#maybe my tone is harsh but i just find this hard to show compassion because it's often deliberate... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

watermelonlovershigh · 3 years

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Harry Gets Food Poisoning While at Your House

This prompt was requested by this ask and I just put my own take on it. Hope everyone enjoys.

Things to help you understand this story better:

(Boyfriend-Girlfriend/Dating for 2 years/Harry stays over at your place a lot/You ate something different than Harry/Dunkirk Harry era)

(wish that photo was really Harry but unfortunately its not. dead give away by the hand :( )

Harry and yourself decided to order Chinese take-out for a at-home date night. You both scoffed down the tasty food while sitting on the sofa watching romantic comedies. Once you finished eating, you and Harry cuddled together on the sofa under a warm fluffy blanket. You laying on your back and Harry laying on his tummy between your legs, with his head resting on your boobs. While focusing on the film, you run your small fingers in his brown curls and he relaxes into your touch, letting out content sighs.

About an hour after eating, Harry becomes restless on top of you. Before, he was laying peacefully, but now he's squirming every few seconds. "You alright babe?" you question down to Harry on your chest.

"Mhmm my stomachs starting to hurt." he replies truthfully. He's unsure the cause but his stomach is swirling and his heart rate is picking up at the mere thought of having to be sick. Especially the thought of being sick at his girlfriends house during the at-home date you had planed. He doesn't want to ruin it by getting sick.

"Oh m'sorry. Do you think it was the Chinese food?" you speak remorsefully.

"I don't know but I don't want to be sick," Harry says with a voice crack indicating he's actually getting upset, "and ruin our date night." When he finishes his sentence, he starts softly sobbing into your chest.

"Hey, hey, Harry," you say sternly but still in your caring voice, "you would not be ruining our date night. You can't help if your feel sick. Do you maybe want to go sit in the bathroom so you're closer to the toilet?"

Harry just nods his head and you help him stand up from his position on your chest and onto his barley stable feet. Then you guide him to your downstairs hall bathroom because its the closest bathroom to your living room. You walk Harry up to the toilet and help him kneel down in front and you squat down behind him. "I feel so sick y/n!" Harry moans out through shallow breaths.

"It's gonna be okay Harry. I'm right here. It's okay to be sick. I won't be mad." you reassure your boyfriend so he knows he doesn't have to keep in his sick for your sake and so he'll feel better. Because you know undoubtedly he has food poisoning from the Chinese food he ate earlier and if he keeps the toxins in his body, he will just feel sicker and sicker.

Harry's back arches over the toilet as he lets out a sickly sounding gag. You grimace at the noise but know you must keep it together to take care of him and comfort him. He's breathing rather heavy with his mouth hanging open and saliva dripping out into the water. "Shhh babe, just relax and throw up. Your tummy will feel so much better after." you gently coo in his ear. You have one hand rubbing circles on his muscular back and one hand pushing back his curly bangs that's falling in his face. He lets out a harsh dry heave and it follows with a long stream of vomit exiting out his mouth and splattering in the toilet water. You have to close your eyes to not be sick yourself.

In-between spells of emptying his stomach, Harry mutters, "You can leave me in here alone. Don't want you seeing me like this." He is absolutely crazy to think you'd leave him in such a vulnerable state. You love Harry and him being sick doesn't stray you away from being by his side in such a situation.

"Harry, I am not leaving you. I don't care if you're sick. You've seen me sick many times and took care of me each of those times. So I'm taking care of you." you calmly say back. Honestly, Harry feels so sick that he doesn't try and argue with you. If he's being truthful, he's actually thankful you're with him, comforting him, because he hates being sick alone. He may not admit that out loud but its true. Something else that happens when Harry's sick, alone or with someone there with him, he gets emotional. An uncontrollable emotion that follows during or after getting sick. One thing he hates most about this situation right now is looking weak in front of you. He's always so strong and being this vulnerable in your eyes suck.

What Harry doesn't know is that you like this side of him. Not the sick version of course but the weak side. It shows he isn't perfect and you honestly don't think you could even date someone who puts themselves out as such.

Harry forcefully throws up a few more times until he's just dry heaving with nothing more to expel. "I think you're done babe." you tell Harry softly as he's dry heaving with no results.

Harry just shakes his head weakly and replies, "I still feel sick though. My stomach hurts so bad." Tears are rolling down his face and his hands that grip the sides of the toilet seat are slightly shaking.

"I know but I think the toilet is making you feel more sick." You reach over him to flush his puke down the toilet so he doesn't have to look at it a minute longer. Harry sits up straight and turns his head back slowly to look at you. This is the first time you have seen his face clearly since he's gotten sick tonight and the first thing you notice is how red his eyes are, probably from all the gagging and dry heaving, and you see the wetness of his cheeks due to crying. Along with the bit of vomit that his on the corner of his pink lips and line of sweat on his forehead. You feel horrible for him. You'd hate to be in his position but almost wish the roles were reversed, just to take his discomfort away. That's how much you love him. You'd do just about anything for Harry. Even if that means take his food poisoning away from him and have it yourself.

You reach for some toilet paper and rip a piece off to wipe his mouth clean. While wiping his vomit covered mouth, Harry just sits and stares at you. He feels so little right now. Almost like he's a small child who's just been sick and their mum is cleaning them up. Even though Harry is embarrassed he got sick on what was supposed to be a lovely date night where you both ate non contaminated food, watched film after film, trying not to fall asleep, or maybe had some romantic intimacy at the end of the night, he actually feels happy right now. Not happy his stomach is upset but happy he got lucky enough to have a caring girlfriend that is by his side during his ugliest moments. He thinks he may have just fell more in love with you. Seeing how compassionate you are towards him when he's sick.

When you finish wiping around his mouth and a little bit of nasty drainage from his nose, Harry becomes emotional again. Like stated previously, he always gets quite emotional when he's sick but that's not the only cause of his emotions right now. He is also crying because he's thinking about how much he truly loves you and how he never thought he'd find someone with your level of compassion.

You throw away the soiled tissue and pull Harry forward so you can embrace him in a warm hug. You don't really understand why he's crying so much. Is it because his stomach is still hurting or he's embarrassed? "Why are you crying Harry?" you question him then continue, "It's alright. I'll give you medicine to make you feel better. Don't worry about that."

While rubbing both hands up and down his sweaty back, Harry says through soft sobs, "I just love you so much. How did I get so lucky. I've had partners in the past to push me away when I was sick and you didn't. You stayed and took care of me." He lifts his head so he can view your face when he mutters out the rest. "I'm gonna marry you one day you know. Want to call you my wife. Want to have lots of babies with you. Be with you till I'm a hundred. Promise I do."

His words have brought tears to your eyes. Knowing how grateful Harry is that you're taking care of him when he's sick means so much. You didn't think twice before helping him when he said he felt sick, so it must be the true love you feel for this man crying in your hold. With a shaky smile and watery eyes, you look at him in his glossy green eyes and say, "I would kiss you right now but I have a feeling your breath smells like puke so I'll pass. Love you so much Harry and of course I took care of you. I love you and that's what you do for the people you love. Take care of them in their weakest moments."

You hold him for a few more minutes on the bathroom floor until your bum gets sore from the hard tiles. You help Harry stand to his feet and walk him to your bedroom located up the stairs of your house. Then you help him slide into bed and tell him you'll be right back with some medicine and a glass of water.

A few minutes later, you come back with the upset stomach tablets and water for Harry to take and ease his turning tummy. Once he's taken the medicine, you go grab your mini trash bin in your bathroom and place it beside the bed incase he feels like he's gonna throw up again. Then you turn all the lights off and crawl under the warm blankets with your boyfriend. Without hesitation, Harry scoots over and places his head on your chest. He's past the point of being scared to look weak. He just wants comfort and the one thing that brings him the most is you. The love of his life. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight." Harry whispers with a hoarse voice.

"You don't need to thank me babe. I was glad to be there for you. I know you don't like getting sick and I was happy to at least make the experience a little bit better. Now go to sleep and if you feel sick again, the bin is on the floor beside the bed for you. Also don't be afraid to wake me up if you feel nauseous. I want to be there to comfort you." you reply back in a whispered tone. You kiss the top of his messy curls and Harry relaxes into your hold on him. Feeling safe and secure in your loving arms. Then you both fall fast asleep.

Thankfully Harry didn't get sick anymore through-out the night and the medicine you gave him seemed to have worked. The next day he was just exhausted form exerting so much energy being sick the day before but other than that, his stomach felt calm. You made him homemade chicken soup and cuddled him in bed, watching his favorite movies all day. Loving every second you get to spend with Harry before he has to leave and go on his world tour in a months time.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

#sicfic #sick #food poisoning #harrystyles #harry #styles #boyfriend!harry #boyfriendharry #boyfriendgirlfriend #comfort #throwingup #fluff #girlfriend

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jamilelucato · 4 years

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Imperfect [O.W.]

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Gryffindor!reader

Summary: Y/N is always trying out for the Quidditch team, and Oliver is tired of telling her no, so he decides to change it.

A/N: I know I have some requests yet and I’ll write them, but this idea of Oliver got stuck in my mind so I had to write it and it’s so cute! Oliver is so cute!!

Harry Potter Masterlist || Musical Hogwarts Series

Words: +8.200

It was a beautiful morning to play Quidditch. But then again, if you ask Oliver, he would have said any morning is good enough for Quidditch. Today, he had an extra job than just managing his team. It was tryouts day — Gryffindor needed a new chaser.

Oliver Wood was thankful when he arrived in the pitch and saw that his teammates were already there. He expected Angelina, and maybe Alicia, but he wasn’t expecting the twins to arrive in time.

“A lot of people came,” commented Alicia, to fill the silence of an early morning. The teammates were good friends, but at such hour, they weren’t used to talk a lot.

Oliver took this as an opportunity to analyze the stands and found out Alicia was right. A lot of brave Gryffindors showed up, which was a surprise. Since only one spot was available, people generally avoided coming in lots.

Angelina stepped closer to Oliver, speaking a low whisper, her tone marked with pity: “Oh, no, she’s gonna try out again.”

Oliver followed Angelina’s eye, knowing very well who Angelina was referring to and trying to find her in the middle of the Gryffindors. He found her sitting on the first roll of the stands, holding her broom tight to her chest. If this were a photograph and someone had shown it to Wood, he wouldn’t have been able to tell each year was it taken on, because, since they were second-years she used to sit there in tryouts, waiting for a chance.

Oliver sighed involuntarily. He hated feeling pity for the girl because he knew that she truly didn’t deserve it. She was a smart, pretty girl who he shouldn’t take pity. She had other things to be proud of herself, Oliver was sure of it, but then why, why did she insist on showing up for trials every single time, even when the answer never changed?

“Good luck with her,” Angelina said, staring back at her old friend. She knew about the girl because she watched most of the times that Oliver had to say no to her.

“Don’t say it like that,” Oliver reprehended Angelina, his tone a little too harsh. He usually didn’t speak so seriously unless a match was about to start so it confused Angelina.

“Oli, are you feeling sympathy for her? Because you have to remember she’s terrible. I can give her points for trying, but that will not make us win a game,” Angelina said, touching, softly, her friend’s shoulder.

“Just... start the trials,” Oliver sighed, brushing Angelina’s touch off. He couldn’t stop staring at the girl, and he was happy to find her oblivious to the stares. Oliver and Angelina weren’t the only ones who knew she was terrible and yet kept coming — Oliver was quite sure that every Gryffindor in their year knew it too.

Angelina started calling the official team to their position, and she stole the list of names Oliver was carrying in his left hand. She was about to read aloud the first name when she noticed that it belonged to the girl in the stands — y/N y/L/N. Angie sighed, deciding to start bottom to top, giving herself more time to deal with the inadequate player.

“Oli, let’s go,” Angelina called her captain’s attention when the first trial was about to start. She was deep down worried Oliver was going to do something stupid towards that girl because why couldn’t he stop staring at her?

Thankfully, when the games started, Oliver Wood was distracted with Quidditch too much to remember y/N. He loved the sport, and Angie doubted there could be anything that could mislead him from that.

By the time they were testing the seventh chaser, Oliver was confident he had found the one: a girl from fifth-year who didn’t miss one chance to score. However, there were still eight other players in the stands waiting for their turn, and Oliver couldn’t let them all go without giving them a shot. He doubted they could be better than the fifth-year girl, but it was worthy.

The matches were capable of distracting him, but always when they were over, Oliver returned to face the girl huddled in the stands, y/N. With each new student they tested, y/N seemed to shrink even more.

Oliver wondered why she did this, why she kept showing up. It couldn’t be that after almost six years of rejection, she didn’t get the message.

“She’s the only one left,” Angelina said, looking at the stands.

The whole team groaned behind the two — Fred, George and Alicia knew very well how terrible y/N was. Oliver was beginning to think Harry Potter had understood that too, even if he was still new there.

“Today’s more crowded than the other times she participated,” Angelina pondered out loud. “People will laugh at her, Oli,” she looked down at her broom, her expression a mix of compassion and worry.

They knew she was terrible, but the rest of Gryffindor didn’t need to.

“Okay, listen up,” Oliver breathed hard two times before gathering the courage to do what he was about to do. “I’ll need more time to consider my options,” the whole crowd complained, causing Oliver to turn his eyes. His hands went to his waist as he tried very hard to not look at the girl in the first roll of the stands. “But later on I’ll call you all back here, or at least the best of you, and will try again.”

“Try again?” someone shouted, clearly angry.

“Yeah, you heard me,” the crowd wasn’t the only ones complaining — Fred and George were calling Oliver nuts in his back. “In fifteen days, we’ll try this again.”

“Oliver, what are you doing?” Angelina flew closer to the captain, her face clearly showing her surprise with Wood’s decision. “Thought it was going to be Katie Bell?”

Oliver swallowed hard, sure that not only Angelina was worried, but so the whole stands. “I need more time to think,” he said, letting his eyes finally wander to y/N.

The end of his sentence made things a little easier for the crowd, who left murmuring, but thankfully none of them was saying bad things about Oliver.

The girl in the stands fought against herself, a mixture of desires — the first was to disappear; the second was to raise her hand and warn them that they had not tested her.

“Oliver, what are you doing?” Angelina asked, knowing very well what her friend was doing, but not believing it anyway. Oliver didn’t answer because he didn’t know either.

Oliver finally dared to face y/N and noticed how her mouth opened and closed without saying a thing. Still, on the broom, he flew to where she was. He was able to fly efficiently, so even when his emotions closed his eyes, he knew he was making the right way to the girl.

“Oliver Wood,” the girl murmured, gulping in surprise. “Captain,” she said again, a bit louder, and Oliver looked down at his own hands. “I hate to be the one that mentions it, but you forgot me.”

Oliver finally looked at her, suddenly locked in her beautiful eyes, lost in her mystic for a second. “I’m sorry?” he managed to say.

“You forgot to try me out,” she gulped again, and her cheeks instantly pinked up. She seemed to notice what had happened to her face because her hands let the broom fall next to her seat, and she covered her mouth with them.

“Yeah, well, new tryouts are happening in fifteen days, so... we can do it later,” he said, really not sure of what to say next. It was like he wasn’t thinking, and that would be a first for him — to be thoughtless in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

“Why’s that though?” she questioned, raising her left brow slightly. Oliver gulped, knowing that his answer was going to embarrass her and kill him.

“Because of me?” she asked, and if Oliver believed her face was red before, it’s because he didn’t know the power she had hidden — right at that moment, she was only red.

“Yes,” Oliver sighed, knowing he had to say it once and for all. “Y/N, I know how you play. I was there in your first tryout—”

“—Yeah, I remember, we sat together. You were really nervous,” y/N interrupted, but Oliver didn’t care. He knew she did it to call his attention to another thing, something that wasn’t her game skills.

“—and since then, you haven’t got much better. You usually play with your emotions, and every time someone else scores or you don’t score, you get angry,” Oliver continued, getting off his broom and sitting next to her in the stands, placing his broom next to hers. That was when he noticed that her broom was a Firebolt, “when you get angry, your play tactics get even worse. Wait a minute — you have a Firebolt??”

Her eyes widened, while her nose wrinkled slightly. Y/N didn’t know what to say. Yes, she had a Firebolt and knew very well that it was one of the best brooms on the market, which meant it was one of the most expensive. Many professional teams didn’t have that broom yet, so someone like her, who didn’t play anything, was not expected to have it.

“Yes, it’s a Firebolt,” she played with her fingers, trying to calm herself down. There was a secret behind the broomstick, and Oliver Wood was the last person she wanted to find out. “It was a gift; it doesn’t matter.”

Oliver noticed she was trying to brush it off, so he dropped the subject. Perhaps she was the daughter of a rich pureblood he didn’t know. It didn’t matter much, she was right, but it did incentivize him, even more, to proceed with his idea.

“Anyway, what I want to say is that I have a plan,” he said, clasping his hand in the other and crossing his fingers, making his features more serious, intending to intimidate her into agreeing. Now that he knew she had a Firebolt, he couldn’t let the broom go to waste. “I want to train you.”

She gasped, and Oliver watched her expression change and go through many emotions before she finally decided to stick with denial and shame.

“Oliver, you can’t be serious, I mean, look at me,” she started loud and ended whispering. “I’m fine with the simple rejection — say you don’t want me in the team. You won’t be my first ‘no’.”

“But I don’t want it to be a no. The amount of bravery and dedication it takes you to show up year after year, hoping for a chance to get in — that’s the kinda loyalty I want in my team,” he said, avoiding looking at her to embarrass her even more. His eyes found the pitch, where Angelina watched the two with a confused expression. She and Fred were the only two left — he seemed to be talking to Angie, but she focused on Oliver and y/N. “We just need to turn you into a good player, that’s all.”

“That’s why you postponed the trials?”

Oliver didn’t answer — he didn’t want the girl to think she was too much special.

“But fifteen days isn’t enough, you of all people should know that,” she commented, pointing at him but with a delicate pout.

“You forget who will be training you,” Oliver smirked, trying his best to make it look casual as if he cast smirks at all the girls he knows. “I can turn you into a good chaser, good enough to pass the trial and then, you can train with the team.”

Pressing her lips hard on a pout, y/N shook her head from side to side. Oliver was sure she would say no to his ridiculous plan and run away. But she surprised him.

“Fine. Fifteen days of training, I suppose I can handle it,” y/N giggled nervously. “These will be the most training days I’ve ever had.”

Her lasts words surprised Oliver, who tried hard not to look so disappointed. He was going to work extra hard with y/N if he wanted her to be at least a sub on the team.

But as he watched her gather her stuff and leave with a smile, he was sure she was worth it.

***

“I can’t believe what you did,” Angelina complained as soon as Oliver sat down in the Gryffindor table to the feast.

“Which part? The part where he delayed the tryouts—” “—or the part where he picked the worst player ever to be his protégé?” George ended the question for his twin in a sarcastic tone, both of them frowning at Oliver.

Oliver rolled his eyes, diverting his attention to the food. He wasn’t ready to deal with his teammates. He knew they wouldn’t get it, and Oliver couldn’t ask them to understand because even he couldn’t.

He was enjoying the chicken when, unintentionally, his eyes left the plate and landed on the girl who sat on the other side of the table, at the far end of it, y/N y/L/N. He wasn’t sure how his senses noticed she had just arrived, but once he gazed at her, he couldn’t help but glimpse in that direction at least once in a minute.

“You still need to come to our practices, do you hear?” Angelina asked, her voice sounded like she was miles away, but she was sitting next to Oliver.

He swung his head, avoiding the obvious that was beginning to boil in his chest.

“I’ll be there, Angie,” he replied, finishing his plate.

The table gradually cleared, and thanks to Merlin, Oliver had stopped looking away in the direction of y/N.

When Fred Weasley was about to get up and leave, Oliver called for his mate, taking advantage that Angelina was no longer close.

“What is it, Wood?”

“I need your help,” Oliver said, locking his jaw and exposing his teeth.

“What do you need?” Fred sighed, crossing his arms as he faced Oliver from above.

“I reckon you know some secrets about the castle, and I need to know one of them.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, excited to discover a side of Oliver that he didn’t think existed and answered everything he could, trying to help in the best way.

***

“Get up, y/N.”

“No, mum, it’s too early,” y/N mumbled in her sleep, her eyes didn’t even open, and her mouth barely moved to speak those words.

“Get up, y/N. It’s Oliver, not your mom.”

Her eyes flew open in the dark in fright, and her hands ran to her hair as she futilely tried to control the mess.

“Oliver, what are you doing here??”

“Shh! Everyone’s still asleep,” he whispered, pulling away from her bed, giving her room to get up. “I’ll wait for you in the common room. Our training starts today, did you forget?”

She didn’t answer anything, still in the trance of having a beautiful, polite and surprisingly scented boy so early in the middle of her dorm.

“Come on, get changed,” he whispered a little louder this time since he was already at the door. He opened it and left, giving y/N a little peace for a few seconds, while she took a deep breath after the fright moment.

After wearing something comfortable but thick, because it was too early, so it was very windy, she left her room.

“How the hell did you get through the spells that block guys?” she asked before saying anything else. She was more curious than worried.

“Fred told me how,” he shrugged.

“Of course he did,” she puffed, holding her broom closer and following him out of the common room. “Just... don’t do it again, okay? You really scared me.”

Oliver held in a smile, afraid that she could misinterpret him.

“Aren’t we going to the Quidditch pitch?” she asked when they stopped in the school lawn, where the younger students took the flying classes.

“No need, not for your first lesson,” Oliver explained, opening a trunk that was already in the middle of the lawn. He probably had wakened up way earlier than y/N presumed, just to put it there.

While he opened it and decided which of the balls to take, y/N took her time to appreciate what Oliver was doing for her. They were never actually friends, so it wasn’t like he owed her anything.

“Well, for starters, do you know which one you have to focus on, as a chaser?” he asked, and she chuckled.

“Hey, Oliver, that, at least, I know,” she joked.

However, he didn’t seem to find it funny because he ignored her playful tone.

“Good, that’s good,” he got the Quaffle and started walking away from y/N. “Get on your broom.”

She did as asked, interested with what he was planning to do since he didn’t get in his broom.

“Now, I’m gonna make some ‘catch and throw’ rounds, okay? Think you can handle it?” he asked, raising a brow towards her, taking more steps away. She simply shook her head an yes.

*** They stayed outside in the lawn for two hours, and he was completely lying when he told y/N that he was going to do just some rounds of throw the Quaffle at her because that was literally all they did.

Yet, y/N got really tired of that, and she could feel her arms melting as if she had lost all her strength. She didn’t want to admit it to him, scared Oliver would think she is weaker than he thought, but even though she kept denying it, Oliver noticed that, after one hour of that exercise, her productivity wasn’t as good as in the first rounds.

“Okay, you can go shower now,” he tried to sound comical, but he was quite sure he failed. “I’ll see you again tonight, at 8 p.m., okay? At the Quidditch pitch.”

Y/N was practically many steps ahead of him, but yet she stopped and walked towards him again.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You can’t at 8? Do you prefer at 9?” he questioned, but he didn’t realize her dissatisfaction.

“Oliver, you want me to come back today? Again?”

Oh, he thought, finally realizing what she was unhappy about. He’s so used to practising Quidditch at any chance he gets that he sometimes forget other people aren’t like him, especially y/N, who isn’t even on the team.

“Don’t worry, I won’t overwork your arms again today; it’ll be a dodging Bludgers exercise,” he explained, getting up and collecting his trunk.

“Still doesn’t sound exciting to come back,” she sniffed, in a sad frown.

“Want me to invite the twins?”

“Hell, no,” she rejected immediately, very aware that, although very funny (they could manage to keep her happy at least), they were very good beaters, and she would suck at dodging their Bludgers.

“See you later, y/N,” Oliver said, walking past her, while she tried to recover herself from the fear of exhaustion.

***

She couldn’t pay attention to any of the day classes, and it was not because of her new Quidditch career ahead of her — it was because, thanks to the Quidditch career, showering took longer than expected and she missed breakfast. And paying attention with an empty stomach (and sore arms) was impossible.

Her mind, walking through the imagination land; her thoughts, starting to make no sense when a piece of paper knocked her in the neck. She unfolded it and read:

Still sore?

It was a simple phrase, and at first, she did not recognize who could have sent it. Until she remembered who sat behind her in McGonagall’s class.

She replied instantly: I’m just hungry. I lost time for breakfast.

Since she got no answers, she tried to pay attention in class once again, but it was almost over, and McGonagall soon freed they all.

“Hey, y/N,” a voice called as soon as y/N stepped out of class. She looked around and found Oliver Wood leaned in one of the pillars holding an apple in his hand. “Take it, it’ll keep you sated until lunchtime.”

She looked at his hand stretched towards her so she could take the fruit, and, for a second, she hesitated. But she decided it was best she ate something.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him, but he seemed not to notice.

“We can start earlier tomorrow if you want — you won’t miss breakfast,” he suggested, walking next to her towards her next class.

“No, I rather loose breakfast,” she said, frowning a bit, letting her mind imagine herself waking up at something like 3:30h in the morning — she didn’t doubt he could suggest it.

He chuckled, fascinated with her. He then froze, chocked with himself. That would be a first, Oliver had never felt fascinated by a girl before, only Quidditch news got his fascination. What had changed? Well, maybe he just needed a time walking with people that aren’t in the Quidditch team.

After all, his only best friend was Angelina Johnson, and he only talked to her about the sport.

They walked together to their next classes, surprised to find out they also had the next period together.

***

“Good evening,” Oliver said in the dim light of the Quidditch field. Someone had installed magic lights there a couple of years ago, but they weren’t too good.

Y/N stared at Oliver, angrily. She was only provoking him — she knew what she had signed up for — but he didn’t realize it was a joke.

“Are you okay?”

“Let’s start it so I can go to bed. You woke me up way earlier than I expected today,” she said, reminding herself to laugh afterwards, already picking up the fact that Oliver didn’t have the talent to know when people are pretending to be mad.

He smiled sideways, glad that she was able to joke around him. He was much worried when this all started that y/N would keep blushing every time he said something, and y/N would be shy around him, so it was nice to see that she was getting used to him.

He decided he wasn’t gonna train her much that night, after all, it was just her first day. They didn’t have much time though, and he was afraid they’d need all the time they could get, so he knew tomorrow he would have to take extra hours with her. But he let tomorrow worries be tomorrow problems.

***

It was her ninth day of training, and y/N was about to give up. She was exhausted — she wasn’t paying attention to more than half of her classes, and her homework was pilling up. The amount of pain she was feeling in her arms that were never used to exercise was killing her. She had stopped at Madam Pomfrey to get some potions for the pain, but she was afraid that if she appeared in the Hospital Ward for the fifth day consecutive, Pomfrey would admit her in.

Y/N started seeing other things too — when her mind wasn’t wandering off. She noticed the Gryffindor team was always staring — at the feasts and in the middle of classes —, particularly Angelina.

Quidditch pitch at midnight. (Sorry I didn’t get another time. Slytherin will train until 11:30 p.m.) See you there.

She was already used to the notes Oliver Wood would pass her in the middle of classes. She was glad he was using this system instead of invading her dorm room, even though his calligraphy wasn’t the best.

They were far from midnight, but y/N was already walking around the halls a bit sleepy. She managed to get coffee when she went to her dorm — y/N had to pretend she was going to bed just like everybody else. No one could know she and Oliver were wandering around past curfew.

Her, once very new broom, was now grated, scraped and worn in places. Okay, it was still way better than Oliver’s for instance, but still, she was falling off of it many more times than she wished.

She stared at the clock on the nightstand beside her bed. It was still twenty minutes to midnight, but she didn’t care. She got up, grabbed a jumper and dressed it over a green t-shirt (which was part of her pyjamas) and her black cotton pants.

Oliver wasn’t in the common room, so she kept walking alone with her broom to the Quidditch field, avoiding finding Mr Filch.

She met some Slytherins in her way to outside — a couple of boys in Quidditch uniform, so close to each other she wondered if they were lovers instead of friends.

When she finally got there, she noticed that Oliver’s broom was tossed in the ground, only she couldn’t find him in the dusky light.

She grabbed his broom, leaving her own on the floor instead, and she analyzed it. She had so many better brooms in her house... maybe if she wrote a letter for her mom, she would send y/N’s old Swiftstick 5.0 to Hogwarts. Oliver would like it better than his old one.

Suddenly, a light was turned on, illuminating the field much better than that spell they had cast years ago. Y/N looked around, trying to find the source and noticed a boy at the other side of the field.

“Hey, y/N!” Oliver yelled before jogging to meet y/N. “Much better, huh?” he looked over to the lights.

“What did you do?”

“Asked Flitwick how he did the lighting of here those two years ago and recast the spell. He said it was about time someone did it, but since they stopped using it at night, no one noticed...” Oliver stopped talking once he noticed he might have said too much.

“Well, it’s way better. Definitely better,” y/N smiled, giving Oliver his broom and grabbing back her own.

“Then let’s start. Don’t wanna be here ‘til five in the morning,” Wood joked and was surprised when y/N also chuckled. He knew he was learning to be funny (perhaps her influence), but it was nice to see that she thought he was funny too. “Today we’ll train something more specific — flying in the rain.”

“It’s not raining,” she pointed out, scared of what was yet to come.

Oliver smiled, taking his wand from his back pocket and casting the spell. “Meteolojinx!”

Y/N didn’t even get time to hide when the water started falling over then. It rained so much on them that y/N couldn’t see anything anymore. It made sense for Oliver to want to fix the lighting in the field — without the extra light, she was sure she couldn’t even tell where Oliver was.

“What a spell,” she gasped, riding on her broom and climbing at the ideal height for Quidditch.

Oliver followed and, with some difficulty, she heard his voice: “one against one, can it be?”

She didn’t reply so he took it as a yes. He let the Quaffle out, and both played chaser and keeper because it was a one-person team.

Y/N somehow manage to score — and she knew how hard that was because Oliver was an excellent keeper. She believed he was distracted with his new position of chaser, so she took it as an opportunity. Of course, he scored too, way more than her, actually, but the point there was to make her a better chaser, not a good keeper.

When they collided with each other, the sound of the collision was so loud it almost felt like a clap of thunder. She had no idea if the fake rain could produce thunders though, and she didn’t think much about it since she was falling from her broom of such a height that would scare anyone.

Oliver was falling with her, but because of the rain, she couldn’t see him. “Oliver, are you okay?” she asked, almost sure the fault was hers.

She heard him grunt not so distant from her. When she managed to see his silhouette, she raced next to him.

“Did you break anything? How are you feeling?” she asked, placing her hand over his cheeks, making sure he wasn’t bleeding in the head.

“I’m okay. Guess I’m used to it. And you?” Oliver asked, shaking his head and passing his hands over his shirt to clean the dirty.

“I guess my broom held on to me as much as it could, so my fall wasn’t that much,” she explained, not sure if her explanation was logical but that what she was believing. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

She offered him her hand, and he took it with a firm grip. She pulled him up stronger than she presumed she could.

Oh, maybe the training is making my arms stronger, she thought in the seconds before Oliver’s body collided with hers again — this time entirely her fault.

The rain seemed to be losing its strength, falling in a weaker cascade, allowing y/N to see Oliver’s face utterly, and so the two noticed that they were very, very close.

And it happened. Without knowing who was the first to approach — perhaps both; perhaps it was solely the circumstance. In a moment, y/N pressed her lips against Oliver’s, felt his body loosen and arms touch her shoulders.

Y/N tells herself she’s not going to think about it, she’s just going to let it happen, but she’s lying — just like she has been every time Oliver touched her during training, to show her a movement or something. She’s remembering every detail of pieces of training before this one, and she is comparing it to the way he kisses her.

It’s not perfect, no. They are in the middle of rain, for Merlin’s sake, of course, it’s not perfect. And Oliver Wood, although very hot, cute, and charming, is no movie prince. He grabs her waist a bit too harsh, he pulls her closer way too slow. But it is worth it. Because they are finally learning about each other, finally seeing themselves for who they are.

Oliver’s overthinking the kiss too. He’s scared he’s doing something she’ll regret. He doesn’t kiss a lot of girls — some brave ones corner him after Quidditch matches he won and congratulate him in this felicitous way, but no other girl is like her.

No other girl Oliver has kissed before pulled him by his shirt like y/N in a desperate way as if they are gonna disappear when they leave each other. No girl’s mouth was as sweet in taste like y/N’s, no other girl could have such a perfect perfume in the middle of the rain. But y/N has. Oliver has no idea why or how, but she has.

It’s not the perfect kiss, but it feels so perfect!

And then, she pulls away. One step at the time, she walks out of their little comfort zone. For the first time, Oliver noticed, he touched her, and she’s not blushing. It makes him scared for a minute, but it suddenly goes away when he sees her gasping for words because he doesn’t want her to say something.

All those days working together most of the time, exchanging notes in the middle of classes, Oliver noticed that neither of them is good with words, so he doesn’t let her speak. It can ruin the moment. Instead, he kisses her again, softer this time. Slower. He enjoys it, remembers the way their tongs dance, the way her hand feels in his hair.

But, again, it doesn’t last much. Y/N pulls away and presses her left hand in his chest, stopping him where he is. This is it, he thinks, she’s gonna say she hated it.

But she slowly leans down, grabs what Oliver believes is her broom, and she walks away, in rushed steps, running from the Quidditch field. Running from him.

Oliver was scared she would ruin the moment by saying something, but while he gathered his Quidditch supplies scattered in the wet ground, the only thing that comes to his mind is that he wishes she had said something. Anything. And that thought hunts him.

***

Y/N waked up in time for breakfast which meant she lost the morning training. But then, last training went until 3 a.m. Oliver couldn’t possibly want her in the Training Grounds at 5 a.m.

Besides, they shared the most passionate kiss ever, so y/N was kinda sure there was no training planned for that morning.

She walked in the Hall, looking for Angelina Johnson. She never talked to that girl, but y/N never had many lady friends. When she sees her target, she grabs the girl by her arm and takes her to a corner. Angelina doesn’t even protest — she figures Oliver has done something.

She imagined the wrong thing, though.

“You want me to tell him you give up?” Angelina was smiling when she asked y/N that, causing the girl to wonder if Angelina knows about the kiss and is somehow interested in Oliver.

“Give up on...?”

“Training. Oli probably made you wake up at 2 in the morning, am I right?” Angelina kept the smile on.

Y/N tilted her head, confused. They clearly weren’t on the same page.

“In his defence, he hasn’t recovered from that training session either. Hasn’t woke up yet. Said to Fred and George to wake him only five minutes before class,” Angelina found it all very funny. Like all the times Oliver made she wake up early to QUidditch were finally getting back at the boy.

The new information held y/N back. Did he spend his dawn thinking about her? About their kiss?

“I didn’t grab you because of Quidditch. I’m still trying out,” y/N decided to clarify.

“Oh,” Angelina smile died.

“Yeah, what I want with you is that, well, you’re the only one I see Oliver talk to, even more than the twins,” y/N started, not sure of how to finish. She takes a look at her hand before continuing. “Yesterday, he kissed me. I kissed him. I don’t know who started it — we kissed, that’s it,” she managed to say, and she watched Angelina expression as it changed back to a smile, this time way brighter.

“I knew he liked you! I knew it! It had to be the reason why...” Angelina let her phrase die, she didn’t want to offend you based n your Quidditch skills. “But oh my! What now? Are you two together?”

Y/N pressed her lips together, making an embarrassing face. “Well, about that. I ran. We kissed, and I ran away,” y/N told, expecting Angelina to shout at her, but no scream came. “I was super, duper stupid, but I didn’t know what to say. I’m not good with words, you see.”

“And that git isn’t either. What a pair,” Angelina chuckled with herself, lost in thoughts. “What are you going to do now?”

“I have no idea,” y/N answered, and she stared at Angelina with big puppy eyes, trying to make the girl understand she wanted her suggestion.

“No way! I’m not gonna give an opinion. He’s my friend, but you two should work this on you own,” Angelina said, crossing her arms. “Anyway, thanks for telling me about the kiss. That’s fresh gossip.”

“Oh, no, please don’t tell anyone,” y/N asked, and out of pity, Angelina agreed. But she didn’t say anything more either and walked away when she noticed y/N had nothing more to tell.

The poor girl was left alone at the end of the Gryffindor table, and being alone with her thoughts was all y/N did not want.

***

That day, no training was scheduled. Y/N did cross paths and classes with Oliver Wood, but no notes were tossed at her, so she decided to ignore him just the same.

Oliver was sure y/N hated the kiss, and that was why she ran away, or, at least, she didn’t want to be kissed.

Y/N was sure Oliver hated her guts for abusing of his kindness of teaching her Quidditch. So she had a plan. She wrote a letter to her dad, instead of her mom as she previously planned. And she asked for a new Firebolt. The latest he could get her.

Here’s the thing about her parents: they are divorced, and she lived with her mom. Her dad is practically never around, but when he comes up with new brooms, he gifts y/N with it. Those were the only times her dad would stop by because his whole life was about Quidditch supplies.

That’s where y/N’s dream of being in the Gryffindor team was born — she wanted her dad to cheer for his daughter, at least about the only thing he liked and talked about. But she never got in the team, and he never saw her playing.

She reunited all her courage to write a letter to the heir of the Ellerby and Spudmore, but it was the only thing she could think would be enough to Oliver apologize her. And she prayed it would work.

He didn’t write back so the next day in breakfast when her owl delivered no letters, she freaked out. He wasn’t going to reply when she most needed it, of course. So typical.

She was thinking terrible things about her father when the whole Gryffindor table started gasping at two owls who flew in with a big package in their beak. When they were close enough, y/N was sure the package was a broomstick. And when they dropped it in front of Oliver Wood (sitting at the other end of the table; they were sitting very far away from each other that day) she almost screamed to the whole Hall listen.

She watched as he unwrapped the papers, and the girl sitting next to her asked if she was okay because she seemed more excited than the boy who was presented.

“I’m a huge fan of brooms, that’s it,” y/N lied, holding in her smile as she got up and left the place, scared that her father could have told the boy she was his daughter.

Y/N kept it a secret of everyone, and it was easier when she had her mom’s last name instead of her father’s.

In the letter to her father, she told him that Oliver Wood was a friend of hers that was an excellent keeper, but his broom was broken, and Gryffindor was going to lose the next match because of it. Yeah, she was very dramatic in the letter, but if she weren’t, perhaps her father wouldn‘t have given the boy the broom.

And she couldn’t tell the old man she kissed the boy and ran away.

“Hey, y/N, wait up!” a voice called her, and even before she turned, she knew to who it belonged.

Oliver stared at her, one hand he held the Firebolt, in the other, a piece of parchment y/N was sure was a letter from her father.

“I think I have to thank you for the broom,” he said, stepping closer to her.

Thankfully they were outside of the Great Hall, so there wasn’t a crowd watching their every move.

“Although, there was no need for it,” he added, shyly. He was clearly happy about getting a new broom, but he had to play the selfless.

“You sure deserved it, for training me and all. I mean, you managed to turn a nobody into an okay player of Quidditch. That’s big, especially because nobody forced you into it,” she said, trying hard to not let her cheeks pink up.

“And you never told me you were the daughter of Randolph Spudmore!” he said, smiling.

However, y/N’s smile died. She got suddenly scared, afraid. He wouldn’t look at her the same way now, and he was probably going to admit her in the team because there was a chance they’d get free brooms. Gosh, she had already given him a free broom. And now she wondered: why? For kissing her, probably out of pity, and never mentioning it again?

“Yeah, well, I don’t talk to him much,” she managed to say, trying to turn the tables, but it was already too late. He was already staring at her like the air of the Ellerby and Spudmore. There were sparks in his eyes when he looked at her now.

They stayed in silence for a moment, neither wanting to step away, but they knew they would need to.

“So, huh, will I see you in training tonight?” Oliver asked, with hope in his eyes.

“Tell me when and I’ll be there,” she said before stepping away with a fake smile and then, as soon as she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore, she ran back to her dorm.

***

Y/N came to all the training sessions Oliver scheduled, and she trained as hard as ever, never even complaining.

Never even mentioning the kiss either, but Oliver didn’t want to think about that. It was his fault after all — he pushed her to do something she didn‘t want to. He needed to be thankful y/N was able to surpass it and still play friends with him instead of casting jinxes against him and never looking at him again.

So he acted professional, he was the perfect couch when y/N was around. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done — especially when he had to touch her to teach a new move — but it better to have her around as friends than to not have her at all.

And once y/N got in the team (and Oliver was sure that even Angelina would agree to admit y/N), the two would be teammates and maybe, who knew, one day he could kiss her again. After a match or something. The boy could dream.

“So, are you ready for tomorrow?” he said before freeing her, trying to make small talk.

“I guess. Can’t be better than I am now,” y/N smiled, and for a moment, Oliver forgot how to breathe.

“Well, then good luck. See you in the field tomorrow,” he smiled too, trying to make sure y/N wouldn’t notice his heartbeat that was accelerating.

And then she walked away before he could try and say anything else.

He wanted to rush towards her, grab her by the waist and kiss her again. But he knew he shouldn’t, and that was killing him, even more than losing a Quidditch match.

***

Y/N sat in the same spot in the stand she had been sitting for all those years she tried out. But something was different.

For instance, she now had this huge, ridiculous and platonic crush on the team captain.

She was also way better in Quidditch now than she was on the other times she tried out.

And, to make matters nervously worse, her father was there.

Yes, mister Randolph Spudmore was sitting next to his teenage daughter y/N y/L/N in the stands of the Quidditch field of Hogwarts. All eyes were on them, but somehow that was the last of y/N’s concerns.

After the letter she wrote thanking her father for he broom, he kept writing her back. He showed interest in her academic life. Asked about grades. Asked if Dumbledore was still a crazy chap.

He didn’t mention Quidditch in a whole letter of two pages — that was definitely a record!

He did ask about the boy he gave the broom to, and he asked again in person when he arrived this morning.

She decided to go with the truth. Her father wasn’t stupid, he would have noticed the way y/N was going to look at Oliver once they were in the same place.

“Tell me about the boy,” the father request. “I gotta know who’s friends with my daughter after all.”

“Well, honestly, he’s much like you. All he talks about is Quidditch. I bet he knows the name of every player in all the professional teams. And I bet he framed your letter.”

Her father burst into laughter, making all the students stare at him once again.

“But he’s such a good player, dad, like better than the professionals, you know? Looking at him, you know he was born for the sport,” she added.

Her father stared at the boy who was testing another student at that moment, and he was sure his daughter was right. But he knew there was more to the boy. Yes, when he saw Randolph in the stands, and he freaked. But the reason he kept looking in their direction in the middle of the trials — and y/N’s father was sure of it — wasn’t just because of the broom maker.

It was because he was captured by Randolph’s little girl.

“And he likes you,” Randolph said, catching his daughter by surprise.

“What? Oh no. I mean, we kissed, I told you that. But we’re over that. It was probably hormones,” y/N shrugged.

“Probably,” her father pretended to agree.

“He never mentioned it again, dad, so I know what I’m saying.”

“Hey, I didn’t disagree,” her father smiled, knowing his daughter had spilt the beans without him asking. “Look, honey,” he laughed his excitement off before continuing, “if you say he’s so much like me, have you thought about the possibility that he doesn’t know what to say? How long it took me to reach out to you?”

Y/N stayed quiet, not sure of what her father wanted.

“He speaks Quidditch. You told me that yourself. So maybe, he doesn’t know how to talk to you,” her father continued.

“Well, dad, maybe I don’t know how to talk to him either,” y/N protested. She didn’t want to be the one reach out.

“Then don’t,” he smiled. “But not in front of me, okay?” he laughed out loud again, so entertained with the teen drama, he wondered why it took him so long to reach out.

“y/N y/L/N, you’re next,” shouted Angelina from up her broom.

Her father wished her good luck, and she disappeared in the air. Angelina flew to y/N and explained what she needed to perform to be tested. It was simple really: score once in the five minutes limit.

Only problem: Oliver Wood was the keeper.

She sighed, almost laughing at how destiny was low. But y/N and Oliver weren’t enemies, they were friends. Well, both were hiding their feelings for each other, but still, friends.

Many tries. She got the Quaffle all the times the other chasers tossed it to her, but Oliver always managed to stop it before it scored.

“One minute left,” Angelina informed, before starting all over again with the run to catch the Quaffle.

And then, Alicia tossed it to y/N, Fred sent a Bludger in her direction — y/N ducked, lowering just a bit her broom and she scored. She actually scored!

The only person in the stands shouting was her father, but it seemed as everybody was celebrating.

She got to the ground, unable to stay in her broom any longer. Yeah, she scored — it didn’t mean she was in. Other students had scored too. But it didn’t matter — she had never scored before.

Fred and George flew around her, making faces showing how impressed they were. Angelina got out of her broom just to congratulate her.

Nobody believed that the girl in the corner had scored finally, after so many years and tryouts.

She wasn’t looking in the direction of the goal arcs, so she didn’t see when Oliver got down from his new Firebolt and started walking towards her.

“Y/N,” he had only called for her, but it was enough for her to hurry up and wrap her arms around his torso, swallowing him in a tight hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered over and over in Oliver’s ear. “I don’t care if your team doesn’t choose me. I am happy to just know that I am capable of it.”

Oliver didn’t know what to say, so he just hugged her even tighter and tighter.

“I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for you,” she said, slowly letting go of him.

“Of course you would,” he disagreed, smiling as he delighted in the sight of her beautiful reddish face. Oh, how he missed seeing her cheeks flush!

The silence settled again, that awful moment when they both didn’t know what to say, but wanted to say so much ...

“You know what? I need to score a point again,” she said, grabbing his wrist before taking a step closer.

“Score again? What do you mean by that?”

“I already beat the keeper. Now I need to win him,” she smiled, finally taking their space and kissing him in that perfectly imperfect way that only the two could masterfully reproduce.

She had a lot of things to still figure out. She needed to keep in touch with her father, for instance. She needed to have a serious conversation with the keeper she was kissing at the moment about what they were, and y/N needed to find out if she got in the team or not.

But with Oliver Wood curled up in her arms, kissing her and teasing her with bites on her lower lip and an audience cheering them on, none of those things mattered. She knew he was a keeper and she was never letting him go.

#oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x gryffindor!reader #quidditch #harry potter #fred weasley #george weasley #angelina johnson #oliver wood x you #oliver wood x y/n #firebolt #harry potter imagine #hp #oliver wood imagine #keeper #chaser

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abaikgirl · 3 years

Text

I posted before about how lucky Endeavor was that Nighteye died before he was officially named number one hero and here’s a fanfiction I wrote to illustrate exactly what I meant by that. (it’s also on Ao3 if you want to go support me there. Use the link in my description)

And you should know I had to physically restrain myself from including my ocs in this because then the story would have been a multichapter and we don’t have time for that right now.

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“And the number one hero for this year is the Flame Hero, Endeavor!”

The crowd cheered but Mirai remained still and quiet in his wheelchair. Endeavor the number one hero? The idea was unfathomable. He knew he had taken the number one spot (by default) after All Might’s retirement and he had assumed that his (default) status would not hold. Not against such fine and charismatic heroes like Best Jeanist, Hawks, and Ryukyu. But it appeared despite Endeavor’s lack of charisma or any likeable qualities whatsoever, he had taken the number one spot.

He glanced at All Might who sat only a few seats away from him, expecting some sort of reaction, but he was clapping and smiling with everyone else. Surely All Might saw what a problem it was to have Endeavor as the number one?

“Everything all right, Sir?” Mirio asked from over his shoulder. He had volunteered to wheel Mirai around for this excursion. He had insisted that he had recovered enough to walk, but his doctors and Mirio had been adamant that his body needed the rest, hence the wheelchair. His sleeve fluttered loosely at his side, a reminder of his missing arm. And while his whole body seemed to protest at even sitting up, he didn’t like the idea of everyone coddling him. It was just a near death experience. He didn’t see why that gave everyone an excuse to treat him like he was made of glass.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just thinking.”

After the ceremony, he spoke briefly with All Might. Things were improving between them, but there was still a whole chasm of unspoken words between them that neither were willing to breach just yet. It didn’t seem like an appropriate time to bring up his feelings about Endeavor taking the number one spot and he suspected All Might already knew how Mirai felt about it. So they made polite conversation, wished each other well, and Mirai was taken home.

He wasn’t sure what exactly prompted him to pick up the phone a few days later and dial the Endeavor agency. Maybe it was the conversation with All Might earlier that day when he mentioned that Endeavor had asked him for advice on how to be a symbol of peace. Maybe it was the ache in his side or maybe it was the all encompassing boredom of not having anything to do. Whatever it was, there was no one around to stop him from making the call.

All he had to say was his hero name and that he wanted to speak directly to Endeavor and he was connected to him almost immediately. He may be officially retired, but his reputation alone made it easy to get in contact with any hero he wanted. People respected his foresight as much as they feared it.

“Hello?” Endeavor answered in a gruff tone. Mirai frowned. He was as unhumorous as ever.

“Hello. I apologize for calling you during the day, I am sure as the new number one hero you are very busy.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Mirai wasn’t sorry at all to have interrupted Endeavor in whatever he was doing, he only said it to give him an opportunity to be gracious or humorous or show any sign of charisma at all.

“I am busy. What do you want?”

Strike one. “All Might told me you were asking for advice about how to be the new Symbol of Peace. As his former sidekick, I thought I might offer my own insight into the issue.” Endeavor was quiet, so Mirai plowed ahead. “Is there a time and place we could meet?”

“I have some time later this evening. Come by my agency at eight.”

No offer to come to him, which in another other situation Mirai would consider rude, especially given his current state, but it was nice to have at least one person who didn’t treat him like fragile goods. A mark in the positives, but it was a hesitant one.

“Very well. I will see you then.”

* * *

Mirai sat across from Endeavor, his pale suit hanging a little looser and the lines under his eyes a little deeper than usual, but other than that he looked as put together as ever. He didn’t use his wheelchair, but did take his cane. For all his bluster that he was fine, walking was an exertion these days and the cane helped.

Endeavor stared him down from across the table. He seemed to be struggling to find something to say. Mirai simply stared him down and remained stubbornly quiet in order to force him to say something first.

“You are looking well,” Endeavor managed at last in a forced polite tone.

“Thank you,” Mirai replied. “I recently lost ten pounds.” He reached over and shook his empty sleeve. Endeavor paled at the reference to his injury and remained silent. “That was a joke,” Mirai said, letting the sleeve fall to his side again.

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

He sighed. He knew his sense of humor often came as a surprise to people, but that should have at least elicited a laugh of surprise. Strike two.

“You said you had some advice for me?” Endeavor began.

Mirai cut him off. “I will be blunt with you, Endeavor. I do not think you deserve the number one spot. I do not think you are capable of being the symbol of peace that people need right now. In short, I find you lacking of any charisma or humor at all. You are completely and totally unworthy of the position given to you.”

Endeavor’s flames rose a little higher on his shoulders as his scowl deepened. He stood up so fast he knocked over his chair. “How dare you,” he roared. “You come in here under the pretense of help to insult me?”

Strike three. He was unmoved by his display of anger and he watched him with clinical indifference, like a scientist observing a volatile but predictable chemical reaction. “It is not an insult if it is a statement of fact.” His gold eyes were hard and cold as he stared him down. “I am aware of your track record of being unnecessarily violent when subduing villains. I am also aware of your...questionable treatment of your family.”

He recoiled a bit. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I may not be able to be a hero any more, but I can still do math. Your children are all exactly four years apart, almost as if you were more interested in manufacturing a favorable quirk mixture than being a father. Not to mention the fact that your wife has been in a mental institution for the past six years. Honestly, based on your behavior in these past few minutes I am surprised you didn’t drive her to madness sooner.”

Endeavor was on him before he could blink, lifting him out of his chair by the front of his suit. Mirai could feel the heat from his flames on his face. “You shut your mouth--” Whatever obscenities he had left to say were silenced as the top of Mirai’s cane slammed into his gut. He let the thin man go and Miria spun the cane around and jabbed him in the throat. He stumbled away, clutching his neck. The hit hadn’t broken anything, but it had traumatized his larynx enough to give Miria a few moments of silence. Endeavor was lucky, if Mirai had been in peak physical condition the blow would have crushed his windpipe.

He stepped back and straightened out his suit coat. “All Might wasn’t just a hero when the cameras were on him. He was always kind and caring, no matter how tired he was or how vile the villain before him. To him, every life had value. Even now, as a retired hero, he shows compassion towards brash, violent heroes like you who think strength is all it takes to be a symbol of hope and light.”

Endeavor let out an angry wheeze, but had no other reply.

“You are unworthy Endeavor. And unless you can find a way to change your nature, I am afraid that is how you will remain.” He turned and made his way towards the door.

“Wait,” Endeavor called. His voice was strained and strangled, but he appeared to have recovered from Mirai’s attack. “Tell me what I have to do. All Might said I need to find my own path, but I don’t know what that means.”

Mirai’s expression was as stern as his tone. “Grow a spine and stop being so afraid of what people think of you.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for word to get around about Mirai’s visit to the Endeavor agency. Toshinori of course was appalled. “I understand that it’s your nature to speak your mind,” he scolded him. “But you can’t impose your vision of what a symbol should look like on other people.”

They sat in front of the teacher’s dorm at UA. Mirai had come to see Eri and Midoriya for the first time since his discharge from the hospital. He watched Eri laugh and smile as she ran after Mirio. Some other members of class A were joining in on the impromptu game of tag out on the lawn and Mirai and Toshinori stood off to the side. Mirai watched how kind and gentle Midoriya was as he played with Eri and his classmates. It was a far cry from the nervous, stammering boy who stood in his office a month ago.

“I already apologized to Midoriya for my harsh assessment of him,” Mirai replied.

Toshinori spat up a bit of blood in surprise. Sir Nighteye very rarely apologized and rarely did he apologize for his assessment of a person. “This is not about Young Midoriya. This is about Endeavor. I understand your concerns, but isn't it better that people have an imperfect symbol than nothing?”

“If he stepped down, they wouldn’t have the lack of a symbol, but a better one. Any other hero in the top ten could do a better job than Endeavor. Except perhaps Hawks.”

“What’s wrong with Hawks?” he replied. “I would have thought of all of the heroes in the top ten you would like him the most.”

“He is humorous and young, yes. But I’ve heard him openly admit he dislikes All Might and that automatically makes him untrustworthy.”

Toshinori sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You are as insufferable as ever, aren’t you?” His tone was soft and endearing as he said it. It was a phrase Mirai heard often when they had worked together.

He smiled. “That is who I am.”

Toshinori looked at him and realized he was texting on his phone. “Are you even paying attention to me?” he asked.

“I am. I heard every word. I can listen to you and send Endeavor anonymous texts at the same time.”

“You’re what?” He tried to grab the phone from him, but Mirai was faster and he kept it out of his reach. “Where did you even get his personal number?”

“I gave it to him,” Todoroki said. They looked up and saw he had managed to walk up to them without either of them noticing.

Toshinori took advantage of the moment to snatch the phone out of Mirai’s hands. “Young Todoroki, no matter what Sir Nighteye might have said to you…”

“He didn’t ask me for it,” he replied. “After he told my old man off, I asked Midoriya to pass the number along to Sir Nighteye.” He nodded to him. “Thank you for what you’ve been doing.”

Toshinori scrolled through the conversation, which were all just messages Mirai had sent. Endeavor hadn’t replied even once. It appeared to be a thorough critique of every fight public villain incident Endeavor had been involved in for the past few weeks. Some of the texts were actually very constructive. Others were more...belligerent.

“So he has been getting them,” Mirai replied. “I’ve been worried that they weren’t going through.”

“Don’t worry. He’s been getting them.” Todoroki smiled. “It’s almost all he can talk about anymore. He knows it’s you but he also knows he can’t do anything to get you to stop.”

“Tell him I will lose his number the moment he stops being a self-centered man child.”

Toshinori put the phone in his pocket with a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“Me?” Todoroki asked.

“No, Sir Nighteye. I know exactly what I’m going to do with you.” He puffed up into his All Might form. “Extra laps at training for the next week!”

He shrugged. “Alright.” He bowed slightly. “It was nice to meet you, Sir Nighteye.”

“And you, Young Todoroki.”

As soon as he left, Mirai pulled out a second phone and continued texting. Toshinori gaped at him. “If you had a second phone, then why did you put up all of that fight?”

“My doctor said I need more exercise.”

The joke made him laugh, louder and longer than he had in a long time. He put a hand on Mirai’s shoulder. “I missed you.”

He smiled up at him. “I missed you too.”

#bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #sir nighteye #mirai sasaki #all might #toshinori yagi

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duskyskz · 4 years

Text

- Erasure - 1

Hwang Hyunjin x Female Reader

With washed out, dyed pastel hair, sea salt and acrylic clinging to his jeans, Hwang Hyunjin expected to find himself many places that night. A jail holding cell. Under the abandoned train station bridge. Maybe even his own bedroom.

Your living room wasn't on the list.

Warnings - Some angst in later chapters, suggestive/smut, minor character death mentions, Hyunjin is an eboy and a little angsty, Changbin is doing his best as a big brother, slow burn (?)

A/N - Finally! Sorry for the delays, my head just hasn’t been with me this week;; I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am excited to write it.

***

The steady buzzing of your speakers fills the living room as you watched Changbin scroll through the Netflix home page. Both of you settle deep into the sofa, balancing a bowl of popcorn and chocolate between your knees.

“Endgame? Homecoming, Nightmare on Elm Street?” Binnie flicks through the suggestions, and you shake your head in distaste. “I'm not watching that octopus documentary again!”

“You only hated it because you cried at the end.”

“She died! He had to look after her little babies! Your heart is too cold, too far gone for that level of compassion.” The last part of your brother's grumbles are cut off when you throw a burnt kernel at his forehead, barely missing his ear.

There’s nobody else home. Nobody else ever comes home, either. It's been just you and Changbin for a while, and it's not all that terrible. He’s a few years older than you, having graduated last summer and now undertaking an apprenticeship at the village police station. It doesn't pay a stellar amount, but Changbin reassures you once he passes the trainee exams he’ll treat you to a new pair of winter boots and you can finally quit the ice cream parlour to focus on college. You tell him that even if he wins the lottery tomorrow, you'll work your own job. For all the support your elder brother gives you, you like having your own thing. It makes you feel a little more involved, a little more even than jsit washing the dishes and doing his laundry on days he’s too tired to move.

The Thursday evening is reserved for you both, to catch up on the hours together you miss during the week when Changbin doesn't get back till you're fast asleep and you don't have the chance to say good morning.

He’s been doing that a lot more recently.

Sighing into his coffee, shaking his head at nobody in particular. It's easy to notice the signs of stress and overwork in his face, sunken and tired even on the weekends when he finishes early.

“Do you wanna finish Teen Wolf?” The softness in his voice when he addresses you is the same, though. “We have three episodes left of this season, if you wanna binge.”

“Sure.” You want to ask him about the circles under his eyes. What’s got him coming home later and later because nothing ever happens in this town. “I'm still waiting on Derek’s redemption arc.”

You're twenty minutes into the episode when a vibration from your coffee table catches your attention. You glance at Changbin, but he ignores his ringtone, flipping it to silent.

It rings again, no music, but harsh vibrations drumming against the polished wood.

And again.

Knowing he’s not picking up to make a point of it, you pause the show, nodding at the mobile he’s avoiding glancing at. “Go on. Pick up, it might be an emergency.”

“If it's an emergency they don't need an intern there.” Despite his words, Changbin shifts his position and you know he’s growing hesitant.

“If it's an emergency all the more reason for you to be there and learn.” You state with more force behind your tone. “Why have your grades been dropping? You're coming home so late but your exams keep getting delayed -”

“My grades are fine!” Changbin never snaps at you, but the frustration in his voice is evident. “I'm fine. There's just - Just one case we're working on and I'm nearly there, I just need time.”

You shut your mouth, letting him speak.

“There’s this kid who keeps tagging the beach houses on Dawning Lane, and that shit was expensive to put up last year. Some stupid, bored child that thinks a few cans of spraypaint and lung cancer are a good excuse for your adolescence. He’s not even that good… Just scribbles.”

His lips pout in a frustrated whine at the last phrase, and you know he’s more frustrated at the situation than he is at you or himself.

A beat of silence, interrupted by another ringtone - you almost reach for it yourself to check the caller ID and force him to pick up, before Changbin’s arm shoots out past you to snatch the device, slinking out the door and into the hallway.

You aren't surprised when a few moments later, your brother’s head pokes nervously out the door frame - He's already got his coat on, waving his phone at you as an awkward goodbye.

“I’ll see you in the morning, y/n.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You salute back, smiling to ease the tension in his shoulders, and it works a minimum. You won’t see him till the late evening at best.

The door clicks shut as soon as he turns around, leaving you surrounded by popcorn and empty space. You really aren't surprised - but it'd be pointless to deny you weren't hurt by another night alone with Teen Wolf playing idly through your TV speakers. Cold popcorn only did so much to soothe your heart, and the distance wedging itself recently between your sibling bond was hard to brush over, between missed calls and texts too often left unanswered.

You just really miss your big brother.

You commit yourself to Stiles Stilinsky instead, sighing into the blanket around your shoulders. Autumn rolls in quick by the seaside, making your calves prickle with goosebumps. It's nearing 11pm, you realise, picking up the -

Thump!

Your fingers freeze, hovering over the TV remote. Changbin wouldn’t be back yet, he never comes home the same night he leaves.

“Bin?” You try it anyway, calling tentatively into the hallway. It’s still entirely black, void of disruption.

Clang!

That definitely came from your kitchen.

Armed with a half empty popcorn bowl and nerves of steel, you tiptoe into the other room. There’s a lump of something or someone crouched behind the dining table, and your grip around the glass dish tightens marginally despite the quivering of your knees, fumbling for the lightswitch without taking your eyes off the rising dark mass as it straightens its back.

“S-Stay down! I have corn and I know how to use it!” You don’t have a fully formed plan yet, but you’re sure the sharp kernels will be of some importance. Fluorescent white light floods the kitchen, momentarily blinding both you and the intruder who now stands at full height. A steady 12 inches above you.

“Ouch! Calm down, I’m not going to rob you!” He says, sounding almost exasperated at your defense of your own property. He still has his hands raised in defense, keeping the table between himself and you, and you’re grateful he hasn’t tried to knock your legs out from under you, yet. “I’m not here to steal your stuff.”

“What are you here for, then?” You lower the popcorn bowl, but don’t let it fall out of your grasp. He doesn’t seem dangerous - He doesn’t seem like he could manage clambering through the window you always leave ajar either, but here he clearly is. There’s something sticky and pink in his blonde hair, stains following down his shoulder blades all the way down the cuffs of his jeans. If anything, he looks...a little lost.

“It’s the address on the post-it note.” Your confusion must have been plainly obvious, because the boy elaborates, pulling a crumpled neon-green paper from his jacket. “The post-it note that man gave me. That’s what Changbin gave me.”

Perhaps you lack self preservation instincts, but there’s an uncertain vibration in his voice that makes you give up your weapon and attitude.

“You know my brother?”

“He told me if I really need to go somewhere, I can come here.” You watch slim fingers tug at the sleeves of his jacket as he measures with a weight akin to a glare. “He didn’t tell me it was his house, or that somebody else was living here.”

Bold of him to accuse you of ruining his night plans.

It really did only click in your head when you looked closer at his tangled hair, dried paint clumping it together at the ends of bleached blonde strands. The artistic menace haunting your sea-side town was standing right on your tiled kitchen floor, and he looked downright miserable.

And Changbin had invited him.

Biting down the discomfort at realising how little Changbin had been telling you recently, you set the popcorn down on the table, you take in the threat currently three feet before you. A tall, lanky boy, with odd shoelaces and a sharpie sticking out of his trouser pocket. His hair hasn’t been cut in a while, and probably brushed either - it’d be generous to say he ran more than a stressed hand through it anytime recently. Though chapped, his full lips and wide eyes made him look far too innocent for his own good, and you blamed your soft heart for finding the boy kinda cute.

He did have a leaf stuck above his ear, though.

You almost reached up to remove it.

“Do you wanna watch Teen Wolf?” You break the quiet that settled, already shuffling your feet out into the living room. You sincerely hoped he’d follow. You weren’t sure what you could do apart from leaving him standing on cold tile, and he already looked freezing from the night chill.

Luckily for you, with a hesitant step, your impromptu companion takes after you to the couch where your Netflix and remove still await instruction. Changbin might grumble at you tomorrow at finishing the season without him, but you needed something to lure the boy into comfort.

“I’m y/n, by the way.” You mention. The boy sits stiffly, clasping his hands in his lap with parted lips, avoiding the decorative pillows.

“Hyunjin.” Now that he’s actually inside your house, Hyunjin’s confidence seems to have evaporated. The thrill of the break-in, if you can even call is that, has worn off, giving way to the nerves. He’s suddenly too conscious of the paint on his clothes, of sandy shoes still on his feet, of the smudges still on his cheeks. Should he take his jacket off? Or wipe his shoes?

You press resume, watching him relax after a few minutes as his brain finally has something else to focus on to let his worries ease. Hyunjin doesn't seem to mind you already being halfway through the episode, and you let yourself admit it’s nice having someone around this late at night.

“How do you know Changbin?” You ask while the topic is still fresh.

“I don’t.” Hyunjin bumps his knees together, fiddling with a loose string on his jeans as he shrugs. “I don’t really know him, he just...saw me around a few times, and I guess he figured I could use a place to crash. So he gave me your address.”

“You’re the mystery kid painting the beach houses, right? On Dawning Lane.”

At the accusation, Hyunjin’s lips part, flipping to face you with wide, blinking eyes., knowing he’s in no place to try and deny it. You blink back, observing his reactions, in case he suddenly changes his mind about staying. “Are you gonna turn me in?...”

“No.” You shake your head after a moment of thought, and he visibly untenses. “For whatever reason Changbin didn’t, so I won’t either. If he trusts you then I do too.”

You’ll never know if it was the murmurs of the TV, or if Hyunjin did whisper a thank you, and you won’t ask. There’s a lot of things you do want to ask, but a tug in your heart tells you now is not the time. Hyunjin looks exhausted, eyes drooping with every slow blink as he does his best to focus on the screen, hands previously tugging at his jeans now still and flat on his lap, slouched forward as if any moment he’ll drift off sitting on your pillows. Flurries of fluorescent light flicker on his cheeks, over barely scrubbed paint smudges and faint cuts from running too fast, you guess. In the delicate, dimmed light of your floor lamp, it’s hard to imagine Hyunjin as a bad kid. Prickly, maybe. On edge is a better word for it, tension clinging to his shoulders like stubborn dust bunnies. Curse your naive little heart, you tell yourself, building up your courage to speak.

“Hyunjin?” He hums in response, straightening his back. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

All you’ve been taught in life sent alarm bells through your skull when you asked a complete stranger (who just two hours ago, broke in through your kitchen window) to sleep in your living room overnight, but Hyunjin didn’t feel like a stranger. Changbin trusted him enough to lead him right to your house, so that must count for something, right? And no matter how much you tried to keep your guard up around the boy, watching him struggle to stay upright instead of letting his tall, lanky body fall backward and rest comfortably only made you worry a little about him, not the other way around.

Well, he did say he’s not going to rob you.

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, I’ll bring you some blankets.” You prompt him again when he doesn’t respond. “Changbin won’t be back for a while still.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” There’s a lilt of doubt in his voice, but he sincerely hopes you’re serious. This couch is warmer than anything he’s slept on in months and he really doesn’t want to crawl outside again with the rain pattering against your roof.

“Sure, you haven’t tried to stab me yet.” You shrug, getting up to fetch a duvet and looking him over.

“Ah, you probably want to wash your hair from all...that,” Hyunjin’s hand flies to his hair, patting out the tangles as if it’s the first time he’s noticed them. “You can use the bathroom upstairs, there’s towels by the shower already.”

He nods, following your directions with a ‘thank you’. Once his footsteps disappear up the landing, you set about pulling out the couch into a flatbed, rearranging the pillows at its base. Lugging the duvet down from Changbin’s room had been a feat, but you’re determined to make the space welcoming. Satisfied with the cushioned bundle you created, you run back upstairs.

You invade your brother’s room for the second time that day, tugging open his drawers in search for something acceptably pijama-like.

“Hyunjin?” You knock tentatively on the bathroom door as the shower head turns off and the shuffling ceases. “I’m leaving some clothes for you to change into outside, okay? Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

You scroll through your timeline as you wait, catching up on the last few hours’ events from your friends until a shuffling to your left prompts you to raise your head.

Your brother’s sweats hang a little loosely around Hyunjin’s hips, ending just above his ankles, bare feet sliding over the wooden floor of your living room, sinking into the rug as he steps closer to where you sit. His own clothing cradled in his arms close to his chest, you can’t stop your thoughts drifting momentarily to the damp mess of sunshine coloured hair. With his jacket on earlier, it was hard to make out his build under layers of fabric, but now it’s proving a challenge to not focus on the lines of his arms or the curves of his large hands gripping his clothes. Luckily for your dignity, your nerves of steel allow you to drag your gaze away from the collarbones peeking out from under thin white cotton higher to meet his eyes instead and find your voice again.

“I brought down some pillows for you, these are a bit too hard to sleep on.” You note, pointing to the decorative cushions you moved onto the lounge chair. “My room is right opposite the bathroom if you need anything, I’m a light sleeper.”

“M’okay.” Hyunjin towers above you, yet you’ve never seen a boy so dainty. There really is no other way to describe the delicate line of his nose bridge or the rosy tint of his lips when his tongue pokes out to lick them as he mulls over your words, settling down on the makeshift bed.

The proximity now feels different than the air between you when Teen Wolf still blared through your speakers, warm quiet heavy on your tongue with dim golden glow tumbling over his cheekbones that’s too much for your heart to take unprepared.

“Goodnight then!” You bounce up from the couch waving Hyunjin a quick goodbye, but a soft hand wrapping around your wrist pauses you.

“Wait,” Hyunjin brushes his thumb over your palm softly, and you hope he doesn't notice the goosebumps on your skin at the contact. “Thanks for not kicking me out...or calling the police. Y’know, as most people would for a break in.”

The smile he flashes you is almost teasing, but you can tell he means the words sincerely. You lay your other hand on top of his, patting in what you hope is a reassuring motion.

“Sure, Jinnie. It’s okay.”

#skz fluff #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenario #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin smut #stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagine #hyunjin erasure #hyunjin angst #stray kids imagines #changbin fluff

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aaudace · 3 years

Text

art of loving on

pairing: sam wilson x ava rhodes

word count: 2.5k

notes: the fact that im super late on posting this says a lot about me, so lets just pretend that its still thanksgiving. okay so i know that the title is cliche and this might flop big time, but i wanted to do something a little different besides simply posting gifs. im a sucker for reading sappy one shots so I decided to make my own. this is part one of my holiday one shot series. enjoy!

If you were to ask Ava Rhodes how she felt about the holidays, more than likely she would give you a whole monologue on her hatred for it.

Call her a Scrooge, but her love for the holidays had faltered a year ago after she lost the one thing that was considered a gift to her. Losing the one thing that brought her peace was the last straw that broke her to pieces. Her patience for the holidays had changed dramatically. No longer had she been longing for the joyous laughter and loving smiles that the goodwill season brought along.

Instead with every waking moment, she dreaded it.

However, for at least the next few hours, she had to throw away her personal thoughts about jolly holiday and put on a facade. Her face no longer carried a cold hearted look, but instead her cheeks were burning red with joy and laughter. Although she hated herself for it, the Rhodes girl would volunteer herself to help at the Veterans Affairs Office that was a couple blocks from her apartment.

Even though it pained her dearly to sit through hours of hearing individuals explain their gratitude and compassion for the season, a part of her felt like the peace that she lost was there with her when she volunteered. Before he died, her boyfriend Marcus would spend hours in the exact building that basically became a formulated routine of the two of them each holiday season. The one thing that Ava missed the most about him was his passion for helping others. Her heart sung with joy as she watched him go above and beyond for each individual that walked through the doors. He had a way with words that made people feel good about themselves. Whether you were the poorest individual or the richest, Marcus was willing to do whatever it took to bring the best out of you. At least that’s what he did for Ava.

God, she missed him.

But she managed to put on a brave face as she stood in the same position that he did before. Her mind and hands had been tied up in many things. For the first hour of her time, she served food to individuals that came by the office. Usually within the first few minutes, the small building was packed from the outskirts. So this kept her mind busy. The few next hours, she spent entertaining the elderly veterans with card and board games. The first hour was pretty easy for her, but soon afterwards, she came to the realization that card games and grown men didn’t really mix as well as she thought. Bernard Chapman and Arthur Wilfred, two regulars at the VA did not really understand the concept of a friendly competition. One minute, she was showing one group how to play Connect Four, the next she found herself in the middle of a brawl that involved childish name calling and sailor swearing. This also kept her mind busy.

And now, with time being the thief that it was, she found herself in the banquet hall that once housed thousands of individuals that came from different walks, cleaning up the remainder of the trash that was left behind. Although the help that she once had offered to stay behind and help, she ushered them out of the door. She didn’t mind doing the clean up part. Out of everything, that was the easiest to her. In other words, it kept her mind busy.

As she cleaned off the tables, a sigh escaped from her lips. The silence that had once inhabited the quiet space had come to halt at the creaking sound of the doors being pushed open.

She figured it has been one of the volunteers, Marge coming back to help her out with the clean up. Marge had been one of Marcus’ favorite volunteers to work with. Her sass was nothing compared to what he put up with at home with Ava, however, it was her golden heart that made her stand out. She was different from other volunteers. Marge had been working for the VA office for years after her husband passed away. For her, this place had been a sanctuary of peace. Just like for Ava. Marge had become family for Ava. She was the only person that knew her the way that Marcus had come to know her. Maybe that was the reason why Ava was able to remain stable throughout her time of volunteering.

“Marge, how many times do I have to tell you,” Ava yelled, placing her rag onto her shoulder. She didn’t bother looking up at the entrance way because she knew looking into the eyes of the shameless woman would only make it hard for her to say no to her. “You know, one of these days you are just gonna accept the fact that no means no.”

The sound of footsteps echoed across the room as they began to move closer and closer towards Ava directions. “I swear, sometimes I wonder how Marcus dealt with you. You are worse than me. And sometimes I can’t even stand me....”

At this point, Ava turned from her duty to look up at the shadowy figure. Her green eyes widened as she realized that the body figure didn’t quite match up to the petite figure that Marge had. Instead, it was made up of bicep muscles that hid under a dark leather jacket. Her mouth opened to protest, but she couldn’t find the words. In fact, the only thing she could say was, “Uh, um—”

“Just so you know, Marge was on her way back, I just managed to convince her to go home,” the man said. He moved a little closer, covering the large gap that stood in between them. “I swear, she reminds of someone that I know. Someone that’s kind of feisty, blunt, and can be a little sarcastic at times. Sometimes a little too much, but we are working on that.”

Ava rolled her eyes, “I think the key of life is getting your point across. And there’s nothing wrong with my sarcasm. Some people just don’t have a sense of humor.”

“Or sometimes you can be a little too harsh and you aren’t willing to admit that.”

“If it makes you happy,” she scoffed. “I managed to put away my sarcasm and trade it in for joy and cheer for the day.”

“Atcha girl,” he laughed. “Look at you turning over a new leaf.”

Ava smirked at him. She loved the idea that he was proud of her. It had been a while since she had felt like that before. “But, now that the day is over. I’m putting it back on and I am now returning to my normal sarcastic, feisty, blunt self. Ah, it’s good to be me again.”

All the man could do is sigh and return a small chuckle as a response. Ava smiled back a little. “But besides my issues, what are you doing here, Sam? It’s the holidays, you are supposed to be spending time with family.”

As she said this, she moved past him, focusing on the last of the table that she had to clean. The smell of fresh lemons brushed against her nostrils as she squirted the bottle of cleaning supply that had been resting in her waist apron. One thing that she loved the most about cleaning the VA office was the vast amount of cleaning products they stored. She really couldn’t her finger on why exactly she enjoyed them so much. She just did.

Maybe it was the idea that each of them held a fragrance that held a sentimental memory in her mind. Like the one that smelt like an island breeze reminded her of the time Marcus cleaned up after a man who accidentally spilled his carton of milk on the floor. It had been a slow holiday at the VA office that day. Although the man was generous enough to help Marcus clean up the mess, it was Marcus that had been too caught up with everything that he forgot to place the warning sign for the place that he mopped and managed to slip. That holiday, Ava spent the majority of the night cracking jokes as they occupied the waiting room of the hospital for Marcus’ broken back. The one that smelt like flowers reminded her of her first time volunteering at the VA office. She and Marcus had only been dating for a couple of months. As part of getting to know him better, he invited her to see what he considered his safe haven. When he wasn’t dealing with police business, he would spend his Saturdays, encouraging other veterans who had been down on their luck. Ava would later find out that his dad was the reason why the place even existed. New York only had a few VA offices, but there was nothing like the one that stood on the corner of Baldwin Avenue and 2nd Street.

The one that she loved the most was the one that smelt like lemons. That one was his favorite.

“I could ask you the same question, Ava.” Sam said. She didn’t bother to stop cleaning. “Mariah called and said you didn’t want to come over for Thanksgiving dinner. She said something about you being sick. But knowing you like the back of hand, I knew that wasn’t true.”

Ava laughed a little. She had totally forgotten about the little white lie she had mentioned to her friend earlier. Mariah Riggs, her best friend, was known for doing the most of the holidays. In fact, she’s so much into it that she basically starts all of her planning in the summer. The summer for Christ’s sake. “Well, I was sick, but after a little while I started feeling a bit better. It’s no big deal, I’ll call Mariah tonight and tell her the truth.”

“Which one?” asked Sam. “The truth about you not being sick or the truth of the real reason why you continue to hate the holidays.” At this, Ava stopped her motion and turned to look at him. “Ava, I understand your reasoning, but you can’t keep—”

“Sam, can we please not get into this? I really don’t have the energy.”

He sighed. “Ava, avoiding the topic will only make it worse. You can’t keep burying yourself in this hole of hurt.”

“I am fine, okay,” she spoke, her tone turning a bit harsh. “I just don’t understand why everyone is so concerned. Why is it a crime that I hate this time of year?”

“Because when Marcus was alive you enjoyed it.” Her heart sank. Even though it was unspoken for the two of them, Ava didn’t like it when other people brought up the issue of her dead boyfriend. Usually, her reaction was cold and she was ready to fight the first person in sight. However, Sam never really brought it up before so she really did not how to react. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “Marge told me that once upon a time, you were in love with the holidays. Now all you do is make any excuse to get out of anything festive just so you could stay locked up in your apartment. I can’t even get you say one good thing about the holidays.”

Her green eyes begin to water. She cursed at herself for even allowing herself to feel any type of vulnerability. He continued, “You don’t think when I signed up to be your boyfriend that I wouldn’t be prepared for these moments. Babe, you and I are a team. You have to let me in. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

He had a point, but Ava really didn’t want to admit that. However, the tears that streamed down her face said something else. The pair had been together for a little over a few months. And even though they seemed compatible, the thought of them getting closer scared Ava. If she was being honest, she was terrified when her heart started developing feelings for him. She was terrified when he asked out on a date. And she had been feeling this way for a hot second, but ironically, she was terrified of even bringing it up.

The silence stood in between for a moment. Sam stood in front her, his heart beating out of his chest. The longer she stood in silent, the more nerve wracking it became from him. The few months of dating Ava had its moments of challenges. But it also had its rewards. Even though she was tough, she had her moments to where she brought out the good in him believe it or not. And that was something that wasn’t easy. But she did it. And as someone who cared and loved her, he was willing to do whatever it took to do the same for her.

“I-I am scared that one day, I’ll wake up and you won’t be there for me.” Ava spoke, finally popping the bubble of silence. “I am scared that if I let my guard down, life will take away from me. Just like it did for Marcus. Sam, I want to let you in — I really do, but I am just tired of—”

Her words were cut off by the touch of his soft lips on herself. He placed his hands onto her waist, pulling her a little closer to him. Ava didn’t remember exactly when it happened, but sudden her hands were wrapped around his neck. Even though he was a couple inches taller she didn't have to stand on her toes, the heels of her boots did that job for her.

When he pulled away from her, he looked into her eyes and spoke, “Ava, it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than just life to keep me away from you. I am not going anywhere.”

“You say that, but what if—”

“I am not going anywhere, Ava.”

“Okay, but —”

“I could do this all day, Ava. I am not going anywhere.”

She rolled her eyes. As she pulled away from him, she wiped her face from her tears. Maybe life did have a way of giving back. And even though, life had gave her shit for her whole entire existence, maybe in some universal designed fate, life was giving her the gift of love again. And his name was Sam Wilson.

“Well, if that's the case then just know that since you are linking me to you forever, that doesn't mean I’ll go easy on you, Wilson.” she said. He shook his head and laughed. Maybe he was right? Letting him in couldn’t be such a bad idea. “I am known to be pretty grouchy in the mornings when I don’t have my coffee.”

“Noted. That's why I stack up extra coffee beans back at my place.” he laughed. “I love you.”

She kissed his cheek. “I love you more.” He smiled at her. Before she could say anything, he walked over a table just across from them. She didn’t realize it earlier, but he had a big brown bag that he propped on the table.

He placed the bag on the table that she finished cleaning. “So since you really didn’t get a chance to properly celebrate Thanksgivings, I figured I would bring a piece of it to you.” he said. He pulled out two plastic containers along with utensils. “Marge told me you like pumpkin pie, so I managed to get the last two pieces from that diner up the street.”

She laughed. From that moment, she made a mental note to take the time out to thank Marge for the many facts that she managed to learn about her. “Marge knows me well.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Ava. Here’s to many more holidays together.”

“Cheers to that.”

#a marvelous holiday #sam wilson x oc #ava rhodes #otp: love after war #damage control series #sam wilson fic #sam wilson au #marvel au #my edits #my writings

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2ofswords · 4 years

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I think I kind of figured out why I sympathize with Dankovsky so goddamn much. (I mean... aside from him being a really interesting and amazing character, but almost all of the Patho characters are so that’s not really an argument.) And interestingly enough, a lot about it has to do with his character flaws and how they make a character not only more appealing or interesting but sympathetic as well.

Firstly, I think it is exactly the lack of empathy and his concentration on general topics as well as the tunnel vision that really gets me. I would still call myself a compassionate person but also a very theoretic one and an abstract idealist that dreams of things that has problems to stay in everyday life and also to connect with people. Like... keeping contact is hard for me and I know that I am the person who needs to be approached in the first place to name an example. So the struggle to do good and help people while not noticing the here and now or having trouble continuing close relationships really gets me. The question what to do if you mostly have the big picture in mind and if abstract ideals can do you any good is so important to me because I’m anxious about the same thing and think about it a lot. (It’s also why I always feel a bit uncomfortable when people are acting like forgetting about these close relationships means not caring at all. Totally get seeing him this way and everyone can interpret a character however they want, but… Ouch. That one hits too close to home!)

The second point is high ambition. Trying to do things perfectly and setting ambitions so high and precise (or being hold to these ambitions) that you just cannot archive them at all. Setting yourself up for constant failure and seeming arrogant and foolish while doing so. That is also a character flaw of mine and probably the reason I’m a firm believer that ideals do help even if they are not archivable at all because they make you strive to do better. Having lofty ambitions and suffering for them is just very relatable to me and I refuse to not see any good in it.

I really love the exploration of those topics and I also love how both of these aspects of Dankovsky hinder him and sometimes lead him into fucking disaster. It’s really good storytelling and I love how the game doesn’t pull any punches. That is another thing I love about his character but also about the game in general. They make an intelligent and arrogant character but what normally is the Sherlock Holmes that everyone sucks up to, the tendency not depicted as clever but he is mercilessly beaten into the ground for it. Because… yeah. You piss people off, if you act like you’re better than them and throw around oneliner like they’re candy. (And no, I don’t think it’s always ill intended at all.) It’s a really good subversion of this specific character trope and I genuinely do think his struggle with it makes not only the narrative but also Dankovsky himself way more sympathetic. (I genuinely believe the reactions to a character can be as important than the character themselves for developing sympathy and engagement because interaction and therefore development is always two-sided.) The consequences to his tone can strike back twice as bad and it develops a genuine character flaw but also is deeply sympathetic at the same time. (Day 1 in the Haruspex route comes to mind, where literally everyone trashtalks the Bachelor and sometimes it’s like “Man, he really did a lot of shit really quickly” but sometimes it's also like “Oh my god, you probably didn’t even meet him, how has the town this opinion after he was there like five hours??? That’s horrible, poor guy!”) It paints the character as human and flawed but rooted in this world.

The same goes with the other flaws. I like that they are harshly punished and lead into fucking disaster! But I also feel for him because of this. Having him trying to engage with his own actions because of this harsh reaction and reality is way more sympathetic than just hearing someone being cool without facing any consequences. He has a struggle and boy does he struggle with his flaws and this is why I want him to succeed in the first place! And even if I do not relate (which in this case of prickliness I actually do not… though I can get pretty pretentious I guess…), I love to see it! (And Dankovsky (and Patho-characters in general) being dynamic throughout the story actually helps this matter a lot!) I love him and wish him the best and I actually am invested in him as a good person for this exact reason! Because I genuinely want to engage with the good sides of him because of his struggles. I want to see, how there is something good to be found in them.

So what do I want to say with this? Mostly that I really love Daniil Dankovsky and I think he is amazing as well as amazingly flawed, and still manages to be humane and engaging. But what I also figured out with these vague musings is, that the flaws of a character and our engagement with them as well as our sympathy with their consequences can be a big part about liking a character. They’re not a counterweight to their strengths for some realism reason, they are as engaging and important. It is inspiring to see someone succeed, but seeing someone with relatable or interestingly described problems – even and maybe especially self-made ones! – struggle with them can make us care about them more and not less and actually make us sympathize with them. Showing the problems that we feel for as well as the good or the potential development that come with character traits (since a lot of traits have their good as well as their bad sides), are not only equally important but a big part about our emotional bond. We do not only need to laugh and condemn character flaws, sometimes we can go “yeah, I relate to this and like the character even more. I want to see them as positive despite this flaw, I want to see them get better and focus on the positives, exactly because they have this specific thing they need to work through!”) It’s not necessarily ignoring that but engaging with it out of compassion and/or relating to their struggles. And a lot of struggles and negatives come with positives that will inspire us even more with both flaw and virtue creating consequences. I think about Dankovsky’s tunnel vision as much as I’m inspired by his determination. I feel for his lack of connection as much as I love his idealism and dreams. And I want to actively think that something good can come out of this, that there is change and ways to get better and work out these flaws. And I want to highlight that what he is doing can be worthwhile, that there is good inside him despite these flaws. That is what character sympathy is for me.

But of course, this way of relating to a character is deeply personal. I’m not saying that this is the right way to interpret Dankovsky, it’s just my way of engaging with his character and the reason I find him compelling. And judging someone for the bad things they do (for example judging Dankovsky for wanting to destroy the town) and not engaging with their flaws is completely valid as well. People find different character traits engaging! I know some Patho characters where I cannot get over their flaws and actions but completely get why some people find them compelling for the exact reason I cannot sympathize. I just thought it says something interesting about character engagement in general. Pathologic is really good with showcasing struggles and being harsh about the characters flaws but compassionate about their humanity at the same time. It’s painting a very nuanced picture that cannot be categorized in “good” or “evil” this easily and I think this is why I love a lot of their characters so goddamn much.

#Not maintagging this because I am a coward #But it's okay to reblog if you want to #I just really love Dankovsky #And I wanted to describe my own way of engagement #I just love to think about character flaws and what they mean #And for me the most engaging thing to view a character #Is as a person who tries their best #But still makes questionable decisions #Seeing why and the tragedy behind it #The struggle about it #Thats deeply sympathetic and engaging for me

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cullens-babe · 4 years

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The Ridiculously Detailed Inquisitor Questionnaire for Bloom!

I’ve been bored and decided to do an Inquisitor questionnare! I’ve been thinking of my inquisitors and wanting to describe them so here we go >:)). And it’s very detailed and I got this from @customhawke

There is no read more bc I am on mobile and there isn’t a read more thing for mobile, so sorry if you don’t want to see this and have to do a lot of scrolling😔.

First up is, Bloom!

Name: Bloom

Age: 23

Race: Elf

Gender/preferred pronouns: Female. She/Her

Class (warrior/rogue/mage): Mage

Specialization: Rift Mage

Romance: Solas

Bloom is a kind woman. She likes to show compassion when it is needed, but when it isn’t, she is a little...harsh. She doesn’t mean to be, but she is. Giving curt replies, not smiling, seeming to serious (Varric would make fun of her sometimes), her voice sometimes sounding irritated, and many soldiers fear her even if she doesn’t understand why. But yeah, when judging people or getting certain quests, she would usually give them a second chance if she could see why, since she knows what it’s like to be judged. For being an elf and a mage. It’s a little rough, so she does try to spread happiness and kindness if she can.

*Describe what your Inquisitor is like before the game’s events–preferably, choose three words that describe best. Then explain why those adjectives are appropriate descriptors.

She is a woman who is very out there. Three words to describe her are Snappy, Loud, and Kind. She is a little sassy in her replies or how she acts towards certain people. Maybe having a little attitude towards the Templar’s, being a little harsh to people (sometimes on accident). She laughs LOUD. She tries to tone it down when she’s in the inquisition believing she should be serious and not too loud, but she fails sometimes. Especially when Varric invited her to a game of Wicked Grace with the whole crew. She had so many loud laughs and brought back the old Bloom, but not all of her... She is kind towards everyone if she can. She may be snappy towards the Templars but she truly means no harm towards them and would help them if they ever needed help from her (as a kid if she ever saw them and in the inquisition).

Does your Inquisitor change over the course of the game’s events? If so, how? What events affected their character arc the most?

YES! She learns how to accept herself and her magic. She didn’t hate her magic, but she didn’t necessarily love it either. She hated how she was given looks wherever she went, hated the whispers of how she couldn’t be trusted as the inquisition, and felt a little bad when she had time to think of everything. However, as she saw what she could do—and what she DID do—she began to love herself. And after being with Solas and hearing him call her his heart,,and comfort her,,she loves herself slowly more and more.

What is their combat skill level before the events of the game? Are they already skilled fighters, or can they barely hold their weapon of choice properly?

Hmm,,,it’s hard to describe it. She wasn’t good or bad. She knew how to protect herself, but not fight demons. When she first fought a demon, she was terrified. Her heart was racing so fast, her hand was shaking, she almost dropped her staff, but she let out a small sigh when she finally beat it. She did it. She defeated something that was very dangerous. She was excited to learn more and how to protect others (not just herself).

How well do they improve after becoming the Herald/Inquisitor?

She becomes stronger and learns how to be a little more comfortable being her. Being Bloom and not being just a regular mage out there.

Does the Inquisitor have family they left behind? Friends?

She didn’t have many close friends. She was pretty much a loner. She had a few friends, but she wasn’t close enough to feel like she would miss them. However, she does miss her mother and father. Her mother and father basically were her best friends. They encouraged her magic and made her see the bright side of life. Basically where she got her kindness was from her parents, and how she experienced life.

How does the Inquisitor react to the Anchor and the idea of closing the Breach–do they want to do the right thing, are they only along because they are a prisoner, or something else?

She is a little scared of the Anchor. She’s never been a part of a serious and dangerous situation. It scares her but after awhile she understands why it is important. She does want to do what the right thing is. It’s always what she tries to do. She wasn’t treated the best and it’s why she wants to treat others with what she wasnt treated with...

Do they take the mountain pass with the scouts to the Temple or do they charge with the soldiers?

She takes the mountain path. Mainly because she hopes that those soldiers are alive and knows it won’t risk too many other lives. She knows it’s dangerous but she needs to try and see if those soldiers alive. Many people would die by the end of this war, but if she could save anyone, then she’d take the risk.

How does the Inquisitor react to being called the Herald of Andraste?

She is a little uncomfortable. She isn’t used to being worshiped or bowed to, so it makes her a little bit worried and uncomfortable. But after awhile she felt a little happy at the praise. Not too cocky about it, but she liked the attention. Especially from a certain egg👀.

Do they believe it themselves?

No. She believed it was an accident and was like, “No. I’m just an accident. That’s it,” and more hateful words towards herself. And when she learned it was technically an accident, then she felt worse and tried not to think about it.

How do they react to being thrown a year into the future? Do they believe they can get back? Are they focused on their goal, gathering information? Or are they just freaking out?

If she was a little younger, then yeah she’d be FREAKING OUT. She wasn’t used to using her magic too much and so being thrown into the future??? That would put her into a panic attack. But when she was thrown into the future, she had a little bit of a spiral. She was scared of everything that happened. She was worried that she already failed everyone and whatever she could do would be worthless. However, Dorian acted like an older brother and comforted her for a second. She put herself together and went forward with their plan.

Does the Inquisitor help Harrit and save all possible citizens of Haven? Why?

YES. She tries her hardest to save everyone. She has to. She will not let innocent people die if she can help it. She’s panicking for them, running around Haven as fast as she can and manages to save the possible citizens of Haven. However, she still regrets that she couldn’t save more...

How does the Inquisitor feel about being a distraction for Corypheus while Haven flees? Are they resigned to their fate? Resentful? Determined to defeat the enemy/survive?

She knows it’s selfish, but wishes it didn’t have to be this way. She wanted to live and grow as a person, but if fate wasn’t pushing her that way, then she’d accept it. Because of her own small, selfish desires, she was determined and did her hardest in distracting Corypheus.

Does the encounter with Corypheus change their opinion of being Herald? Does it make them believe they are the Herald, lose faith, or affirm to their previous belief?

It makes her scared. Terrified even. She hides it behind her mask and deals with it in private, and she loses her faith a little bit. However, she eventually starts to believe in herself again and knows she can do this. She will defeat Corypheus.

How do they feel about being chosen for Inquisitor?

Bloom feels a little surprised. She’s a mage and an elf, she didn’t expect to get such an important title. She expected Cassandra to be the inquisitor, but she’s really happy she is the inquisitor. She gets to help people and it’s all she’s wanted.

How does the Inquisitor react to being in the Fade?

She finds it interesting. After falling in love with Solas and hearing his stories, she wants to see more of it. However, she keeps her mind set on what she needs to do and she does it. She does want to go back to the Fade one day and see what its like.

Do they ever believe the spirit is actually of Divine Justinia?

She’s conflicted. She tries to believe it is Divine Justinia, but most of her believes it wasn’t. Just a spirit that wants to help and trying to earn their trust.

How do they react to learning it was the Divine behind them in the Fade, not Andraste?

Her confidence drops. She started to believe she was meant for this, but now to learn it was an accident? It cut her confidence down by a lot. However, after encouraging words and taking time to herself, she knows she was meant for this. She feels it.

What is their opinion on attending the ball in the first place? Do they think it’s a waste of time, a necessary duty, or something exciting?

She feels like its necessary and she does it. She does it, surprisingly, well. She almost loses it on the 10th person who whispers “knife ear” behind her back, but she holds it in. It’s the longest she’s ever gone without talking to people.

Does the Inquisitor fight Grand Duchess Florianne, or expose her?

She exposes her >:). Bloom was never one for too much drama or gossip, but to see the panic on the Duchess’s face and the way she (as in Bloom) was winning. For the first time during that night, she had a smile on her face.

How does the Inquisitor get along with Morrigan?

She doesn’t trust her too much. She is interested in the well of sorrows, but she can’t help but not trust Morrigan. The way Morrigan seemed to excited to get her hands on the well, the way she seemed...hungry. It threw Bloom off and made her uncomfortable. However, she let Morrigan drink from the well and found Morrigan a bit funnier when she was laughing and talking about Elven lore. Bloom let her drink from the well because she was a little anxious. Bloom was not going to take a risk and lose everything she worked for if something went wrong. She needed to be there for people and promised she would.

How does the Inquisitor feel about facing Corypheus for the last time? Do they feel confident? Do they believe they will survive the encounter? How do they cope with the possibility of failure?

She is panicking the night before. She is worried. Scared. Petrified. Thoughts keep filling her head of Corypheus killing her or killing her now family, or destroying the world. It scared her and she didn’t know how to hide it. Since she felt like she was going to break down, she went and found Solas and talked to him. He told her some nice stories to calm her down and how he believes in her. Hearing him tell her that he believes in her, helped her calm down and realize she’s got this. She can do this. She will kill Corypheus.

How do they react to Solas’ disappearance?

Since she loves Solas, she feels worry. She worries that she did something wrong or that he got hurt or he’s going to be hurt. She doesn’t know and panics a bit. She takes time to herself and goes through a breathing exercise. She dedicates her time to trying to find him. She loves him and won’t give up on him.

Now onto the people >:)))).

Who does the Inquisitor prefer to have in their party? Why?

Solas. Because she loves him but also because she trusts him. She trusts everyone else as well, but she likes his presence. If you want away from romance, it’s Varric because when he talks about his stories, she gets interested and she likes listening to stories.

What is the Inquisitor’s first impression of Leliana?

Bloom didn’t trust her at first. She felt a little uncomfortable around her, a little paranoid too. However, when she found out that Leliana supports the mages, she felt a little safer around her. Over time she began to trust her and liked talking to her.

What is the Inquisitor’s first impression of Cullen?

She likes him. She knows he is an ex-Templar, and that does cause some tension, but by how he refuses to accept the title and does his hardest to treat everyone fairly, she likes him. Plus, he compliments her sometimes and it makes her feel nice. And Cullen likes her too (not romance wise). She’s kind to him and doesn’t fear him. He likes that.

What is the Inquisitor’s first impression of Josephine?

She likes her a lot. She’s never been too friendly, but seeing Josephine care about her (like when she asks if people are being rude to her for being an Elf in Haven) and want her to be safe, she warms up to her. Plus, she loves Josephines giggles. Makes her giggle in return. Josephine is a little hard to read since I think she isn’t too easy to get close to. However, she almost instantly likes Bloom.

What is the Inquisitor’s first impression of Cassandra?

Cassandra is hostile at first, so Bloom feels anger. She doesn’t like being accused and hates being blamed for something she didn’t do, but when she notices Cassandra feels worry for Bloom, then she feels a little calmer around her. She was surprised when Cassandra told Bloom that she was her friend, and she was so happy. Cassandra, obviously, first thought of Bloom as terrible because she blamed her, but overtime she realized that Bloom is a very compassionate person and knows right from wrong.

Okay the same thing is for everyone, they think she is a good person who knows right from wrong :))).

That’s it for Bloom. Gonna do Elle next (the precious bby)! And if there’s more questions you want about Bloom or any of my inquisitors, ask >:))). Or I’ll find another question thing idk.

#da #dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age: inquisition #my inquisitior #I love her too ;’)#but I love Elle the most bc Hm that sadness😌. Her background doesnt make 100% sense...but thats okay :)))#my writing #kinda my writing

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notasiren21 · 4 years

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The Darkness Comforts Me More (Ch. 2-pt 2.)

(Female Byleth x Felix)

~*~

She didn’t show up that day, and Felix missed her more than he cared to admit that night as well. He had been unable to sleep and he desperately wished it didn’t have to do with the fact that it was because she wasn’t in bed with him.

He sat in his desk, staring painfully at the wooden surface and books that laid before him. A familiar migraine presented itself yet again, leaving him irritable as always and hearing Seteth’s voice yelling at Sylvain and Caspar again for today’s lessons would send him on a murder spree. Had he been an imbecile, he would’ve blessed the goddess above for the silence that fell over the room as shoes clicked against stone.

But it was Felix, he was as sharp as a good blade.

He turned his head a fraction just in time to see Byleth walking in and passing him to her desk in front.

Face, pretty and blank as ever looked at the roster and then the room, checking names.

If no one was at the battle that day, they wouldn’t be able to tell she had just lost her father recently. She carried the lesson through and through, even when discussing a technique Jeralt used in close combat.

Felix could see the pain she carried though.

He could also see the vexed expression on the boar’s face and Sylvain contemplating on taking her back to her dorm or not to rest.

In all honesty, it would make most sense for Sylvain and Byleth to be together since their closeness in age and despite all, Sylvain was mature if one was to set aside girls for the matter.

Sobbing in the back of the classroom escalated and made his migraine pang violently against his right eye. Now who the hell...

Byleth stilled, “Who is crying.” How she managed to make that sound like a displeased statement instead of a question, the class may never know.

Byleth however, already knew. It was the same person Hilda had expressed more compassion for when she managed to drag herself out of bed. It was the talk of the rest of the school day when Claude came down on Hilda hard for being so insecure and harsh when Byleth’s father had just died, and to tell her she seemed fine and Hilda was more worried about Leonie.

Not to mention when he and Mercedes were walking to the greenhouse together for their daily chore and overheard Leonie weeping to Byleth like she had been the child of him instead of her.

If asked, Felix would admit from the bottom of his heart:

He thought she was bitch and insignificant.

It seemed the whole class was not fond of her to an extent as well. All trying to avoid the drama she brought forth.

Dimitri, ever the prince, tried to intervene. “Leonie, how about we calm down a-,”.

“Shut up! You don’t understand!” She screamed back.

Shut up.

Byleth still faced down at her notes, fingers playing with the edge of a book cover. “Leonie, please refrain yourself from disrupting my class.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Professor!”

Her head tilted, gears in her head turning to predict the outcome of this situation. How well was Felix beginning to read her? How well did he know..

“Excuse me?”

Oh, right. Fight ensuing.

He felt he should take part in stopping the fight, mainly for Byleth’s sake since she we still hurting. But really, he just wanted to see “the bitch get laid out” as Sylvain would say, wanting revenge for using his training sword one day without permission and breaking it.

“I’m just saying. Something crossed my mind, something I wanted to ask for awhile now.”

“And that is?”

There’s no way she is that childish or dumb to start-

“Are you really Captain Jeralt’s kid?”

Feel free to kill her, Byleth.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, choosing her words carefully, “That’s what I’m told.”

“That's a pretty detached tone to take about your own family.” Leonie bit back.

“That’s just my tone in general.” Felix nearly missed the cute quirk her dark eyebrow did in retaliation.

Leonie huffed angrily, “Sure, fine whatever then. Let me ask this, what’s your opinion of him, then? You must look up to him, at least?” The end of the sentence seemed too contradicting to be genuine or even remotely out of pure curiosity.

Byleth crossed her arms, “I respect him, of course.”

Present tense, she still holds him in high regards even after passing.

This seemed to push at her more than it should, “Hm. It doesn't sound like you really appreciate him. You didn't even know until you came here that he used to lead the Knights of Seiros, did you? If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be half the person you are now. You've probably never even thought about how lucky you are.”

The whole class was on edge and trying to silence her.

“Hey, stop.” Ashe tried, turning back to look at her.

“Leonie, seriously knock it off, that’s enough.” Ingrid said beside her.

“Ugh! OK, this really bothers me! Listen up. I don't care if you're the teacher and I'm the student. I'm going to outshine you. I know you were some famous mercenary before you came here, but let me tell you something... I'm going to be better than you ever were! In fact, I'll surpass you in no time at all, so don't blink. You might miss it.”

Byleth blinked.

Felix snickered. That was cute.

She didn’t offer her the curtesy of responding, not giving her the time of day. Earning immense respect from the pitying students and concerning Felix further knowing who she was behind closed doors.

“Really? Nothing to say?”

“What did you want me to say? I was taking my time to see if I missed it. Didn’t find anything.”

“Listen here-,” Leonie stood from her desk, hands pressing against wood.

Byleth took a glance at Felix, feeling his impatience rubbing off on her and sending a subtle smirk his way that the rest of the class missed.

“Maybe you should be more concerned with something other than me?”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Perhaps your grades? The most pressing would ironically be your grade in sword fight and techniques?”

“Where the hell do you get off, Byleth?” There was venom in her voice.

“That’s Professor to you, and I’m just merely mentioning it to inform you that you’re currently at a D+. Whatever you’ve been doing since then has clearly reflected poorly and no, this isn’t biased or out of judgement.”

“It clearly is!” She shrieked, flames engulfing her cheeks and matching her horrible hair.

What was Sylvain’s phrase again? ‘Just lay the bitch out’?

“It’s not. I’d tell you to ask my father who happened to sit in on that one week -per your insistent and pestering requests that had him drinking rum in my classroom- and he had been disappointed, seemingly expecting you to at least live up to half the hype you created yourself.”

“I knew I smelled alcohol then.” Sylvain murmured to himself.

“You’re lying!”

‘Lay. The. Bitch. Out.’. Huh, has a nice ring to it.

“I’m not. He spent that following weekend training with you in hopes that the blame didn’t fall to him. He traced the issue back to you.”

She was marching up towards the desk and both Dimitri, Sylvain, and Felix jumped to action, a standing protectively in front of Byleth.

Dimitri tried reasoning with her again, “Come on, Leonie, this isn’t necessary.”

“Back off, prince of the naive. I need to take care of this bitch.”

Felix growled, surprising some in the class. “The only bitch here, is you. I’d suggest you step off before we really see what a D+ swordsman looks like against an A+graded swordsman with a A in dark magic.” His hand was ready to draw his sword.

“Holy shit, you’re that good?” Sylvain cocked his head in interest, earning a glare from a few for his distraction.

Leonie struggled against the boys, growing more aggravated by the second. “I was doing just fine, had high grades every semester.”

“Our teacher last year was more incapable than Manuela after a drinking binge.” Ashe remarked.

“But then you come along... And it's like you don't appreciate Captain Jeralt at all, or how lucky you were to have him around your whole life! Ugh! It still really bothers me! You might be his kid, but I'm still his best apprentice! Got it?!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I done? Really? That’s what you’re going to say?”

“If I contradict you anymore, you might just burst.”

“Go ahead, bitch.”

Teeth bared from Felix, a low growl emitting from his chest again. “Call her a bitch one more time, Pinelli.”

Dimitri tried holding her back, “Leonie, please settle yourself. This isn’t proper.”

“I said go ahead!”

“He told me every so often I had been his best apprentice up until I won him in a duel. He said from then on, I would forever be his best apprentice and his best equal.”

Leonie faltered.

Byleth walked by, stoic and expressionless but anger and something feral swelled in her eyes that greatly worried Felix.

She stopped short, near where the red head and the boys were holding her. “I don’t take kindly to those who try to insistently bed my father, Leonie.” She glanced, shocked. “Yes, I’m well aware. I caught you slipping alcohol into his food on several occasions and catching him as he stumbled out of rooms sick, grabbing onto me as he whispered your intentions and to escort him away before you found him again.”

Dimitri let go of her like she burned him, Sylvain stepped back, judgement passing his eyes knowing he would never even go that far.

And Felix drew his sword.

Byleth’s hand settled on his, guiding it back to his belt. “Settle, I think she learned her lesson.” She looked fully at all the boys who heard the most secret confession that they could imagine. “That was never intended to lay upon your ears, but keep it to yourselves. As much as she acts a monster, she’s human.” Byleth walked away, not so even much as a glance in the persistent girl’s direction. “Oh, and boys?”

They turned their attention to her.

Her dazzling smile and that damn dimple made full appearance, even if it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah?” Sylvain called out.

“Take her to Lady Rhea and Seteth, see to it that she is transferred out of my class and dealt with. That is all, class is dismissed.” And she disappeared.

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thetoffeefox · 5 years

Note

110. “Quit stalling. Where’s your father?” Dad Dante with twins.One boy, one girl. C̶a̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶C̶a̶y̶d̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶L̶i̶l̶y̶?̶ You know Dante is up to something.

Let me just say first my dear I had a world of fun writing this. So much so that I sort of got carried away with it. There is just something about Dante having twins that makes me giddy! Don’t even get me started on if he has a daughter. I hope you enjoy this because I sure did!

Prompt 110.” Quit stalling. Where’s your father?” Dante X Reader

Normally the sound of birds chirping was what you woke up to, but today you were woken up to a different sound and that was the sound of your children. You could hear both of them outside of the door arguing. Unlike most of the time, their arguments would be loud and…. destructive. Right now though it was more like them debating on if they should even wake you up. “If we wait her breakfast will get cold stupid.” Your daughter Lily states with a hiss. A giggle almost escapes your lips but you swallow it because if you didn’t it would give away that you were awake and although normally you didn’t approve of your children’s bickering you found this argument to be cute. However, you found it odd that it was your children waking you up this time around for your birthday. Which would suggest….Your husband was up to something. “All right, I get it. Don’t have to be a know it all.” Cayde your son states with a grumble. You could no longer hold back your giggle and you let it loose before calling out to your children. “Hmm, I wonder who could be arguing behind my door.” It feels as if the entire house goes still before a moment later both children pop their head into your bedroom. Once inside your room, you notice for the first time in a while how big your twins have grown. It only seemed just like yesterday you were in the hospital holding both of them for the first time. You and Dante thought you could never love another thing more than you loved each other but the moment your children were born they captured your heart far more than the Devil Hunter ever could and it ranged true for him too. You two would give up your very lives to keep them out of harm's way. Making their way to you the twins hold out a tray of breakfast for you. “Happy Birthday!” They both exclaim to you. You had to say it impressed you that they hadn’t burned a single thing. There was a nagging fear in the back of your head about how your kitchen looked, but you would worry about that later. Both of them took a seat on opposite sides of the bed much like when they were little. Finishing up your breakfast you make a go to get out of bed only to have to your have your twins stop you and try to encourage you to stay in bed. So that’s how it will be. After some fussing and more deterring you shoo them out of your room to allow yourself some time to get dressed, but not before you take a shower which was at the insistence of Cayde. Little did you know that your whole day would be spent with children. They dragged out you of the house around 10 am only to be dragged around to so many different places most of which didn’t cost anything because despite the years that had gone by your husband was still somewhat soft at heart when it came to those in need of his services. So money was still decently tight. It was one of your favorite things about him, how he could have so much compassion and understanding for others. However, you were quite surprised that he seemed to start charging people the moment you announced to him that you were pregnant with the twins. Of course, he wasn’t charging a certain rate per hour still, but merely charging people for anything that they could give him. He didn’t like that you got a job to help out because he was dead set on caring for you and the children but you wouldn’t do it. The kids were your responsibility financially as well, not to mention you did enjoy working. Around 5 pm you were absolutely exhausted and simply wanted to go home and see your husband but your children seemed to still be stalling for their father. What in gods name did he have planned for you that would take this long?

“Ok you two that’s enough we are going home.” Your tone was full of authority that you knew they could not contest to.

“Eh, just a bit longer mom! Really, we can uh go home in thirty minutes!” Lily exclaimed animatedly her long snow white hair ruffling with her movements.

“Uh yeah mom just thirty more minutes really!” Cayde grabbed your arm trying to hook it with his to stop you.

“We are going home now.” You grumble turning on your heel determined to win this stubborn contest.

Honestly stubbornness was a defining trait for Sparda descendents. Teamwork was something that seemed to be scarce. It was very rare that you saw the twins work together and you had to say their tenacity to keep you distracted to where they pushed their differences aside was impressive. Their father and uncle even had a hard time doing so even to this day. Speaking of one devil you then noticed said uncle making his way over to the three of you. It didn’t take a genius to realize what was going on and about to happen “What did your brother have to do to get you to keep me from going home?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. Vergil sighed before looking at both of your twins who instantly tensed and gave the biggest shit-eating grins that reeked of guilt. Oh...OH. You slapped a hand over your mouth trying your hardest to not burst out laughing realizing that it wasn’t their father who got Vergil to come and help keep you distracted it was your children. You should scold them for pulling Vergil away from his day-to-day tasks that could be important, you should. Though the very thought that your children got their uncle to come into public and away from things high on his list of priorities was just all around too much for you to handle. So you let out the laugh you tried so hard to contain. “I’m sorry Vergil I am, really! Consider it impressive though that they got you to assist.” The thought that he might glare at you crossed your mind, but he still directed his irritation at your teenager's. “Please, uncle Vergil it’s just for a bit, there’s a local orchestra playing in the park we thought both you and mom would enjoy it!” Lily bats her eyelashes up at him and you knew that it was over. Despite Vergil’s cold and aloof exterior your daughter somehow some way had it where he was wrapped around her finger. It was like that ever since she was a toddler. All it took was for her to show an interest in literature and fine arts at a young age. You go to say something but then shut your mouth realizing that Vergil most likely had an hour trip to get here which meant it would be a waste if you didn’t take part in this scheme of theirs. Plain and simple your daughter was devious, dating would be fun here soon when she started showing an interest in boys. Sighing you nod in defeat as both your children lead the way to the park that the orchestra was playing at. You wonder if maybe your husband would be here but then you reason that it’s unlikely, he wasn’t one for orchestras. Not to mention your children seemed determined to keep you out of the house and away from it. It was nice having them here with you to enjoy the classical music that seemed to ring throughout the park. Well you, Lily, and Vergil enjoyed it. Your son was sprawled out on the grass taking a nap. A laugh left you as you noticed Vergil’s eyebrow twitching most likely thinking the exact thing you were. Cayde was his father made over, and sometimes it was the most frustrating thing in the world. In the end though you had no idea what you would do if you didn’t have the two to remind you that you don’t have to be so strict or uptight all the time. Speaking of uptight it was the time you become a parent again and make them go home with you. Both kids had a look of worry on their face which prompted you to be concerned as well. Your concern grew when Vergil decided to make the joke that his brother probably blew up the kitchen. After some quick goodbyes (apologies from you for your kids roping him in on this fiasco) you were on your way home. Of course, once again your children just wouldn’t let up taking every opportunity to stop for five minutes to look at something in a window or admire a bird or a plant. Once home you sighed in relief because as far you could see the house did not blow up and it wasn’t a disaster. In fact, it was clean. This made you raise an eyebrow, the very thought that your husband made it where you would be out of the house all day so he could clean for you? Well, that was a hell of a present but that begged the question where the hell was he? You start looking around thinking maybe he was in the bedroom waiting for you. It wouldn’t surprise you that was for sure. He wasn’t there and that makes you hum more. Once downstairs you see Cayde and Lily at the bottom of the steps looking suspicious.

“Ok you two, where the hell is your father.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Mama you should probably change into something else after all you’ve been in those clothes all day. Maybe something a wee bit dressy?” Lily states ignoring your question.

“Yeah, mom it is your birthday it calls for the occasion to dress up.” Cayde grins once again for the millionth time today working together with his sister.

“Quit stalling, where’s your father?” A harsh gaze comes from you onto them and you swear you see your son shiver.

“Go get dressed up and we will tell youuuu,” Lily says in a sing-song manner.

With an aspirated sigh you make your way back up the steps. Again! Into your room. Again! To dig through your closest to find something to wear. You suspect what was going on, but you weren’t sure. So you opted for something elegant but simple looking. Once downstairs you could see that the demeanor in your children had changed this time they were relaxed, and you then noticed just how tired they were from running around with you all day and keeping you out of the house. You must scold their father for that. They were still kids, but it was entertaining to see them wore out for a change. Maybe they will go to bed early and be able to get up in a decent mood for school tomorrow. Smiling both of them grabbed your hands pulling you into the kitchen to the back door. (Thank god the kitchen wasn’t destroyed, and it was cleaner than it has been in a while) “Well, this is where we take our leave, enjoy your night mama.” Lily give you a kiss on the cheek and Cayde does too before they disappear upstairs. Chuckling you shake your head and go outside a gasp falls from your lips. Your backyard was nothing to ride home about. It was small, the ground was uneven and there were patches where grass wouldn’t grow but tonight it looked beautiful as your eyes went to an all too familiar old blanket laid out on the ground with a picnic basket and an old radio that probably hadn’t seen the sun in ages. That wasn’t what enthralled you though, no what had your undivided attention was the man who was sitting on the blanket in the old red leather coat he always used to wear when two first started dating. Years were kind to him with aging but being part demon might have played into that too. “Dante... All this for me, huh?” A grin slowly spread on your features and it went from ear to ear. Your heart pounding in your chest as you knew exactly what he was re-creating. “Well, babe who else would it be for?” Dante flashes you his signature smirk, the one that makes your limbs turn to jelly. It’s like you are in your mid-thirties again as you make your way over to the blanket sitting down next to him. His lips find yours and you can’t help but giggle and kiss him back. His nostalgic smell hits you, the combination of gun powder, tobacco, and whiskey clouding your mind as you huddle into him. “You guys went all out this time.” Chuckling he pulls out two mason jars and you can’t help but laugh out loud. He was matching your first date to T. It felt like it was so long ago, he had taken you out on Cavalier to a secluded and open field, the sky was clear much like tonight and you two had star gazed, ate pizza, and drank whiskey for god knows how long. It was the most interesting first date you had ever had and many more followed. Dante looks at you his gaze burning bright, it was full of love and passion. “Happy Birthday [Y/n]” Again you grin ear to ear before pulling him into a deep kiss. It was decided that this was the best birthday out any and all birthdays.

#Drabble challenge #Devil May Cry #post devil may cry 5 #Dante #dante x reader #fluff #ALL THE FLUFF #dante having twins is what i live for #also lets talk about dante doing domestic things?#God I loved writing this it was the best #I hope you enjoy it!

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elizabethemerald · 5 years

Text

Skin like a Porcelain Doll

“Focus Claire!” Merlin snapped.

Jim flinched at the wizard’s harsh tone and he knew Claire bit her lip on a retort. With Trollmarket constantly on the move the only times Claire was able to get time for magic lessons with Merlin was while they marched. Which created its own host of problems.

Claire was a few yards ahead of him as he walked. She was trying to a power orb, similar to what Morgana had used during their fight with her. Apparently it was one of the most basic forms of magical attack that every wizard used, though both Morgana and Merlin used much more complex versions.

Jim was glad Merlin had finally agreed to teach her some offensive spells, but wished he would ease of Claire before she hurt herself. Prior to this he had only taught her small spells for repairing items and cleaning things. Women’s work he had called it. Ms. Nomura had taught her everything else, including the purple flames she used and the ability to check if she was being observed.

For the past couple of hours Merlin had been harping at Claire do to better. She had almost walked into a tree several times while trying to focus on the spell. Jim could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was defiantly trying to prove him wrong and get the spell right. He could also tell by her stumbling feet that she was exhausted. Walking and trying to perfect a complex spell were taking their toll on her.

Nomura was a few paces behind Jim. He could hear her grinding her teeth even from that distance. He knew she wanted to but in and tell the wizard to leave her alone, because he wanted to do the same thing, and had wanted to do so for hours. The only reason neither of them had done anything yet was because Claire had ordered them not to. She was going to master this spell no matter what abuse Merlin heaped on her and heap abuse he did.

“If you can’t even complete this simple spell I am never going to show you the more complex ones!” Merlin said.

Jim felt a growl build up in his throat, he quelled it with difficulty. Then he spotted the impending disaster. With his better night vision he saw the tree root in Claire’s path. She had a glowing orb in her hand that she was focusing on. He bounded forward but wasn’t fast enough. Her foot got caught in a tree root and she fell hard with a cry. The orb in her hand blasted off into the sky before exploding in a shower of sparks. Jim was immediately at her side.

“You fool girl!” Merlin shouted immediately. “If any human saw that it would immediately put all of Trollmarket at risk! Now get up and try again!”

Jim looked closely at Claire, she was on the edge of tears, her mouth in a tight grimace. He tried to hold her hand, but she flinched away from his touch. She was breathing fast, too fast for it to be just from falling.

“Come on girl, you are holding up all of the trolls, we don’t have much night left and we need to get under way.”

“Enough Merlin!�� Jim growled out. “You’ve been pushing her too hard, can’t you see she’s hurt?”

“Oh and you know so much about training in magic?” Merlin sneered. “She lacks focus, that’s why she failed. She just needs to try again.”

Jim was about to argue when Nomura stepped in between them.

“I do know something about training in magic!” She growled. “And she needs to rest, or practice without your badgering!”

“Badgering?!” Merlin said. “Is an Impure going to lecture me on magic?”

Before Merlin could say another word, Jim unleashed a wordless roar that shook the trees. He noticed his Eclipse Armor had formed around him, the blackened blade in his hand.

“I said, enough!” Jim roared.

He stood up to his full height, towering over the wizard. Merlin took an unconscious step back from the champion he had created. Then stepped sideways and vanished. Jim immediately turned back to Claire. Nomura was crouched down to her level, staring in her eyes.

At that moment Blinky hurried up. He had been at the head of the troll column and had been probably rushed back when he saw Claire’s flair. Jim looked from him to Claire for a second then made a snap decision.

“Can you set up camp near here? We need to stop for the night.” Jim said. Some of the trolls would groan about it later, but near him said anything. Probably too afraid of him after his display with Merlin. Blinky nodded at once. Nomura stood up and walked past the two of them.

“I’ll scout a safe place up ahead for us to stay for the day.” She said. Then she jumped into a near by tree and began jumping from tree to tree. The other trolls slowly followed her away.

“Will you two be joining us?” Blinky asked. His six eyes were filled with compassion as he looked at Jim and his love.

“I’ll find you and patrol the area in a few minutes, we need some time here.” Jim said with a small glance at Claire. Blinky nodded again and hurried after the trolls.

When they were alone Jim knelt back down at Claire’s level. He had seen her in pain a dozen different times before, but never like this. He tried to put his hand on her arm, but she snatched it away like he had burned her. She was looking at her hands like they were foriegn objects to her.

“Claire, what is this? Is it because of the magic?” Jim asked. Sne snorted.

“No I’ve had this for years. It’s just way worse now.” Claire said with a grimace. “Sometimes my body just hurts. My nerves feel like they are on fire. Even the softest touch causes this ache that won’t go away.”

Tears were streaming down her face. Jim stayed silent, wishing desperately that he could hold her and take her pain away.

“Ever since that portal in the gyre station…” She paused taking a shaky breath. “When I cast that portal it felt like my skin was breaking like I was a porcelain doll. I thought for sure my face would shatter completely. It ached for weeks after that. Even after… She was gone my body still hurt.Your mom thinks it might be fibromyalgia. I’ve tried to hide it and pretend like nothing was wrong.”

Claire ran her hands over arms while she spoke, then pressed them to her chest and rocked forward her eyes squeezed shut.

“I’ve been so tired lately, we’ve been pushing almost nonstop for weeks. I can barely sleep during the day, and we are marching every single night. And then on top of that the spells I’m trying to learn. And the way He just won’t let me practice in peace.”

Claire’s voice faded away. Jim didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

“What can I do to help you?” He asked instead. Claire shook her head at first, then seemed to think for a moment.

“I need a lot of painkillers. And when I was at home I would take a hot bath, that would help me relax.”

“I’ll raid our medical supplies. Maybe Nomura knows of some troll strength pain killers that would be safe for a human. And hey maybe she was able to find a place with a natural hot spring.”

Jim gave her a wide grin, and Claire gave him a sad one in return. Jim flicked his ear back at the sound of someone rapidly moving through the trees behind him. Nomura jumped out a tree and landed in a crouch right next to him.

“I’ve found a small cave for the trolls. It’s not ideal but it will work for today.” She said softly, watching Claire the whole time.

“Were you able to find a hot spring?” Jim asked. The changeling looked confused for a second before shaking her head. “Oh well. We can’t have everything right, Claire?”

Claire gave a small chuckle, then struggled to her feet. She gladly used Jim’s offered hand to help her rise, but didn’t let him touch her more than that. Jim’s heart panged as she rose. She had been fighting so hard to pretend she was ok, and now she was moving like she was decades older than she was.

As she slowly walked through the woods, Jim and Nomura moved to flank her on either side.

“I’m sorry He called you that, Zelda.” Claire said softly. The changeling merely flicked her ear and growled in response.

“And I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Claire” Jim said just as softly. “I’ll tell you what, tomorrow night when we set off again, Nomura and I will find a nice deep cave, where Trollmarket can settle for a couple of days, then you and I can go into the nearest town and stay at a hotel. You can take a long bath then we can call Toby and Darci for another video date. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great.” Claire’s exhaustion was loud on her voice, but Jim could hear the sounds of the trolls settling down, they were almost there. He could see by the flicks of Nomura’s ears that she heard them too. The changeling picked up a couple of large pinecones as they walked, each as big as her fist, then leaned over to them in a conspiratorial manner.

“And if the bastard wizard tries to give you a hard time, I’ll help you shove these up his ass!”

Jim and Nomura laughed uproariously while Claire quietly chuckled in between them.

I wrote this because I’ve been dealing with a lot of my own Fibromyalgia lately and I like to project onto my favorite characters. Sorry Claire! Also Merlin can eat a bag of dicks.

#claire nuñez #jim lake junior #zelda nomura #merlin (tales of arcadia)#Trollhunters #tales of arcadia #Hammer sword and staff #after the eternal night #Claire honey you need to rest #your stress is causing your pain to act up #i love these kids so much #Ms. Nomura has had up to her ears with Merlin's bullshit #writing emerald

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generalasshattery · 5 years

Text

Kintaro/Akasha (OC)

This lovely piece is for @phantomheiko who has been keeping monster boy content on this blog for a while with her wonderful requests. I am super proud of this story, and I am so glad I got a chance to write for another amazing OC.

This is NOT a smut fic, it is only under the cut because it’s on the long side.

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It wasn’t quite night yet, but it was close. The vibrant crash of orange as the sun hit the horizon bled into those purples and blues that promised darkness was near. There was that inescapable heat that felt so intrinsic to this part of Outworld. Dusty, dry, and so uniquely unpleasant, especially given their circumstance. Even Kintaro, a man used to thriving under harsh conditions, was pushed as close to his limit as he’d ever been. He’d been through quite the ordeal even before Akasha had gotten to him. Goro had proven as vicious a man as she’d expected. The images of the way she’d found Kintaro would’ve been hard enough to shake as it was, but now exhausted and every bit as damaged as when they’d first broken free, he managed to look even worse.

To his credit though, he wasn’t broken, he wasn’t free from the fight and the strength that made him formidable in the first place. There was a spark that demanded respect and accepted every challenge that it seemed could not be squashed. Even with his fur matted with blood, and barely able to walk he managed to get as far as they had. She didn’t pity him, he wasn’t a pitiable being, but she did recognize a deep need shared by all but only admitted by few. He needed help, he needed care, and he needed compassion. Not that the proud warrior would ever ask, especially not in so many words. He’d already been forced to be reliant on her, something she knew he didn’t tolerate easily.

They’d left any sign of civilization long ago, and while there were dangers in the seemingly endless wasteland of Outworld, they were presently as safe as they were going to get for the evening. Akasha reached a hand to offer a gentle touch on the Tigrar’s back. His coat was rough at first, but her fingers managed to graze something silky beneath. She mused briefly about the opportunity to explore that hidden softness. It would have to be an extremely intimate moment for Kintaro to permit himself to be explored by another like that. Though she couldn’t quite picture him as some gentle being, just waiting to be petted and touched by anyone. Was it a thing he would enjoy? Or maybe something he would only tolerate from someone he found worthy? She had to shake the thoughts from her head to refocus, they both needed a rest badly.

He glanced over his shoulder at the touch, she didn’t even have to speak, there was a moment when their eyes met and it was clear they were shared the same thought. Tomorrow they would have to make more permanent plans, plans she had little doubt would inevitably involve some retribution for a certain Shokan prince, but for now the concern more simple: get through the night. She took one of his arms, silly as it most definitely was, to help him sit comfortably. The man was a giant, and it was more likely that the effort not to crush her made it harder to get into a relaxed position then if she’d let him be. He didn’t fuss at her though, in fact he made no show of it, if that were the actual case. It seemed, even a mighty warrior could take comfort in the kindness of another.

“You’ve done enough,” he said in his short, gruff tone. With what little they had, she’d already begun to make enough of a camp for the night. There was no sense in giving away their location with a fire, but she could at the very least make things a little more pleasant. She paused what she was doing, and found herself fiddling with her long, inky black hair. There was a fine line between being helpful and making him feel like she was treating him like a charity case. Despite who she was and what she was capable of, there was often a bit of nervousness in her. Nervousness over rejection, over her good intentions being misunderstood, over her attempts to help ultimately being harmful. She imagined at times how silly she must seem as a talented necromancer, demigod, and heir apparent of hell to be so concerned about such seemingly childish things. She wondered if others viewed her that way, or if that was only a representation of how she viewed herself.

“I don’t mind, and if you’d let me, I want to tend to your wounds. I can’t rest easy if I don’t.” She said it offering a kind smile, her fingers still playing with her hair. He looked at her and half way scoffed. He shook his head, and she could see even weary he was a little amused by her. Not in an unkind way, though. It made her smile a little brighter.

“I couldn’t do much to stop you, but you have my permission,” he replied sounding calm. The quiet way he spoke betrayed something she’d suspected but had never really been brave enough to confirm from him before. He trusted her. She supposed it was a foregone conclusion after what she’d done to free him, and yet the confirmation of it made her heart flutter in that most lovely way. Not that she was going to let those soft feelings distract her, by the time he finished she was already helping him lay back into a more pleasant position.

“Thank you,” she said, matching his tone as she settled beside him. It was hard to truly grasp just how large he was until she was this close. He was intimidating, even wounded. Tall, broad, and muscular, and that didn’t even take into account his claws. She wasn’t frightened though, and hadn’t felt that way about him in a long time. Usually, he made her feel safe. She wondered briefly if he now felt the same. It didn’t really matter if he did, he had to depend on her for the time being. It seemed he was thinking similar thoughts as her.

“I will repay what you’ve done, make no mistake,” he said. His voice was firm, and it didn’t miss her that those same words could easily be a threat to another. She couldn’t keep the quick laugh that escaped her, he managed to sound imposing when promising to help her in the future.

“Does that amuse you?” His eyes narrowed slightly on his face, like he was trying to determine if she was mocking him. Her face darkened when she realized it must have seemed like she was laughing at the idea of him being able to help her after what had happened. He didn’t look mad, but he did look offended. There was something so very endearing about that.

“Only in that you’re the only person I know that can promise a favor and sound like you’re threatening to kill me,” she clarified as she began the long task of tending to his wounds. It didn’t take long before she found that hidden softness of his undercoat that was so tempting to touch. His face relaxed and he breathed a sigh so deep it seemed like he was trying to free himself of something. It was nothing short of a marvel just how large his chest could get on that inhale.

“I’m not promising a favor, I’m swearing an oath, I won’t degrade myself further by seeing a debt not repaid,” he huffed a little and the warmth she felt for him grew. He was concerned with how she saw him. She managed to keep herself from letting out another laugh, as she was certain he would find that patronizing. It didn’t seem like he would like for her to think him adorable. Adorable wasn’t the right word, but most definitely endearing. He didn’t turn into a kitten for her, but the knowledge he valued her opinion of him enough to protect it was a detail to cherish.

“I suppose then, in order to protect your honor, of course, I’m going to have to get into some dangerous situation so you can save me,” she remarked, unable to avoid being entirely playful with him. He shot her a look, one that so deliberately took in her appearance that it made her look down at herself. She did appear much more the villainess than the captured princess, especially with the signs of the previous fight still on her. She wore black, as she always did, and dressed as a proper necromancer should. It frequently amused her that her appearance so intimidated others when she had such a pleasant demeanor. Though she wondered if the silence that came with her own shyness only furthered that reputation as something frightful.

“What? I can be quite the damsel in distress should the occasion call for it.” She playfully swatted at his chest, as though she were chastising him. He snorted at that. As she leaned over him to reach the next spot for tending too, one of his hands reached for her. He ran the massive hand over the back of her head, his fingers gently running through her hair before he rested his loose grip on her shoulders as she continued her work. His touch was warmth, a little rough compared to what most would offer during a tender moment. Though, in all likeliness, that was as gentle as the Tigrar could get.

“I don’t doubt it, but I’d rather find another way to repay you.” He briefly tightened the hold on her shoulder for emphasis, and he rested his head back at long last. In fact all of him seemed to relax, perhaps it was simply from exhaustion but she knew it was more than that. He did feel safe with her, and it may have been silly but it did make her feel proud of herself. As though she’d proven something, even if he’d never doubted her before.

“Careful, Kintaro, I might think you actually enjoy my company,” she responded, teasing him more blatantly. Still she spoke softly, so as not to upset the small comfort he had found. They’d crossed a line neither had realized existed. They could, at least for now, be a little more honesty in how they presented to each other.

“And if I do?” He asked but didn’t lift his head to look at her. His hand finally left her shoulder, and she knew he was done for the night. The sun had finally slipped below the land, and there was such a lovely mix of silence and noise in the air. There was nothing but the sounds of various creatures springing to life and calling into the cooling night. It was peaceful. If she didn’t have to keep watch it would be tempting to join him. She did, though, and so she finished her task before picking a spot to sit beside him. She glanced up at the sky, watching the stars flicker and hoped that she could experience something so lovely under better circumstances.

“Then I suppose it’s fortunate for both of us we’re stuck here together.”

#Mortal Kombat #MK #mortal kombat oc #mk oc #kintaro

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mooleche · 5 years

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A Tale of Ink and Venom

A/N - All I gotta say is I’m so sorry to mobile users for this lmao This is a long chapter so I’m posting it at 4AM to try and save people from it’s length.

If you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters lemme know!

Also another big thank you to @leo-writer for reading beforehand. I super, super appreciate it and appreciate YOU!

Chapter Two: Heart to Heart

“No no no, I’m so late!”

I shot out of my room like a bat out of hell, a jumble of keys in one hand and helmet in the other as I took to the morning bustle of the college sidewalks. Outside the scenery was a mixture of many things; remnants of winter slush that spring was finally beginning squash with a faint warm breeze. Not to mention the familiar scent of Brooklynn streets containing the disappointing waft of piss and alcohol it was so well known for. Or maybe I had just grown used to it in the year I had been here.

I stopped abruptly at a covered up bundle and ripped the cover off hastily to reveal a shiny black Vespa beneath and beamed. Her name was Queen of the Night, Queenie for short, and what she lacked in speed she made up for in aesthetic. She was the last thing my parents had gifted me before I had started college. A way for them to feel at ease about me being on my own, or so they said. I think they just didn’t want me to use door dash on every little thing I needed at all hours of the night. Regardless, she was my pride, my joy, and I was finally able to ride her again after the harsh winter months had kept us separated for so long.

My thoughts wandered as I got my belongings situated to head to work. About Bambi’s words, the news article, but also the strange group text Bambi’s sister had sent out as I had left:

‘There’s a big bad out. Stay safe.’

I wish I could say that wasn’t a normal occurrence for her, but Benni Banks had a knack of sending things just ominous enough to make you extremely suspicious of whatever she was saying. The only thing more suspicious was when she would walk with a startling pace out of our dorm with laptop in arms saying ‘This is fine, this is absolutely fine ’ on repeat. If you knew Benni like we did that usually meant one of her cockamamie hacking attempts had backfired and things were certainly not fine. Despite this, we loved her, even down to the cryptic warnings she sent us while submitting to her insomnia sleeping habits that left us more curious than cautious.

A villain like that could have meant anything. Hell, we had just seen Lizardman take on the town before he stopped on his own accord. A malfunction with the machine he used to keep himself human, or something to that degree. And not a single hero came to help during that situation. I slumped forward at a red light and sighed. Despite New York being a hot zone for superheroes and villains alike, it was apparent that the villains were just becoming too much for them to handle. But that was something I couldn’t begin to think about, because I had arrived to work and there were more pressing matters at hand.

Like how I was about to be reamed for being 20 minutes late.

I stopped in front of an ordinary-looking business building not far off from the campus itself and removed my helmet. My hair fell in loose lazy curls around my face as the braid I had made was all but destroyed. Flecks of blue and black melded over my face as I tried to hastily tie it back into its original style, but failed miserably. Giving up I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets, listening to the leather of my gloves squeak with discomfort before fishing out a flashy looking access card for the entrance. On one hand, I didn't know why I or anyone else needed one of these. Most of the sections inside of the building were offices doing god knows what. On the other hand, the lower levels were a different story entirely. I waited 3 seconds for the light to flash green before I stepped in, immediately greeted by a security guard I knew simply as Barry who nodded curtly to me as I took to the steps nearby.

“A little late today, Miss Knight,” I heard him chuckle, fading away as I entered the basement. This was where all of the action happened, a steady hum of electronics and murmurs of people lost in conversations of studies they were working on. Some made brief pleasantries with me as I zipped through the small groups of lab coats huddling to discuss, while others seemed to eye me with disapproval.

They didn’t matter though. The only person that mattered currently stood hunched over one of many counters in his lab as I watched from the glass window that separated us. I pressed my face against the glass to try to get his attention but he ignored me, making my nerves rise as I stepped within the sliding doors and opened my mouth to apologize.

“You’re late, Knight,”

I closed my mouth and puffed my cheeks out. He always had a knack of catching me off guard.

His name was Professor H. D. Renato, a man who I suspect would not reveal his initials to anyone until he was on his death bed. Even then that was being generous. He was a man of science and cleanliness, and the two coincided together nicely in his lab that he kept in pristine shape. It was ordinary for the most part. No colorful beakers, no boiling concoctions of evil ooze to take over the world with. Just a man with incredible dreads hunched over his desk studying something intensely.

I don’t know how our strange relationship came to be, especially when our first encounter involved him walking in on me attempting to delete student debts with my powers. I was lucky enough at the time that despite the criminal act I was committing he was intrigued by my mutation and wanted to work with me on the promise that I never try a stunt like that again. I was even luckier that I had somehow gotten a job out of it instead of making a call to my parents from the Deans office explaining how I got kicked out of college for trying to show up Robin Hood.

He now turned as if sensing me studying him and folded his arms, dark eyes studying me back with amusement.

“What’s your excuse this time then?”

“Would you believe traffic?”

“I would not,”

“How about saving kids from a burning building?”

“Try again,”

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes, setting my bag down on one of the empty tables taking up the majority of the room. “I got side-tracked talking to the girls,” I admitted before joining him behind his desk to get a glimpse of what his attention had been so caught up on. “Seems I’m not the only one distracted today though, huh?��

“You know me, I always have to see what fresh hell is destroying Brooklynn,” he muttered before turning the laptop to me. “You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?”

“Oh, no. Benni mentioned it before I got here but...” I whispered as I joined him in looking at the screen. The shots of whoever, or whatever it was were blurry. Though, it wasn’t hard to see the giant black humanoid looking creature completely demolishing a group of police vehicles like they were children's toys before the reporter I had seen so many times appeared on the screen. She had the same tense face on as always. Not that I could blame her, I’d look the same way if I were placed in a somewhat dangerous situation like this. And yet, she spoke in a strangely calm tone to give what little information she had on the matter:

" ...suspect is assumed to be a high-level threat that was one of few said to be lost in the recent events of the Ice Box criminal transfer after destruction hit- "

"Hang on, that was months ago. They still haven't found the convicts that escaped?" I asked in surprise. He shook his head in response.

"Apparently not. The majority were assumed dead at the scene of the crime but…” he motioned to the screen again as we watched another brief blurry clip of the creature climb onto one of the surrounding buildings as heavily armored police got involved.

I whistled in response.

“I really don’t think you should go out on deliveries today, Nina…” he admitted after a short pause as he turned to me, folding his arms like he always did when faced with a tough subject. I could only roll my eyes in response.

“Don’t think I’m capable of holding my own?”

“Really? You’re asking me this in a ‘Hangover Hoodie’?”

“Huh?” I asked with a confused frown but realized all too quickly what he was talking about. In my hurry to leave this morning I had shoved a blind hand into my wardrobe and picked out whatever hoodie I could find. Renato now stared at me with disappointed disapproval and sighed. It was no wonder his peers looked at me how they did now.

“I have always had the utmost faith in you, it’s your health I’m concerned about. You know this,”

“How could I forget when that’s all anyone ever talks about?” I answered shortly, watching his expression quickly fade to guilt. I knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, after all, it wasn’t his fault that my body was the frail shell of what it used to be. Like I said, I tried the vigilante lifestyle once. It hit me harder than what I was ready for and now I paid the price.

The result left me unable to use my powers without intense strain on my body, and a group of family and friends treating me like I was made of glass as a result.

He hovered his hand over my shoulder before reluctantly pulling back. Renato might have been a genius but his social cues were lacking in the compassion department. Or any social department in general for that matter. Instead, he did what he did every time there was an awkward situation and began furiously cleaning his glasses that had been sitting neatly on top of his head.

“I just...you know I worry. And with your parent's trusting me-”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them. But also, I’m almost 24, dude. Avoir une certaine foi,” I added with an innocent smile. He was not so taken with it

“You know I don’t speak French,”

“Have some faith,”

“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t have to be the one to deliver the news if something happens,” he responded shortly, striking my own guilt in response. Renato, despite his eagerness to take me under his wing, was still a cautious man. So cautious in fact that he had contacted my parents before solidifying his offer to work with me. They weren’t bad people, probably the farthest thing from that, they were just so overprotective. I couldn’t blame them after the chaotic introduction into parenthood I had given them, especially after being the first mutant in our family. There was just a point where it was too much.

There was a heavy silence between us as we both struggled to find something to say before he sighed and directed my gaze to the packages resting beside the counter.

“Alright, I’m trusting you with this, Nina. You’re lucky we have such a backlog to get through otherwise-”

“Otherwise you wouldn’t allow this, yes I know,” I called as I carefully scooped the boxes up and inspected them curiously as if the blank outer packaging would reveal their secrets.

They did not.

“Be careful with those. I put fragile on there for a reason,” he added as he tapped the large black font with a stern look. As part of his side job he was always cooking up interesting concoctions for his clients, considered the mutant savant by many because of how serious he was to learn how to help us function in everyday society. I had never seen a regular human so dedicated to helping our cause and I wasn’t about to make him regret hiring me to help with it.

Especially when it meant one day he could help me be myself again.

I scoffed at his words and tiptoed carefully to the exit to avoid more of his harping while I could. “I got it, I got it. Shoot me the addresses?”

“Already in your phone, make sure you get all of the signatures this time, Knight.”

“Yes, dad,” I mocked before shuffling out of the lab, careful to avoid any collisions with anyone out in the hall. Barry held the door open for me like he did every time I came up packed to the gills with boxes and we shared our usual polite nod to one another.

Ten frustrating minutes of getting everything bundled up tight on Queenie and I was finally off to do the real work of the day.

Being a courier was a fairly easy job. Renato excelled in helping mutants with noticeable mutations by creating temporary serums and little do-dads to aid in his search of making us feel more welcomed in society. Since the clients themselves didn’t usually want to be seen by people other than their kind it was often a quick in and out job. The hardest part was getting to them. Renato may have been science savvy but where he excelled in knowledge he lacked in direction, and it made me ever so thankful for GPS as I rounded the same corner I had been through multiple times in the last 15 minutes.

Thank god these weren’t timed deliveries.

Most of the stops weren’t an issue, usually consisting of an out of the ordinary mutant that just needed some basic supplies. My favorite was a man with red skin and facial hair that rivaled Jack Sparrows. He was charming and straight to the point, and yet his tips were always more than accommodating. His name started with an A but the scribbled signature never revealed the rest.

Others however were... strange. Some left specific instructions in order for me to get confirmation signatures; knock two times on the door to wait for someone to knock back, more than a few required me to face the other way so I couldn’t see them but when I looked back the papers were signed, sometimes tip attached, sometimes other odds and ends. I once received a large quill-like spike as a tip for my efforts. It still sat on my desk to this day.

Before I knew it my final client had come and I rode lazily in the familiar streets of Brooklyn to find the location. His was always my favorite to go to, settled in a small suburb area with people that always seemed to be out and enjoying life without a care in the world. I parked in a vacant area up the street and started towards a cozy-looking home that had seen better days. Not that it was in bad shape, it was just old and in need of some serious case of TLC that its owner was unable to give.

I stopped at the sun stained red door and rang the buzzer once.

No response.

Twice.

Nothing.

“Mr. Lee?” I called, pressing my ear against the door to hear if he was making his way to answer. I was greeted with silence.

I began a hail mary of mashing the buzzer in a last desperate attempt until a soft chuckle interrupted me and I turned. An older man in dark shades sat at a bench nearby and waved to me, beckoning me towards him and I followed.

"Hey! Buongiorno!" he called merrily from his peaceful-looking seat and I laughed softly.

"That's Italian, Mr. Lee. But bonus points for trying,"

"Ah, can't win 'em all I suppose." he chuckled before patting the seat next to him and I obliged, holding his delivery patiently in hand before he smiled warmly and stared forward.

"Relax a little, something on your mind, kiddo? You seem tense!"

Mr. Lee always had a knack for sensing these types of things. He was one of Renato's oldest clients, and he wasn't even a mutant. Renato just enjoyed this old man's zest for life so much that he helped him with simple tasks and now the occasional french tutoring on the side that I gave him during my trips.

"Ah, no. I mean, kind of..."

"Go on then, I've got some time," he chuckled as he nudged me playfully.

I sighed sheepishly in response. I couldn’t exactly tell him my life story. He knew bits and pieces of it, but I was still on the fence about revealing my mutation. Instead, I tried to word it rather poorly, tugging at my gloved hands as I struggled to find proper words.

“I just...I want to be something more, y’know? I worked so hard for this...thing when I was younger and now I’m just this...this burnout of a courier wasting away at college!” I started, unable to control the flood of commentary that was spilling out. “I wanted to be like...like Spiderman! Or the Avengers! Something! I have a gift, my friends tell me every day that I have the means to overcome this... this fear of breaking myself again but I know deep down my body can’t take it...that I can’t be this person they think I can be. And now everyone’s just waiting for me to break again like I’m glass! I hate it!”

There was a heavy silence and I snapped out of my stupor, now standing with hands held over my head in what was once frustration. I didn’t even know where all of it had come from. Like I said, Mr. Lee had a strange gift.

I shot them down sheepishly and took to sitting back to a quiet Mr. Lee who’s bushy white mustache seemed to wiggle with thought.

“I’m sorry…” I quietly apologized before he turned to me, brows wrinkling under his shades with a frown plastered on his face.

“Don’t you ever apologize for expressing yourself,” he ordered gently, resting a hand on my shoulder with a small squeeze. “Life is never completely without its challenges. But that’s what keeps it interesting.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Listen, kid. I think you should do what your heart is telling you to do, 'cause deep down it knows that you'll do the right thing.”

“You think so?"

“I know so. I've been in the industry long enough to know a hero when I see one." he chuckled, a warm encouraging smile spreading across his face now. “You can't force these feelings out, kid. It’s got to come from inside of you,” he said while poking his chest proudly.

"Inside me..." I whispered, looking down at my hands in wonder. I knew what he meant, but what could someone like me feel when I wanted to do these things but couldn't? I knew in my heart of hearts what I wanted.

But would that be enough?

Before I could ponder more he stood and stretched his back, resting his weight on his cane. “Give it some thought, you’ve got time,”

“You’re leaving?”

“You’re not?” he teased before he pointed up to the sky and beamed. “I got a date with the universe soon, kiddo. Can’t keep her waiting.”

“Uh-huh…” was all I could muster as I stood and extended my hand out to him. I didn’t know if he was trying to be funny about his days being numbered or if he genuinely was expecting to travel the universe. Events in Brooklynn made it hard to shoot down either idea and Mr. Lee had a look so believable that for a second I actually believed him. “Well, if I don’t see you for a while...J'espère que tu trouveras ton aventure parmi les étoiles.”

“Oh?”

“It means ‘I hope you find your adventure among the stars,’”

“Ah! Mer...mer...merci!” he stammered before taking my hand in his and beaming at me, a feeling of pride radiating off of him at his accomplishment.

“You hang in there, kid. Your own adventure is going to find you soon enough! Remember,” he added, pointing to his chest once more before pointing to me. I nodded and smiled like some solemn promise had just been made between us and in some strange way, it had.

We said our goodbyes shortly after, a broken ‘au revoir’ from Mr. Lee as he sauntered into his home with delivery in hand while I took to Queenie with a little less weight on my shoulders. I was well over the time allotted for the drop-off, but I knew Renato would understand. It was why I always kept his deliveries for last after all, to have deep conversations that always kicked me back on track to the path I truly wanted to be on.

The path that would set things in motion not even an hour later.

#long post #oc shit #marvelsona #oc x colossus

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 5 years

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TITLE: Shamrocks

A/N: A Dean x Donna St. Patrick’s Day fic. Some angst and comfort here. I love them so.

He hadn’t meant to look.

Well, he always meant to look, but he also knew how Donna felt about him staring at her, especially in such a state of undress. She’d gotten used to it during sexy times, but even then her face flushed a becoming shade of pinkish-red and her shyness took over. He knew he had her damn ex to thank for that, but Dean had no doubt with more time and her ever-growing confidence she’d come around.

But he really hadn’t meant to see what he saw this time. He’d merely thrown a casual “You wanna eat lunch here or in town?” over his shoulder as they got dressed and couldn’t help the double-take and stare that followed.

He barely had time to read the words across the butt of her panties before she slid her jeans on, hiding the treasure from his curious eyes. Had he read that right? The light gray boyshorts with a green waistband and a sparkly green shamrock on each cheek had ‘Shake Those Shamrocks’ emblazoned on them in green glitter?

“Whoa, what was that?” He couldn’t help himself. He knew he risked her turning shy and clamming up or getting irritated with him, which resulted in the same thing, but he had to know. “I’ve never seen those before.”

“What?” Donna glanced over her shoulder to find Dean staring—nearly gawking, if she were honest—and she rushed to throw her green shirt on. “Dean…” Her warning, muffled by her shirt, sounded less serious than she’d meant for it to.

He cleared his throat, a small smile playing at his lips. Tread lightly, he warned himself. She hadn’t been her usual, jovial self since she’d arrived at the bunker the day before, and though he’d tried to get her to talk, she’d brushed it off, feigning happy. He wanted to know what was going on in her head, and teasing too much or pissing her off would only push her away.

He waited until she faced him—fully clothed, he was sad to note—one hand on her hip. “The, uh….shamrocks?” Deliberately darting his eyes to her hips and back, he stared at her, amused.

“Oh.” He saw pink blooming on her cheeks as she turned her back to him, reaching for her jewelry and gun on the bedside table. “They’re nothin’.”

“Not true,” he assured her. “They’re somethin’.”

She swore she heard admiration in his voice. Or was it teasing? “You ready to go? We’ve got a lot of errands to run.”

“Uh huh…”

His smug tone, accompanied by the smile she heard in his voice, grated on her. “It’s nothing, Dean.” She hadn’t meant to sound as harsh as she did, had only meant to shut down the conversation, but she knew she’d overdone it.

“Hey.”

His soft tone, full of concern, popped the bubble of frustration inside of her, leaving her feeling deflated, even as he moved to sit next to her as she sunk down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m…sorry if I…said something wrong.”

It came out nearly a question, and it made her feel worse because Dean had always been so good to her.

“No.” She shook her head, frustrated at herself. “You didn’t say anything wrong.” She glanced at him, his eyes questioning, apprehension written on his face, before she dropped her gaze to her hands. “I was cleaning out the spare bedroom the other day and came across a bunch of stuff that reminded me of Doug.”

The name caused Dean to tense, though he tried not to let it show. They both had a past, and while they didn’t talk about them often, he was always overcome by emotions when Doug was brought up: disgust and a need to punch something with Doug the First (or as he’d come to think of him, the Worst) and regret and sorrow for what Donna had lost with Doug the Second. He didn’t know which one she referred to, but regardless, unlocking old doors always led to emotional strife.

“I’d bought a bunch of stuff, a long time ago…when I thought our marriage could be saved. Cute clothes, jewelry, a whole line of holiday-themed lingerie….sorry, I know you don’t wanna hear this stuff,” she apologized, realizing this was likely the last door Dean had wanted to open.

“Don’t be sorry.” He reached over and gripped one of her hands in his. “Tell me?”

He didn’t want to know, not really. He hated hearing how the Worst had treated her, how he verbally assaulted and abused her, and after the handful of times she’d talked about her marriage, full of aching for Donna and fury at the Worst, he had to go blow off steam by visiting the shooting range or the boxing bag in the gym. But he also wanted to know in order to understand Donna more, to help her regain a healthy view of herself, and because he loved her—he wanted to know everything, even the parts she hated. The Worst had left her feeling subpar, insecure, and less than feminine. Her relationship with the Second had helped heal some of those wounds, as had taking on monsters, her role as sheriff, and helping Jody and the girls kick ass. But his departure had deeply hurt her and left her wondering if any man would respect her as a hunter/sherriff and want her as a woman.

He’d be that man, and he wanted her to know it.

“I’d bought that stuff, determined to try. Doug wouldn’t, and I felt I had to be the one to make something happen, to…fix me so he’d want me…and want to stay.”

He heard the ache in her voice, full of defeat and self-recriminations. The reassurances lined up on his tongue like a freeway pile-up, and it took all the strength he possessed not to butt in, not to try to fix the hurts thrust upon her by some prick who’d never deserved her.

He waited, his thumb lightly rubbing a rhythm against her hand as she spoke.

“I guess I thought…” She huffed derisively before continuing. “…hoped that somehow it’d help. Can’t see now why I cared so much then. I loved him, I know I did, but…it took being away from him to know I was worth more than he ever gave me credit for.”

She glanced at him furtively, his gaze empathetic and intense and patient, which both soothed and unnerved her. “It ended up making things worse though—for me. I’d set aside whatever fight still had my heart hurting, get dolled up, and show up vulnerable. Hopeful. Forgiving. Caring. Desperately wanting things to change. To go back to the way it’d been before he’d shown his true colors and treated me like shit.”

Though he could hear the strain in her voice, she didn’t cry. His heart both ached and raged as she spoke, the images she set in his mind playing like a film he already knew the ending to, even as he wished he could rewrite it.

“I shouldn’t have tried so hard, but I needed to know I’d done everything I could to make it work, and this was my last attempt. It backfired, though. Just gave him better ammunition: new slights, cutting comments, ridicules. I felt foolish. Stupid. As though new clothes would fix my marriage.”

She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice as she scoffed at her younger self, but it bled through, a deep red wound that hadn’t yet healed. She shook her head to brush the pain away and continued.

“After he left, I threw all the things I’d bought into a box and shoved it in the back of the guest room closet. I’d forgotten all about them…until I found them the other day. At first I was going to give it all away, but…I like the stuff I bought. It’s all still brand new, and it’s pretty and fun and sassy.”

“Like you.”

Donna felt her heart clench in her chest at his words, and she raised her eyes to his. Dean stared at her intently, his gaze full of hurt, compassion, and fire. “You amaze me,” he nearly whispered in wonder. “It wasn’t your job to fix him. Or even try to make it work after he treated you the way he did. But still you cared. And forgave. And didn’t for one second let him destroy the incredible woman you are.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

Dean waited a few moments before cupping her cheek and guiding her back to face him. “You have nothing—nothing,” he reiterated emphatically. “to feel foolish about. A man like that doesn’t deserve to be with any woman, let alone someone as strong and independent and compassionate as you. Hell, I know how fortunate I am you’re here with me, and I don’t ever want to do anything to screw that up.

“You like that stuff? You wear it. It makes you feel good? Buy it all. You wanna eat pie? Just make sure you bring me some.” She huffed a laugh, but he continued. “But don’t ever think there was something else you could’ve done or tried to be to please a bastard like that. You are sexy as hell. You’re smart and strong and funny and I wanna spend every second you’ll let me showing you how much I love everything about you.”

Donna moved so quickly he barely had time to register it before her lips crashed against his, and when she pulled away, she leaned her forehead against his, their noses barely touching.

“Sweetheart, you okay?”

“You betcha,” she murmured, her breath whispering against his lips before she sat upright. “Thank you. Finding all that stuff just made relive some of before, and…I was really struggling with whether to get rid of it or keep it. But stuff him! I’m not gonna let him ruin nice things for me. Including you. I don’t want issues with him to come between us. Next time I’ll try to talk things out. Didn’t mean to be a grumpy-Gus.”

“You weren’t.” Dean raised her hand and kissed it. “But you come talk to me about anything, any time, okay?”

She gave him a thousand-watt smile, the one he held on to when things got bad, and nodded.

“Does that mean you’re keeping all that stuff?”

“I like it….yeah, I think so,” she stated, feeling more like herself again.

“Good. Does that mean you’re gonna shake your shamrocks for me?”

“Dean,” she chuffed with a smile, pushing at his shoulder as she got up and walked toward the bedroom door.

He stared after her longingly. “Does it?”

With her hand on the doorknob, she turned to face him, biting her lower lip. “Maybe when we get back,” she promised, then sashayed out of the room.

#dean x donna #dean x donna fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #my writing #personal

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phthalology · 6 years

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Destiny: When We’ve Been There Ten Thousand Years

Seconds after the Vanguard beheld the living Traveler from the ramparts of the new Tower, Kass collapsed.

Ah yes, the Traveler was living so fully it brightened the skies and clouded them again with interference. Kass had felt the force field of it, a liquid zap, ruffle her hair right through her helmet when Ghaul rose into the Traveler’s orbit. She couldn’t remember much after that, although some time must have passed: the knitted blankets and the Light in the place where she drowsed didn’t feel anything like the farm. The wild magic of the Shard was a cool blue weight on the horizon, patiently humming.

Kass tangled her fingers in the blankets, loosening the stitches. Blinked again, softening the harsh gray of the world into the softer blues and corals of a room in the Tower. She couldn’t tell which dormitory or block she lay in, but the colors were right. Pair that up with the Light, and the place surrounded her like Zavala’s blankets. He had knitted a pattern of vague Ghosts in gray against the blue thread, blocky geometric shapes with circular cores. She had seen this pattern before, carried by Guardians who learned it together. After long last, after that mission to the burning side of a metal fortress walking distance from the Sun, she was looking at something familiar. She blinked dry eyes.

When she stood up, dizziness took her. Her Ghost hovered, suddenly splayed out in alarm. Kass flattened one hand on the bedside table, as much out of curiosity as out of the need to stabilize. A red cup shot through with salmon pink looked like it had been fired in an oven instead of spun out of an assembly line. A sconce might once have held a candle, now reduced to white wax drippings in translucent glacial sculpture. A lattice over the window let in morning light.

“Oh good, we’re awake,” said her Ghost.

“Mostly.” She let her clutching grip on the table subside to a brush, tried to sit up again. Looking for an exit strategy on the other side of the room lead her to the realization that the whole place was not as aesthetically put-together as the bedside table. The wall by the door was bare and gray, the floor clouded with dust from its construction. Rock dust glittered in the beams of sunlight through the slats. The room smelled like dust and heat, as if the candle had just recently gone out. “Something feels wrong.”

“We won.” Her Ghost’s voice maintained the chipper frankness he had worn before they faced Ghaul. It might have been more impressive if it hadn’t felt so thin.

“Where are the others?”

“I don’t remember. They made it out; we all met the Vanguard together.”

Kass tried to stand again. Her feet found the floor. The pile of blankets was no longer so heavy, so it was easier for her to stand and stretch.

“Do you remember it?” she asked softly.

“I remember Ghaul taking the Light, and the Traveler killing him. And the … incident with the Sun.” The Ghost shivered, flanges flicking in and out.

“The Traveler.” Kass closed her eyes. The presence of the Traveler’s Light was like magnetic north to a compass, spinning her awareness toward its place above the City. Light streamed from it, shot through with the presences of other Guardians who created shallow ripples in the sea of Light. “It’s alive.” And what did that mean for the temples and cults, the artists and Guardians calling the name of the machine-divinity to bless their works? If the Traveler could speak to anyone, to whom would it choose to speak? She wanted to sink to her knees and fly to the perimeter at the same time. She could not thank the Traveler enough for taking Ghaul, could neither understand fully its reasons for doing so. Was he trapped inside there, communing in perfect stasis with the machine?

“I want to go see it,” she said.

At almost the same time, her Ghost sighed, “Let’s not do that again,” and she cupped it between her hands and brought it to the level of her eyes.

“We’re okay,” Kass said. “The Sun will not burn us, the army will not invade our city. We made it.”

They sat, meditating in the knowledge of their survival, for a while.

Kass still felt weak, the dizziness not quite dispelled, so she kept stretching and breathing slowly until a mediative calm settled around her. She was folding one arm over the other when Ikora knocked on the door.

The Warlock Vanguard’s presence was rich and familiar, resonating in time with the Traveler’s Light like music in harmony. Instead of knocking on the door she swept out with the Light. Knowing that Ikora’s senses were more attuned than her own, Kass replied with the slightest shift in the Light. Her own power felt watery and drained, heavy as the Ghost that now drifted to rest on the bedside table. Kass would not show her exhaustion as the Vanguard opened the door, not yet. Her Ghost would.

“Did you find the blankets comfortable?” Ikora began.

Kass took that as an invitation to sink back down into the blankets. “Very much. I thought I recognized the pattern. Did Zavala make this?”

“He did. We all have our ways to make the place feel like home,” Ikora smiled. Her own Ghost floated peacefully over her shoulder.

“I don’t …” I don’t remember what this Tower looks like. A Warlock, admit ignorance? Absolutely not. The prospect was dangerous, even here.

Even after Ikora had told Kass that it was alright to be afraid.

“It does feel like it could be home,” Kass smiled gingerly. Onward to greater things, with more cute ceramic cups —? “We’ll have to decorate the far wall eventually.”

“Ah. It was decorated already, not long ago.” Ikora smiled tightly.

Kass tipped her head.

“That was you.” Ikora gestured at the wall. “When we brought you in, you were burning with the Light. We let you sit, over there, until it sputtered out.”

Kass breathed in and felt for the Light again, expecting it to shy away or to bubble with repulsive mutation. If something was wrong with her, she would need to ask the new presence of the Traveler what it had done. “What happened?”

“Not here.” Ikora held up a hand. “Come with me to my temporary library. We’ll figure out what happened to your Light there. Be reassured: you aren’t sick, aren’t cursed by anything lingering.”

“Thank the Traveler.” Kass bowed her head in acknowledgement. When she looked up Ikora was just switching from watching her Ghost to watching Kass again, her eyes wide and caring. Ikora’s straightforward ferocity motivated Kass to be a more active Warlock, and her comments on Kass’ written works were likewise straightforward and unornamented. Perhaps part of why she admired the Vanguard so much was because Ikora seemed never entirely satisfied with her. Kass always needed to push herself in order to become the person Ikora’s rare and observant praise suggested she could be.

“I feel dizzy. And I don’t remember … any of what I might have done with the Light after coming back to the Tower.”

“I’ll explain once we’ve demonstrated it.” Ikora paused. “I also wanted to thank you, while we were here. Without you all the efforts of my fireteam and Hawthorne’s fighters would have been worth … less than they were. I’ve talked to the other members of your fireteam already. You’re strong and gracious Guardians. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“Auburn and Arem fought as hard as I did,” Kass replied softly. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Maybe tell Zavala you appreciated his blanket,” Ikora said as she turned to go.

Kass followed. “Wait, is this his room?”

“No.” Ikora lead the way down a gray corridor. The hall beyond it was more finished; dark gray paving stones hung about with ivy reminded her of the overgrown streets in Trostland. “It could be yours, if you want it, but we’re still working on moving people out of dormitories and into separate rooms. Likewise, if they want them.”

Guardians along the side of the wide corridor worked to clear rubble, sweep floors, and carry boxes of supplies. Kass slipped into the narrow gap between the wall and a Titan carrying a box one-handed, still clad in the tattered remains of her parade armor; whether she had been wearing it since the attack started or whether she had chosen to dirty it with building-dust instead of Cabal blood this morning was indeterminable. Past the narrow hall and through a door they came to a different view of the Traveler than the balcony where Ikora had stood before. Hawthorne was checking items off a list under a trellis, Louis preening in the rafters of a partially-constructed watchtower beside her. Guardians, frames, and citizens pulled boxes across the floor and hammered nails. Cold wind brought up the metallic smell of the city and the Traveler’s perimeter. Someone had set up a card game at a long bar.

Ikora moved through the bustle easily, Kass and the Ghosts following her. Books tottered in piles in the temporary library, which was also sheltered from the elements with an awning and looked out over the City. The Vanguard flipped through a volume as if stalling for time.

“We’re going to experiment out here?” Kass’ Ghost said. “Seems like there’s an awful lot that could go wrong.”

Ikora set the book down and met his eye. Some Guardians found it difficult to communicate attentiveness to their Ghosts, but Kass never had. She recognized Ikora’s comfort with Ghosts as well. “I know this must be strange to you, but we saw how your Light behaves many times while you were asleep. Hawthorne has already visited that room, as have the Vanguard. I believe Cayde left a cup on your table.”

“It was empty!” The Ghost protested.

“I believe he thought it would be motivating for you to see what you did not have. Either that or he forgot. Warlock,” Ikora said to Kass, seamlessly transitioning from the light, fond tone she took with Cayde to a more authoritative one. “Give me a little Light.”

“Here? And torch your books?” Kass was used to being dangerous. Her danger sent Ghaul stumbling away before the Light itself took him. What she was not used to was being dangerous with consequences, the kind of dangerous that could singe Hawthorne or one of the civilians newly and tentatively invited into the fortress once reserved only for Guardians. She can almost hear her Ghost muttering diplomatic incident now.

“Whatever type you’re most comfortable with.” Ikora was insistent.

“You know which type I’m most comfortable with,” Kass said.

Had she just snarked at her Vanguard? Her face flushed with embarrassment. Ikora did not give the words any further consideration. Instead, she watched while Kass raised one hand. Her arm was still clad in her red gauntlets, the same she had worn to the Almighty. When she opened and closed her hand she felt the familiar wash of Arc energy and contained the lightning to a single sphere, just a demonstration hanging above her palm and crackling.

What emerged instead was a miniature star, familiar from the few months when she had run Sunsinger but not at all what she had expected to produce. Ikora watched it calmly, more concerned about Kass’ reaction than the flame. Kass closed her hand over it and the fire dissipated. It should have been easier to call the storm; she had gravitated to lightning for years. She tried again, picturing the cold fire of the lightning in her hand, and created another tiny sun.

Ikora had raised her bare hand to stop her from doing this before, Kass thought. If Kass had kept pulling the Light to her in the bedroom, what exactly would the Warlock Vanguard have done?

Ikora nodded. “Something has changed in your Light since you got back from the Almighty.” She walked further toward the balcony. Kass followed, idly examining the titles of the books she passed. Several copies of Ikora’s studies were stored there. Kass found herself looking for her own.

Birds flew by below, black and gray wings against the steel blue of the distant city.

“Does your Light feel different?” Ikora asked.

“No.”

“It does to me. When you returned I thought you had chosen Solar to combat the Cabal, but then you collapsed. And the Light just kept on burning. You were throwing out Solar abilities at random for a day, Kass.”

Her heart sank. Had Ikora ever said her name like that before, almost pitying? “Maybe something happened at the Almighty. We didn’t notice anything strange in the Light.” She glanced at her Ghost for confirmation, got a shift back and forth like the shake of a head.

“If you had brought energy like that to the Crucible you would have been unstoppable.” Ikora’s tone lightened.

“Could this happen to anyone if they flew that close to the Sun?”

“Guardians have done it before and came back the same. Don’t underestimate thrill-seekers. But this does give us a unique chance to figure out what happened. Right now, if anyone profiled you in the Light they would see the Sun as your preferred class.”

Kass looked down at her hands while she tried again to summon Arc Light. This time it worked, a ball of lightning emerging inside a translucent sphere of energy between both of her hands. It took effort, though, a heavy weight that curled her lip and tensed her shoulders. She sighed in relief and dissolved the energy again. Would it sit inside her and seethe? Her power felt slightly removed from her, a hiccup in the magic. Nothing was jumping unexpectedly from her to Ikora, though, nothing catching on fire on the other side of the balcony. “It still works. If I train back up, with the Traveler willing it should be fine.” She wanted to ask Ikora about who had produced the first papers on the new Traveler — surely someone had started an entire field of study while she was asleep — but it would have to wait.

“Use it to your advantage in Crucible. And let me know if anything strange happens. It seems like if we lose you we lose some of our chances against the next Ghaul.”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next one.” Kass wrapped her arms around herself, then drummed her fingers on her armor. Was something wrong with her Light?

“I do have another job for you, if you want it.” Ikora moved to the railing and gripped it, looking away.

Kass quieted.

“Before that Solar Light fades, if it does. I want you to find Eris Morn and show her what happened.”

Kass’ stomach ached. She hadn’t seen Eris since before the parade, before the start of the Red War. Ikora had reassured her that Eris was alive, but hints and interpretations were not the same as seeing her again, not the same as — was it right to call it friendship? The mutual reliance where Kass asked Eris to sit with her fireteam when no one else would, and where over and over Eris demonstrated that her strange power was like a lifeline for Kass between the bright Tower and the slavering dark. Eris had pulled Kass’ fireteam out of Hive tunnels and helped them find passage into the Dreadnaught. To find a path back to Eris now would be to walk halls so familiar they were almost a lifeline of their own after the Red War.

“Of course. But how?” Her Light is gone.

“I’ll give you a homing beacon. Stay in the Tower at least long enough to use that new Light in training, with someone who trusts you. I’ll be there to make sure it does not become even stranger.”

“But her Light is gone. The Hive stole it.”

Ikora turned to her. “Yours is behaving in a way we’ve never seen before. Eris has expertise in the edge of the Light, in seeing it from the outside. She may be able to tell us something we don’t know. You will need to touch her, because she won’t be able to feel the difference as well as a Light-filled Guardian. I’ll tell her you’re on your way.”

Kass nodded. The prospect of helping Eris — this was what the Traveler had meant for her to do. Its strange Light resonated in time with the plan.

“Now,” Ikora said, “Go find someone to fight.”

Kass found an empty corridor near one of Shaxx’s City Crucible fields and a sparring partner, a laid-back Gunslinger with the patience to work out how best they could disrupt one another’s rhythms. Ikora stood above them with her arms folded and her Ghost perched against the curve of her neck. Its gentle humming grounded her. The feeling was welcome because her thoughts were so fanciful. Admit it, Ikora. She faced herself in her mind with a gentle authority she knew she had taken in part from Osiris — taken and smoothed out, added a fight song beat and a humbling awareness of the people around her.

Maybe the Sun spilling from Kass could jump-start Eris’ Light.

Ikora had already done some theoretical work, telling herself all along that she was treading in a realm of science fiction. Zero multiplied by any number was still zero. All that power could drive into the black hole of Eris’ dead Light and would have no more effect than it would have on Hawthorne. Eris could give Kass valuable information by seeing her in person, information no one else on the Tower could give. Sending them to the same place was practical.

It was also so very hopeful. She fantasized about telling Eris the truth if it worked, telling her that the experiment had been a gift, a long-awaited thanks.

Be in this, Ikora. Why does it feel like the world is spiraling in around this idea? Chase it like you chase the right words, interrogating and sorting and hating them.

Why do you want to save her? She wouldn’t want to know you think she needs saving. She isn’t ill, without the Light. You love her, though, if love is support and debt and secrets. You know that she said she wants to burn the colonies on the Moon, all those years of history and drive gone to black ash. She wants to build a greenhouse in the rubble and cultivate carnivorous plants, feeding them the flies that eat the dead on Earth.

You hope she gets that, with or without her magic.

Ikora gave Kass a techeun device and didn’t explain what it was intended to do. The small black sphere riddled with spinning blades pointed in Eris’ direction all right, an impossibly precise tug toward the asteroid belt that Kass had to readjust her borrowed ship toward again and again. She trusted that it accounted for orbits and pressed on slowly, rubbing her Ghost’s flanges every once in a while like she would rub a cat’s ear.

What had Eris been doing out here? How was she holding up, with her world in the City ruined twice-over? Or were the Hidden her world now? Ikora had mentioned, before the Red War, that Eris worked with Osiris even when he hid himself away from everyone else, and with Asher even when he became too insufferable for Ikora. Maybe her nature, how often she traveled around and how she never quite lived fully in the moment, simply insulated her from irritation. She did not stay with their weighty self-attention for long, always returning to her own research. Someone who could zone out in the middle of one of Asher’s diatribes, even to memories of their own horrors, was powerful indeed.

In the asteroid belt the glow from the techeun compass faded away once, to Kass’ alarm. When it pulsed again her Ghost understood the signal — they needed to keep apace with the nearest asteroid, following in its direction. The hazy debris clouds that hid the Reef in purple fog thinned out further away from the station, space black and dull. Saturn sat as a yellow disk in the distance, the scar from the Dreadnaught invisible.

Eris would need to find her, because Kass wasn’t sure how she was going to navigate this empty wilderness herself.

Give it to a former Hunter to find the way in space.

The techeun compass brought Kass to one of its siblings. She magnified the image on the screen, surprised when a ship never appeared beside it. The little compass floated, bronze arms circling a blue core. It glinted with the metallic blue-purples Kass remembered from the Reef.

“Where is she?” Kass muttered to herself and to the Ghost.

“Ikora wouldn’t have sent this to us if she didn’t think it would work,” the Ghost said with certainty.

Three heartbeats worth of patience, three heartbeats of waiting. The second ship uncloaked, thin green lines outlining a blueprint of its facets before the green-black true color nestled into the black backdrop. Eris sent a Vanguard code over, precise and emotionless. Permission to transmat.

The ships floated beside one another. Kass dropped into a living room almost bare except for a knitted blanket not dissimilar to the one Kass had slept her fitful recovery under, patterned in abstract stripes instead of geometric Ghosts. Surprised to find herself alone, Kass moved hesitantly toward the pilot station.

“Eris?”

“There is an outpost just ahead.” Eris’ voice emerged not directly through Kass’ helmet but from the pilot console. “Three Cabal ships circle it. Destroy them.”

“You’re fighting Cabal?” Kass dropped into the seat, reached out to get the lay of the unfamiliar controls.

“We all are, now.” As usual, Eris’ tone was utterly serious, utterly unforgiving of waste in her words. She exerted herself so carefully that each word might have been a heavy burden.

Not what I expected. Her Ghost flicked out of the corner of her eye, its twitchiness betraying her own surprise. Kass took a deep breath and guided the ship around. The Light of the Traveler was still evident out here, even if she couldn’t see it or use it directly. Think about the solar system as one whole web, connected with strings of Light; think of yourself as a bead of dew sliding along the strings.

Two Cabal ships, studded with ugly orange guns, lit their engines to angle around the tiny space station. Kass swiped through menus and found that Eris’ ship had cannons with more power and firing rate than Kass’ own ship; she set them to be largely self-guided and concentrated on lining up a shot that wouldn’t endanger the space station.

Between the Guardian and the Ghost’s coordination, the first two shots cracked one Cabal fighter apart. The projectile was something green and molten, Hive-technology spun into tame fire. Kass delayed the automation for the second shot, pumped the trigger just as the second ship was coming around a corner. Debris pattered the shield as she looked for the third. They might have sent troops into the station already — how many Cabal could fit on one of those ships? This was the part where one of her fireteam members might have told her to stop thinking so hard, might have taken control and decided to go after the third ship right away.

Without anyone else present, Kass had to pretend. What would Yarrow do? Kass felt her smile curl just the right side of her face, just the expression her Ghost would see most clearly.

She chased the third Cabal ship around the space station and out toward the belt. Another push and that ship was taken by green fire too, pieces fanning out in orange and jade in front of the blue-black asteroid field.

“Coming back around.”

Eris did not reply. Kass kicked the ship into an automated orbit around the station.

“Are you okay in there?” Kass’ Ghost asked, more nervous than its Guardian.

“Set us down inside,” Kass said.

With her feet on the ground she was more certain, even though the station flickered with emergency lights. As soon as she landed she recognized the station as a product of the Reef, curved lines decorating the hallways inside. Purple-blue flags shimmered in tatters under the red emergency lights. Kass moved one fold of a banner aside to find a console beneath, covered with dust but decorated with stickers: Dead Orbit, the logo of Awoken Sparrow Racer Triska Korlo, and a sigil Kass did not recognize.

She edged forward. The station appeared to be a small science outpost, with some windows open to space and some covered with complex lenses and racks. No Cabal on radar, no Eris either. They would meet one another blind.

“Eris?” Kass transmitted.

“There are no enemies here,” Eris said over the comm.

“Now she tells us,” the Ghost muttered.

She was working on something.

Kass lowered her weapon when she turned the corner. The central room of the station was ringed with consoles and shelving piled with more of what Ikora had called the techeun compasses, each mechanism slightly different within the standard round shell. Two Cabal, dead in a corner, might have been the cargo of one of those swarming ships.

“Thank you.” Eris gathered another techeun compass up. “Many of these have been lost. Ikora understands the bitter joke of returning one to me.” She smiled. “Take them both back. Keep them safe.”

“You work hard for the Reef.” Kass took the compass. It was larger than the others, so dense that she struggled with it at first. Eris put a hand on the mechanism to steady it while Kass lifted it toward her Ghost for transmat.

As the compass dissolved, Eris bowed her head. Kass couldn’t quite tell whether her eyes had narrowed behind the gauze or not. “I go where I can in these dark times. Did Ikora ask you to help her Hidden?”

“Not exactly. Just you.”

If Eris was hiding anything that she might have said to one of the Hidden, she smoothly covered it up. This secrecy, these riddles, could be difficult to parse for Guardians who suspected Eris of hiding something. For Kass, her desire to learn meant that any time she could spend even at the outskirts of those secrets were valuable. Trust drove her, as trust in the Traveler did. It had not failed her yet. Maybe one day it would, the new and living Traveler showing proof of tyranny and Eris fading back into the tunnels of the Hive once Savathûn called. Kass counted on those fears being wrong.

She and Eris, perhaps both hiding something of their fears from their faces, watched the compass go.

“What are you working on out here?” Kass asked, reaching out for one of the other compasses. Eris did not stop her as she experimentally moved the interlocking pieces.

“They were left when the Queen’s forces scattered. Some cry out for information they will never receive, tasks they will never finish. Others … what did Ikora call them?”

“Compasses.”

“Yes! Some point the way to where techeuns might have gone. The hidden sisters wait and watch for their time, learning more about the Taken and helping to rebuild the Reef. But the sea is dark and they sail such small boats.” Eris’ gaze was distant.

“We feel like that back on the Tower too.” Kass hugged her arms to herself.

“Do they rebuild well? Do Guardians remember?”

Would Lord Saladin crow on the ramparts for Iron Banner festival days again? “I hope so. We are rebuilding. There’s space in the Tower for all of us.”

“Does Ikora speak of Osiris?”

“Only as a story from the past.”

Eris chuckled. “Let me tell you a secret.”

“Tell me.”

“Ikora and Osiris both think that they did the right thing by leaving one another. They may one day find that they are wrong.”

“Osiris could have helped us in the Red War.”

Eris reached forward, did not quite touch Kass’ face. “His strategy would have fallen with the others. It would not have been the Cabal who would have been lashed by that return. I see how Brother Vance wants.” Her gloved hand dropped. Kass felt the shelves press against her back. Eris still could be frightening, her wrath pushed up from volcanic depths swimming with onyx shards of grief and accusation. “Why are you here?”

Kass took a deep breath. “Ikora told me you could explain what happened to my Light.” How much should she say? How much could Eris already tell? How much had this conversation already told Eris, who heard how their rhythms matched?

“Ikora was also afraid of death.”

“So afraid.” Kass hadn’t expected those words to tumble out with such heat, such relief that she could gossip-care-respond to the vulnerability she had seen in her Vanguard on Io. “She learned, though. I think she learned to be bit more like you.”

“May it not plague her much.” Eris shook her head, chuckled softly. What a relief, that she could laugh! “I do not fear death. I live with it, though, a partner I cannot leave.”

Kass held out a hand as Eris had. She did not anticipate that Eris wanted to be touched, that she wanted any more than the gesture, but she also saw how Eris slackened toward her. How Warlock of her, to break her own boundaries into concentric rings of trust and carefully label them.

“Wait,” Kass said. “Ikora told me that you would be able to tell what was wrong with my Light. I resonated too closely with the Sun.”

“When you defeated Ghaul.”

“Just before, yes.”

“Such price. But you still have your Light?”

“I do, but Ikora said that it felt strange to her. When I came back to the Tower I burned with the Sun. I’m glad to have this power, this ability — but she told me to visit you, to get an outside perspective?”

“What the Light does leaves no marks before my eyes,” Eris intoned, and gestured her forward.

If you had thought this would do me good, Ikora, you should have said something. Kass caught Eris under the arms and rested her head against her shoulder. She felt a light touch on her back, then the stronger, Crucible-strong embrace.

“Tell no one,” Eris muttered.

Kass blinked at sudden tears. “I would never, not about a mission to the Hidden.”

“Heh.”

“Do I need to … do something?”

“Show me the Sun.”

Burn this library, torch this woman — what a day for people telling Kass to set things on fire. She drew to arms’ length, conjured the blade of a sword between their hands. Eris’ eyes did narrow now, three shards of green like the orb she used to carry. For several heartbeats she examined the Light with senses Kass did not understand, calculations in values she had never been taught.

“The effect is temporary,” Eris said.

“How did you know?” Her hair ruffled in the heat from the flame. Eris dropped her hands, and Kass let the Solar Light dissipate into a cloud of smoke and sparks.

“When you see the Light from outside long enough, you begin to understand it differently.” Eris sounded sad for just a moment. “You have already tested your ability to control Arc, have you not? You can call it when you wish.”

“Ikora said that I would appear to be running Dawnblade from a distance. Useful for throwing people off in Crucible, I suppose, if Shaxx allows it … ”

“Ikora will tell you more. Thank you for docking my ship for me. I will research, give her what she needs. But know this for now, chosen of the Sun. It is a mark of your victory.”

Kass quieted. Her Ghost drifted, jokes and irony forgotten. She would return to the Tower, would wait for Ikora’s findings, would see her Light written out in charts and readings. She would leave Eris on the Reef, honoring her mission to follow the queen’s trail from gray space station to black rocks. Kass would live a long, long Guardian life with the strange signature of the Sun written in her mind and on her bones.

Let the Tower see that. Eris did.

#Destiny #writings #Destiny 2 #Eris Morn #Ikora Rey #Kass

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