know it, I get a hard ten and the dealer gets a twenty,” Ace says. “Crowd’s cringing, guy’s laughing, saying there’s no way I’m getting a blackjack. So, I announce that if I get an ace, I’m legally changing my name to that.”

“And?” Felix asks, sounding more eager than he means to when Ace pauses for dramatic effect.

“Dealer hits me with an ace, jaws drop to the floor, I make a dent in the casino’s profit that night,” Ace smirks victoriously. “Got my name changed within the hour—good thing paperwork’s easy in Vegas.”

“That’s… wow,” Felix chuckles, taking a sip of his wine while he lets the incredulous tale sink in.

“Told you I’m lucky,” Ace says. “The money might not have lasted long, but I got a kick-ass name and good story out of it! Actually, there was this other time…” Ace suddenly trails off and glances to his right.

When Felix follows suit, having been completely immersed in looking at Ace, he notices the waiter approaching with their food.

Felix gives a polite nod as his order is placed in front of him. The appearance of the dish isn’t the most appetizing, even if the chef has clearly tried to pretty up the chicken and rice with some garnish. However, the smell is absolutely delicious, making Felix eager for a taste.

“Thank you,” Ace smiles up at the waiter as he receives his own serving.

The waiter is off with a polite “enjoy your meals” and Felix’s stomach rumbles in return.

“Well, bon appetit!” Ace offers, thankfully not seeming to have heard the sound.

“How do you say it in Italian?” Felix asks, wanting to acknowledge Ace’s roots.

When Ace looks up in surprise at the question before smiling brightly, Felix gives himself a mental pat on the back for accidentally being smooth.

“Buon appetito,” Ace says, looking at him warmly.

“Buon… apetito?” Felix tries his best to repeat the sentence.

“That’s it,” Ace encourages, happy with his attempt. “Now dig in, before it gets cold!”

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. He scoops a small bit of the mushy rice and some chicken onto his fork, careful to avoid a piece of mushroom sitting on top as a garnish.

As suspected, the food tastes just as good as it smells. The rice is creamy and the chicken is tender, a strong flavor of cheese and herbs accompanying the taste.

“What’s the verdict?” Ace asks playfully, having apparently paused his eating to watch Felix slowly chew through his food.

“It’s very good,” Felix praises, going to scoop a bigger piece onto his utensils. “And yours?”

“Really nice!” Ace says, returning to his meal. “It’s been a while since I had this dish. Can’t really go wrong with it.”

Felix nods in acknowledgement and takes another bite of his food, this time accompanying it with a sip of wine. Ace seems happy to follow suit, and there’s a beat of comfortable silence as they enjoy their meals.

“So…” Ace speaks up, turning his attention back to Felix. “I realize I kinda went off earlier, only talking about myself.”

“I don’t mind,” Felix reassures. “It was a good story.”

“One of my favorites,” Ace grins. “But what about you? What do you do?”

“Me?”

“I mean, I only heard you bitch about your clients last night,” Ace says, and Felix is embarrassed to realize that he's right.

How on earth Ace not only dealt with his awkwardness, but also listened to him whine about his work and still decided to approach him is beyond Felix’s understanding.

“Which sounds totally justified, by the way,” Ace reassures with a grin when Felix internally panics instead of replying. “I just never caught what it actually is that you do. I've been guessing between law and marketing.”

“Sorry," Felix says, giving an apologetic smile for talking Ace's ear off the other night. “I'm actually an architect.”

“Oh, neat!” Ace exclaims. “I should've known you weren't just a pretty face,” he offers with a wink over the rim of his wine glass.

“It's not nearly as complicated as you seem to think,” Felix says, fidgeting from the praise.

“Modest, too,” Ace grins.

Felix doesn’t know how to reply to the compliment, so he opts to take a big bite of his food instead.

“Anyway, I promised to take your mind off work, huh?” Ace says. “What do you do for fun?”

Felix falters. He always dreads the hobby question, since his job pretty much is his entire life. Obsessively checking work emails or drinking until he passes out surely don't count as hobbies.

“I usually read architecture magazines or go jogging,” Felix lies.

Ace doesn’t reply, only quirks a skeptical eyebrow through a mouthful of pasta.

“Ehm… what?” Felix asks, suddenly self-conscious.

“This isn't a job interview,” Ace snorts in amusement. “I asked what you do for fun.”

“Ähm, sorry,” Felix apologizes, looking at the tablecloth in embarrassment.

“I'll start!” Ace decides. “I like to laze around and watch shitty 3PM telenovelas.”

“Telenovelas?”

“Oh. Latin American soaps,” Ace explains with a smile. “They're tacky and predictable but remind me of home.”

Felix returns a small smile, finding the thought of Ace watching cheesy afternoon TV oddly endearing.

“I guess I enjoy quiz programs,” Felix says. “And… maybe get a little frustrated when the participants get the obvious ones wrong,” he confesses.

“I bet you’d do great in one of those,” Ace says. “You’re so smart.”

“I’d probably swallow my own tongue from the nerves,” Felix mumbles, poking at his food.

“Oh, right,” Ace hums in thought, followed by another smile. “God, it’s so funny that a gorgeous guy like you is so shy,” he chuckles.

“It’s embarrassing, I know—” Felix starts.

“It’s endearing,” Ace corrects, and Felix swears his heart skips a beat.

“Do you have any other hobbies?” Felix asks, feeling like he needs to contribute to the conversation.

“Do lame card tricks count?” Ace grins. “If not, I sometimes play guitar—badly, I might add.”

“Both of those sound like a lot of fun,” Felix says. “I’ve never played an instrument.”

“It’s fun if you don’t take it seriously! You should try it, if you ever get the time,” Ace encourages.

They finish the rest of their meals while chatting pleasantly. Felix finds it easy to open up, Ace’s warm smile and relaxed demeanor putting him at ease. At the same time, he’s eager to learn more about Ace, every small detail he hears only serving to make him even more fond of the man.

When Felix eventually finishes his dish, save for the mushrooms and some questionable greens he doesn’t recognize, Ace has the audacity to look at his plate with a knowing smirk.

“What?” Felix says, although suspecting he already knows the answer.

“Nothing!” Ace says. “I’m just happy I got a picky eater to… almost finish his plate.”

“For the record, I liked the food,” Felix argues, bantering along. “It’s much better than the idiot sandwiches I had for lunch.”

“Uh… idiot sandwiches?” Ace asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh, eh…” Felix falters, feeling stupid for resorting to an inside joke the other obviously wouldn’t understand. “That’s what my business partner calls the stale snacks that are served in meetings. Like sandwiches and quiche and the like.”

“I… see?” Ace says, obviously still confused.

“You know… like in the joke?” Felix explains, but Ace looks even more lost, cocking his head in curiosity. “With the bread,” Felix says, placing his hands on the side of his head in a poor imitation of the video Lauren showed him once.

“I've gotta confess, I'm not great with tech,” Ace finally admits in defeat.

“Well, at least you know how to use a smartphone,” Felix says, recalling Ace effortlessly texting and exchanging their numbers.

“Okay, I'm not that old,” Ace jokes and kicks him playfully under the table.

While they’re sharing a chuckle, the waiter comes by to collect their plates.

“Did you enjoy your meals?” he asks.

“Absolutely!” Ace says.

“It was very good,” Felix agrees.

“I’m glad,” the waiter says with a smile.

And as he leaves with their plates without further blabbering, Felix makes a mental note to tip him well for making the evening such a pleasant experience.

“So,” Felix says, eager to return to the conversation with his date. “How old are you?”

It’s only when Ace quirks an amused eyebrow that Felix realizes his mistake.

“Sorry, you don't have to say,” Felix says, nervously wringing his hands under the table for being so rude.

“Naw, I don't mind,” Ace says with a smile. “I'm forty-eight.”

“Oh,” Felix says, not sure how to respond to the predictable answer. “I’m thirty-seven. You, um. You look very good,” he settles on, feeling his neck heating up from the awkward compliment.

“Not so bad for an old coot, huh?” Ace jokes, but something about it doesn’t sit right with Felix.

“What do you mean?” Felix asks.

“I mean…” Ace says, his smile finally faltering. “'You look good' doesn't really have the same ring to it when it's always followed by 'for your age',” Ace admits, staring into his wine glass thoughtfully.

The earnest confession takes Felix off guard; so far, he hasn't seen Ace display any signs of insecurity.

“But hey, that's life!” Ace immediately perks back up, offering a smile that doesn’t seem entirely genuine.

“I didn’t mean for your age,” Felix feels the need to clarify. “I think you’re, ehm. Very handsome,” he mumbles, and by now his face must be bright red.

But it’s worth it, because Ace’s smile softens into one that finally reaches his eyes.

“Thanks,” Ace says, before clearing his throat. “I mean, I don’t really let stuff like that bring me down, but… it’s still nice to hear, you know?”

“I do,” Felix says, deciding he should try to take a page from Ace’s book and be freer with his compliments, awkwardness be damned.

The waiter chooses that time to return to their table, not an entirely unwelcome distraction from the sudden feelings blooming in Felix’s chest.

“Would you like to order dessert? Coffee?” the waiter asks.

Ace only smirks and looks at Felix mischievously.

“I had something else in mind,” Ace says, his voice sounding deeper than before. “What about you, babe?”

Felix flushes both at the nickname and the reminder that for all intents and purposes, he is the dessert.

“I'm good as well, thank you,” he manages with a surprisingly steady voice, gulping down some more wine.

“We'll probably just finish up the wine and take the check,” Ace offers to the waiter with another pleasant smile.

“Of course,” the waiter says and is off with a polite nod.

“Wow, I didn't even realize the time,” Ace says, glancing at the clock over the bar counter.

Felix's gaze follows suit, and he sees that they've apparently been in the restaurant for over an hour.

“Time flies, huh?” Ace grins.

“Indeed,” Felix agrees.

He feels much more relaxed than when they arrived; the wine, good food and cozy atmosphere surely all have played a part in making him feel comfortable.

But not nearly as much as the company.

“Here you go, gorgeous,” Ace says, smiling as he refills both of their glasses with the remaining wine.

“Thank you,” Felix says, the cheesy compliment no longer making him fluster.

Instead, there’s a warm fluttering in his gut, fondness for his date mixing with anticipation of what’s to come.

It’s only when the waiter returns to drop their check on the table and Ace immediately reaches for it that Felix wipes the lovestruck smile off his face.

“You’re not paying,” Felix protests, reaching his hand over the table towards the bill.

“Oh, I think I am,” Ace says, lifting the small folder out of Felix’s reach. “I was the one who asked you out.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Felix argues. “It’s my treat.”

“Hmm, let me think about it,” Ace says, pretending to mull over the suggestion. “Nope!” he grins.

“Ace,” Felix says, exasperated but not able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up.

“Felix,” Ace counters with a shit-eating grin, and Felix snorts an ugly chuckle at the other’s ridiculousness.

After a few minutes of playful arguing, Ace begrudgingly agrees to split the bill.

But Felix adds the tip money before Ace has a chance to, much to the other’s annoyance.

“It’s not splitting if you pay twenty bucks on top of half,” Ace argues when they’re making to leave.

“You didn’t mention the tip, so it’s only fair,” Felix points out, smiling smugly as he rebuttons his suit jacket.

“Where’s this sudden sass coming from?” Ace exclaims in mock shock, a hand over his heart. “I’m starting to think the shyness is an elaborate act,” he teases.

And then he, once again, holds the door open for Felix as they exit the restaurant.

“You got me,” Felix says sarcastically. “I’m actually a stand-up comedian, not an architect.”

Ace laughs warmly at his joke, and something in Felix’s heart clenches.

He doesn’t know what comes over him. In one instant, Felix is watching Ace’s smile as he keeps playing off of the joke, and in the next, Ace is freezing mid-sentence, eyes momentarily widening in surprise as Felix has grabbed his hand with his own.

Felix already has an apology ready on his tongue for his embarrassing lapse in judgement, but Ace apparently has other ideas. His hand returns the hold on Felix’s as he resumes the conversation right where they left off, taking Felix’s clingy gesture in stride.

And Felix doesn’t remember when he’s last felt as happy as when they walk the few blocks to their hotel making stupid jokes and holding hands.

#felix richter #ace visconti #riconti #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #felix x ace

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bouwrites · 3 years

Text

Role of the Hero

It’s the Miraculous Ladybug/Tokyo Afterschool Summoners crossover. Daisuke goes to Paris.

I’ll be honest with y’all, if even one person asks me for more of this, or content like this, I may be forced to do it. I didn’t even get to the core conceit which sparked this crossover in the first place, so my inspiration bug for this is sleeping for now but one poke and I promise you it will be frothing at the mouth.

And honestly? I don’t know whether I want that poke or not.

Anyway here’s the story.

Ao3.

10043 words. Story under read-more.

Daisuke Ikusaba does not want to be here.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Paris at all, it’s just that he has friends and a budding career and… and Taurus Mask back in Tokyo.

Daisuke gently rubs the horns of the mask, hidden in the bag at his side. He caresses them like an old and precious childhood toy.

It’s okay. Right? He can do this. All his friends, even the Berserkers, are all just a phone call away. He may not be able to see them in person anymore, but it’s not like he doesn’t have contact with them anymore. And… and he can bring Taurus Mask to Paris! He has the mask, after all, so all he really needs is to look for an opportunity. Or, failing that, make one himself.

There has to be someone else here interested in wrestling. Daisuke Ikusaba might not be able to stand boldly and do something as brash as make his own wrestling team, but Taurus Mask can.

And he will. As soon as Daisuke is settled in. So… so he should probably… do that.

…He has to go into the school to do that, doesn’t he? His stomach flips as he looks up at the gates. It’s worse than his first day at Yoyogi. Back then, he at least had the wrestling team. François Dupont doesn’t even have one of those, much less one that Daisuke knows anyone in.

Pathetic as it is, Daisuke wants little more in this moment than to run around the corner and call someone who can give him a good pep talk. Wakan Tanka is good at those. Or Horkeu Kamui. How can anyone feel bad when Horkeu Kamui is there encouraging them? Hell, he’ll take Durza at this point.

Actually, Durza is a good idea. Not to call – oh god, no (What time even is it in Tokyo right now?) – but her whole deal. I’m an athlete! Daisuke thinks. What am I going to do, let some stone walls beat me? No way! I’m going to march in there and win at… everything, I guess? But I’m not that smart, so I’m probably out of luck with academics. And there isn’t a wrestling team, so…

So… I don’t know what I’m trying to win at, but I’m going to win! I just have to go in there and do it! Yeah. That makes sense.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Daisuke steps forward past the school gates. Even though it feels like they should come crashing down on him, they don’t. In fact, everything is a little easier when he’s inside, if only because he’s not standing outside the door like an idiot drawing everyone’s attention.

But marching through the school courtyard feels very much like winning right now, so Daisuke is going to take what he can get.

But though Daisuke has fewer eyes on him inside the school for his more casual behavior, he does not go unnoticed. What he doesn’t know – can’t know with this being only his very first day here – is that this François Dupont is far more different than his old school of Yoyogi than he expects.

Timid though Daisuke may be, Yoyogi is a school which caters to his interests. It is filled to the brim with athletes, all of whom want to get better, stronger, and encourage their peers to do the same. It is a place where rivalries are synonymous with friendships, and that common bond of athleticism connects everyone regardless of sport.

This François Dupont, however, has no such common bond connecting the students here. There is not the same understanding underneath every conflict, lighthearted or serious, and there is not the same passion that is generated from such a large group of people with similar interests.

No, while Yoyogi is a school where everyone wants to be the best, François Dupont is one where the contenders for that position are much fewer and far crueler. After all, at a school of athletes, even those with the greatest drive to be greater than everyone else desire just as strongly to do so on fair ground. It is not a fair assessment of who is the best, they believe, and thus a pointless victory if they cheat to get there.

The queens of François Dupont have no such moral inhibitions.

Chloé Bourgeois watches with… something like interest when a new student enters the school. Down her nose, from her perch on high up on the second-floor balcony, she sees an older-looking student.

He only catches her attention because he barely looks like a high schooler at all and might fit in better at a university somewhere. Asian, clearly, and darker-skinned. Chloé wrinkles her nose at the scruff of hair on his chin. He’s not the only student here with unfortunate hair on his face, but he’ll soon learn to shave it off, if only so that Chloé doesn’t have to look at it.

(She might consider leaving it alone, except her daddy asks her to play nice for a while, which means that he knows a new student is arriving, and if the principal takes the time to inform her daddy of something like this, it can only be because this new student will be in her class. And if he is in her class, then that bush on his chin must go.)

Oh, and the green hair – if he must dye it, can’t he pick a better color?

Hair aside, Chloé notes his physique. Muscles like that don’t come easy and aren’t just for show. Even though he dresses modestly (and he’s going to need to work on that… fashion travesty) there is simply nothing he can do to hide the dense muscle on his frame.

Sort of like Ivan. Muscle like that has its uses, and if the way he ducks his head and fiddles with his bag strap is any indication, he’ll be child’s play to manipulate.

Well, he’s definitely not a threat. That’s something. He looks stupid enough to be dragged into Lila’s orbit, though, which is… fine. Lila isn’t making any major moves against Chloé, and Chloé thinks she knows her place, but Chloé also knows better than to trust a liar and Lila’s eyes look far too much like Chloé’s own.

It’s only a matter of time before they come to metaphorical blows. Whether this new kid is worth crushing under her heel, or whether she should allow him to fall under Lila’s… that’s the real question.

Then again, Dupain-Cheng does have a way with the cowards, Chloé admits in the privacy of her own mind. If we’re not careful, he might get attached to her.

A morbid curiosity wells up in Chloé’s chest. This is the first real chance for Chloé to see how her rivals will play when a new actor steps onto stage. Goody-two-shoes Dupain-Cheng will definitely do everything she can to protect the poor guy, and Chloé honestly can’t imagine him being smart enough to see through Lila, so… she wonders just how desperately those two will fight.

Dupain-Cheng pisses Chloé off, yes, but Lila… if Chloé doesn’t know any better, she’d say that Dupain-Cheng is her weakness. Spite, hate, just a true loathing that Chloé can respect. Chloé isn’t that different, after all. But Chloé… she isn’t the kind of queen who needs everyone to adore her. That he fears her, that he will listen when she speaks, that is enough for Chloé. At least, for now. Whether Lila can suffer him befriending Dupain-Cheng with that hatred inside of her… Chloé is very interested in finding out the answer to that.

If she plays her cards right with this new kid, she might just find the key to getting rid of Lila once and for all.

And wouldn’t that be glorious? Chloé sneers and turns away. She’ll have her fun, definitely, but by and large… it will be more interesting to stay out of this for the time being.

Chloé glides to the classroom, passing Dupain-Cheng with a knowing smirk. Marinette, perturbed by the bully’s expression, can only pray that Chloé will leave their new classmate alone just for a day.

Harried, Marinette hefts the papers and binders in her hands and continues her dash to the principal’s office. As class president, she is meant to greet their newest classmate and show them around, though she’s yet to meet this transfer.

She doesn’t need to wait long. She’s still muttering through everything, consulting with the principal, when the door to the office opens and her new classmate steps inside.

Marinette turns to him with a smile on her face. “Hello! You must be the new student. Ikusaba Daisuke, right? I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, your new class president.”

Daisuke is frankly surprised that she uses his family name first – he’s more than prepared for the fact that they don’t do that here. Is there a mistake on his paperwork? Do they think his names are switched?

He… isn’t sure he can correct them, if that’s the case. He might just be stuck with this. Not that it would be the end of the world, or anything. “Y-yeah,” he mutters. “That’s me. It’s- uh- nice to meet you.”

Her dazzling grin catches him off-guard. It’s… nice. It reminds him of Wakan, a little. It lets just a little bit of the tension fall from him. “I’ll show you around the school,” Marinette says, “and I can answer any questions you have as we go. Does that work for you?”

“Y-y-yes!”

Marinette smiles, and she cannot help but feel a little bad for this poor boy. He may be built like Ivan, but he’s clearly just as soft-hearted, if not more. She just hopes he’ll survive when the akumas start showing up. She hopes he knows about them, at least, though she knows simply knowing won’t prepare him for it.

Well, she’ll just have to do her civic duty and make sure to warn him herself on the tour.

But first, more logistical work. She’s his new class president and she has to help him get comfortable here at Dupont. Though her role as class president isn’t the same as the same title in the Japanese schooling system he’s undoubtedly more familiar with, she’s happy to help him in any way she can.

“By the way,” she says as they begin their walk around the campus, “what would you prefer I call you? I have another friend from Japan, and I just call her Kagami, but I understand if using your given name is a little too familiar for a stranger.”

Daisuke blinks in surprise. “D-Daisuke is fine,” he murmurs. “That’s how you do it here, right? S-so I’ve got to get used to it anyway.”

“That’s true,” Marinette admits, “but if you’d prefer something else, our class wouldn’t mind. Most of us, at least. I know Adrien still uses honorifics with Kagami when they’re in more formal settings. So long as you let us know what to say, we’ll all be more than happy to do the same.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I don’t care much about that, anyway.” Ever since the transients showed up in Tokyo, that kind of thing has largely fallen to the wayside. This Kagami girl must be from an old family, or at least somewhere else in Japan. Probably the latter, if she’s been in Paris long.

Or from the Land of Wa. Yasuyori is such a stickler for etiquette. But Daisuke hardly expects to run into transients in Paris so that seems unlikely. (It’s… actually a little unsettling to see no transients around. He’s starting to desperately miss Yasuyori’s fluffy face. And Asterius’ horns…)

Marinette fixes him with a curious, earnest gaze, but concedes. “If you’re sure. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Daisuke just can’t stop thinking about his friends in Tokyo. The hollowness in his chest aches keenly, but all he can do is gently touch the threads of rope around his wrist.

“Oh, and I don’t know if you’ve already heard or not, but I should warn you about the akuma.”

Akuma, Daisuke thinks. “I’ve heard about them,” he says honestly. He wishes he can say his friends are concerned about him moving to a place with weird things like akuma but… well, after what happened in Tokyo, akuma don’t scare any of them.

Then again, they don’t know I’m Taurus Mask, so they should be concerned, shouldn’t they? Unless… No, there’s no way. Only my soul brother knows my face.

It’s ridiculous to even consider otherwise.

“Oh! Good.” Marinette beams. “Well, if you have any questions or concerns, you can always talk to me!”

Daisuke eagerly agrees, sure that he’s going to need the help navigating a new place like this. Not to mention that, if he does decide to try to start a wrestling club, his class president is probably the first one he’s going to need to talk to. It’s good to establish some kind of rapport early on.

So, he does his best to participate in the tour, instead of running off to hide like he really wants to do. Marinette does wonders to make him a little more comfortable and distracts him by pointing out everywhere he’ll need to know on campus, and before he knows it, she’s leading him through the door of their classroom.

And the whole classroom erupts into chatters at once. Simultaneously, Daisuke is rooted to the spot, frozen and unable to draw breath with so many eyes on him, and confused by the complete lack of discipline here.

Sure, Yoyogi can be pretty wild, and Daisuke himself isn’t exactly a model of good behavior, but Yasuyori would be so disappointed in everyone here if he saw this. Just imagining Yasuyori’s disappointed face brings Daisuke nearly to tears.

The teacher makes everyone settle down, thankfully, and Daisuke somehow stammers through his introduction without bolting, then, as soon as he’s given permission, he darts to the back of the class to an open seat.

He sighs heavily as he sinks into his new seat. It could be worse, he thinks. I still wish Horkeu Kamui were here.

…I sound like a kid missing his dad, don’t I? Damn it, it was one time I called him that!

Mercifully, the lecture means that Daisuke doesn’t yet have to answer questions or field a room full of curious classmates. At least not right away. If there is one thing school is good for, it’s excusing him from social situations.

It’s too bad that this sanctuary only lasts until school ends, even if it also comes with math. To think that back in Tokyo, Daisuke could never wait for school to end. In Tokyo, the end of classes means club and guild activities begin. Here in Paris, Daisuke has neither a club nor a guild to be a part of.

He wonders if he’ll have the chance to escape or if his new classmates are going to ambush him. From the looks they occasionally send him throughout the school day, like Bathym eyeing up some new meat in the unranked arena, Daisuke has a sinking feeling that that’s not going to happen.

That’s why it’s no surprise when, after the teacher finally dismisses them for the day, Daisuke finds himself in a small crowd of classmates who want to talk to him.

It’s not hard, even when he’s just meeting these people and on the verge of an anxiety-induced panic attack, to identify the ringleader. While Daisuke thinks Marinette seems popular in her own right, she picks up from their tour that he’s uncomfortable with strangers, and keeps herself and a smaller group of their classmates away from him. (Bless her.) This other girl, however…

“Hello! My name is Lila.” She smiles sweetly, and genuinely. Daisuke unthinkingly rubs the threads of his Sacred Artifact around his wrist. “Your name is Daisuke, right? It’s so nice to meet you! I also transferred here not long ago, and everyone really went out of their way to make me feel welcome. If there’s anything I can do for you to pay that kindness forward, please let me know!”

Through his fluttering gut, Daisuke sighs with relief. At least they’re friendly. As much as he may want to avoid this kind of situation, he’ll never achieve his dreams if he can’t overcome this social anxiety. A group of friendly classmates is, logically, safe for him, as these things go.

So he grins, forced though it may be, and says, “Thanks! I really appreciate that. But you really don’t need to go out of your way for me.”

“Nonsense!” Lila says. “Nothing would make me happier than making sure that you feel as welcomed as I did when I started here. What do you like to do? We should all get to know each other better.”

When Daisuke hesitates, the other classmates in the crowd all start sharing their own answers. It’s really nice of them to do this, but way too overwhelming for Daisuke. He’s not going to remember much of what they’re telling him – he hardly even remembers everyone’s names.

Eventually, he has no choice but to answer himself. “W-well,” he says, “back in Tokyo, I was captain of the wrestling team.”

“Wrestling!” Lila exclaims. “Oh, no wonder you look so strong! Who’s your favorite wrestler?”

Daisuke blanches. This is the other reason why he isn’t looking forward to this question and answer “get to know each other” thing. Even though he’s known about this move for a while, he still hasn’t managed to figure out how to explain his near complete ignorance of broader worldwide trends.

Daisuke apparently takes too long to answer, because Lila starts talking about some famous wrestler who’s name certainly impresses a few of the more athletic-looking students around. Daisuke has, of course, never heard of them.

He chuckles awkwardly. “Sorry, uh… you might’ve heard that Tokyo has been pretty isolated for a while. I don’t know much about celebrities outside Tokyo, even in wrestling.” He smiles, satisfied at having answered without talking about the App War.

It will be such a pain to explain that to someone outside Tokyo. Daisuke doesn’t think he can even explain transients.

“I have heard about that!” Lila says. “Actually, I have a good friend in Tokyo. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them since they were trapped there by that terrible wall.”

The other classmates rush to console Lila, who is clearly the emotional type – already almost on the verge of tears just from mentioning that friend of hers – but Daisuke tilts his head.

Tokyo’s been cut off for his whole life. Sure, there are people who remember Tokyo before the wall, the transients, and it being cut off from the rest of the world, but those are old people. No one their age was born when Tokyo was isolated, so it doesn’t make any sense for Lila to know anyone from before the wall.

Unless…

No, there are no transients or Sacred Artifacts here. Lila being immortal or having some Sacred Artifact to make her appear younger than she is is an unrealistic thought at best. (The fact that both of those things are possible, and that Daisuke has seen them personally, notwithstanding, of course.)

Something’s off here. Daisuke’s gut says so. Daisuke may not be the most intuitive or intelligent person, and his Sacred Artifact may not work outside a battle zone, but he thinks that, after using his Sacred Artifact so much, he has some sense for this kind of thing.

To expose all forms of deception, unmasking all that which is concealed. That is the power given to him according to his Role. All in service of being like that man, the one who inspires Daisuke to take up wrestling. Of being someone who can touch the souls of others and wrest their true worth from obscurity. That is the Role of the Hero.

But without use of his Sacred Artifact, Daisuke cannot see the true self within Lila. She is lying about knowing someone in Tokyo, or at least knowing them for so long, but Daisuke can only assume that she lies in an earnest attempt to connect with him.

It’s sad that she thinks that’s necessary. Daisuke knows he’s shy, but he’s not unfriendly. If he could use his Sacred Artifact, he might glean some insight from what it uncovers in her – not that Daisuke ever used it for such banal reasons even when he could.

Still, Lila cannot possibly know that he is more social than his anxiety belies just as he cannot know that Lila has no interest in genuinely connecting with him.

Lila does, however, know that Daisuke is not so naïve as his shy, anxious new kid archetype implies. There is a certain look in his eye which Lila spots almost immediately. It’s a look she despises, because it’s the same look that burns behind the eyes of every single Marinette Dupain-Cheng Lila has ever met.

Of course, it’s only a gut feeling based on something as superficial as the glint in his eyes, so Lila is happy to give him a chance. But she knows to be careful with someone like him. She hopes he is meek enough to know his place, but that look in his eyes, the spark of someone who looks at problems not as obstacles but challenges… Lila’s gut tells her to watch him very closely.

It’s a quiet lie, a small one, and one that can easily be waved off as wanting to connect with him, but Lila sees how his eyes change. His reaction to the lie.

Firstly, that he recognizes it at all is a red flag. Though he’s not necessarily more perceptive than their other classmates, it does mean that he’s paying attention. That he’s looking for deceit puts Lila on the back foot from the start.

Then, it’s how he reacts to it. The raised brow, the subtle narrowing of his eyes, the look, not quite at her but into her, as if he is laying bare her soul and examining it like nothing more than a cheap, knock-off purse.

It passes. It’s only a moment, then it passes, but Lila notices it and puts Daisuke right to the top of her watch list.

He doesn’t say anything, though, which earns him some credit. It’s likely out of a mistaken belief that she’s just trying to make him more comfortable by fabricating things to have in common – a belief she will eagerly encourage if he does confront her in private about it – but he at least knows not to try to call her out. Marinette still hasn’t learned that lesson.

Even still, she will need to be careful around him. The feeling he stirs in her gut reminds her far too much of Marinette and her predecessors, the other problem children at previous schools and clubs Lila’s attended, so she is not yet convinced that pushing too far in his presence won’t turn Daisuke on her as well.

Despite his potential to be a problem for her, and also because of it, she can’t just leave him alone, either. He would quickly ally with Marinette, which Lila simply can’t allow. The other students have known Marinette longer than Lila – Lila’s influence with them is limited to an extent. She can manipulate and damage, but it’ll take a long game indeed to truly break those friendships. Daisuke on the other hand represents an interesting and unique opportunity for Lila.

She won’t let it slip through her fingers.

It’s a few days into his time at Paris when Daisuke encounters his first akuma.

He’s still walking home from school, on the phone with Gunzo in this short period between him being free and his friends in Tokyo mostly still awake (the problem with all his friends being athletes: they’re health-conscious, and so usually go to bed at a reasonable hour) when his phone alerts him with a chime that, after leaving Tokyo, he never expects to hear again.

His blood turns to ice, and intellectually he convinces himself for a moment that it’s the alarm for that app his classmates recommend to him, which alerts to akuma attacks. He hasn’t heard it yet, so maybe it sounds like the other alert.

But a quick check confirms that the Akuma Alert app is still quiet. The chime comes from another app. A much more familiar app. The App.

A battle zone has opened over his location. He opens the App and nearly drops it when he realizes that he is not the only App user in the city. At the very least, his map shows a few others nearby.

It’s at that moment, while Daisuke is still trying to figure out how and why a battle zone might open now, and when the App spread to Paris (It must be new, he thinks, with some relief, but even then, where are the transients? The gateways?) another alert chimes from his phone. This one is the akuma alert he’s been told to get, and it takes only a moment for Daisuke to piece that particular puzzle together.

(He only manages it because of the map.)

In the exact same locations, moving in the exact same directions, the map in the Akuma Alert app notifies Daisuke of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and an akuma moving nearby.

The heroes and this villain… they’re App users. Daisuke gasps, Gunzo is getting frantic over the phone, worrying over what’s happening, and Daisuke doesn’t have time to explain everything in detail. He stammers that he’ll call back later with the details and takes off at a sprint towards where the battle is located.

Pausing for a moment in an alley on the way, hidden from view, Daisuke takes a deep breath and pulls his mask from his bag. This is App business, whatever the truth of the situation, and so this is something needing Taurus Mask, not Daisuke. The Ranked Berserker, not the still-unknown wrestler.

The horns are still comforting. That’s nice to know.

But Taurus Mask rushes into this battle with a mission. He doesn’t particularly care at the moment of the specifics, he just needs to know why the App is here in Paris, what these heroes and villains think they’re doing with it, and why… why everyone remembers.

Ordinarily, when a battle zone closes, anyone who isn’t a participant – that is, those without the App – don’t even notice. Everything is reset as it was before, so of course, they don’t. It shouldn’t be possible for a city without a significant percentage of App users to have heroes based on it.

Well, Taurus is resolved to figure it out. His Sacred Artifact may not give him insight into the System which runs the App or this world, but what it uncovers in the participants can still give him something to work with. He has to use his power on either the akuma or the heroes, or all of them, and work with whatever information he can glean from it.

It’s a long shot. It’s not like using his Sacred Artifact ever gave him an edge understanding the situation in Tokyo, after all. But it is possible. Most likely, he’ll just memorize everything he can and call someone better suited to this to figure it out. His soul brother knows a lot of really intelligent people who can help, he knows.

Evidently, the heroes of Paris are competent at what they do, since the akuma is defeated just as Taurus manages to arrive. That’s one possibility out, then.

This isn’t going to endear me to the heroes, that’s for sure, Taurus thinks grimly. But I have to figure out what’s going on.

Ladybug picks up a red, black-spotted object, and Taurus thinks that if that resets the damage, it may also close the battle zone and disallow use of his Sacred Artifact. He can probably open one himself if he’s against these two, but to be safe he rushes in. “Excuse me!” he shouts, disarming them just long enough to slip in close enough to stop Ladybug from closing the battle zone if she tries to use that power of hers.

With their attention, he grins. “Sorry to interrupt!” he bellows, in a voice fit to MC this grand event. “Ladybug and Chat Noir! Fabled heroes of Paris! I know you, so allow me to introduce myself. I am…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Taurus Mask!”

“…Um,” Ladybug tilts her head cutely as her jaw drops in utter bafflement. “Can we help you?”

“Yes!” Taurus says. “In fact, I am in need of information which only you and your dastardly villain possess!” Quieter, he adds, “…Will you please answer a few questions?”

Ladybug and Chat Noir share a look, neither knowing exactly who this strange, masked man is or what he wants. Eventually, Chat Noir says, “…I suppose we can come back after we recharge?”

A flutter of panic wells up in Taurus when he sees Ladybug rear up to throw her Lucky Charm into the air and trigger her other power. The System in place, while close enough to work with the App, is obviously at least a little different, and Taurus doesn’t want to risk not having access to his Sacred Artifact. These are heroes, but… frankly, he doubts they’ll just tell him anything that will help him figure out what’s really happening. “It will only take a moment!” he begs. “Just a few questions?”

Their jewelry, which Taurus has read gives them their powers, beeps, and both shift uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” Ladybug says, again hefting her Lucky Charm, “but we really need to go. If you can wait a few minutes, we’ll hear you out, but-”

“No!” Taurus reacts without thinking, reaching out and snatching the Lucky Charm from her grasp before she can use her power. He can’t let her close the battle zone yet, but already his gut is sinking.

He has a moment for the two to recover from their shock, and uses it to put enough distance between them to react should they come at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I can’t allow you to fix everything just yet! I don’t want to cause trouble, but I need answers before that happens.”

Both brandishing weapons now, the heroes glare at Taurus. “I’ll give you one chance to hand that back to my lady before I take it,” Chat Noir growls.

“Who are you?” Ladybug asks. “Why would you…?”

“I swear I’m not trying to stop you from doing your jobs,” Taurus says as placatingly as he can while still holding the Lucky Charm close like a football, “but I won’t take no for an answer. I need to figure out what’s happening, even if it means wresting the answers from you by force!”

The heroes narrow their eyes. Neither trust him. In fact, a shared look confirms to each other that they both suspect he is simply another akuma. It’s happened before, though this is extraordinarily fast for another one to show up.

Even so, Ladybug asks, “What do you want to know?”

Taurus sags a little, relieved that dialogue is at least open. But how to ask this? Frankly, he’s not sure exactly what he can ask that will help, their willingness to answer notwithstanding.

Ultimately, the App War was a proxy war for gods of other worlds. Participants, including people like Taurus and the transients, with their Sacred Artifacts, infused with the power of gods and the System of the world which they originate, battle to establish a hierarchy of belief. Which Systems come out on top… determining that is the point.

Taurus wishes he were smarter. Then, he might be able to pinpoint why this situation in Paris is at all like the one in Tokyo, but unfortunately, he is not.

But he knows that the heroes and villains here have magical jewelry which grant them power – Sacred Artifacts, perhaps? – but where does that power come from? Gods? Just maybe… that would make sense.

“Why does everyone remember what happens after you reset everything?” Taurus asks.

Ladybug, completely taken aback by such an odd question, shares another look with Chat Noir. “Why wouldn’t they?”

When Ladybug answers, it’s Taurus’s turn to be taken aback. Maybe something simpler? Something absolutely necessary to know. “Are you using the App?”

“The App?” Chat Noir echoes, face twisted into confusion. “What app? Are you just trying to stall us?”

No App? Then… why is a battle zone open? Can I use my…

Ladybug and Chat Noir jump when their Miraculous beep urgently once more. Ladybug growls. ��We have to go,” she says.

Chat Noir nods.

Seeing them both turn to take off, Taurus quickly does some mental math. If Ladybug recharges, then she can summon another Lucky Charm. That’s what he’s lead to believe, anyway. If she does that, she can reset everything and close the battle zone regardless of if Taurus hold on to the one in his hand.

“You can’t!” Taurus shouts. Seeing that neither are going to wait any longer, he groans. “I’m sorry about this, but I won’t allow you to escape!” They don’t listen, of course. Chat Noir is already in the air and Ladybug already has her yo-yo on some far structure to pull her away faster than Taurus can stop her.

Which leaves him with only one choice left. He doesn’t want to use it, because he knows they’ll interpret it as an attack – not to mention the possibility of learning more than he should – but the chance of it giving insight into the situation here in Paris as it relates to the App War in Tokyo is too important to pass up.

Besides… he has a mask on. This mask which means to Taurus to fight on. To never hide in the face of fear. He’s faced plenty of Sacred Artifacts with this mask, so it’s not all that frightening to do this now.

“Role of the Hero!” Taurus shouts. Ladybug and Chat Noir pause, clearly realizing that he’s trying to pull something to stop them from leaving. “Rule of Accession! Engrave mine name of Taurus Mask unto thee!”

“Careful, Ladybug!” Chat Noir shouts.

Taurus really does feel awful about this. “Alight!” He raises the arm where his Sacred Artifact sits on his wrist. “Corona Borealis!”

Ladybug gasps as the cords of the Ring around his wrist unravel and whip about. She tries to dodge, but it happens in an instant. Chat Noir manages to get between them only to be wrapped up in the ropes of the Sacred Artifact as well as Ladybug.

Chat Noir winces, but looks around, surprised that he isn’t restrained. The ropes entwine around him and Ladybug, as well as Taurus Mask, but don’t restrict his movement.

They sort of remind him of the ropes around a wrestling ring.

Well, if they’re not stopping their escape, Ladybug and he really need to recharge.

“A warning!” Taurus Mask shouts. “This Sacred Artifact made from the thread of souls will expose all forms of deception, unmasking all that which is concealed!”

Chat Noir and Ladybug both feel their blood run cold. It can’t be, Ladybug thinks. There have been other akuma that could out our identities in one hit, but…

“Whether my opponent is underground or invisible, it will form the path to allow us to duel! As a wrestler, I will take what I seek from you! If you won’t tell me with words, I will simply wrest the answers from your souls! Within this space, a wrestler has only their body to fight with – no puny tricks! It will be a battle so heated our very souls wil- huh? Oh!”

Suddenly, Taurus Mask pales and stumbles back. “Two?!” he gasps. “I haven’t seen more than one since… no, they’re not inside of you… not like them… but that’s not normal! Are you… Exceptions?!”

Ladybug honestly has no idea what this crazy guy is on about. She and Chat Noir silently debate the ethics of just attacking him while Taurus Mask himself scrambles with the revelations he does not truly expect his Sacred Artifact to grant him.

He can see their very souls. No masks stand up to Taurus’s Sacred Artifact. Of course, exposing their souls gives him an idea of the identities behind the literal masks, too – in large part the reason why he hesitates to use this option from the start, since he of all people knows how important a mask can be – but thankfully the physical mask remains and he’ll only know for sure if he sees their souls without the mask on to compare. Even so, seeing the souls in front of him now gives him guesses – good guesses, he thinks. But still that possible revelation takes a back seat to what he’s looking for in the first place.

Ladybug, Chat Noir, each bear two souls. It’s not like Taurus’s soul brother, who carries myriad souls inside of them. Instead, the two souls each of these heroes bear are simply intertwined, not inhabiting the same vessel.

And that’s remarkable enough, but not all that dissimilar to someone like Musashi. What truly throws Taurus off is that the two souls paired with these people are… beyond him. It’s one thing to find burning souls of passion and determination – which these heroes surely have – but it’s another entirely to find souls so unlike even the transients Taurus has seen that it can only be something outside the scope of reality itself.

Taurus does not comprehend half the souls before him. He perceives them, certainly, but even as he peers directly into the true selves of the people behind the masks of Ladybug and Chat Noir, the remaining two souls float on the edge of his mind, teasing at him, enough to surely drive him mad if he lingers but too much to have hope of understanding from a glance.

It’s as if something, the sheer enormity and gravitas of them perhaps, just can’t be grasped by a mortal mind.

But that utter lack of comprehension tells Taurus more than enough. These souls belong to beings outside the structured System of the App. Exceptions, too powerful and game breaking to be allowed to participate, or even gods themselves. Anything else, save for a Rule and Role opposing his, he would see just as he sees the human souls before him.

If these gods are granting Ladybug and Chat Noir power through Sacred Artifacts – the Miraculous – and they’re fighting someone else powered by another god supplying another Sacred Artifact… then no wonder the App reacts. Taurus can’t know where these gods come from, whether they’re from another world or this one, and if they all come from separate worlds or the same one, but it’s clear that battles between these Miraculous are essentially the same as battles with Sacred Artifacts.

Proxy wars for gods.

Taurus is wrapped up in this same thing again.

(Is he complaining, though? …No. He is a Berserker, after all.)

Ladybug isn’t sure what’s happening, but she has a minute at most left before she detransforms and she doesn’t think she can escape with this Ring around them. Ethics of attacking a distracted opponent aside, she’s out of time. With a signal to Chat Noir, she leaps forward.

And gets a Lucky Charm smacking her in the face in response.

“You’re out of time, aren’t you?” Taurus Mask says, sounding surprisingly sympathetic rather than taunting as Ladybug would expect of an akuma. She also doesn’t expect him to bow deeply to her and Chat. “I’m truly sorry about that! My Sacred artifact revealed what I needed to know, so… you can have that back!” Ladybug, dumbfounded, picks up her Lucky Charm.

What does he know? Ladybug struggles with the dilemma in her mind, again frozen in the face of such an odd encounter. Does he know her identity? What is he looking for in the first place? What does that power of his really do – is he honest about that? What was he mumbling about after he used it?

She has way too many questions and no guarantee that she’ll ever see him again to get them answered, but she has no choice but to run immediately as soon as she sees that Ring he summons disappear.

Ensuring Chat Noir leaves, she takes off as well, not having the time to afford to stick around and listen as he monologues.

It’s not hard to escape, surprisingly. Taurus doesn’t chase them, and she has just enough time left to duck into a hiding spot just a short leap away. Even so, when she transforms back and Marinette can afford to spare thought to the strange encounter, she panics.

She knows almost nothing, but even without confirmation, there is a chance now – a significant one – that an akuma has just revealed her secret identity. Marinette has no idea what that strange power does exactly, but if Taurus is to be believed, she doubts her identity holds up against “unmasking all that which is concealed”.

What am I supposed to do?! she thinks. She struggles for breath, hardly even capable of voicing her racing thoughts aloud as Tikki eats. Clutching at her hair, Marinette trembles. “He knows our identities, Tikki! Hawk Moth has won! How could I have been so careless?!”

“Calm down, Marinette!” Tikki frowns sadly. “It’s true that, if he knows your identities, that’s terrible, but first thing’s first, you need to find him and stop the akuma!”

“That’s the other thing!” Marinette exclaims. Despite the evidence: that weird power he uses, the mask and name, stealing her Lucky Charm and unmasking them, something about this situation isn’t right. Hawk Moth can send out two akuma in a day, yes, but not two at once unless he’s powered up into Scarlet Moth, and Taurus’ color scheme is green, not red. “Are we sure he’s really an akuma?”

Is he an amok instead? But that doesn’t quite seem right to her, either…

“Well,” Tikki says hesitantly, “I guess there’s no way to be sure until you confront him. Either way, if he knows your identity, you shouldn’t let him just get away!”

“You’re right, Tikki,” Marinette sighs. It’s not much, but it’s direction. It’s something concrete that she can do to try to make this situation better, so she’s going to do it. “Are you ready to go?”

With Tikki’s confirmation, Marinette transforms once more into Ladybug to return to the spot where she last sees Taurus Mask. Chat Noir obviously has the same thought, since they meet up on a nearby rooftop just before the location comes into view.

Ladybug isn’t entirely sure what she expects – to find no trace of him is probably the worst and most likely scenario – but she knows for sure that this isn’t even on the list. Chat Noir sends a puzzled look her way, motioning for her to listen closely, and Ladybug hears Taurus Mask even before she sees him.

“…told him, wait until I, too, become a pro wrestler and can join you as a teammate!”

A gasp. Ladybug peers over the edge of the roof, only half-surprised to see Alya there pointing her phone camera at Taurus Mask while he monologues into a microphone. (Where the microphone comes from, Marinette has no idea.)

“What did he say?” Alya asks, leaning in eagerly.

“Great question!” Taurus melodramatically performs for the camera, determination and solemn fortitude pouring off of him like a physical force. “He told me this: if I really won’t give up on my dream to become a pro wrestler… I should fight on. He said I must never hide in the face of fear. That is when I will truly know my opponent. Only then can I touch my opponent’s soul.” Downcast, but losing none of his verve, he adds, “I may be hurt at times, but that is also how I will meet the ones I can truly call friends.” Brighter again, and nearly shouting into the mic with his enthusiasm. “He said that if I continue on that path, one day, I will meet the one who shares my passionate soul! My soul brother!”

Alya gasps again, grinning widely, completely into the story. “How touching! I think I might cry!”

Taurus laughs heartily. “Ha! That reaction… I kind of want to be your friend now. I cried, too! He gave me so much courage that I swore! I swore I would continue to train for that day!”

“Amazing!” Alya cheers. “The Ladyblog wants to know, Taurus Mask; are you still training for that day? Did you ever find your soul brother?”

Taurus Mask’s smile turns a little goofy, the faraway gaze and expression of someone reminiscing about something not present. “I have!” he shouts. “My soul brother is the only person in the world who can see under this mask of mine!” Taurus Mask ducks his head, so Ladybug from her perch doesn’t hear it, but he adds, “Though, I still get embarrassed…” He shakes his head roughly. “But that doesn’t mean my training has come to an end! On the contrary, it’s only the beginning! With my soul brother at my side, it’s just a new chapter in the saga of the future pro wrestler, Taurus Mask!”

“Okay,” Chat Noir says quietly. “I had my doubts, but he’s definitely an akuma.”

“We’ll find out one way or another,” Ladybug growls. This guy jumps in out of nowhere, possibly discovers their identities, and almost stops Ladybug from repairing the damage of the last akuma. Eccentricities or not, akuma or not, he’s not someone they can risk running around unchecked. “Come on, Chat.”

“Way ahead of you, my lady.” Chat Noir grins and pounces ahead of Ladybug, landing not far from the interview with characteristic lackadaisical flair. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but I’m afraid Ladybug and I are going to have to hold an interview of our own.”

Some of the light in Taurus Mask’s eyes dies out when he sees them, but he makes no move to run, or even any motion to fight. “Ah…” he mutters, “yeah, I thought you would. That’s why I stuck around. I’m sorry again for what I did – I hope you’ll understand once I explain the situation.”

“We’ll see,” Ladybug says. “For now, Alya, you should go.”

Eyes darting between Ladybug and Taurus Mask, Alya quickly assesses the situation. “Of course, Ladybug,” she says.

Alya keeps her thoughts to herself for now, but she intends to speak with Marinette about this later. Having talked to him for a minute, and having interviewed akuma before, Alya can’t convince herself that Taurus Mask is on Hawk Moth’s side.

And if he’s not on Hawk Moth’s side… then she might have just gotten the first ever interview – and backstory to boot! – of Paris’ newest hero. She’ll sit on the footage for now, until things between the heroes get sorted out, but… well, whatever way this ends up going, this is going to be interesting, and this interview will remain valuable.

With one last parting look, and humor in her chest that her look needs to be reassuring for Taurus Mask – the poor guy looks ready to cry with Ladybug and Chat Noir looking at him like an akuma – Alya takes her leave.

Alone, Taurus Mask shrinks under the expectant, baleful eyes of the heroes of Paris. The air is thick and heavy, crushing him under its heel.

“Well!” Chat Noir says casually. “Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Why don’t you start by telling us just what exactly that power of yours showed you, then go into the whole situation, hm?”

Taurus Mask yelps at the interruption of the horrible moment, and sighs as he considers how best to answer. “Simply put,” he says, “my Sacred Artifact creates a forum for a fair fight.”

Chat Noir hums. “That sounds very different from ‘unmasking all that which is concealed’.”

“No, it does that,” Taurus says. “There’s no room for deceit and hiding in a fair fight. A real fair fight is a battle where our very souls trade blows. It’s Rule is Accession, and with my Role of the Hero it manifests in the power to touch the souls of others, to raise them to courage and power just like my own hero did for me.”

“But it means you know our identities,” Ladybug confirms.

Taurus Mask winces. “Not… exactly? I know your souls, and the souls entwined with yours, but my Sacred Artifact doesn’t give me the knowledge of what that means. I mean… I do have a guess, and I’m usually pretty good at figuring that kind of thing out with this power, but… I can’t say with a hundred percent certainty or anything.”

Ladybug shares a look with Chat. Taurus Mask has seen their very souls. If he’s so much as stumbled across them as civilians, it’s likely he can puzzle it out, and he admits to having a guess. While it sounds like his power doesn’t literally unmask them to him, it surely does away with the glamour magic at play that protects them from others.

“Okay,” Ladybug says, “so are you going to explain why it was so necessary to figure out our identities?”

“I wasn’t trying to figure out your identities!” Taurus yelps. “But… I’m new to Paris, okay? That was the first akuma I’ve ever seen. Where I’m from, something… similar, but different was happening. That’s why I have my Sacred Artifact in the first place. But my Sacred Artifact doesn’t work outside of a battle zone, and if you reset everything, you’d close the battle zone, and I knew you wouldn’t just tell some random citizen what’s going on here, so I did the only thing I could think of!”

Something like this happening somewhere else? Ladybug knows it’s not impossible, especially given the power Taurus Mask himself demonstrates. It’s clearly not a Miraculous, not if he uses the power and then sticks around in an interview with Alya while Ladybug and Chat recharge, and he keeps calling it a Sacred Artifact… “What is that rope?” Ladybug asks. “Your… Sacred Artifact? What’s a Sacred Artifact?”

Taurus blinks. “…Oh, um… how to explain it… it’s sort of like your Miraculous, I guess. It’s an artifact of another world which holds the power of a god- I know it sounds crazy! But listen, aren’t your Miraculous the same? Except Sacred Artifacts apply their Rules on the world, just like gods, and your Miraculous are inhabited by gods rather than just objects with similar powers. Right?”

Chat Noir’s eyes widen, then narrow into slits. “How did you know that?”

Taurus ducks his head. “My Sacred Artifact revealed it to me. I saw your souls, but I also saw two others, ones I can only assume at this point are the souls of gods. And they were inside your Miraculous, so…”

Remarkable. He may not even realize the details, but Taurus Mask just casually discovered the kwami. Ladybug… honestly doesn’t know where to go from here.

“And you’re…” Chat Noir says, “not an akuma?”

“No!” Taurus says. “I just come from somewhere else where the System is a little different. I’m trying to figure out how things work here, that’s all.”

Chat Noir hums. “What do you think, my lady? He sounds genuine to me.”

He does sound genuine, because he is. Ladybug may not be able to see through deceptions and masks, but she finds herself believing Taurus.

After all, even if he also wears a mask, his definition of a fair fight includes baring his own soul, too. Ladybug just has a gut feeling that he’s not a bad person. The identity issue still worries her, but she’s willing to believe that he’s not going to purposefully cause trouble.

But she is still the guardian of the Miraculous, and it is her duty to keep the Miraculous safe. If Taurus Mask has even an inkling of their identities, she needs full understanding of the situation. So, she drags both boys off to a more private location and has a long, long discussion about where Taurus comes from, how things work there, and, once she’s satisfied, just a little bit about things here in Paris.

(She would not believe his story about transients for a second if he didn’t have pictures of himself – still masked, of course – hanging out with a hulking minotaur and many other, even weirder, people on his phone.)

(The App, however, neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir need much convincing of, though Taurus shows it to them, too. Once he explains the premise of the App, both heroes of Paris understand much better why Taurus Mask steps in to figure out why it’s acting up again so far from other players. They also understand why the kwami in particular intrigue Taurus, though he doesn’t ask for too many details about the gods in their Miraculous just yet, nor do they tell him.)

With all the details, or at least as much as either side is willing to share, out in the open, Ladybug is equally convinced of Taurus Mask’s good intentions as his inevitable interference in akuma attacks. He’s a man with a secret identity, a superpower, the literal Role of the Hero, and, based on his brief stories about his guild, not an ounce of self-preservation.

(He’s friends with a tiger that wants to eat him? And Ladybug thought Paris is weird.)

There’s no way that Taurus Mask won’t run towards the akuma when everyone else runs away, whether Ladybug and Chat Noir tell him to stay away or not.

Plus, there’s still the identity situation… At this rate, Ladybug is going to get a migraine.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Chat Noir says eventually. “We all have a lot to think about, so why don’t we go get some rest, get back to our lives, and continue this another time?”

Ladybug sighs. “That’s a good idea, Chat. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

Taurus Mask sags a little. “Sounds good to me. I don’t do much here except school yet, so just let me know if you ever want to meet.”

Daisuke Ikusaba is dreading going to school.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong, exactly, but he’s pretty sure that Ladybug and Chat Noir are his classmates (and what are the odds of that?) and he’s not sure he can handle walking in there, looking at them and how they act, and confirming it for himself.

He takes a deep breath to fortify himself enough to cross the threshold and shuffle all the way into his classroom to his seat.

Marinette walks in, passes off something to Rose that Rose is supremely thankful for, hands everyone a macaron, and summarily gets in a fight with Chloé over some mean remarks towards Kim and Daisuke just groans internally because yes, this is definitely Ladybug.

There’s just… there’s just no hiding it.

Then Adrien, whom Daisuke has only spoken to once so far, walks in, cracks an admittedly hilarious pun, snickering impishly to himself while doing so, then takes in the argument and jumps in to defuse it expertly, and Daisuke drops his head to his desk.

He really doesn’t mean to figure them out! He’s new in Paris! He only knows like three people outside of this classroom! Even if his Sacred Artifact told him their names and faces, that still shouldn’t mean anything to him! There’s just no possible way to predict that the heroes would be two of the whole twenty people he knows in this entire city.

It’s ridiculous.

“Utterly ridiculous!” Chloé shrieks. As Daisuke curls up into his desk, Chloé huffs, plopping (gracefully!) down onto her seat. She has no idea why Dupain-Cheng thinks now is a good time to start an argument. Honestly, she doesn’t think her comment about Kim is even that bad, considering all the other irons she has in the fire that she knows Dupain-Cheng is aware of.

But Marinette is not thinking about Chloé. While it’s true that her comment about Kim bothers her, and that she’ll always happily jump in to her friends’ defense, Marinette doesn’t think it’s strictly necessary in this case. It’s a minor thing, just a mean, off-handed comment that the entire class (Daisuke, who’s new, excluded) has long since learned to ignore.

No, she’s not testing Chloé here, she’s testing Daisuke. Because if Taurus Mask knows her identity, or at least has a guess, then that means he must be someone who knows her. If he’s as new to Paris as he claims, then Daisuke is a good match in timing, and he looks similar, as well. That said, the mask he wears covers significantly more than a simple domino mask does, so although he has no magic glamour protecting his identity, it’s still not something Marinette can identify so easily through looks alone.

But Taurus Mask is a hero through and through. Taurus Mask would never resist rushing in when conflict arises. Daisuke Ikusaba is a socially anxious, muscled ball of nerves. That Daisuke looks over at her argument, clearly noting it, but doesn’t so much as utter a word is, in Marinette’s mind, evidence that he cannot possibly be Taurus Mask.

There’s no way this shy kid sitting in the back of her class can monologue about his backstory and persona so easily to Alya and the whole internet. Daisuke Ikusaba and Taurus Mask can’t be anything but two entirely separate people, Marinette thinks.

But then who is he? Marinette grits her teeth, struggling over the question for the whole school day.

Daisuke isn’t much better, tossing around in his head whether he should talk to Marinette and Adrien about it, whether he should talk to Ladybug and Chat Noir about it, whether he should tell them his identity… but he can’t tell them his identity! It’s not even that he’s strictly against doing so. Being seen unmasked is like… like public indecency. To tell them who he is just feels wrong.

But he knows them, through no choice of their own.

But will he even be able to get the words out if he tries? Last time, the only time he’s ever done something like this, he could hardly say a word to his own soul brother out of sheer embarrassment – and they already knew! How is he supposed to deal with these two?

He suffers through the myriad options, none appealing enough to even seem plausible. Marinette suffers through her compromised duty and endless questions about who exactly poses such a great danger to her, and in the very front row, Adrien suffers through exactly the same thing as his lady, with more thought spared to still processing the App, the System from which it comes, and transients.

It’s a tough school day all around, but though no answers are apparent to any of them, all three share a determination to find the right answer regardless. After all, all three of them are heroes. For whatever reason, they’ve all honed the ability to see problems not as obstacles in their path, but challenges to overcome.

It may take some time to sort through everything that this clashing of worlds has thrown at them all, but they all feel the pressure of their Roles and cannot possibly act counter to them. They will figure it out. They will overcome those challenges. They will grow stronger for that effort.

And though forces oppose them, though they have villains within their school and without, they will fight on.

Each one of them, for many, many reasons, is afraid, but they will not hide in the face of fear.

Each one of them faces the possibility of being hurt. Physically in the line of duty, or emotionally to support that duty. But each of them also know through experience that that hurt is also how they will meet their greatest allies, the ones they can truly call friends.

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfiction #fanfiction #tokyo afterschool summoners

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

More Than Allies

Prompt: If you ever consider writing for the Sweetheart AU again (it's completely ok if not) I'd love love love to see a time where Frisk was the one to comfort Sans by being their pure, adorable self; there's just something lovely to me about the thought of Frisk realising Sans is sad and knowing exactly how to help him - anon

DISCLAIMER: This is part of a Flowerfell!AU I've got on my Ao3. I'm not posting the rest of them on here because that would take too much time and I ain't about to clog up y'all's dashes with that shit. SO imma link to this work AND the series on Ao3 so y'all know where this fits

Read THIS on Ao3

Sweetheart series

Warnings: this is a flowerfell!au, where Frisk has flowers growing out of them, so slight warning for body horror but nothing graphic

Pairings: all gen

Word Count: 1650

Patching up wounds is one thing. So is keeping someone alive.

But making them happy?

Whoever invented the concept of snow seriously needed their head dunked in a bucket of the stuff. For at least a day. When they could deal with having cold shit shoved into places it shouldn’t be shoved for hours on end, then they could say that they made a good decision.

Sans continues to grumble to himself as he trudges back through Snowdin. Grillby’s place isn’t inconspicuous enough right now, seeing as he just spent most of the night there looking after the child.

“…you better be keeping ‘em alive in there,” Sans mutters, turning the corner to make it to the edge of the town, “or else i swear, grillbz…”

He doesn’t bother finishing the threat. He knows the fire monster would burn the entire fucking town to the ground before letting harm come to someone under his protection. Hell, Sans has seen that explosive rage once or twice. He’s not very keen on seeing it again, especially not if he’s on the wrong side of it.

As he walks, his hand finds its way into his pocket, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the bandaid wrappers.

Shit.

He swerves around one of the icebergs—flipping off the wolf as he did so, he received a threatening snarl for his troubles—and hustles down the path in the bottom of Waterfall. The mushrooms blink innocently as he tromps down the path, finally making it to Temmie Village.

One of the Temmies looks up at him and snarls.

“yeah, yeah,” Sans grumbles, “i just got business with the shop. keep your temmie flakes in order.”

Luckily the Temmies still seem to hate the red glow of his eye. The rest of them part easily as he strides into the shop. The cardboard box hiding the real shop front is still soggy and mold-eaten, much like the Temmie behind it. It glowers at him as he pulls out the payment.

“wouldn’t kill you to keep it a little less decrepit.” He glances around at the artfully arranged trophies on the walls. “though it might make it harder to excuse not cleaning your shit.”

The Temmie just glares at him. Sans shrugs, the absence of the child cold at his side.

“just sayin’.”

The Temmie grumbles something Sans doesn’t understand as it puts the package on the counter. Sans nods and turns to go, thanks forgone. He’d paid. And the Temmies tended to get word after dark anyway, so he’s better off just hurrying back to the child.

‘Child.’ Yeesh, he sounds so fucking formal.

Well, Sans thinks as he scrambles into the cave and restocks the first-aid kit, death does have a way of making things sound really fucking formal.

The kid could’ve died.

Yeah, yeah, he fucking knows, they’ve died too many fucking times already. The flowers aren’t going away any time soon and they’re hurting. But that’s different. It’s different watching them die.

Sans growls as he forces one of the long gauze strips into the plastic box. The hinges wheeze and groan in protest as he finally jams the thing shut again and stuffs it under his coat. He’s been away too long. He’s out of practice.

Not at killing motherfuckers, no, he’s got that down pat. But caring.

Shit, is he even doing this right? The kid’s practically glued to his side day in and day out, partially at his bidding but mostly because the kid just decided his hoodie is perfect to cling to. It’s no different than that damn stick they won’t fucking leave behind. It’s like another limb or something.

…and he would be lying if he said the kid didn’t feel like another limb too.

Sans grits his teeth as he makes it to the shortcut chamber. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps out a quick message.

me: package in tow

hothead: Too many customers wait for 22h00

Sans sighs and slumps back down. There are just not enough hours in the goddamn day, apparently. He’s got a bone to pick with whoever invented time keeping the way it is too. Seriously. Sometimes it really got under his non-existent skin.

“time is fake,” he grumbles to himself, hand going to his pocket again, “so fake.”

He has to stifle a wince when the expected tug on his sleeve doesn’t come.

When did he get so fucking attached?

…okay, listen, when a kid growing fucking flowers out of them decides they’re your friend now, they’re your friend now. Sans doesn’t make the fucking rules, he just follows them.

That doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing.

The kid seems to remember what happens when they die. They always come back looking a little different—more flowers—but they seem to know what’s going on. Of course, that doesn’t mean Sans always knows what’s going on, but he knows enough to recognize the way they seem a little more sure of themselves. Which is good; that means they won’t be walking defenseless into any big shit storm, but that also means that if he fucks up, they’ll remember.

That’s the part he’s worried about.

He’s been doing okay…hasn’t he? He remembers they like Echo Flowers, they like the quiet burble of Waterfall, he always keeps an extra blanket at his Sentry stations, he keeps them the fuck away from his brother, and they…they like his voice.

He talks to them when he can. They seem to like being able to hold onto him—which, okay, he gets. He can’t imagine not being able to see anything, much less be a kid and have to rely completely on someone who might just kill you.

Unbidden, a bone forms in his hand. He growls and puts it away.

No. Never.

A buzz from his pocket startles him out of his thoughts. Grillby informs him he’s good to come over and he doesn’t waste another second before teleporting straight to the fire monster’s backdoor.

“Good,” Grillby mutters, already striding upstairs, “they’re almost awake.”

“any changes in their condition?”

“They’re almost healed. They’ll make a full recovery. Well…” Grillby trails off as he sits back down in the chair. “Except for…”

Grillby doesn’t need to finish. Sans’s SOUL clenches as he looks at the kid lying on the couch. They look so…so…

…fragile.

The flowers haven’t grown anymore, at least not that he can see. As he watches, a few of the petals catch the very edge of Grillby’s flames and the purple light makes them look almost white.

“how long’ve they been asleep now,” he mutters, “twelve hours?”

“Nearly.”

Sans mutters a curse and scratches the back of his skull. If they don’t wake up soon…

No sooner does the thought cross his mind—and get swatted away with the force of a blaster—the kid starts to shift on the couch.

“easy, sweetheart,” he says, worry growing in the pit of his chest as he watches them shift, “hey, kid. kid.”

“They’re having a nightmare?”

Sans bites back another curse and rushes forward. “hey, hey, sweetheart, it’s alright, i’m here.”

As soon as he gets closer, his chest starts to glow a soft white. Grillby stifles a noise of surprise as the kid reaches up for him, wrapping their hands around the lapels of his hoodie and pulling. Sans eases himself down onto the floor next to the couch and lets them bury their face in the fluffy lining of the hood.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” he rumbles, his hand coming up to steady them, “it’s okay, nothing’s gonna hurt you, ’s just me and grillbz here, we ain’t going anywhere.”

There’s a soft sigh against his clavicle and then clumsy signs appear in front of his sockets.

“you want me to talk to you, sweetheart?” A little nod. “uh, okay. there’s a, uh, a new cave in waterfall we should check out.”

Their little hands settle in his hoodie as he murmurs to them, their head starting to loll against his shoulder. He hears Grillby stand up and come over as well, hushing the kid’s confusion with a quick explanation that it’s okay, they won’t be hurt, Grillby just needs to check their wound.

The kid just tugs on their sleeve. They butt their head lightly against Sans’s and slowly reach out.

“what, you wanna hold my hand, kid?” Fingers twine with his. “okay, then.”

Grillby chuckles over his shoulder only for it to choke off when the kid grabs for his hand too.

Sans laughs. “guess you’re stuck now too.”

“…worse fates I can imagine.”

There’s another little tug on his SOUL. He frowns, looking back at the kid’s face, only to see their head aimed at the spot on his chest where his SOUL would appear. Then they lean forward and—

“Wow,” Grillby chuckles again, “you’re in this bad.”

Sans, cheeks still warm and bright red from the kiss pressed to his forehead, just stares. The kid seems to be satisfied with the light mortification they’ve just caused. Nodding proudly to themselves, they settle back on the couch. One hand firmly in Sans’s, one hand in Grillby’s. Without being prompted, Sans cards his free hand through their hair, smiling as they let out a hushed sigh, head flopping back onto the pillow.

“They trust you,” Grillby says, something like awe in his voice, “they really trust you.”

“…seems so.”

And yet, even though Sans will readily admit he has no idea what he’s doing still, he wouldn’t give it up for all the hot dogs in the multiverse.

#undertale #underfell #flowerfell #dragonbabbles #fic

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pricklerick · 3 years

Text

Thanksgiving used to be Summer’s favorite holiday.

It meant spending two whole nights with Jerry’s parents and waking up early and going for a long walk in the snow, then peeling off wet clothes just in time to watch the dog show on TV while grandma baked pumpkin pie.

Things are different now, with Grandpa Rick and Morty gone. Dad, of course, had instantly accused Grandpa Rick of kidnapping Morty. Mom had screamed that her father would never do something like that to his family, to her (even know Summer knows that deep down, her mother was very afraid that Grandpa Rick had done exactly that).

The divorce was so ugly that Summer transferred to a school in Texas, losing a bunch of her class credits just to get away from them.

Texas is good. Well, it’s hot, and Summer’s skin hates that, but the people are nice and her classes are easy, and if she stays within a certain neighborhood, she can find whatever she wants without having to edge over to the east side of town.

She even has a finance. David plays football and his parents own a ranch in the Texas hill country. They have a little money and they like to flaunt it.

Years ago, before Grandpa Rick burst into Summer’s life and started taking her little brother on adventures, before portal guns and real guns and near death experiences became Summer’s adrenaline fix, she would have been thrilled to nail down a guy like David. David is kind, and sweet, and very attractive. He’s got a good future and he’s looking at being scouted as quarterback next year.

Summer’s ring is a gaudy thing, at least two carats, and it sits heavy on her finger. She only wears it when she knows she’ll be with David or the in-laws. It’s an heirloom ring, passed down through generations, and Summer hates it. She’s forever fiddling with it, or pulling her sleeve down to cover it, or hiding it in her back pocket when she’s out with girl friends.

She doesn’t go out as often anymore - they’re seniors now, and Summer has been told that the partying needs to slow down now that David’s future is getting serious. Summer is fine with this. There’s nothing on this earth that matches a party in space, anyway.

Sometimes, Summer looks up at the night sky and wonders how she could get her hands on some of Grandpa Rick’s K-Lax. That was good stuff.

It’s easy to justify spending Thanksgiving away from home because of travel expenses and final exams. Summer’s done it three years in a row now. She doesn't often think of Beth, or of Jerry, either. She’s deeply entrenched in a new family now, invested in a future mother-in -law who insists on being called “Mama June” or even just “Mama,” and an emotionally detached father-in-law who feels that talking to a woman who is not his wife is beneath him.

Summer is spending more and more time outside, looking at the stars, wishing, remembering.

But this week, the week before break, at 2:43 am, Summer’s phone screen lights up with a call from “Beth Smith.” And when Summer, groggy and maybe already a little hungover, answers with a hoarse, “Hello?” Beth is slobbering drunk.

“Honey, please,” Beth cries, slurring her words and hitching her breaths. “I need to see my baby, Summer. It’s Thanksgiving, next week. Summer, remember? Remember Thanksgiving? You... You’re all I have left.”

Yeesh.

Summer does not want to spend her break dealing with Beth and all of her sloppy-alcoholic coping mechanisms.That’s why she’d run away to Texas to begin with.

Summer hasn’t been home since the night they lost Morty.

She doesn’t want to go back. So she shushes Beth over the phone, lets her cry it out and then they start it all again, the crying and the shushing, over and over until Beth is nearly asleep, slurring half-formed words into her pillow.

Summer disconnects the call and drops her face into her hands. “Fuck.”

“What, babe?”

Ugh, she’d forgotten that David had stayed over.

David wraps his greedy arms around Summer’s waist and pulls her in, his naked boner brushing hot against her thigh. It makes her sick. She pulls away from him, leaning against the headboard and fumbling for the lamp. Beside her, David blinks owlishly in the light.

“I’m going home for Thanksgiving,” she tells him. No sense dragging it out.

“Oh,” says David, reaching up to stroke Summer’s cheeks and twine his fingers in her hair. Summer tenses at this, but David is oblivious, still carding his big stupid paws though Summer’s shower-damp braids and looking at her with an intensity that is frankly... terrifying. “What about coming back to Pilot Point, babe?,” he reminds her and he leans forward in an effort to pepper Summer’s face with kisses. Summer dodges them, making a show of reaching for her phone, so David grabs her hand instead. “Remember talking about seeing my folks?”

Summer is suddenly disgusted with herself. She ran away from home straight into the arms of this Mama’s boy who can hardly keep it up for the four and a half minutes it takes him to blow his load in missionary position.

Summer is a Sanchez.

She’s wondered for a while, especially after that stunt Dad pulled during the divorce, if she should have her name legally changed. She shares a quarter of Grandpa Rick’s genes, and by her rights as a Sanchez, the universe owes her good sex.

At least.

“Sorry, David,” she says and she deftly rolls away from him to stand at the edge of their shared bed. “Plans have changed. Mom needs me.”

Now David is sitting up, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that Summer doesn’t like. Oh well. In for a penny, she guesses.

“Listen, dude, this isn’t working anyway. I’m not the hot little wifey on your arm that your parents are hoping you’ll find here.” She snorts, pacing around the bedroom, ticking off points on her fingers. “I don’t even want kids. I’m Summer Sanchez. I’ve been to space. I’ve seen the stars and constellations and comets and asteroids. I’ve met people you wouldn’t believe. I’ve met planets you wouldn’t believe - sentient planets, David! I’ve hit alien drugs that would blow your tiny mind.” She’s trembling now, all keyed up, but it feels good. There’s something cathartic about acknowledging the truth after so long.

She decides that Summer Sanchez has a nice ring to it.

She lifts her hands and twirls, landing in a heap at the foot of the bed. “The best sex I ever had was with a flying lamb on Oourivian Prime, for Chrissakes.” Summer turns, flushed and grinning, and pokes David in the chest. “You better believe I’m not settling down on a silly horse farm in Pilot Point!”

David is looking at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like he’s seeing her for the first time. The thought makes Summer smile a real smile. In a fit of giddiness, she pecks him playfully on the lips, sliding his ridiculous ring from her finger and curling it into his palm. “Good luck with that, babe!”

Feeling freer than she has in years, she flutters around the room, grabbing a few outfits that she likes and stuffing them haphazardly into an old gym bag. The whole thing takes less than a minute.

“Oh, and don’t take it too hard,” she calls over her shoulder, “I don’t think we’re really all that sexually compatible, anyway.” She waves a hand toward the flagging erection that is peaking from David’s boxers. “I’m more of a tentacle kind of girl, if you know what I mean.”

And so, during the fall semester of her senior year, Summer Sanchez dropped out of Texas A&M’s pre-law program and flew home to see her mother for the first time in three years.

xxx

Morty enters through the front door because he’s not a stranger. He’s not exactly sure how long it’s been on Earth - time moves differently on Morty’s waste planet - but somehow, he hadn’t expected it to be night. It makes him feel like a burglar, walking up the concrete steps to the front door with his big black cowl pulled low over his face, a deeply ingrained habit.

“You’ve only got one face, Mo-AAAUURRGG-rty. Don’t get caught with it.”

The key code to unlock the door is the same. Morty sighs, surprised at the stress that leaves his body with this revelation. He hadn’t wanted to break into his parents’ home. Now, he doesn’t have to.

He whirls around, taking one last look at the ship he’d parked on the garage pad. He’d avoided the streetlamps best he could, managed to land very quietly (thanks for that rad auto-landing feature, Rick)partially concealed behind some overgrown azaleas.

Morty sighs, tense again. Modifications aside, that is obviously Rick’s ship to anybody who knows it. Morty hopes he can get what he needs and get out. It would be wrong to disturb whatever peace his family had managed to regain in the years he’s been gone.

The front door is squeakier than Morty remembers. He slips into the kitchen as quickly, quiet as a ghost, and pulls the door slowly to behind him.

His first thought is that he’d forgotten that home has a smell. Carpet and lemon pledge and laundry detergent, and the lingering scent of last night’s dinner all converge on his senses like a physical blow to the gut.

How could Morty have forgotten that smell?

He glances around, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the street lamps. A few scattered dishes lie in the sink, an empty wine bottle sits abandoned on the counter. He’s standing on the same ugly linoleum floor with its worn green leaf patten, so subtle you’d miss it if you didn’t know where to look.

Time hasn’t touched the kitchen.

Morty stands in his childhood home and takes three deep breaths. He thought he’d been prepared for anything and everything - all the changes. He’d been ready.

But the house is exactly the same.

It’s Morty who has changed.

Morty’s breathing speeds, and he shakes off the shudder that tempts to run down his spine. If the kitchen affected him this deeply…. He swings his gaze to the garage door that beckons ominously to his left.

Don’t think about it, he reminds himself sharply. The plan is simple - break into the garage, grab the stuff, and get out. There will be time for memories later.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about… him.

Morty shakes himself, setting his shoulders and pulling the heavy door handle toward him as he turns it to minimize noise. Unlike the kitchen, the swing of the garage door is silent.

The darkness deepens as Morty steps down the single step - there are no windows to let in the glow of the street lights here. The air is hotter and heavy, almost stale, and as Morty turns his back to the room to slowly pull the door to, he gets the strangest feeling. It’s almost the uneasiness he feels when he walks to the grave of the other Morty who is buried in the backyard. It raises the hairs on his neck, and Morty wonders if anybody in the family have used this garage since...

Don’t think about it.

Door secured and locked, Morty lets his fingers drift along the walls, his opposite hand outstretched in search of obstacles. But it seems that the garage is exactly as Morty remembers, and he navigates the dark with increasing confidence. He snags the dangling string - right where it should be - and tugs. The bare bulb that hangs over Rick’s work table pops and hums as it slowly blinks on, and Morty bites back a smile at the irony of the inter-galactic space genius Rick Sanchez discovering his greatest scientific breakthroughs beneath this dirty fluorescent bulb.

A thousand memories assault him at once.

“A hair, Morty, I need one of your hairs!”

“Bring me the thing. The thing. The thing. The -- the -- it's got, like, buttons on it and lights on it. It -- it -- it beeps.”

“You little son of a bitch! Y-y- are you a simulation?! Huh?! Are you a simulation??”

“I’m the Rickest Rick there is. And you know, it would - UUUURRGGHH- go without saying that the Rickest Rick… would have the Mortyest Morty.”

“Be better than I am.”

“Don’t… Don’t think about it.”

Morty sucks in a deep breath and grits his teeth hard. Time to get busy.

xxx

Three hours later, and Morty is almost done with the garage.

He glances at the digital clock that reads 3:33. By the time he gets this stuff loaded, it’ll be nearly daylight.

Damn, he’d really hoped to get everything in one trip. Fuel for a trip to Earth from his encampment is not cheap, and this was a long trip.

He picks up the first item, a strangely lightweight box labeled “Time Travel Stuff” and heads toward the kitchen. He dares not raise the garage door - that would make too much noise.

He opens the door and comes nose to nose with Summer.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing in my grandpa’s garage?” she says slowly, advancing on him with each word.

Morty’s first thought as he stumbles backward is, “Where did my sister get a pistol?”

He trips over the step in an effort to give her some space, sending the box flying. He finds himself sprawled on the floor, space bits everywhere, and his ass is killing him. “Ah, geez,” he breathes, repositioning slowly to take the pressure off of his coccyx. It’s probably broken.

Summer’s hands are trembling, and she lowers the gun. “Morty?”

Oh. His hood had fallen when he did. Morty looks up at her, a little sheepishly, suddenly very aware of the beard he’d decided to grow a while back. “Umm, yeah,” he says lamely, still wincing at the pain. “Hi!”

There’s a funny expression on Summer’s face, like she’s thinking a billion things at once, and her eyes are wider than Morty’s ever seen them. But then her gaze hardens. “And which one are you?” she demands, looking as if she’d like to bring the gun back to his head.

Morty raises his eyebrows. He wouldn’t have expected Summer to immediately question his dimension. Clever of her. He quirks a little smile. “C-137,” he answers her, trying and mostly failing to get back on his feet. “I’m your Morty. Well, your second Morty.”

Quick as a blink, Summer slings the gun away. It lands with a clatter and she launches herself at Morty, wrapping him in a rib-creaking hug. Morty’s body tenses - hugs are definitely not his typical physical interaction. But Summer is burying her face into the crook of his neck, and Morty is surprised to find how easily it fits there. When he’d left, they’d barely stood eye to eye.

Morty is stunned. Summer has never hugged him like this. Feebly, he reaches up and lays his hand across her back. She’s shuddering. So Morty pulls her closer, shifting his weight so that his knees are beneath him, and gathers her in. She allows this, never looking up at him, and slowly, Morty relaxes into it.

“Summer?” he asks softly after what feels like a long time. He’s never been good with his sister’s emotions.

Summer cranes her neck sideways to look at him, and she’s a mess of mascara and tears, red-faced and absolutely shaking with laughter. Morty huffs with her, still utterly bewildered by girls. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s funny, Morty,” she tells him, but she’s still laughing, so Morty laughs with her. “You’ve been gone for three years. You’ve been legally declared dead, you asshole!” She swats him on the shoulder, but he manages to doge the blow, which only makes her face fall. She comes closer, looking more tearful now than before, and settles beside him. “We had a fucking funeral for you, you complete sack of dicks!”

Morty doesn’t know what to say, so he grabs Summer’s hand and squeezes. “Sorry.”

And he is.

Summer rolls her eyes and snorts, but there’s something softer at the edge of her lips, and she lays her head on Morty’s shoulder and sighs. Morty assumes means he’s forgiven, at least on some level.

They only sit like that for a minute or so before Morty starts to fidget. His ass is absolutely killing him, and time’s a-ticking. He needs to get out of here soon. Summer seems to read the tension in his body, because she stands abruptly and offers her hand, pulling him to his feet with an exaggerated groan.

“Thanks,” he quirks her a little half-smile, the only thing he has to offer her.

But Summer isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are tracking around the garage, noting the boxes that have been drug out and packed up. Something tightens in her face, and when she speaks, it’s in that no-nonsense tone that always drove him up the wall when they were kids.

“What happened, Morty?” Summer finishes her sweep of the garage and pins her gaze on him.

Morty nearly stumbles back at the intensity of it.

“What happened to you? Where is Grandpa Rick?”

Authors Notes:

Based on Vapor Morty, who was originally developed in this hot mess of a text post. Rick’s been kidnapped and Morty has been scouring the universe trying to find him and doing a lot of learning and growing along the way.

Kidnapped Rick saw Morty “die” just before he was kidnapped and went crazy over it. Morty obviously wasn’t dead, was trying to get to Rick to say hey, I’m all good and these guys are after you so let’s get out of here.

Morty literally lives in an intergalactic dumpster and makes a living renovating and selling weapons and machinery. He found his way home to earth because he wants to find any of Rick’s stuff that he could possibly use to track him down, or maybe even build his own portal gun.

Basically, Morty is a little badass now.

I might write more of these little drabbles if people are interested in them. Also, just really hoping I got Summer’s voice right here. Feedback is always, always appreciated, friends! My messages and ask box are open!

#pricklerick original #rick and morty #vapor morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #rickorty #summer smith #i could pretty easily be convinced to dabble deeper into this au #so many vapor morty feelings #summer is my precious sunshine child

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

May i request a headcanon for Izuku with a darling who is suffering from depression w/ a lot of childhood trauma? thx 😊

These aren’t headcanons, nor does it have enough to do with the prompt above to justify putting the two in the same post. But, Izuku is just such a *caring* boy, and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if he had the slightest excuse to dote on his Darling. Or, if he made an excuse, rather, I guess.

TW: Physical Abuse, Implied Sexual Abuse, Delusional Mindsets, Emotional Manipulation, Implied PTSD and Romanization of Trauma.

He wanted to feel like a Hero. If you could do that for him, you’d be safe.

It was easy enough, most days. When he came home on a high, all you had to do was let him decline gently, whether that meant listening as Izuku ranted to you about his well-natured conquests or bandaging up his newest injuries or just tolerating a suffocating shower with a man who never seemed to be satisfied with the part of you he was feeling. He usually made it easy, acting lazy and affectionate until you fell into the lull, but sometimes, he got so quiet, so sentimental. Those days were terrible. You could never get into his head, not when he didn’t give you anything to work with.

But, you always knew what his goal was. That never changed, and you clung to it. Just like Izuku clung to his oh-so-fleeting sense of reality.

It was hard not to wince as fingertips brushed against your skin, red-flags and warning signals flashing across your sight, panic throttling your heart until its beat was uneven and sporadic. Pulling away was a tempting option, clinging to the headboard and sobbing until he left you alone, but the chain around your ankle was a luxury compared to the cast you’d been confined to for the past few weeks. Cold, padded steel wasn’t ideal, but it was preferable to hardened plaster, and that was all you could ask for.

Your life didn’t have to be ideal, anymore. You just had to keep it from getting worse than it already was.

His next action was more firm, more confident, Izuku moving a bit closer to where you laid on his over-plush, oversized bed. You didn’t greet him, your expression never wavering from stubborn disassociation, but Izuku was unimpeded, nudging at the hem of your shirt as his free hand came up to cup your jaw. A calloused thumb rubbed a small, linear pattern in your cheekbone, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be comforted. Not when his skin burnt wherever it made contact with yours. “Don’t worry,” He mumbled, his voice just as toxic as his touch. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not like they did.”

There it was. He wanted you to be tragic, today. A traumatized little angel, one desperately in need of saving.

You laughed, softly, the breathy sound barely making it past your lips. You raised your arms, but he didn’t move to slot himself against you, only finding your palm and taking a moment to nuzzle against it, pulling away from anything above your neck in the process. “They?” You asked, knowing it wouldn’t break him out of the delusion. “Who hurt me, ‘zuku?”

“Villains, sweetheart. It’s always villains.” The words came with a tender resolution, a self-assuredness that didn’t need someone else’s approval. There was another tug, fabric bundling above your chest, leaving you more exposed than you would’ve liked. You closed your eyes, attempting to melt into the mattress, but the feeling of a nail tracing a scar on your stomach drew you out of the tranquil daze. It was one of dozens, but you could remember how you’d gotten in it. Hell, you could still feel Izuku driving the shard of glass into your side, if you lingered on the memory for too long.

You clenched your eyes a little tighter. You’d never noticed how bright Izuku’s bedroom was. “And did my big, strong Deku rescue me?”

“Well, it was me and Shoto. I can’t take all the credit.” Of course. You should’ve expected him to be insecure in his fantasies, too. “I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you, really saw you, in the hospital after we got you out of that horrible place. You couldn’t stop thanking me, even when I said you didn’t have to. Then, a few weeks later, you admitted how scared you were of other people, and…” He trailed off into a chuckle, leaning down to kiss your bare torso. “Now we’re here. It’s perfect, right?”

“Right.” You nodded, expecting the story to continue, but Izuku went unnervingly quiet after your confirmation. Instead of a response, his reply came in the form of teeth ghosting along your stomach, his hands falling to your hips. Playfully, frantically, you attempted to kick him away, but Izuku’s grip only grew more limiting, more oppressing. Your breathing grew labored before you could calm yourself down, the urge to run or fight or rip your chest open growing unbearable--

“The burn on my thigh.” You sat up, abruptly, pointing to an area not covered by Izuku. The wound was still raw, Izuku having deemed your attitude ‘suspicious’ before deciding boiling water would serve as a quick-fix, but you didn’t care. He could poke and prod all he wanted, as long as he poked and prodded somewhere else. “This one, where’d I get it?”

Izuku blinked, glancing down at the pale flesh. You realized your mistake immediately. “That… that wasn’t there, when I rescued you.”

Reflexively, you smiled, opening your mouth and trying to think of an excuse, but Izuku was acting before you had the chance to spit it out. “That wasn’t there before.” You reached up to card through his hair, but he only caught your wrist, shoving it against the sheets and holding the fragile limb so crushingly, you could practically hear your bones beginning to crack. “Was there an accident? I knew I shouldn’t have let you cook last week, it’s too dangerous. I bet you dropped a pan, or started a fire. Or--” He paused, flinching. “Did you hurt yourself on purpose?”

He went on, but you weren’t listening anymore. It didn’t matter what he was saying, he was mad. He was mad, and he was going to hurt you, and he was going to hurt you.

You didn’t want him to hurt you again.

Without hesitation, you did the only thing you could think to do when Izuku didn’t follow your predictions -- you cried.

It started as a sniffle, then the room blurred around you, the wails soon racking over you as naturally as any other fit of emotion ever could’ve hoped to. Izuku pulled away as soon as the tears started, hesitating and giving you time to wrap your arms around his neck, letting you bury your face in his chest while he pulled you onto his lap, cooing gentle nothings as he did so. “I… I’m sorry,” You gasped, your voice breaking and trembling without assistance. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think it’d be a big deal, and I knew you’d be so worried… they were just so awful to me.”

“Poor baby…” The whisper was patronizing, infuriating, but you perked up, moving to continue regardless. Luckily, Izuku pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you before his heartstrings could be tugged any further. His temper was gone, his hostility and aggression having dissolved as soon as you submitted. He was so noble, now, so heroic, you could hardly stand to look at him. You didn’t have to for very long, though, your vision quickly obscured as he all-but dragged you into him. “I don’t want to hear another word, alright? I’ll get you something to drink, and we’ll forget people so vile ever existed.”

You didn’t want water. You didn’t want to be this close to him. You didn’t want to forget other people existed, not if it meant you were stuck with him. But, that was what you wanted. You couldn’t afford to think about what you wanted.

So, you nodded and leaned against him, forcing yourself to smile. You were alive. It’d all be worth it as long as you were alive.

Even if Izuku’s grip only grew more bruising with each passing day.

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cupcakemolotov · 4 years

Text

New York, New York

So I finally finished a thing, and its not what I thought I was going to wrap up first but that is life! It is completely SFW, and very much “Canon, what Canon?” And its been more years than I willing to admin since I applied for colleges, I just glossed over those details. :)

Also, formatting, why are you like this.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Bon. I don’t want to say I told you so but…”

The groan was loud in her ear. “I know, I know. But who would have thought it would be this bad?”

“Me. I thought it would be that bad,” Caroline said with a laugh. “And then I told you about it so you could avoid it. And then you didn’t.”

Bonnie muttered something so low, even Caroline’s vampire gearing couldn’t quite catch it. “Well, we're going to put down rules. As I’ve already told Elena, I might not be a vampire but I have a perfectly good set of ears and there are some things I do not need to hear.” Bonnie huffed out the last sentence. “And I refuse to have to spell my own bedroom to sleep.”

Caroline bit down on the side of her tongue to keep from commenting, knowing it would do little good. Somehow Damon and Bonnie had become friends, and while she would never understand it, she and Bonnie had come to an agreement. Caroline wouldn’t be automatically negative about Damon as long as Bonnie managed to do the same for some of Caroline’s friendships.

It was a work in progress.

“Well, if you need some breathing space, you are welcome to come hang out with me for a weekend. I’ve been melting my credit card, and I might as well use those points for something instead of shoes.” She glanced towards her bedroom and grudgingly admitted the next sentence. “I really don’t have the closet space for more shoes.”

Bonnie seemed to consider that. “Shoe collection aside, it can’t be that small…”

Caroline laughed. The apartment was a small one bedroom and technically outside of her budget, her dad’s insurance money only went so far, but she hadn’t felt a lot of guilt over her teeny tiny use of compulsion. Not when the renting market was so high and her textbooks were so expensive. And while hardly microscopic, her bed barely fit into the space designated as her bedroom. She did have walls that separate her bedroom from their living room, her couch, TV, and small table were tucked pretty close to her tiny kitchenette. The big selling point had been the claw-foot bathtub. She’d given up having a real shower, the shower-head had been rigged above the tub and the shower curtain she’d bought was super cute but if she’d still been human the breeziness of the space would have been murder. Overall, the space she had carved out for herself was cute but cramped.

And she wouldn’t change it for the world.

“It really can be. You should have seen Mom’s face when she agreed to co-sign, which is another really weird thing about this city. My credit check was stellar, I had the cash for the down payments and still they wanted a co-sign, but whatever. The good news is my obsession with HGTV has taught me plenty about hiding organizers, and thankfully, I don’t really need the kitchen.” She wrinkled her nose and looked down. “Though carpet is new but seriously ugly, so I am going to have to invest in a rug, I think.”

“The lack of needing a kitchen thing is kind of ideal for New York, but I personally am going to miss your stress brownies, though my hips wont,” Bonnie said with a sigh. “And your note taking. I already miss you in Physical Science, and why are Gen Eds so terrible?”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “It cannot be that bad.”

“Says you,” Bonnie retorted. “And anyway, Elena just stuck her head in to remind me that I promised to go to some Freshman Orientation event, so I guess I gotta go. Stay out of trouble, will you?”

“You first,” Caroline retorted. Bonnie laughed and disconnected the call. For a moment, she held onto her phone before sighing and setting it on the coffee table and flopping onto her couch. If she closed her eyes and listened she could hear everyone in her apartment building, which was something she hadn’t really thought about when deciding on an apartment.

Not that she’d had much time to figure things out. Weeks instead of months, but Forbes women were nothing but resourceful. And very, very determined.

Caroline just hadn’t expected her mom to get stubborn about her college experience. She’d expected Liz to be fine with Caroline going to Whitemore and sticking close to home, and it’s been a shock when things had gone sideways. When Caroline had marked down NYU on her SAT application form, it’d been on a whim. She’d been required to pick three schools and some part of her just couldn’t stick to the local community colleges.

And later, when her counselor had handed her the application packets, she’d stared at them for hours, considering. She had never thought she’d get in or that she’d get enough of a scholarship that living in the city would be manageable if she was careful. Very, very careful with a bit of compulsion thrown in at least. She’s considered it for all of thirty seconds before tucking the acceptance letter away.

There was just too much going on that she could walk away. Even with the Originals packing up and moving on, there was still her mom to worry about. One of the perks of being a vampire was that she could always pick up those dreams later.

Her mom had disagreed. Loudly. It’s taken three days before Caroline has finally cracked, and admitted why she had refused. And she’d learned a lot about her mom that morning that she hadn’t expected, and hadn’t had much time to contemplate with the scramble of getting into NYU. Her mom hadn’t even argued when Caroline had dragged her to NYC to check things out and to smooth over the issues her late application had caused.

Compulsion really was quite handy if she was careful with it. But more importantly, NYU was totally close enough that if she had to she could get on a plane for an emergency, but her mom, in a bit of underhanded maneuvering that Caroline had admired, had made a very specific list of what could be considered an emergency. And then she’d invited Elena and Bonnie over for dinner, and her mom had also explained it to them too. It’d been weird to have someone else fight that battle, but good.

Above her, something crashed and there was muted swearing and Caroline sighed heavily. She was really going to have to make a point to stay well fed. Going on a rampage because Courtney in 4A couldn’t keep her dog from yapping at all hours of the night was not ideal. She had been prepared to listen to her neighbors have noisy sex, well, at least until she could get Bonnie here to do some proper spell work, but the rest of it was a learning curve. So far, eating had been going okay.

She’d been getting tips.

And boy, would her friends freak out as soon as they learned who she’d been texting. But Caroline had always considered herself pragmatic, and her options had been limited. Stefan would rather light himself on fire than give her any kind of 101 Guide To Eating People Without Killing Them, and she would rather light herself on fire than talk to Damon.

Klaus…

She blew out a breath. Klaus was her friend, even if her graduation ceremony had made his position on… things… perfectly clear. But weirdly, she’d found his words strangely boundary defining and a relief. Last love was definitely not now, not anytime soon in fact, and his acknowledgement of that had eased the knot she always seemed to carry around in her chest. And so when she stood in the middle of the hustle and bustle of more people than she could remember really seeing in one place, like ever, she’d let herself text a number she’d refused to admit to anyone she had memorized ages ago.

And he had responded.

And Klaus had kept replying, no matter when she sent him a question. In between organizing her life and schedule, he’d been extremely helpful without any sort of judgement. If anything, he seemed more resigned to her lack of knowledge than anything else, providing her with Vampire Basics she’d never thought to ask Damon or Stefan about, and the knowledge had helped. Accepting the monster under her skin was not something that was going to be easy, but Klaus providing actual information about the whys and the hows helped far more than she thought she’d ever tell him.

And his faith in her control was not something she’d ever expected to need. But he’d offered it with no prompting and the truth was she made an excellent vampire. She was good at it, thrived with the challenges of it, and she thought the next few years would be good for her. And it was nice, knowing that if she screwed it up she’d have people who’d help her fix it. Even if some of them were just a tiny bit more dangerous than others.

Head tipping to the ceiling, she chewed on her lip and sighed. Putting Klaus in one category had never been easy, even when he’d been firmly in the villian bucket. She didn’t doubt he would continue to refuse any easy labels, and she thought she might be okay with that.

For now.

Pushing to her feet, she stretched and sighed. Classes started in two days, and while she’d already organized her books and started doing some pre-class reading, there was no harm in double checking her planners and reorganizing her books. And after, maybe she’d go for a walk. Check out some of the all night places near her place to plan for future all nighters. The kind of places you’d take broke friends to for pie.

The sudden knock on the door startled her, because she hadn’t noticed any unusual footsteps. For a moment, her pulse slammed in her ears as she recognized the slow thump of a dead heartbeat. A familiar barely their heartbeat that promised something old was outside her door, and one that should not be in New York City. Reaching for the phone she tossed on her coffee table she picked it up and typed out a quick text. No point in guessing who was there; not when it was pretty easy to check without moving any closer to the door.

Caroline [8:30pm]: Seriously, tell me you are not standing outside my apartment. Like, right this second.

A soft vibration, a low noise of amusement was all the confirmation she needed and Caroline stomped towards the door and yanked it open. “Are you serious right now? How do you even know where I live? I didn’t tell you that.”

Eyes gleaming, a hint of dimple curving in his cheek as he looked up from his phone, Klaus smiled at her. “Hello, Caroline.”

Arms crossed, she leaned against the door and huffed to cover the way her pulse skipped at the sight of him. He looked the same, same clothes and same hair, but she felt his presence with an awareness that did not bode well for her intentions of thinking of him as only a friend. Klaus had always straddled that line but here, outside of Mystic Falls, it somehow felt different. Better. And that was not something she could allow with her plans laid out in front of her. Plans that did not suit him. “Yeah yeah, hi. Why are you here?”

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, lips tugging upwards. “I was in town, and I thought I would stop by. See how you are settling in, perhaps come up with an idea for a house warming present, since it seems you will no longer need that mini-fridge, hmm?”

“In town,” she repeated, ignoring the rest of his words. “Doing what? Because I am attempting to avoid vampire shenanigans for the next four years, Klaus. I promised my mom.”

“Nothing like that,” he assured her. “Just a quick errand, and I head back to New Orleans tomorrow. I am quite invested in you having the experiences of your choice, sweetheart. No one will bother you while you are here.”

Caroline paused. “No one... as in no one? Are you threatening people again? People I haven’t even met?”

“Not yet,” Klaus said mildly.

She bit the tip of her tongue to stop the barrage of words that wanted to spill out. Slowly exhaling, she forced herself to let it go. There was a time and place for this discussion and she wasn’t sure right then was it, not when she was so surprised to see him, and she could hear some of her neighbors coming up the stairs. “Don’t think we won’t discuss this later but I suppose you can come in?”

“Thank you, and I don’t doubt it,” he murmured as he took her invitation and stepped into her home. His gaze swept her space and for a moment, she had to stop herself from fidgeting. This was her first space that was hers and Klaus was the only person besides her mom who had seen it. He walked slowly through her public space, and his words were sincere when he spoke. “You’ve done a lovely job with your home, love. “

For some reason, she had to fight down a blush. “Thanks. The carpet sucks though.”

He slid her a laughing glance. “An entirely fixable state of affairs.”

“You will not compel my landlord,” she warned him, exasperation almost hiding the hint of her own smile. “About carpet or anything else, Klaus.”

He made a low noise but no promises. “And how are you liking New York?”

She did smile then. “I love it. But we’ll see if that sticks when I have to deal with the snow this winter and pushy people and an overheated subway. I’ve been warned.”

His laugh was soft. “I think you’ll manage. And while it's a bit late in the evening, could I interest you in dinner? My treat.”

Caroline eyed him carefully. “Taking me to dinner will not get you out of explaining how you have my address or any potential yelling about it.”

Klaus slid his hands into his pockets and dimpled. “I would expect nothing else. But I do hope that’s not the only topic you wish to discuss tonight.”

Curious, she tipped her head. “Oh?”

He lifted a shoulder, gaze intent. “I assume you’ve picked out your classes? Have your semester organized down to the hour? And while I am certain you more than have the knack of feeding down, sweetheart, I’m happy to answer any remaining questions you have or even provide a demonstration or two.”

The idea of hunting with Klaus did something funny to her stomach, and she turned towards her room to cover it. “I’ll think about it. Give me ten minutes to change and then yes, you can take me to dinner. But not something fancy, I am not in the mood for multiple forks. But wine would be great.”

His laughter followed her into her bedroom and she shut the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced down her tangle of emotions. One night out with Klaus wouldn’t hurt anything, she reminded herself, and he was right. She did have questions, and lists, and she should probably take the opportunity to go over everything while he was here in person. Plus she’d be willing to bet he had an opinion or two he’d be willing to share about rugs.

Squaring her shoulders, Caroline headed for her closet to slap together a friendly dinner date outfit that would be suitable even if he did take her somewhere with too many forks. But they were definitely going to be chatting about his business in the city, and how he would not be dropping by without warning whenever he wanted to.

No matter how nice it was to see him.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabble #sfw

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jabbajambler · 3 years

Text

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 1,919

*GIF by @weloveweird*

It was so beautiful outside of the ship. Each star appeared to shine brighter than the other, although Mando corrected me a few times by telling me they were distant planets and moons. I never pegged him as someone who would know so much about the galaxy. He would even tell me the names of stars and the stories behind some of the constellations.

As much as I loved gazing out the window at the passing planets, there was one in particular that caused a sick feeling in my stomach.

Nevarro.

I used to love coming home to the gray planet, but now it was strange to me. I couldn't seem to recognize it anymore, at least not as my home.

Mando's focus remained on the skies as we neared the planet, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He was so much more than I imagined he would be, more than most Mandalorians. I didn't want our time together to end when it was just beginning.

The only sound in the ship was the control panel's beeping and whirring. We had been quiet for a while. I couldn't find the right words to say. I hated that I had grown so close to him.

It made the goodbyes so much harder.

Mando moved his hand to press a button that lit the cockpit with a hologram of Greef Karga. My mouth went dry at the sight.

"Mando. I've received your transmission. Wonderful news. Upon your return, deliver the quarry directly to the client. I have no idea if he wants to eat it or hang it on his wall, but he's very antsy...And Mando? When you arrive...Could you please search for Myrah? I haven't seen her for a few days and I'm worried. I'm willing to pay anything if you find her... Safe passage! You know where to find me."

I gulped, trying to get the lump out of my throat as the image disappeared. I could hear him talking to the child as it tried to mess with his controls. I only hoped that perhaps it would lighten the mood.

"Mando, I-"

"You were running away?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

He spun to face me and I quickly tried to turn away from him, but his hands landed firm on the arms of the chair to keep me from moving. I kept my gaze down on my hands, or, at least I tried to. He gently pinched my chin and pulled my head up to look at him. He made me feel weak.

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't running...I wanted to prove myself."

He sighed and pulled his hand from my face, allowing his fingers to linger on my jaw a while longer. The delicate touch left goosebumps on my skin.

"I can't go back." I whispered.

"What?"

"I have to leave once we're done. I've stuck around too long, I can't stay there any longer, I-" I jumped up, grasping his hands tight in mine. I was surprised when he didn't flinch or pull away. "Come with me! We make a great team. The possibilities are endless, we could become the best damn bounty hunters this galaxy has ever seen."

"Didn't you try to kill me less than a week ago?" He asked while rubbing small, soft circles on the back of my hands. The subtle action filled my stomach with butterflies.

"I didn't try to kill you. I knocked you out and tied you to a chair... There is a big difference." I joked and pulled one hand free from his grasp to trace the lines on his helmet. The craftsmanship of the Mandalorians never failed to amaze me.

I could hear his breath hitch as I ran my fingers over the curves of his helm. He quickly yanked his hands away from mine and took a step back, nearly stepping into the panel. My chest clenched and I could feel my cheeks grow warm from embarrassment.

"Myrah..." He mumbled. "I can't."

It took me a moment to realize what he said, but once I did, it hit me like a speeder.

"You're afraid..." I scoffed and tried to hide the pain. It was silly, childish, even, to ask him to run away with me. Still, a part of me hoped he would. "Kriff, I never thought I would see the day where a Mandalorian would act so- so-"

His head snapped towards me, apparently I had struck a nerve. "So what, Myrah?"

"Weak! Pathetic! C-" I stopped myself before I could go too far.

"No, continue. What were you going to say?" He demanded and took a few steps closer, towering over me.

"Cowardly." I hissed, immediately regretting my words.

The air had been sucked from the ship. We stared, daring the other to make the next move.

"Okay, Princess." He scoffed and turned away from me.

"What did you just call me?" He was silent, trying to look busy while poking around at the controls. "You know nothing about me."

"I know enough!" He snapped and spun around to face me again. "I know that you would never have to work a day in your precious little life if you didn't want to. I know that you walk around and act like everyone and everything else is beneath you. And then you want to run away? Like your wonderful life isn't perfect enough for you?"

I could feel my eyes burn as I fought off the tears that threatened to fall from them. Still, he continued.

"It doesn't take a genius to see that you don't care about what happens after this. You're just in it for the reputation and money."

"Wow." I scoffed and tilted my head back, trying to hide the tears that escaped my eyes. "You think you know everything, don't you?" I shook my head and looked back at him. Sometimes it was hard to argue with a chunk of metal. "You're so smart, Mando. I should give you an award for how much you know about my life. Guess what? You don't know shit...Just land the damn ship and get this over with."

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

Mando landed the Razor Crest on the gray, dusty terrain of Nevarro with ease. He was unbelievably calm even after our argument while I could still feel myself shake from the adrenaline. I guess I misunderstood our friendship, or, what I assumed was a friendship.

We all exited the ship in silence and began our journey into town. I tried my hardest to stand tall as we walked through the streets. Greef said the citizens here lived off of other people's sorrows. It was best to not show it at all.

I underestimated the intensity of the mission. It wasn't the average bounty, it was more underworld than what we usually did. Although, I didn't expect for us to have to travel down shady alleys to reach the client's 'hideout.' Something was very fishy about this mission.

He knocked on the door and held up a card for the small round droid to scan. The door opened to reveal two stormtroopers armed with guns. The air had been knocked out of me.

Now I knew there was something up with this client.

I could feel that gross, sick feeling coming back when they herded us down the hall. They roughly grabbed onto the child's pod and yanked it behind them. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mando beat me to it.

"Easy with that."

"You take it easy." The trooper snapped back.

We had finally reached the door that opened to reveal a large, cold, stone room. It was practically empty except for a desk in the center of it all with a balding old man behind it. His eyes lit up when we entered and he quickly strode towards us.

"Yes." He whispered. "Yes, yes, yes."

He weirded me out. I found myself inching closer to Mando with every step he made. A young scientist came over and scanned the whimpering child with a bright red light.

"Your reputation was not unwarranted..." He grinned and looked towards me, his eyes narrowing. "And who is this?"

"I-"

"How many fobs did you give out?" Mando interrupted.

For once, I was thankful that he cut me off. I was worried that if I told them who I was, they would sweep me away as well. Greef never believed me when I told him that the Empire wasn't completely gone. I couldn't imagine his face if he witnessed this.

The client sighed. "This asset was of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure its delivery... But to the winner... Go the spoils."

He grabbed a large container and lifted it onto the desk to reveal its treasures. It contained more beskar than I had ever seen in my life. I wasn't even sure there was that much beskar left in the galaxy.

We moved towards the desk to admire the rewards. It was beautiful and more riches than I could have ever imagined, but I couldn't keep it.

I had no use for beskar and it belongs back in the hands of the Mandalorians. I had no place taking the reward at all.

"Such a large bounty for such a small package." The client hissed.

A heart broken cry caught my attention from the other side of the room. While I was busy gaping over the payment, I had completely forgotten about the child. It cried again as it was brought into another room, refusing to take its eyes off of us.

It hurt me to see it so sad.

I turned to see Mando watching the child intensely. Could he have been wondering the same thing I was?

"What are your plans for it?" He asked.

"How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation. You have taken both commission and payment... Is it not the Code of the Guild that these events are now forgotten? That beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor."

My eyes darted across his armor. It was rather beat up and seeing its harsh damage, I assumed it wasn't too durable. A full suit of beskar was fitting for his job, but I would miss his old, rusty fit.

"Unfortunately, finding a Mandalorian in these trying times is more difficult than finding the steel." The client finished and with a stern glare.

I quickly tore my gaze away from him, occasionally glancing at Mando out of the corner of my eyes. His focus was stuck on the client for a moment longer before he grabbed the reward and we left.

The stormtroopers followed us the entire way out, making me feel incredibly uneasy. Again, I found myself moving closer to Mando and immediately scolding myself for it.

"I have to make a quick stop... I'll meet you at the bar in an hour." He looked down at the container of beskar with a soft, sad tone to his voice. I guess he was going to get an upgrade.

"Right... Listen, Mando, I-"

"We'll talk later." He ended quickly and spun on his heel to leave.

I wanted to run after him, but he was already out of sight. I needed to apologize or just, something. I wasn't sure why I needed him to know that I didn't hate him. If anything, I should just forget he exists and move on with my life.

But I couldn't.

And little did I know, I wouldn't.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin x oc #dyn jarren #jedi #oc #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #babyyoda

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iwritesoimright · 4 years

Text

Slip Up

Word count: 1,445

Summary: Chris convinces you to go on the tonight show with him and subject yourself to Jimmy Fallons curious games, specifically the spousal version of know your bro. And of course embarrassing secrets are revealed, just not by the person you originally thought would slip up.

Warnings: uhhhh it's just an interview my dudes, there's talk of a butt naked Chris Evans and like some curse words but very few, and like mentions of sex but nothing graphic. Oh. And the word Daddy... I'm sorry. lol not sorry. And like bad writing cuz I'm v rusty....

A/N: Ha! I wrote it! I finally wrote something in two goddamn years. So, to explain the bs that you're about to read if you so choose, I was on a Chris Evans/ Steve Rogers binge. This was mostly due to one @venusbarnes and her beautiful works Occupation: Brat and Heavy Is The Head. Both are amazing and if you suffer from the same afflictions I do you should definitely read them. Anyway, so I watched that one interview with Chris and his brother and I had this idea and poof here it is. Soooooooo I hopes ya like it. I tried real hard. Also thanks to my lovely editors Andrew and Ashley whom this would never see the light of day without.

You had seen the episode with Scott and Chris. You knew how much Jimmy loved to get all the dirty little details out of Chris. You knew just how easy it was to get those details, Chris said it himself, he's a terrible liar. You knew if you went on the tonight show with Chris something was going to come out, and Chris knew this too, which is exactly why he begged and pleaded for you to agree to do an episode with him. And of course who could say no to those precious baby blues? Besides maybe Jimmy wouldn’t have you guys play the game that brought much embarrassment to Scott Evans, right?

“So, here's how the game goes, well Chris you already know how to play, y/n, I assume you’ve seen the episode where Scott and Chris played the game?” Jimmy looked between you and Chris, who sat to your right. You nodded, laughing “yeah I've seen it and I'm going to be honest I'm just a little bit scared to play it.” Jimmy looked at you incredulously, “what why? Why would you be scared to play it?” “because of him!” you gesture dramatically to a very cheeky Chris next to you, his childish grin furthering the point you're making, “who knows what's going to come out of his mouth? He’s an actual child!” this caused an uproar of laughter from Jimmy and the crowd and for Chris’s grin to widen even more. He looked at you, eyes sparkling with mischief “yknow what's to say I shouldn’t be afraid? You're no better a liar than me babe” you scoffed at that, turning back to Jimmy who you could tell was itching to get the game started. “okay well since you both know how to play ill just describe it real quick for those who might not know, and we’ll let Chris wear the headphones first since its y/n’s first time playing” Jimmy said, handing you the headphones, which you helped secure on Chris’s head, while he sorted through the question cards. Chris immediately started bobbing his head to the music “i love this song!” he practically shouted into your ear. You laughed, playfully shoving his head away and turning back to Jimmy. “okay so while he's... distracted... I'll ask you a question and if your answer matches his answer then you win, simple as that capiche?” you nod, giggling as you glance back at your boyfriend, dancing horribly in his seat, he looks up and winks at you as mouths the words to what looked to be Stacys mom.

“Okay so first question, what is the most embarrassing thing Chris has done around your parents?” Jimmy looks up at you as your brow furrows in thought, “the most embarrassing thing he's done in front of my parents? Wow um okay, that’s a tough one he's actually surprisingly smooth around my parents, at least around me he is” you pause in thought for a second before your eyes light up with an idea, “wait okay here we go here's a story! There was one time, my parents came to visit for a week or so and they were staying in our guest room,” you paused and looked at Jimmy and immediately saw what he was thinking, “no, I know what you're thinking stop thinking it they didn’t ‘hear’ or ‘see’ anything like that” you said pointedly, “however due to Chris’s habit of walking around ass naked they may have seen just a little bit more of him than they wanted to...” Jimmy gasped “no! Your dad saw his dick?” you nodded, tears forming in your eyes as you laughed, “all three of us did, we were in the kitchen when he came sauntering in, I guess he forgot my parents were still there” Jimmy eyes widened “your mom saw his dick?” “oh, she didn’t mind, him and Hemsworth were the only reasons we could ever get her to watch marvel movies,” that earned a laugh, “my dad didn’t offer him any sausage at breakfast and that might be the funniest part.” Jimmy was leaned back in his chair cackling at this point, finally fell forward, attempting to slow his laughter “okay, okay Chris, take ‘em off, let's see what his answer is.”

Chris pulled the headphones from his head, eyes wide and staring at you, “yknow all that talk about you being scared of what I’ll end up saying, I'm genuinely scared of what you were all laughing about.” you grinned back at him, eyes sparkling, “don't worry babe, I didn’t go into too much detail.” Jimmy pulled your attention back from each-other, “okay Chris, let's hear your answer, what's the most embarrassing thing you’ve done in front of y/n’s parents?” Chris’s eyes widened and he let out a long sigh. “the most embarrassing thing I've done? God everything I do is embarrassing, okay umm god okay is it the time I-” he turned to look at you and see your reaction but Jimmy caught him in time, “no! No cheating! Don’t look at y/n, this is your answer” Chris sighed, turning away from you, “okay okay, god, okay uhhhh it has to be the time I walked in on you and your parents butt naked and your dad refused to offer me sausage at breakfast right?” you and Jimmy gasped as the crowd cheered, a look of relief washed over Chris’s face. “okay good sounds like got that right, there were so many other things I could've said that probably would've been much worse...” “worse? How many other embarrassing things have you done around my parents?” you questioned at the same time Jimmy asked “worse? What could you possibly do that’s worse than walking in on your spouse’s parents butt-naked?” Chris just grimaced at the two of you, “that's a story for another time.” Jimmy laughed, “okay well let's move on to y/n’s turn, shall we? y/n will you don the headphones?” you nodded and fitted the headphones around your ears, flipping through the available songs to play Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen.

Chris turned to look at Jimmy, who grinned mischievously as he posed the question. “okay Chris let's get you in some trouble, shall we? Your question is what is y/n’s favorite thing to call you in bed?” Chris’s eyes shot open wide and he began stuttering “w-w-w-what Jimmy, c'mon man do you want me dead? This is the exact thing that will get me killed” jimmy just laughed and nodded encouragingly. Chris sighed and dragged his face through his hands, “okay uh well there's two answers to this question, there's what y/n’s favorite thing to call me in bed and what my favorite thing is. Y/n, well y/n is a huge marvel nerd so calling me Captain is probably the big one. It's like roleplay I guess.” a few wolf whistles emanated from the crowd, making them both laugh. “ooh okay, Captain, I bet y/n isn't the first person to want to call you that in bed.” Chris shook his head chuckling, “no, definitely not, but don’t tell y/n that.” “alright” Jimmy gestured to you to take the headphones off, “y/n you can take those off now.”

You let them slide off your head and looked to Chris, “that was short, I only got through one queen song.” “see! I'm trustworthy! I didn’t say anything bad!” Chris exclaimed. “okay y/n, the question was what is your favorite thing to call Chris in bed?” Jimmy asked as he leaned forward, his eyebrows jumping up suggestively. “your eyes widen slightly but not even a heartbeat passes before you're answering, “oh easy, I call him Captain like all the time.” Jimmy throws himself backwards in his chair, cackling. “you said that so casually I love it!” you shrug, cocking your head to the side, “listen I get to bed Captain America, you can bet your ass I'm gonna be calling him that, who wouldn’t?” Jimmy finally regains his poseur and leans forward one last time, “okay y/n, can I ask you one more question?” you nod for him to continue, “okay y/n, what is Chris’s favorite thing to be called in bed?” you don’t even blink and the answer is flying out of your mouth, “oh, Daddy.” the entire studio erupts into laughter as your face turns beet red upon realizing what you said aloud. You look over at Chris who's smirking triumphantly, “and you thought I was gonna be the one to say something embarrassing.” you roll your eyes, shoving his face away from yours. Your head drops into your hands and you groan, hoping to god your parents aren't watching.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans #chris evans oneshot #boyfriend!chris #marvel #marvel imagines #chris evans fanfic

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the-order-of-fools · 3 years

Note

There was a knights cheering up the reader when theyre sad post, but how about the reader cheering the knights up when theyre upset?

King Knight may be a decadent dandy with enough charisma to resurrect the dead (despite Specter's scoffs), but he has a soft... inner... shell... that needs to be tenderly stroked. Which sounds wrong. Very wrong. He can take quite a few insults as long as he has wit on his side. Though, once he doesn't, things take a turn for the worst. He doesn't consider himself a fool, no, he's the greatest! The fairest in all the land! The perfect king! Even so, they still think of him like that. Is that why none of his banquets are ever attended? Do they consider him enough of a simpleton to ignore his very status? That can't be... No, no, no. There's only one person he trusts, even more than his dear... mother. He sheepishly explains himself, underlining how these words "don't exactly" hurt him in any way, they're only bothersome thoughts. He looks up from his hands, rubbing at small grey spot on his crown. The royal Blacksmith seems to be doing a poorer job every-time he asks for a new finish. Speak to him, tell him he's great. List off what makes him worth it all, what makes him "kingly”. He'll listen for hours, blinking away the tears behind his helm

Specter Knight isn't new to moments of sadness. Whenever he looks back at what he has accomplished, he either sees a reckless child who managed to forsake the only family he has ever had, or an empty shell, wasting away after an oath that was ripped from him by the Enchantress. Depressive thoughts come and go, you can't really blame him when you catch him staring silently at the moon - you know, he would be gazing at his beloved locket instead, if someone hadn't stolen it. It's like he has lost a part of himself. You promise yourself that you will have retrieve it, someday, somehow. Anything to make him happy. The only thing you can currently do is walk up to him, quietly - he's mumbling words under his breath, curses addressed to either himself or the universe - and hold him into your embrace. He won't return it, he's be lost in his own thoughts. Words aren't needed, he's not in any condition to hear them anyway. Sit next to him in silence, make your presence known, remind him that he's not alone and, despite all the evil he has done, someone is still beside him

Treasure Knight is able to withstand both extreme physical and emotional pressure. Still, he has his limits. If he has a berserk button, it would be gold. Insult it, tear it apart with your words and he'll want to snap your neck with his bare hands. After the surge of rage, he grows awfully quiet. He turns detached focusing on the task at hand or searching for a way to resolve whatever may be weighing on his mind. He becomes quite frightening, standing as still as a statue. You're sure the diving suit he inhabits turns otherworldly when he's like this. His voice is monotonous and cold, he's curt and doesn't seem interested in your presence. This can last for days on end. He doesn't seek affection, comfort or anything of the sort. You typically avoid him when he's in such a state, rarely checking in on him to see if he has recovered. It's only after his recovery that he's able to voice what upset him. Even then, he seems awfully calm for someone who was practically alone for a week straight. Strangely, he only enters his vault when he's in a better state of mind, which makes his whereabouts quite easy to guess when he’s “missing”

Tinker Knight normally doesn't let himself be distracted by moments of sadness, as his work requires almost all of his time and effort. This becomes a problem when his work turns into the source of his sadness, frustration or stress. Dreadful lack of inspiration, him not meeting his own impossible expectations, burnout moments that everyone experiences from time to time - he hates not being at the top of his capacity, which always results in him losing all of his confidence, blaming himself for mistakes that don't exist and for his so-called laziness. Sometimes, he even hits the working table or his own forehead out of rage, not hard enough to cause damage thankfully. His depressed state distorts the perception he has of himself and of his own productivity, and that's where you come in. Let him vent out, no matter how awful his complaints might sound. He might even cry from stress if he feels comfortable enough in your presence. In any case, just wait for him to calm down, then explain that productivity isn't all, that he needs to take care of himself before taking care of his projects, and remind him that you don't value him any less during his moments of unproductivity. He'll be thankful for each of your words

Propeller Knight tends to be laid back. Sure, he can be very overdramatic at times. He has played the "offended" card quite a bit, draping melancholically over a couch, waxing poetically about what "horrors" he has faced. He acts, he follows his charismatic sky pirate persona. You can hear it through his expressive tone and see it through his ostentatiously exaggerated gestures. There are few things that truly strike a cord with him, and when they do, the mask shatters. His crew have grown accustomed to it. They know the ins and outs of their captain, even his rare yet present anger. He barks orders and seems utterly detached from everyone around him, he only has his goal in mind and the rage tearing him from the inside out. Avoid him as much as possible, attempting to reason with him will worsen his state. There have been cases of Propeller throwing himself into combat despite being outnumbered, he clearly lacks self-preservation when his anger bubbles over. At most, the only sign of self-preservation he has is hiding himself away. The presence of Plantos helps him a great deal, they calm his nerves and steady his hammering heart. If sadness still fills his mind, he will cry either alone or seek you out if you're particularly close. He has grown quite worried of this unfortunate trait of his. Aggressive fits of anger have deterred many of his past partners, and for good reason. He will tentatively seek affection in this state, requiring reassurance. Not lies, meaningful, honest, reassurance from you.

Polar Knight has a unique way of dealing with negative emotions. At first, you would say he has no emotions at all, let alone emotions that could possibly crush his portentous vigor - instead, he's very much affected by them. He became much gloomier after joining the Order and he spent his days shoveling intensely and training regularly to keep his mind focused. Now, his preferred method of dealing with negativity remains training. He never seeks help or speaks at all, even his signature grunts turn into silence. You might see him training intensively, sometimes even in the middle of a snowstorm, all alone. There's no use talking to him when he's upset, he will barely give any sign of appreciation. You could surprise him with warm blankets or a hot beverage that you have purposefully made for him instead. He appreciates gestures much more than any kind word you could ever tell him. He must be one of those people who don't think others would be able to understand how they feel, so don't bother him with that. Give him his space and respect his sadness even if its source is unknown to you, he will greatly appreciate it. If he's comfortable enough, he won't be opposed to you caressing his beard out of affection sometimes

Plague Knight rarely seems down in the dumps. He's off giggling, creating massive explosions and discovering new alchemical formulas with Mona. He doesn't give a squawk about anything. He takes the town's folks insults and answers with venomous retorts, still laughing. You would absolutely describe him as overzealously confident if you didn't know him better. He's... awkward. A part of you suspects that he has raised himself. He covers up his asocial behaviors with mockeries and... well, laughter. You have grown able to easily recognize his dreadfully nervous laughs. You know for a fact that he wouldn't admit his true feelings even if his life depended on it. So secretive, trying to hide himself for fear of rejection. It's only through learnt-behavior that he eventually manages to soften up. He minimizes what bothers him, another attempt to impress you for fear of losing the very person he loves. If there's one thing that he won't distort, it's his need for cuddling. He has become a touchy person over the years, maybe because he was lonely for so long? Perhaps, for now he's relentlessly tapping his fingers against your back. Nervous tic.

Mole Knight's sadness usually doesn't turn into anger or frustration. He's not good with emotions, even though teamwork has taught him how to interact with others. He seems to know himself little, which didn't allow him to develop the ability to defend himself from negativity. Not entirely, at least. You will see him dig with much more fervor than usual, pushing himself further and further and being as active as possible. Work cheers him up and helps him forget his sadness, but running away from his emotions doesn't always help. His flames burn very faintly, their hue is dim, they don't sway as energetically as they usually do. He can't ignore his sadness forever, no matter how focused he is at the moment. Take him aside and stop him from digging further, let him focus on you instead. Strangely enough, considering the thick armor that protects his essence, he is quite sensitive to physical touch. Hug him and let his claws envelop your figure, see how the flames will start burning as brightly as ever - he's very warm, so don't feel embarrassed if you find yourself blushing after having hugged him

Black Knight is, by definition, a loner. On top of being a loner, he has trouble admitting his emotions. He tends to push them aside as he wants to be seen as powerful and resilient. Still, he can't keep himself as composed as Polar Knight. He avoids your gaze when upset. Do not touch him, he can be... harsh when expressing his need to be left alone, which makes him feel even worse deep down. Terrorpin, despite not joining him in battle anymore (not after the incident at the Tower), helps him, rubbing its head against his chest until Black places his hand on it. His failures are too fresh in his mind. He can't bear the thought of failing to protect his friends again. This often makes him feel inadequate, sometimes even unwanted. The extended period of time he spent all by himself made him quite resilient, physically speaking, but left a deep scar in him. He must have experienced something similar when he left Shield Knight and Shovel Knight to venture out alone, but the rest of his thoughts are unknown to you. Words won't cheer him up, flashy demonstrations of affection won't either. Sit next to him by the fire and don't hold back a sympathetic smile, it might not seem like it, but he's intently watching you from under his helmet. Slowly but surely, his hand will look for yours while he's caressing Terrorpin's shell absent-mindedly

~Mod Propeller and -Mod Tinker

#shovel knight #black knight #king knight #Specter Knight #plague knight #mole knight #treasure knight #propeller knight #Tinker Knight #polar knight

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overheardatthecontinental · 3 years

Text

Talk Chapter 4

AO3

In which Helen fights for control from her kidnappers and John is met with deadends.

(The action will pick up in the next chapter

Waking up in a cell is a little easier the second time around Helen discovers.

She wakes up, freezing again, on the floor. Not that there was any other place to be. The cell was still empty.

The guards were different when she woke up but she barely paid them any attention. Instead, she managed to crawl to the little stall in the corner of her cell. Indeed, she was grateful to find a bathroom. The contents of her stomach were emptied into the small toilet and she wondered, idly, if it was the sedative that made her feel so.

She wished there was a window, or any other sort of indication of what time it was. What day it was.

Was it still Saturday? She wasn’t sure.

She wondered if it was Sunday and what would happen tomorrow morning when clients started arriving at her office to find it locked and empty?

Priorities, she tells herself.

No, she wasn’t worried about a few people missing their appointments. Not when her hands were still bound together and her throat burned from the acid of her vomit.

They’d live.

And so would she.

John was coming, she knows. It may take him some time to find her. Helen was certain she was hidden somewhere that wouldn’t be easy for him to find. But she was also positive that John wouldn’t stop until she was safe.

That brought her some comfort.

But even with that knowledge, she wasn’t going to stop trying to get herself out of the mess.

She tries to engage the new guards in conversation, but they kept their mouths shut. Probably warned by DeLuca, she thinks.

Still, one of them disappears upstairs and returns with a tv dinner that he slides through the bars to her, along with a bottle of water. They undo the bindings at her wrists but refuse to give her silverware. While she can only imagine what other uses John would find for a spoon or a fork, she wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a utensil in a fight.

At least DeLuca isn’t planning on starving her. That was a plus. Especially since John would kill him either way.

She closes her eyes.

John was probably a wreck. He didn’t do well with things being out of his control and his emotional regulation skills were lacking.

This, she thinks, is really going to stunt the progress she’s made with him. Months of building up to him addressing his issues with self-esteem and his own feelings of self-hatred, only to have her kidnapped by his enemies.

It would take months more to work through the blame he was going to feel and probably years before he could even start to forgive himself.

The guards change not long after she wakes up. The new guards are told: “She’s been fed. Mostly quiet. DeLuca says not to interact with her.”

They listen. They ignore her attempts at small talk and don’t even look at her. The only moment of interaction comes when they hand her another meal a few hours later with a gruff, “Here.”

She falls asleep again after she eats. It’s almost too cold to sleep but she manages, blaming the exhaustion on the sedatives.

When she wakes up again, the guards have changed.

Nick, the man who had sedated her is back, along with someone new. The kid is younger than Nick. She’d place him in his early twenties at best. His face was still a little soft around the edges and the scarring from acne hadn’t found its way to clearing up just yet.

“Morning, boys.” She says, “Or is it night?”

“It’s two pm.”

“Hey!” Nick says, “DeLuca said not to talk to her.”

“What harm will talking do?” The new kid asks, looking over at Helen with a naïve sort of interest.

Nick shrugs, “Guess she’s some sort of psychiatrist.”

Wrong, Helen thinks, but doesn’t comment.

“She got inside DeLuca’s head yesterday. Kinda eerie, to be honest. Started spouting all this stuff about his parents and I guess it was true, because DeLuca was pissed. Bastard still hasn’t come back.”

Helen resists the urge to smirk at that.

“Why didn’t he just kill her? What’s she in for?”

Helen perks up a bit. She knew, obviously, that she was here as leverage or bait or something altogether nefarious to entrap John. But the more she could figure out about the details, the better off she would be.

“You ever hear of John Wick?” Nick asks, shuffling the deck of cards.

“Heard of him?” The poor kid almost sounds excited, “The man’s a fucking legend! I heard he killed three guys who started shit-talking him in the bar with a fucking pencil!”

Helen hadn’t heard that little tidbit, but she wasn’t surprised. John’s versatility was arguably his greatest strength. It made sense that it converted to weapons.

Nick hums, “Yep. And that’s his girl.” He throws a thumb in her direction.

The kid’s head flies over, staring at Helen in shock. She gives him a finger wave and the kid looks back to Nick, “That’s the boogeyman’s girl?”

Nick nods and starts to toss out the cards, “DeLuca’s been talking about getting a jump on the Camorra ever since he took over the Syndicate. Can’t help but wonder if this is his ploy.”

John had referenced the Camorra before, a number of times, but she couldn’t recall him ever mentioning the Syndicate. Nevertheless, she now had a name to put to the organization and its face that held her captive.

“But, it’s the boogeyman! You don’t mess with the boogeyman!”

“Sound advice,” Helen pipes in, “I suggest you relay the message to DeLuca before he gets you all killed.”

The kid pales and Nick shakes his head, “Don’t listen to her, Frankie.”

But Frankie was already listening. She just needed one in. “He’s probably right. I wouldn’t want to spend your last hours on this Earth in fear. Play your game.” Helen tries her best to give her a sweet smile. “Have fun with your time.”

“Hours?” he echoes.

“I mean, maybe you’ll get lucky. You might have a few days before John finds this place and razes it to the ground.”

“Disengage, Frankie.” Nick warns but even he looks uneasy.

John had mentioned his reputation a few times, but this was the first time that Helen had ever seen it in action. She knew John was not one for dramatizing but still, it was a little strange to see grown men becoming uneasy at the very mention of his name.

Frankie lowers his voice but she can still hear him echoing in the empty basement. “Look, man, you know I’m all in for the cause but I don’t know if I want to be involved in this.” He shoots Helen a glance, “I don’t want the Boogeyman coming after me.”

She almost felt sorry for the kid. Rationally, she could probably justify his actions. Write it off as a kid looking for a place to fit in, a world to survive in. He was mousy and largely unintimidating. The idea of mafiaso protection probably appealed to him, gave him space to live. But, she acknowledges, it’s harder to feel bad for someone who is keeping you locked in a cage.

“It’s a little late for that, Frankie. You and Nick are already involved.”

Nick shifts uncomfortably at the use of his name. Good, she thinks. She wants him to be anxious. She wants them both to afraid of what was to come.

Poor Frankie hadn’t even been here five minutes, she thinks, and he was already ready to bolt. She had a foot in the door, now she just had to hold her ground and push through.

“Look,” Helen offers him a small smile, “You seem like a good kid. Single mom?”

His eyes widen and he nods. “How did you know?”

An educated guess, but she doesn’t elaborate. “You did whatever you had to do to help her. How many siblings you got?”

“Don’t—” Nick tries but it’s too late.

“Two.”

“Still in school?”

Again, he nods.

“Good.” Helen says, “I hope they won’t have to drop out when you aren’t around. It’s hard for kids who drop out to catch back up. Sometimes you never do. Right, Nick?”

Nick tenses immediately.

She hums and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall.

“Nick, man—”

“She’s just getting into your head. Let it go.”

Helen huffs a small laugh at that.

“I don’t know. How’d she know about my mom? And me dropping out? I didn’t say anything that—”

“It’s all just lucky guesswork. Calm down.”

If her eyes were open, she would have rolled them. “Guesswork, huh?” She glances up. It’s not much, she thinks, but it’s an opening, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to make a little wager about that?”

“Not a chance.” Nick is quick to say but she can see the curiosity behind them. It’s reflected in Frankie who, with less experience and far less intelligence is quick to ask, “What kind of wager?”

Nick shoots him a glare but doesn’t cut her off.

“I’ll read you. Both of you. I’ll analyze your lives based on what I’ve already seen of you. And, if I’m wrong, on either of you, I’ll shut up. I won’t say anything for the rest of the night.”

“And if you’re right?” Nick asks.

“I get a phone call.”

“Not a chance.” Okay. She expected that. She could compromise.

“A text, then. I’ll keep it short. No more than a minute.”

“DeLuca would kill us.” Frankie says, shaking his head.

“DeLuca doesn’t have cameras here.” She gestures around, “And I wouldn’t be worried about DeLuca killing you when John’s out there looking for me.” She pauses, “I’ll sweeten the pot. Win or lose, I’ll ask John not to kill you.”

She’s met with silence as Frankie looks to Nick to take the lead.

Nick looks indecisive and she takes that into account. She watches the way he glances towards his phone. He’s considering it.

“You’re both part of this.” Helen leans forward, “DeLuca is arrogant enough to think he can get out of this without backlash. You’ve got to know that won’t be the case. John will hunt him down to the ends of the Earth, along with anyone else who played a part in this. Your only shot of making it through this alive is for me to interfere.”

She watches him swallow. Nick isn’t stupid. He’s probably the smartest of all the kidnappers she met but, Christ, he is lost.

John was like that, once.

Desperate for a way out, unable to find one.

“Will he listen to you?” Nick asks finally, “If you ask him to spare us, will he listen?”

She can’t make the promise. Truth be told, she’s never seen John truly angry at anyone other than himself. She doesn’t know how this is going to go.

“I am the only chance at stopping him.” She says finally. Not a promise or a guarantee. The honest truth, if ever there was one.

“Either way, win or lose?” Nick pushes.

“I give you my word.”

The moment lasts an eternity as she holds Nick’s gaze.

“I won’t give you a minute. You can’t touch the phone. You tell me the number, I type in the message. You get to send one word.”

“Three.”

He considers it, then he nods and she breathes easy.

“Start with Frankie.” He says and there comes that guard again. Keeping himself safe. Protecting his secrets.

She suspects but she isn’t entirely sure.

Frankie is an easier read, anyway. He wears his heart on his sleeve.

Nick’s reactions to what she says to Frankie will give her everything she needs.

Helen exhales and looks to the younger boy.

She takes in the clothes, the demeanor. The way he sits, the little bit of excitement in his eyes that proved just how naïve he was. How in over his head he was.

“We’ve established the single mom. You’re the oldest. Different dad’s all around. Your mom’s a dreamer. She kept hoping that each guy would be different. They’d care. They’d stay. But they never did.

“You get that from her,” Helen softens her voice, “that tendency to daydream. It keeps you going on the bad days, but it also keeps you stuck. What do consequences matter when everything will be okay in the end, right?

“But you were smart. You did shit in school, but you were quick to pick things up and acing tests made up for the fact you probably never did you homework. But your siblings do. You prioritized their work above yours, made sure they did well. Because it was too late for you, even then, wasn’t it?”

Frankie’s mouth opens but she keeps going.

“Three boys,” That much is a guess but the subtle intake of breath from Frankie tells her she’s right, “Three growing boys need food. And clothes. Mom was running herself to the ground to keep going. So, you stepped up. Because you’re the oldest, and because you love your mom. And, partly, because she and your brothers are all you have.”

Frankie looks like he’s going to pass out at any minute but it’s Nick she’s watching, out of the corner of her eye.

Nick’s leg is shaking, bouncing with nervous energy and he’s staring at his phone, as if it’s the only thing in the world giving him strength.

She’s willing to stake everything that whatever his lock screen shows is his reason to get up each and every morning.

Turning her attention back to Frankie, she continues, “So you wound up here. It’s local and Italian, so it could be worse in your mother’s eyes. It doesn’t stop her from worrying, though.

“But you have your uses. You’re not street smart like the rest of these guys here, but just clever enough that you see things they don’t. Finding patterns and solving puzzles. It makes up for the fact you’re shit in a fight and you probably can’t even shoot straight.”

Frankie’s face breaks into a huge grin, “Holy shit! That was dead on! How did you do that?” He leaves his chair and comes to sit on the ground outside her cell. “I didn’t know psychologists did that.”

Her face softens, “Most don’t. Technically, we’re supposed to avoid making assumptions but, after a while, you learn to pick up on little things.”

Nick narrows his eyes, “Still seems like guess work to me. The fact we’re both dropouts isn’t written on our faces. You guessed based on the fact we’re involved in Syndicate.”

“It gave me an indication of your socioeconomic status,” she admits, “But, in Frankie’s case, it was the oldest brother, single mother combination that made me go in that direction. I used to do quite a bit of family therapy. There are roles that often come up in enmeshed families,” she explains, looking back at Frankie, “things like enablers who allow everything to happen, or scapegoats, who get blamed for everything.”

Helen tries to watch Nick’s reaction to the scapegoat. And sure enough, he stares at his locked screen.

“What am I?” Frankie asks.

“The Hero.” His chest puffs up at the label, “You try to fix everything, even the things that can’t ever be put back together. Which is how I knew you dropped out to help your mom. It’s what you do.”

“And Nick?” He asks, gesturing back to where Nick sat at the table.

Curious, but tense. Disbelieving, but with a hint of worry.

He had the most to lose from this expenditure.

“Nick,” she says softly, “was the scapegoat. And that’s a difficult place to be because you can do everything right but it doesn’t matter. I imagine you got in trouble a lot as a kid, didn’t you, Nick? You didn’t follow the expectations lined out for you. In your parent’s eyes, you made the wrong choices. Had the wrong friends. Played with the wrong toys.”

“There are no wrong toys.” Frankie says, tilting his head in confusion.

“You’re right.” Helen replies, not looking away from Nick, who is now tapping his fingers on the table in an attempt to appease the nervous energy. “But there were in your parent’s eyes. So you tried to appease them, to do everything right. Just how they wanted but you had already made your bed and they never quite got over it.”

Helen has to close her eyes at the flash of pain she sees in Nick’s eyes.

And she’s careful with her phrasing because she won’t be the one to bring it into the open, even if she needs to communicate to him that she knows his deepest secret. The one he pretends doesn’t exist.

“I’ll admit, I am unsure of what happened. But they found out. Maybe you told them, or they saw something they shouldn’t have, but they found out.”

“Stop.”

“They found out, and you lost everything.”

Nick’s hand reaches for his phone and his fist tightens around it, like a lifeline.

“I don’t understand.” Frankie says, looking between them.

Helen ignores him. “You didn’t have a choice but to leave school. You had to support yourself. Take care of yourself. And you found this place. The Syndicate. A family in its own right and they took you in. But this time, you were more careful. You didn’t let it show.”

“Stop!” Nick shouts and Helen does. His face is red, his chest rising and falling.

Helen swallows but stares Nick down until he brings is eyes to meet hers. “There is nothing wrong with you, Nick.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I don’t know the pain of what you’ve been through. Your experience is your own. But I know what it’s like to be afraid and to feel trapped. And I know that nothing is going to change until you learn to accept who you are.”

Nick closes his eyes and rubs them.

And Frankie, bless his stupid fucking heart, looks back to Nick in a kind of understanding. “Oh.” He says and he looks to Helen and then again to his comrade, “Dude, I know how this place can be, but if it helps, I don’t care one way or the other. My middle brother is gay.”

Nick winces at the word and looks past Frankie to Helen.

“What gave it away?” He asks, voice heavy with emotion.

“Nothing that anyone else will pick up on.” She eases his worries, “I’ve been a therapist for nearly fifteen years. I know what to look for.”

Nick looks to Frankie, “You can’t fucking t—”

“I won’t say anything.” Frankie is quick to jump in. “I see how the world treats Gio and he’s only in high school.”

“The world can be a cruel place. As humans, we tend to have a hard time distinguishing what is perceived as normal and what is perceived as right. But we all have a responsibility to challenge those beliefs and I am sorry that your parents couldn’t do that for you.”

“I wasn’t a bad kid.” Nick mutters.

“Of course, you weren’t.”

“I just wanted my parents to love me.”

“Some parents aren’t made to be parents. And the fact they couldn’t get over their narrow world view has nothing to do with you.”

“I can’t come out.”

“You don’t have to.” Helen tells him, “You can live the rest of your life pretending to be someone you’re not. Half the world does, anyway. But I can guarantee you that hiding who you are isn’t going to do anything to protect your kid.”

Nick’s eyes widen and he looks to Helen in shock.

“You have a kid? How did that even happen?” Frankie asks.

“Tequila.”

“We’ve all been there.” Helen mutters, lifting her water bottle in a silent salute. “The guys start asking too many questions about why you never date, never have a girlfriend. They start teasing at the truth and you go out and find somebody. Anybody. And things happen, because things always do. And the next thing you know, you’re trapped in another web of lies. It’s easier to play along than to find a way out and, eventually, that web of lies starts to feel like home. And right now, it’s fine. But webs will always begin to unravel. I’d suggest you do it on your own terms rather than watch your world implode.”

Nick shivers, “You really need to stop.”

“Sorry. It’s hard to shut off, sometimes.”

“I can see why DeLuca sedated you.” He mutters and grabs his phone, “A deal is a deal. What’s the number?”

Helen tries not to look to relieved as Nick brings up a new text message. She recites John’s number, forever thankful that she memorized it. Just in case.

He types it in and shakes his head, “I take it this is Wick’s direct line?”

She nods, “Yes.”

Nick exhales, “I’m really fucking glad our shift is almost done. What do you want to say?”

Three words, she muses. They had agreed on three words.

She didn’t know if he already knew where she was, or who had her. Helen didn’t want to waste her one shot giving John information he already had but, she liked to think if he knew where she was, he would already be here.

“DeLuca of Syndicate.” She decides and hopes against hope that it is enough.

….

Dead ends.

After more than a day of searching, John had only been met with dead ends and more questions.

Winston was right. The answer to who would want to destroy the Camorra was apparently everybody. Which meant the only other factor they had to go on was by means.

Who had the resources to stalk and evade John Wick?

Again, the answer was more substantial than he knew what to do with.

They all had money. Especially, the higher up the food chain they went.

While Winston had been able to clear the highest-ranking officials of the High Table, there were still hundreds of smaller echelons to eliminate.

It hadn’t been going well.

John had limited the search to the Camorra’s immediate allies and their top adversaries, local and foreign. Winston was running it now but John could tell he wasn’t hopeful.

It had never occurred to John just how far the Underworld went. Aside from the major players, there were crime families and gangs that all held some sort of stake in his world. And New York was the fucking capital of it all. Anyone and everyone had ties to the city.

The Technician was still there, in his room. He had used the twin bed to catch a few hours of sleep while they waited for the phone to be activated and John had kept vigil. He watched the phone, waiting for any sort of call or message that wasn’t going to come. He watched the computer, hoping that something would pop up.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing, Mister Wick. If this guy had a modicum of common sense, he would have ditched her original phone and just taken the SIM card. He’ll probably keep the phone off until he intends to use it. Might even be removing the card and only using that when he needs it. Until it’s turned on, we can’t do anything.”

It had taken every ounce of self-control John had not to smash the Technician’s computer. To break the table the way he had done the chair.

He wanted to break something. Needed to see, and hear, and feel something smash apart. Something else had to break before he did.

Thirty-six hours.

It had been thirty-six hours since he had gotten the phone call and he was still no closer to finding Helen.

His stomach churned.

He’d never had trouble eating before or after a mission before. Nothing rattled him. Not blood, or entrails, or the crack of breaking bones. He could see brain matter spattered along a floor and go for a cheeseburger right after.

But this uncertainty, the not knowing… it was killing him.

Had she eaten?

There was a frost over the weekend. Was she someplace warm?

Was she scared?

Did she know he was coming?

He hears the door open and jumps to his feet, heading to the main room. The Technician was hunched over the laptop, needlessly running security cameras and traffic footage near Helen’s home.

John feared it wouldn’t be enough.

A table full of weapons brought by the Sommelier is prepped near the door that Winston is walking through.

He has a bag ready in case Winston is unable to find anything. In case he has to go after the D’Antonio’s.

Winston shakes his head at John, almost in defeat.

“We need to reframe our parameters.” The Manager says, “It’s still too broad.”

John leans against the table. He hadn’t been expecting much but anything would be better than the constant attempts to narrow their search.

What was he missing? What was he leaving out?

What if he went too narrow and ended up missing Helen?

“Have you slept, Jonathan?”

It’s the third time they’ve had this conversation.

He’s tried. But he can’t. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see Helen, bound and passed out on the cold floor.

He can’t remember how many coffee’s he had but it’s keeping him going.

“I suppose I should be grateful you’ve showered.” Winston says, obviously still disapproving. “Still, you won’t be any good to her if you’re strung out on caffeine.”

“I’ve tried, Winston. I just…” He trails off.

This is your fault. You should have protected her better. You should never have showed weakness. Should never have gone to her house. To her office. Should never have brought your fucked-up life into her safe one.

He runs a hand through his hair.

The sitting, the waiting, the hoping is doing absolutely nothing.

He has to fix this.

“I can’t wait any longer, Winston.” John shakes his head, “I’m going after Lorenzo.”

Winston responds in kind, “Don’t be stupid, Jonathan.”

“I can’t sit here doing nothing. If I kill the D’Antonio’s, this is over. She’ll be released.”

“You’re banking on an unknown enemy being honest.”

It was true, but what else was there to go on?

“He has no reason to keep her once they’re dead.”

“That you know of. This could just be the beginning of his plan.” Winston keeps arguing.

“It’s all ifs right now!” John can feel the anger brimming within him, “But it’s all I have! And Helen… she’s tough but she has her limits.”

Winston frowns, “Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you became involved with her.”

“You think I don’t know that! I know that this is my fault but I will get her out of this. I gave you time, I gave the Technician a chance.”

“My time isn’t up.”

“You have a handful of hours and no fucking leads.”

“Um, Mister Wick…” The Technician pipes up, turning around in his seat.

“Then help me narrow down what I should be looking for. You know I can’t just let you go off to kill a member of the High Table.”

“You won’t be able to stop me.”

“Mister Wick!” The Technician shouts and both John and Winston turn to look at him, “You, um, sorry. But you just got a text from an unknown number.”

He holds up the phone and John takes it.

A New York number, that he doesn’t recognize, but opens all the same. The message is short, deliberate.

The miracle he’s been praying for.

DeLuca of Syndicate.

#john wick #helen wick #john wick talk #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #otp: your best friend #bamf!Helen Wick #bamf helen wick #slight dumbass john wick #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic

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spookyold-saintjm · 4 years

Note

4 AND 18 FOR DARK X READER MY DEAR!

4: Excuse me—where is my Christmas kiss?

18: Merry Christmas, motherfuckers!

From this prompt list.

Me? Finally finishing up some requests? More likely than you’d think. Thanks @avenged-nightmare and sorry it took ten years.

This seemed like potential for absolute ego shit-show content so sign me UP. Also, something about Dark saying “motherfuckers” just doesn’t compute in my brain as believable but GUESS WHAT.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption.

Darkiplier x reader

The night had finally come, and it was all the chaos you’d expected it to be, and then some.

Getting all the egos together outside of a meeting wasn’t always an easy task, but somehow you, with your best friend Wilford at your side as your co-conspirator, had made it happen just in time for the holidays. A Christmas party to end all Christmas parties, Wilford had exclaimed in excitement once the plans had been finalized.

You’d basically had to pry his gun from his flailing hands, and the party was still weeks away at the time.

Now it was here, and in full swing. The music, the drinks, the Christmas cookies and other treats, decorating the massive tree in the lobby, party games and catching up with each other’s lives…there was a lot going on, all the more fun to be had around every corner of the house.

Well, almost.

Dark had yet to show, to your disappointment. Not that you were really, truly expecting him to make an appearance…but deep down, you’d hoped just maybe he’d come out of his damned study for the night, at least for you. But there was no indication of his appearance any time soon.

The thought occurred to you halfway through a card game with Wilford, Illinois, and Bing. Your head foggy from champagne and whatever else you’d been drinking throughout the night, you suddenly stood up from your spot on the couch and glanced over to the staircase leading up to the long hallway where Dark’s study was located.

“Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Dark,” you stated, finally pushing your hair away from your face.

“That miiiight not be the best idea…” Bing started, but you ignored him, completely abandoning the game and making your way up the stairs, both hands grasping the railing so that you wouldn’t lose balance as you climbed to the top.

Dark’s study was silent, however the thudding of music and shouts and laughter from below were creeping in through the floorboards, to Dark’s dismay.

He was reading from a stack of papers on his desk when he heard your sporadic, somewhat aggressive knocking on the door. He let out a long sigh, but didn’t bother to look up until you had decided to just let yourself into the room.

Normally, someone coming into his space uninvited would result in serious consequences, but he made exceptions for you. Only you.

He could have gone, however, without seeing you in your current state. You stumbled in wearing a god-awful red and green fuzzy sweater and reindeer antlers haphazardly stuck onto your head, while still carrying the glass that had only briefly contained some sort of strong alcoholic beverage.

“y/n…” Dark started, but you held up a hand to silence him. Which, oddly enough, he did not protest.

“Excuse me, mister—” you slurred, stepping toward his desk. You sat down on the edge, plopping down the glass in your hand and leaning forward to meet his eyes, your face only inches from his. “Where is my Christmas kiss? And why won’t you come downstairs?”

Dark pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes with a sigh. “y/n, how much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Well, you’d know if you would have been spending the evening with me instead of—“ a hiccup and a dismissive wave of your hand, “whatever you’re doing up here.”

Dark swiped the champagne glass away from your arm’s reach when you almost knocked off his desk, and held it between his fingers. You tried to meet his stare again, but you couldn’t figure out which set of eyes you were seeing were the real ones at first. He was silent, unmoving.

“You’re such a fucking grinch,” you finally muttered, easing yourself back up off the desk and into a standing position, although you kept your hands on the desk.

“I don’t know what that means,” Dark replied, his face falling flat, “But I’m assuming you’re insulting me.”

“Whatever, Dark, have fun by yourself.” You turned and made your way toward the door. Just before your hand touched the doorknob, you looked back at him.

“You know, I gave up a lot to stay here with you. You could at least try to respect the things I miss.”

Dark made no effort to respond as you slammed the door shut. You stumbled your way back down the stairs, and found Wilford waiting for you at the bottom.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked, noticing you suddenly rushing to wipe away the fogginess that had formed in your eyes as you reached the bottom steps. He laid a hand on your shoulder to steady the both of you once you landed from the final step. You knew it was just…Dark could just be that way, but the fuzziness in your brain was making your emotions all wonky.

“No, not exactly,” you replied quickly with a shake of your head, suddenly more agitated than sad. “Screw him anyway. Wanna get back to our game?”

Wilford grinned nervously, looking toward the next room over. “Well, we COULD, but…"

His voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of the music in the house getting significantly louder, and a very distinguishable singing voice rising over all the others. When the first “youse” sounded through to the foot of the stairs, you rolled your head back and groaned.

“You gotta be kidding me…”

“We held it off for as long as we could…” Wilford sighed, but you both soon burst into fits of laughter. Yancy was at it again.

“Dammit, let’s just go see what kind of disaster it turns into this time,” you resigned, walking into the next room alongside Wilford, who was yanked away from you by one of the other egos before you could blink. You shrugged and weaved your way through to the kitchen to find the nearest bottle of something, anything. You sighed shortly as you popped off the lid of an unopened beer on one of the long countertops and took a long sip of whatever happened to be inside. You stopped briefly to talk to Eric, who had decided he was perfectly okay with not leaving the kitchen at all and just making sure everyone got some Christmas cookies, and maybe some water every now and then…? D-don’t you think that’s a good idea, y/n?

You hung around Eric a bit longer, his demeanor a pleasant contrast to whatever the hell was going on in the main room. So much dancing, so much sound, so much excitement…and suddenly you weren’t feeling up to any of it any more.

You were leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, smiling as you listened to Eric tell you a story about a past Christmas with his brothers, when suddenly he fell silent, his eyes locked on something, or someone, over your shoulder.

“H-hey, ahh, hi, Mr. Dark!”

You spun around to find Dark standing in the doorway to the kitchen, the air growing colder around you at his presence. He was no longer wearing his jacket and tie, but stood as straight, stiff, and as regal as he ever did in your eyes.

“What.” You spat your demand. Eric suddenly found something very important to do in the dining room and scuttled away, wanting nothing to do with whatever was going to happen between the two of you.

Dark’s eyes were like magnets, pulling you in with no choice but to stare back at him, as much as you didn’t even want to look in his direction in that moment. His arms folded over his chest and he let out a short sigh.

“You really like this sort of thing?” he asked, his voice low.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “I enjoy being with my friends, with people I care about. They all…make me feel like I have a family again. Like I can forget about reality for a while and just…be happy.”

Dark’s eyes dimmed, his head lowering although he didn’t break eye contact. “I don’t make you happy.”

“I didn’t say that,” your voice rose slightly, revealing your desperation. Dammit. You quickly huffed and rolled your eyes. “I mean, you’re not exactly winning any brownie points tonight, that’s for damn sure.”

You knew it wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair to treat him like this, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t feel things the way he should anymore. That he had to re-learn so much from a life he had long before, a past that he could never get back. So much had been taken from him, too.

“Don’t you remember what it’s like to just…have fun?” you finally asked. A dangerous question, asking him about remembering.

He was silent a moment longer, studying you, considering. Your heart had picked up its pace. You immediately wanting to take it back, but your mouth wouldn’t form the words. You started to shake your head, taking a step towards him, silently pleading he’d just forget it and go back upstairs, you could talk about it in the morning—

Dark hummed lowly, uncrossing his arms and dusting himself off before you could reach him. You stopped the second he moved, now only a couple feet away from him, your bones like ice.

He slowly reached for you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His thumb glided along your skin like a whisper. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. A low, deep, rumbling sound came from him, something so unusual you almost jumped from his touch. Was that…was he…laughing? Maybe more of a chuckle, but…oh, he was.

“You are poisonous, y/n…in all the ways that I think I need sometimes.” His hand dropped to gently rest on the back of your neck, urging you closer. In a haze you followed the pull, closing the gap between you and allowing his lips to press softly against yours. Short, simple, but spreading warmth through your entire body.

“If you can convince me in three minutes that this isn’t an abhorrent waste of my time, I will stay with you until the night is over,” he offered, that devilish half-grin of his creeping up along his face.

Your own beaming smile outmatched his easily, and you were pulling him by his arm into the next room faster than he could blink. “Challenge accepted.”

Wilford immediately noticed Dark’s presence in the room and pushed through the crowd to meet you, his pink hair splayed wildly atop his head.

“Darky boy!! You came out of your cave for us?!”

Dark rolled his eyes, but the grin remained. “Hello, Wilford.”

“Wilford, did you just say Dark?!”

“HEY THERE BUDDY!“

“Well, well, well, look who it is!”

A small group of the egos had suddenly formed around you, welcoming Dark amidst the noise and chaos, patting him on the back, offering him drinks and holiday candy or a spot in the next round of a game. His body initially curled inward, his presence cooling around you as if he were ready to fling himself straight into the void. He glared at you, unresponsive to any of their efforts to speak to him, and at first you were worried this really wasn’t going to end well.He pulled himself away from Wilford’s sudden embrace, and you stiffened as you saw his hand clench into a fist at his side. Oh, no.

But then, he glanced at you once more from the corner of his eye, and you saw the faintest of light glinting behind his eyes.

“Alright, alright. Yes, I’m here. Merry Christmas, motherfuckers. Give me that.” He yanked a full glass of liquid from Bim that matched the one you’d been carrying earlier, studying the contents only briefly before pressing it to his lips and taking a long sip.

You wondered if you were ever going to be able to pick your jaw up from the floor. This was going to be quite the night, after all.

#darkiplier x reader #oh this is a wreck lol #darkiplier x y/n #darkiplier imagine #darkiplier scenario #darkiplier drabble #requests #writing prompts #holiday #christmas #avenged-nightmare #spookyold-answers

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drkcnry67 · 4 years

Text

let us have delayed fun!

title: Let Us Have Delayed Fun

pairing: Jensen x reader

fluff 2020 sq: delayed flights

kink 2020 sq: masturbation

rating: 18+

tags: heavy flirtation, some dirty dancing type thing, discreet sexual acts in public, guy fingering girl discreetly on the dancefloor in crowd of people, guy fingering girl in a crowded elevator

summery: not telling

created for @spnfluffbingo @spnkinkbingo

fluff 2020 masterlist part 1 kink 2020 masterlist

it hadnt been very long, actually but an hour since you both had set eyes on eachother. departing at the security gate you both went to wait for your respected flights home but after an hour a storm warning delayed all the outgoing flights.

you both took your luggage and had the same idea, give the attendants your phone numbers to be alerted when the flights are ready to leave again, head to the nearest hotel and drink/dance the hours away…

this hotel just happened to be the same damn hotel (hyatt regency orlando international airport hotel) for it was just outside the hotel that you heard your name being called.

Jensen: “YN… YN wait up!”

you turned around to be face to face once more with Jensen… it was torture but it was better than being alone…

Jensen: “thank goodness i caught up to you… i have been screaming your name for the entire walk from the desk in the airport to here…”

YN: “sorry i had ear buds in… let me guess your flight got delayed too..?”

jensen: “yes it did, how bout to save money we share a room… it would be a whole hell of a lot less boring…”

YN: “why not but we need to go dancing, i am gonna go stir crazy if i dont fall to a beat…”

Jensen: “it will happen, but first i think we need to get into something hot and sexy to blend in at the club…”

you nod as Jensen with his suitcase comes beside you and your suitcase both of you walking into the hotel.

desk personal: “can i help you?”

Jensen: “yes we would like to check in, our flights got delayed…”

Desk personal: “i will need a name to charge the room under as well a card to charge it too…”

Jensen with his dashing smile pulled out his wallet and took out one of his cards.

Jensen: “name is Jensen Ackles. and ill charge this to Visa please. and make sure the room is non smoking with a balcony.”

Desk Personal: “of course mr Ackles. please tap when your ready and one of you will need to sign this agreement its just a standard agreement saying you wont destroy the rooms or anything like that…”

You looked at Jensen and then you took the pen and signed the paper…

YN: “we are just smart enough to wait somewhere comfortable till this storm passes… however long it takes… we dont care…”

Desk personal: “ah yes well storms usually last about 2-3 days depending on the level of the storm. it will be a while so yes you both are very smart in waiting someplace comfortable. now here is your room key you are in room 405 enjoy your stay and welcome to the Hyatt regency Orlando international airport hotel.”

you take the room key and shove it in the corner of your bra so you can take your suitcase in one hand while Jensen take your hand with his free hand. he keeps eyeing you, like he wants to jump you right then right there.

Jensen: “you know if you wear something with easy access you and i will have some fun on the dancefloor. some very heated decreet fun..”

he flashed you another one of his charming smiles. this made your knees feel week. both of you got into the elevator pushing the button to go to the floor to go to your room.

YN: “there is a club down the road calld Noches Azul, i hear its a popular and amazing place for those who like to move with the beat of their own drum.”

Jensen: “then we shall dress to the appropriate color too… ladies first.”

he says as the elevator doors opened. you walked out first and started down the hall slowly till Jensen stepped off the elevator then it was fair game you turned and blew him a kiss before taking off down the hall.

Jensen dropped his luggage beside yours in front of your door and pursured you, when he caught you he picked you up bridal style before reaching in to grab the key card out of your bra with his teeth.

then using your free hand you slid it in the door Jensen used his elbow to push the door open. he carried you placing you on the bed placing ferverous kisses all over your body.

this continued for several moments before you both pulled back and smiled.

YN: “if we dont get off of this bed we wont make it dancing… we want to have some discreet fun dont we?”

Jensen groaned at you, but of course he knew you were right…

Jensen: “your right. so what are you wearing tonight?”

YN: “stay right here and ill show you…”

you go into the other room away from Jensen’s view and you put on the little blue dress you had found at the airport. it just happened to fit the bill… once the dress was on you put all your stuff nice-ishly back where it was.

YN: “Jensen play Sexy Back… i want to see your reaction to me in this dress with this song.”

you listen for the start of the song, it starts and you wait for the bridge, where you begin to move slowly then you began to move into view along the wall when the chorus started.

as you continued to move your body on the corner of the wall you watched Jensen’s eyes not leave your form. you could see the lust in his eye, you could see the way his lips curled and the way he licked his lips. it turned you on so bad.

Jensen: “when did you pick this little number up?”

YN: “at the airport after i passed security, i went to grab a snack and came out with this dress. what do you think?”

Jensen: “i love it, it is exactly what will help this night to go smoothly. as well as it just looks smashing on you.”

Jensen had already stopped the song, you continued to stand against the wall, but Jensen figured he had to find something hot for himself to wear. you waited paitently for him to come back wearing the navy shirt along with some Jeans.

you let out a whistle for that shirt brought out his features very well. you had your leather jacket on the couch near by, Jensen had his in hand as well, you handed him your id to keep in his wallet along with the key card.

in moments you were off walking through the small area to the club. where you both would dance and dance till your hearts content or till you both felt so hot and heavy that it would be beneficial if you were anywhere but there.

arriving you both showd your id and were let inside. you both checked your jackets and Jensen stuck the check stubs in his wallet. you both went straight to the dance floor. you were glued to Jensen like a dirty shirt.

no one would dare to mess with either of you. finding a nice darkish spot on the dancefloor private enough for some “secret” fun.

both of you now taking part in the music, the beat coursing through your forms, your shared forms blending not missing a single beat no one around you paid any attention.

under the dimest spotlight there was, you and Jensen now stood making yourselves as comfortable as could be. the beat taking over, the feeling of Jensen’s hands roaming your body, this made your pussy very very wet.

Jensen(whispering in your ear): “grind my fingers baby keep dancing.”

you did as commanded, you were so wet and had orgasmed 5 times by the time the song was done. thats when Jensen pulled his fingers back again before you could orgasm again, he once more leaned down to whisper.

Jensen (whispering): “squirt for me baby!”

Jensen once more dipped his fingers hard into your soaking wet pussy. the silent moans, the rest of the club clueless as fuck and the feeling of Jensen’s fingers diving deeper and deeper into your pussy.

your body kept moving trying to contain any signs that you were discreetly being masturbated by a man you have only known for a month. this was your normal, this felt right in more ways than one.

Jensen had been there for you from the first day you met him. till now you had been completely alone, no man had entered your life long enough to even have your first kiss, long enough to ever make it as far as you had with Jensen. to be feeling these feelings made you wonder if he felt it to.

truth was he was completely feeling the same thing you were this was how you first swiruted, this was the man you knew was to be your present as well as your future.

in that moment you didnt care, you knew eventually your flights would take you both home seperately and probably your paths would never cross again. but in this moment it felt like heaven on earth.

Jensen hit one sweet spot and you squirted, discreetly you and Jensen giggling and smiling walked out of that club as fast as possible remembering to grab your coats on the way out.

arriving outside the club and walking back to the hotel you both laughed, for it was to be destiny that would give you both the biggest surprise ever.

arriving back at the hotel you both stumble up to the room, shutting the door again ending up in eachothers arms on the bed, the clothes you guys had been wearing were now all over the floor, and both of you were now cuddled in bed having just done sex for what felt like the millionth time during this entire trip.

reality started to sink in when the phone calls came in 6 hours later, this was when it sunk in. both of you looked at the clock it read 3:30am this was the time that the delay was no more. this was when you were both disturbed to get up get repacked and get ready for your flights home.

Jensen: “ill never forget the time we spent together. i left you something in your suitcase. you will find it and know what it means when the time comes. i also took down your address and phone number ill be sending you little things to show you i havent forgotten.”

YN: “i feel the same way but once we leave here, why would you waste time on a non celeb like me. i mean sure maybe our friends set us up but we wont know that till we confront them. i should have said this sooner but before i get on this plane there is something you should know. i think i have fallen for you. but i know not what to think at this moment. i took down your number as well, please understand that i may not communicate right away but thats cause i have a best friend whose anxiously awaiting my return home.”

Jensen: “same here, but please let me know when you do arrive home. i would like to know you arrived safely.”

Jensen helped you once more by helping you with your bags as he walked by your side to the airport and up to the check in once more to get your updated tickets and then it was time to part once more in such sweet sorrow.

you and jensen let go of your bags and hugged it out once more before parting to your respected gates. but you whispered in his ear when you hugged him.

YN: “i will let you know when im back on home soil. i will always remember your touch.”

Jensen and you parted and went on your way. arriving home you sent Jensen a text.

YN (texting Jensen): “hey Jensen its YN. i am back on home soil and i already miss your embrace. i am heading to baggage to collect my luggage, then to meet my best friend in the lobby. home hasnt changed. let me know when you land and what your seeing too. ill look forward to being in more correspondance with you soon <3″

you grabbed your bag and went down the escalator straight into the arms of your best friend. you broke down as soon as you hit her embrace. she just stood there hugging you not caring that either of you were in public, you both stood there as you cried.

Beth: “what happened girl?”

YN: “long story short the trip was amazing, but i fear i have fallen in love with someone i might never seen again. i missed you.”

Beth: “come on lets get you out of here and back home.”

you both exited the airport and went back home. later when you were alone you looked at your phone and saw a messgae from jensen.

Jensen (via text): “hey beautiful i made it home to, i know how you feel, it feels weird to be home again. my best friend is waiting i just grabbed my luggage. i hope everything goes well. till we speak again. i miss you too <3″

that was the message that sent you into a suspended sleep your bestie crawled into bed after she was done her work. she didnt care that you were passed out. she was just happy that you were home.

Jensen had a similar greeting from his best friend and returned home to his large and half empty bed also falling into a suspended sleep all he could think about was you.

*to be continued*

#spnfluffbingo #spnkinkbingo

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