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nightowlwriting · 3 years

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summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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holden-caulfield · 3 years

Text

Explosive I

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟐 - 𝟑)

Summary: reader ends up in detention and is forced to spend it with Draco Malfoy.

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x reader (can be considered an enemies to lovers kind of au)

Warnings: there could be a swear word but i'm not sure honestly.

Word Count: 3280

"DETENTION!" shouted a rather angry Snape as you froze on the spot, staring into his dark eyes.

You had just messed up a potion. Again. And it had just exploded. Again. And it had hit Snape, something he didn't quite appreciate. He wasn't very fond of you to begin with but now he surely despised you.

You gulped down nervously as you watched his face contort in anger, cleaning up the mess your failed potion had just made.

"You'll be serving detention for three weeks, miss y/l/n. Every day after the lessons."

"What? Every day?" you asked incredulously but you immediately regretted it upon seeing the scowl already etched on his face getting prominently deeper.

"Every. Day. Starting from today, i'll see you here at the end of your lessons and you better be on time."

The bell rang and you made your way outside of the class not once looking up. The rest of the day went by without mishaps, but the constant fear of Snape's detention was enough to incessantly haunt your mind.

Your feet seemed to walk on their own as they brought you back in the dungeons, the fateful moment having arrived.

You entered the gloomy classroom and saw Snape sitting at his desk, a foul expression painted on his face.

"Sit." you did as you were told and sat down without a single word, looking at your table.

Just then, another figure entered the class and you looked up to see. You didn't know him personally but his reputation preceded him: Draco Malfoy.

The boy nodded to Snape who simply acknowledged his presence and returned his gaze to you.

"You'll be organizing every single item in this room without making anything explode. Although i'm aware it's a very difficult task for you, miss Y/l/n."

The blond boy snorted lowly while making his way to the cauldrons present in one of the corners of the room, but you couldn't retort, having way more serious matter at hand at the moment.

"Is it clear?"

"Yes, professor."

Much to your surprise, Snape made his way outside of the classroom, his robes floating after him.

"If i see you slacking around, i'll be sure to detract points from your house as well. Get to work." and with that he exited the class, leaving you alone with the blond boy.

You were quite dumbfounded but a snooty voice reminded you of your task.

"You better get going, these vials won't rearrange themselves."

You shot him a glare and he simply smirked, turning around and settling his cauldron on one of the tables.

You got up and reached the first closet, analyzing the items present: a bunch of ingredients, many you'd never heard of.

You began dividing them in alphabetical order, it being the most logical division, but that same arrogant voice resounded in the room once more.

"You have to catalogue them first."

"I didn't see him putting you in charge of this place." you retorted under your breath, hoping he wouldn't hear you.

"You're the one in detention, not me. I was just trying to help." helping obviously wasn't what he was trying to do, however annoying you seemed a much more plausible answer.

"I didn't ask for your bloody help, did i?"

He chuckled darkly as he reached you, taking some of the ingredients for himself and knocking down a few in the meantime.

You managed to catch them in mid air, but he didn't seem too bothered. You simply ignored him, silently rolling your eyes and deciding that that would have been the best way to endure the long hour that was awaiting you.

"What did you do anyway?" he asked once he had returned to his table, setting the containers on the wooden surface.

You ignored the question and he just laughed, obviously amused by the whole situation.

"Did you speak during his lesson? He usually assigns detentions for that." he commented.

You kept on organizing the colorful bottles, keeping your back to him.

"Did you cheat? I saw one try and they say he never came back from here alive." you rolled your eyes at his attempts at getting you to speak and continued with your task.

"Did you try to seduce him to get a better grade? I didn't take you for the type but i'm not judging." he chuckled to himself. You took a deep breath, the urge to just turn around and choke him very strong but having an already lengthy detention was enough, you didn't need Snape catching you while trying to kill your annoying schoolmate.

"You put the Asphodel in the wrong place." you finally turned around, visibly pissed off, and saw him slouched on his chair, arms behind the nape of the neck as he looked at you with a pedantic air.

"And why would that be?" you asked, annoyance audible in your voice.

"You put it with the liquids when it should obviously be with the powders."

"I'm not dividing by consistency."

"Well, you should." you rubbed your temples in an attempt at calming yourself while turning around towards the shelves once more. "Did you hear me? I said-"

"I heard what you said and i do not care. Will you be talking the whole hour?" you asked marching towards his desk and slamming your hands on the table.

"I don't know, will you do something right and arrange them the correct way?" you were fuming. A scowl planted on your face while a grin appeared on his.

"I don't know, i usually don't take advice from arrogant know-it-alls."

"And i don't usually help oblivious girls with anger issues but i was feeling nice today." he grinned, inching closer to you with the same smug smirk on his face.

"Oh you stupid little-"

"Miss Y/l/n, i thought three weeks were enough for you but apparently they aren't." Snape barged in right at that moment and you quickly stopped, jumping backwards and back to the shelves.

"I'm sorry, professor. It won't happen again."

Snape sat at his desk, picking up some pieces of parchment you imagined were essays and began analyzing them.

The hour passed by agonizingly slow and when Snape finally released you, he stopped you before exiting the room, making you walk up to his desk.

"How did you organize them?"

"Alphabetical order, professor."

"You'll be rearranging them tomorrow afternoon. I want them divided by categories." and he waved his hand dismissively, signaling for you to go without even a second glance.

You walked past Malfoy's table and he whispered, "Told you."

"Shut up." and you finally made your way out, exhausted, relieved, mad and already tired at the prospect of the next detention.

The following day, you got ready as always and sooner than you expected, the dreaded hour had arrived. The only solace: not having to hear Malfoy's tiresome remarks every second.

"Good afternoon."

A complacent smirk greeted you as you arrived in front of the classroom. You couldn't help but stare and narrow your eyes at the bothersome boy that sat on one of the tables, obviously waiting for Snape to arrive.

"Do you live here perhaps?"

"Do you, princess? Or were you just missing me?"

You passed by him and sat down at the farthest desk from him you could find, setting down your bag.

He got up from his previous place and sank down in the chair next to you.

"Oh come on, do you still think you can ignore me?"

You remained silent and simply side-glanced at him, uninterested in participating in his games.

Draco was about to say something when Snape finally arrived, causing him to get up and set his cauldron just like he had done the former day.

"Miss Y/l/n, i suppose you already know what to do?"

You reluctantly stood up and started reorganizing all the products you had so neatly arranged the day before, but unlike then, you worked in complete silence, Draco obviously not commenting with Snape present.

When the hour finished, you started to get out but Snape stopped you once again. You turned around, already fearing having to change the order for the third time.

"I decided you'll be practicing from tomorrow afternoon in order to prevent another... accident. Mr Malfoy here will tutor you."

"What?!" you shrieked and Snape didn't seem to appreciate it.

Draco seemed as dumbfounded as you for he had a rather shocked look plastered on his face.

"But-"

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" Snape raised an eyebrow inquisitively and Draco shut his mouth after muttering a single "Nothing."

"But professor, he's-"

"He's at the top of the class so you'll finally learn how not to make everything you touch explode. Hopefully."

You rushed out of the room after seeing Draco's lips curling the slightest bit upwards and made yourself a mental note to curse him right after Snape whenever you had the chance.

You long pondered about not showing up, faking a sudden cold, but you wouldn't have been able to avoid it forever so the next day you presented yourself. You sat down at the table and took out your Potions book from your bag, opening it in front of you.

Snape eyed you, displeased as usual, but said nothing as you waited for Draco to arrive. It didn't take long and when he did enter the room you didn't even glance up at him.

"I suppose that won't be needed today." Draco had moved to pick up a cauldron but Snape interrupted him. "We don't want the class to blow up just yet."

You were expecting a laughter, a chuckle, but it never came. Draco sat down next to you and took out his own book.

"I have more important matters to attend now. By the end of the week, I expect you to actually learn something, Miss Y/l/n, or detention will be the last one of your problems." and with that he stormed off, his usual black robes swinging behind him.

"I didn't mean to laugh yesterday, just so you know." there was almost a hint of remorse in his voice, but you knew better than to trust whatever came out of his mouth.

"I don't care."

"Are you always this sour? I was apologizing to you." the usual contempt came back.

"Are you expecting me to be happy about this situation? Oh my! My dream of being tutored by Hogwarts' most arrogant twat has finally come true!"

"Do you think i asked for this? We are in the same circumstances!"

"You can walk out of that stupid door whenever you like, i can't!"

"Just because i'm smart enough to know how to brew a bloody potion doesn't mean i don't have to stay here!"

Your cheeks were burning with anger and after his last comment with embarrassment too. You returned your angry gaze towards the book sitting in front of you.

"Where are we starting then?"

"I didn't-"

"Where are we starting?" your tone was firm even though in your head all you wanted to do was collapse on your bed forever.

"Which one have you had the most difficulty with?"

"Every one. Every. Single. One." you replied through gritted teeth, angrier than before.

"I'm just trying to help you but i can't do it if you don't cooperate!"

You closed your book shut and shoved it inside your bag, slinging it across your shoulder and striding out of the classroom.

"Where the hell do you think you're going? You can't go out!"

"Thanks for the information, Mr Obvious."

You knew you would have been in great trouble with Snape but you couldn't bare Draco Malfoy for another minute, not like that.

You considered just telling Snape you couldn't do it, that you would have preferred to fail than have him tutor you, but knowing Snape, he was already aware of that and assigned you Draco Malfoy exactly because you couldn't stand him.

"Miss Y/l/n, Mr Malfoy here has told me you made great progress yesterday and I expect the same thing today. I give you permission to make practical work but i want everything in order when i get back. Can i trust you on that, Mr Malfoy?"

He nodded firmly while you still tried to figure out how in the world the conversation you just witnessed could have happened and Snape left you and Draco alone.

"Well, we better get to work and get that progress done or else we're both doomed." he waved you over impatiently but you were still staring at him, brows furrowed as you tried to understand his logic.

"What game are you playing, Malfoy?"

"Do you really think Snape would have appreciated it if i told him you decided to ditch detention?" he asked raising his eyebrows at you. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, i didn't do it for you. Come here."

You sat down at the table, still suspicious, and started to skim over the pages.

"Amortentia."

"What?"

"That's the one that made Snape almost blow up."

"How did you manage to make an Amortentia explode?! That's impossible!" he exclaimed while laughing, but there was no superiority in his tone this time.

"Not for me apparently..."

Draco stopped laughing and the two of you began studying.

He was actually more bearable than expected, still a little vexing, but you finally began understanding Potions. Suddenly, those concepts that you thought you could never grasp became completely comprehensible.

And his personality was a surprise too: you and him actually talked together, without any sort of malice.

"Do you think you're ready to brew it?" asked a slightly smiling Draco as he looked up at you from his book. He wasn't the obnoxious asshole you thought. Well, he was, but not entirely.

The two of you were relatively nearer than you were before due to the fact that he had come closer to read with you and explain carefully every single passage. You were so close you could feel his warmth. You were so close you could see that there was a light tinge of blue in his otherwise grey eyes, making them appear almost silvery.

"I suppose we can try..."

He stood up to gather all the materials you'd need and you did the same to collect the ingredients, making sure you picked the right ones, reading carefully the notes you had just taken.

He set everything on the table and looked at you, waiting. You placed the ingredients and looked at him, waiting.

"Well?" he asked, crossing his arms in front of him. "We don't have all day, you know."

"I have to do it?!"

"Yes? I already know how to do it." he replied, chuckling lightly.

"Because you're smart enough to do it?" you asked raising your eyebrow playfully. His smile faded slightly but you quickly changed the topic. "It'd be better if i just watched you do it, don't you think so?"

"I'll be here all the time and believe me, i do not intend on visiting the hospital wing because of second degree burns." you sighed softly and filled the cauldron with potioning water, setting it on a low flame.

You began adding peppermint flower heads, neatly pestled, and peppermint leaves under the watchful gaze of the blond boy.

You went on slowly with every passage, looking up at him from time to time only to receive an approving nod until the bell rang and you had finished.

"We'll have to leave it here overnight and stir it every day. It should be ready in a week or so..."

"So it's ok? It's a potion and not a potential weapon?" you asked gleefully.

"It should be once done, if you've done it correctly." he raised his eyebrow defiantly and you smirked, gathering your things and getting ready to leave the classroom.

"Are you sure it's the fifth time i stirred it?"

"Positive, just two more and we can work on another one."

Working with Draco was incredibly easier: he wasn't as strict as Snape and he was by far more enjoyable now that he didn't act like a prick. You could even say you were becoming friends.

In these few days with him, you learned more about potions than you had ever had in years and years with Snape. You were able to recognize the different ingredients just by looking at them and remembered all the passages clearly. You learned an awful lot about your tutor too: his interests, his friends, his family and the meaning behind his name, which was as fascinating as the boy that bore it.

It was now the thirteenth day of detention, which meant that the brewing time had passed and that the potion was most likely ready.

You felt slightly uneasy at the prospect of uncovering your Amortentia and discovering whether or not what you had learned was effectively correct. Nevertheless you made your way to the Potions classroom after the lessons like every other day.

Snape wasn't present: he would have tested you at the end of your three weeks detention, but you still felt nervous at the thought of disappointing Draco. He had helped you immensely and it would have been highly dismaying for him if you hadn't been able to brew an Amortentia after all his teachings.

Still, you pushed those thoughts aside and joined Draco, who was already in the classroom. His face lit up when he saw you and stepped closer, but stopped himself from hugging you.

"Are you ready to see whether you made a potion or a bomb?" he asked playfully, successfully breaking the tension.

"You're hilarious, really. You know that, blondie?"

"I've been told. Come on... princess." he added the last word with a smug smirk displayed on his face and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Finally asserting my superiority, are you?"

"You wish."

He set the cauldron on your usual desk and stared at you, signaling for you to uncover it. You took a deep breath and removed the cloth that was shielding it, revealing a smooth liquid with a mother-of-pearl sheen. Spiraling fumes started rising from it and you quickly covered it with the cloth once more.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, confused by your reaction.

"It's fuming. It's not a good sign in my experience." he giggled slightly and took the cloth from your hands, brushing them in the action.

"It's supposed to be like this, in fact, i think you just brewed a perfect Amortentia."

He removed the cloth once more and at his words pride took over your features.

"Smell it, it's different for-"

"It's different for everyone, i studied." you eyed him proudly and inched closer to the exhalations emitted by the draught.

"So? What is it?" he asked impatiently and you smiled widely at his eagerness.

"Mint... something similar to shoe polish i think... and honey..." you looked up at him, his eyes never once leaving yours. "Your turn."

He leaned in, placing his face closer to the brim of the cauldron and inspired deeply.

His eyes met yours again.

"Tell me, what are you smelling?"

You had moved closer to him, itching to know what he most desired. The distance separating the two of you almost inexistent.

"I told you, you have to-"

He cut you off by grasping your face in his hands and connecting your lips together. You melted in his touch but something inside you made you pull away.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at you with panic in his eyes and started to back away. You tried to grab his arms but he receded even more.

"I'm sorry."

And he ran out of the classroom, leaving you alone with one question: why did you pull away?

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#fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco imagine #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy fluff #fluff #draco soft #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n

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epicene-humanoid · 3 years

Note

some trans Jeff thoughts:

he realized he was trans in elementary school and just went fuck it I'll just start introducing myself as Jeffery and see if anyone decides to stop me (as we know, jeff winger can get away with almost anything)

he got top surgery the second he could afford it (around the same time he started at his law firm), and probably bribed someone to keep it a secret

"I'm jeff winger and i would rather look at myself naked than the women I sleep with" are the words of a man proud of his transition

he's really insecure about his fashion sense, which is why he mostly dresses like the douchey guys at his firm in the start of the show, he thought you can't go wrong with the sleazy lawyer look

he will never admit it but he feels super good about the dean hitting on him, because the dean is a (cis) guy, acknowledging that Jeff is more manly than him

i think he starts out stealth and comes out to everyone one by one, probably starting with abed because he knows abed won't judge him and will probably just see it as an interesting backstory.

abed just says it's cool and maybe worth a prequel exploring Jeff's transition, and jeff asks him to predict how all of the members of the group will react to him coming out.

abed's predictions:

britta will be over-the-top supportive and do a ton of research about trans history, probably put together a slideshow just to prove how progressive she is, and jeff will be a little bit weirded out, but also touched that she did all that for him, though he would never let her know that

shirley will be confused, because she doesn't know how someone she trusts and knows so well could be part of a group she was raised to hate, but ultimately realizes that there's nothing actually against the lgbtq people in the bible, and, as a cool character development arch, starts to advocate against use of the bible to justify bigotry

troy will just think it over and decide that Jeff's physique and coolness are even awesomer knowing how much work he'd had to put in to be like that, and respects Jeff's manliness even more

annie will give him a hug, say something sweet about how she'll always love him, and worry about his health, because even she read somewhere that taking testosterone makes you more likely to have a heart attack, jeff will explain that the risk is still only as high a cis guy, and she'll be the one to always remind him to take his shots

peirce will say at best say "jeff winger used to be a chick?" and at worst call him a slur, either way there's sure to be a lot of misgendering from him, and pestering to know Jeff's deadname (needless to say, Jeff just doesn't tell peirce)

the whole group goes out of their way to keep their beach trips a secret from pierce (the girls don't want him there anyways, he's too liable to be creepy) even though jeff knows that even if pierce saw his scars, all he would have to do is make up a story about some childhood accident and pierce would never question it

sorry this ended up being super long. can I hear some of your headcanons for him?

YES ALL THIS!!! yes yes i’m fully accepting this as canon oh my god

i’m about to type a whole ass ESSAY at midnight because i have been DYING to talk about this for months ajfdksljk,,, this is going to be obscenely long and i might end up adding even more to it as i continue to rewatch the show because there is truly no shortage of trans jeff content (especially when you’re trans and see transness in every little thing ajdkslfkjs)

spoiler warning for literally everything about this show under the cut <3

i 100% agree, i feel like he realized he was trans super young, especially since in the show we see him as a little kid a couple of times.

like look at little jeff with the oversized sweatshirt and little ponytail!! that’s childhood trans fashion. not to be dramatic but part of me thinks that jeff’s dad left before he fully came out to his family (which gives him even more angst about it, because until that one Thanksgiving episode, he’s never able to prove to his dad that he’s a better man), but part of me thinks that his dad left after he came out (which adds that spicy i-should-have-stayed-in-the-closet guilt that he has to work through).

either way, because his dad wasn’t there, he had to base his concept of masculinity on something else, which was becoming a lawyer!! there’s some line that’s like “after the dust and divorce papers were settled the only man i looked up to was [the lawyer guy]”. like, replacing your father figure in your mind with the concept of “a job where you can talk your way in and out of anything and distort other people’s concept of reality”? that’s trans.

and the fucking THANKSGIVING EPISODE... i struggle to watch it without crying hehe <3 yeowch! the dichotomy of willy jr. being the “wrong” kind of man because he’s “too soft” but jeff also not being enough despite adhering to all the social standards of masculinity... fuck!! this whole scene of him telling his dad “i am Not well adjusted” and talking about how he gave himself an “appendix surgery scar” when he was a kid and he still keeps the get-well-soon letters from his classmates under his bed? oh my god. the implication of people loving him not despite his scars but because of them?? trans. i can’t think about this episode for too long or i’ll start yelling.

OH and this scene? where he talks about how his mom got him a girl costume for halloween?? and everyone said “what a cute little girl” and after a few houses he stopped correcting them?? and “once the shame and the fear wore off, i was just glad they thought i was pretty”?? THAT’S TRANS... the man needs validation oh my god... and then in all the halloween episodes we see he has these ultra-masculine costumes (a cowboy, David Beckham, one of the fast and furious guys even though he never watched the movies, a boxer with his DAD’S boxing gloves... god) costumes are about becoming something else and he always chooses to be hypermasculine and that is trans.

THE PHYSICAL EDUCATION EPISODE!!!!!!! being uncomfortable during P.E. is a queer experience. period. but him being specifically uncomfortable in the clothes someone else is assigning to him? trans. “are we gonna talk about clothes like a girl? or use tapered sticks to hit balls around a cushioned mat like a man?” TRANS. and him eventually stripping in public? celebration of transness. and the fact that he eventually becomes comfortable in both the uniform and his own style!! trans!! god i love this episode.

AND AND AND!!! the gay dean coming out episode!!! where it’s the three of them discussing the best way for the dean to come out as gay despite not entirely identifying with that label!! so we have both frankie and the dean who are sort of ambiguously queer, and jeff who’s a stealth trans man who’s probably only out to only the study group at this point. this scene where the dean and jeff have this like eyebrow communication while frankie is talking is just so cute. queer-to-queer communication. “I am so curious” “oh?” “intellectually.” “oh...” ajfdksljfk this scene just screams high school GSA to me and i love it so much.

and SPEAKING of the dean!! i totally see you on that. i feel like jeff has some internalized homophobia/biphobia (like he’d throw punches over someone else, but when it comes to himself he has a lot of shame). and also seeing the dean so confident in all his different outfits/costumes has a weird affect on him bc it’s like “okay, the dean, a cis guy, can do that, but i as a trans guy could Not because that’s Breaking the Rules”. which, like, throwback to the halloween thing. of course there’s no right way to be masculine, but mr. winger does not know that.

another thing!! the episode where their emails get leaked? that includes his emails with his therapist. fuck!! he was outed to the whole world in that episode!! no wonder he was so fucking angry!! this whole episode (and really any time he mentions his therapist) is so interesting when you think about them as a person he talks to about his transition. OH which adds to the thing with the dean!! “and you told your therapist you wanted to be alone this weekend” and “not you jeff, i know you’ll be visiting your dad” ”I told you to stop reading my emails”. luckily his study group has his back and just makes fun of him for emailing astronauts lmao

and WHO can forget “they’re giving out an award for most handsome young man!!!!” what else is there to say about this line besides: he’s trans. you know he didn’t get awarded enough for being a handsome young man when he was a kid, and no amount of compliments when he’s fully-grown can really make up for that. some people crash a kid’s bar mitzvah to cope with the fact that they struggled to be seen as themselves when they were a teenager <3

also his weird relationship with pierce? where he kind of hates him (understandably lmao) but at times has this almost-friends-almost-father-son relationship with him? especially in this episode where he’s forced to bond with him and ends up having a good time by accident (at a barber shop no less, the perfect place to Be A Man with your Man Friend). idk what to say about him besides the fact that pierce says his mom wanted a girl when he was born and made him dress like a girl (and his middle name is anastasia!) so if they’re gonna do any bonding over transness it’s gonna be that.

okay one last thing and then i’ll shut up for the night. this episode kills me (and almost kills jeff hahahahelpi’mcrying). it’s a very Trans thing to not be able to visualize your future self, it just is. growing up trans at the time he did? i don’t know what kind of future he saw for himself, but i’m so happy that he ended up with a group of friends who became his family and love him the way they all do. i’m so emotional over this asshole it’s ridiculous.

in conclusion:

they’re trans, your honor <3

#community #jeff winger #trans jeff winger #GOD i'm gonna make a video essay about it if nobody stops me #yall know that youtube channel AreTheyGay? i want to be that but AreTheyTrans #the videos would just b like... jeff community. neo the matrix. bill and ted bill and ted. audrey little shop of horrors. jo little women.#maybe i should start that youtube channel sjdfklsj #thank you for prompting me to talk about this because i think about it twice a day #i might end up reblogging this and just adding different responses jeff has had to casually homophobic/transphobic things that happen #in the show #like the episode that last photo is from when the dean is like #'spring transfer student dance isn't rolling off the tongue so we're calling it The Tr@nny Dance!' 'much more greendale.'#OH AND ACCIDENTALLY KILLING PIERCE'S DAD!!! HOW DID I NOT MENTION THAT EARLIER SJFKLSJ #'you LITERALLY killed a father!' 'well not MINE dummy!!'#alright i need to do my homework now ajfklsdjfl

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kekoma · 3 years

Text

— kageyama as your boyfriend.

milk boy🥛is typing... hope you enjoy.

milk boy only knows how to do 2 things.

find good yogurt/milk and play volleyball.

relationships? he doesn’t know what that it is.

ahh just kidding~

anyways, dating tobio?

it’s definitely possible but you gotta have patients.

promise his mind isn’t always focused on volleyball and becoming the best— OR about milk based products.

tobio here developed a crush on you just like any other normal boy and of course he somehow made his way into a relationship with you.

but he did go over if his emotions for you are true or if it’s one of those moments where he simply finds you attractive and you’re starting to take effect on him beforehand. (different meanings here. iykyk)

has spent countless nights with you running through his mind and days where he finds himself daydreaming about you along with the cute things he wants to do with you as well.

after countless days that turned into a few months (just 2), tobio finally found himself acknowledging that his crush for you is real and he actually wants a relationship with you.

now the confessing part could go two ways;

a) he’s bold enough to tell you straight up “i like you and i want you to be mine.”

or.

b) there’s no second option... he knows what he wants and that’s YOU so why sugarcoat it.

jokes again~

b) he’ll come to you with a blush and confess his feelings with something along the lines like; “please go out with me. if you’re free this weekend then i would like to take you out.” (if you look at his ears, bet they’re redder than his cheeks)

bonus choice c) you confess first and he can’t help but become super flustered. most definitely accepted your confession in a heartbeat.

boom! new couple alert. (that we stan and love)

although... in the beginning, the relationship was quite odd.

nothing too extreme that you’re like “damn... sir i’m five seconds away from ascending from how awkward things are.”

but just know it’s... weird.

he never attempted any kind of skinship or did much of anything that was consider couple like.

it’s not because he wasn’t interested or anything, he just had to go over the pros and cons of showing it with you since nothing was discussed about it.

tobio’s constant thoughts were; “would it be okay to just go for it...? what if i end up getting slapped or punched. but if i don’t go for it then would i be a bad boyfriend? what if she wants to already and i just haven’t picked up the signs...”

literally spent some days just analyzing you just in case he really did miss any hints you gave and when he’s unable to find any (if you haven’t made the first move already) the first few weeks, you two showed no true notions of dating.

although he did make up for the lack of skinship by bringing a second yogurt drink and giving it to you.

“here.”

“hm? what’s this?”

“a drink. i may have brought a second one.”

“on accident or on purpose~?”

“do you want it or not..? b-because i can easily drink it without your teasing.”

“i’ll take it. thank you for being so sweet~”

“whatever.”

proceeeds to give his cute little pout while looking away.

although after a while he brings it up and you two discuss what’s allowed and what’s not allowed.

even then, he’s still bizarre about it because he’ll randomly grab your hand and hold it strangely or say out of no where “please... hold my hand.”

could really go on and on about the awkward stage but you didn’t come here for that.

so let’s discuss the relationship currently. probably been dating for a few years now.

100% more stable with no miscommunications about anything.

all the doubt and worrying about what’s okay is no longer evident on him and he’s actually more relaxed in a way.

but do expect him to be honest with you straight up now and he would like if you do the same from as well.

since you two have been together for so long, it’s only right to be completely honest anyways, yeah?

anyways kags is extremely— let me say it again... EXTREMELY caring towards you.

it’s not noticeable off the rip since he’s still going to be a bit closed off and sometimes pretend he isn’t huge softie for you, but the way he shows that he cares is through subtle things.

like picking up what you like, dislike, what kind of people you tend to avoid and/or tolerate temporarily, funny habits you’ve developed when you were younger and etc.

occasionally he’ll go out of his way to buy you something if you mentioned it and gifts it to you one day.

you don’t even have to say ‘i wish i could buy this’. tobio either saw the item from your screen one day or you just so happened to have asked his opinion about it (with no true intentions of buying it) and he’ll remember.

there’s never a dull moment where he isn’t being attentive you.

yet something to point out is that his true personality is there still.

it’s just more water down and only makes a true appearance when someone decides to flirt with you.

vv protective and a bit possessive too.

tobio won’t right away put whoever is hitting on you in their place if it looks like you’re confident enough to handle it on your own.

but it’s quite easy to tell when he’s a little irritated by someone trying their luck with you due to the atmosphere around him (so dark).

however, if it looks like you’re extremely uncomfortable and can’t handle the situation then he’s already making his way towards you.

he’ll wrap his arm around you before telling the person off. sometimes you gotta stop him because he won’t hesitate to make them cry.

besides that; another part of his personality that occasionally makes an appearance in the relationship would be his short-temp.

which brings us to the topic of arguments because of that temp ties in with it.

not gonna say they happen often since they don’t and he constantly works on that part of himself for you (and himself).

but when arguments do happen, then tobio will end walking away from you to chill off if he feels that things are getting pretty heated since he’s capable of saying something extremely hurtful.

honestly he can’t stay mad at you long so when he’s back to normal then best believe he’s coming back to you and saying sorry.

even if it’s not his fault, he’s still going to apologize.

might take you out to eat/buy you snacks in hopes you’ll forgive him faster.

really tries his best to not let fights occur and may even try talking them out if he’s able to.

moving along~

if you expected this man to be an grade A flirt... it’s not happening.

no matter how long you’ve two been together, he hasn’t gotten the flirting aspect down to a pack completely.

but does he still try? of course he does. will he ever stop? probably not even if it’s embarrassing.

the only thing you can do is just accept it and like it. A for effort.

bonus: he probably asks his teammates about advice on flirting... just don’t be surprised when he uses one of the pick up lines he learned from noya and tanaka.

def the loyal type.

if girls finally decided to notice him and shot their shot at him then he’s quick to shut them down.

could literally offer this man all the money in the world just to stop being loyal to you and he would decline.

we stan and love loyal boyfriend tobio <3

because of you, he does better in school. although he hated the thought of studying, he actually starts to love it since you’re the one teaching him and if you incorporate rewards (like a kiss or milk candy) then he’s completely down to work harder.

plus kageyama loves it when you praise him for making high test scores.

also want to add that he’s also the kind of boyfriend who’s interested in anything you like.

since you’re apart of what he likes, volleyball (if you decide to ask him about teaching you about the spot or just showing up to his games), then he’s always down to show interest and support for the things you like.

quickly let’s get into nicknames. top ones for you are 🥁🥁🥁 dummy/my dummy, babe, my love/love and chipmunk (don’t question the last one.)

pda. pda. pda.

everything is the same in both the public and private department. he’s down with holding hands, kissing you, cuddling and something he LOVES doing the most with you is headpats.

don’t know why but he loves doing that and he also during lunch (and at home), he loves when you two are alone so he can finally rest his head on your lap and take a short nap or just generally lay there.

could go on about public affection too but let’s briefly move to dates.

dates with tobio consist of you bike riding, going out to eat, walks in the park, picnics and just generally anything cute but also simple.

literally treats you like a goddess and as much as i would like to make a whole essay about dating him— i’ll cut it short here.

tobio = best boy & best boyfriend.

302 notes · View notes

citygirlinschool · 3 years

Text

Breaking Bad

Read it on Ao3

Original bingo

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I have got two research papers pending, I am falling behind on my thesis and I have to submit Mr D’s essay on Monday. So yes, I am not coming.” Frank resisted the urge to physically pick up the boy from his bed and throw him out.

He could if he wanted to. Leo was a tiny slip of a thing, all wild curls and ADHD. And gods did the boy tempt him to do some serious bodily harm to him.

“Come on man you haven’t come to a single party since well... ever. This one is supposed to be real rager.”

With a jerked motion he stood up from his desk, threw his door open and marched towards the kitchen.

“Is that supposed to be a No?” There was ruffling of sheets and Oh my Gods he was wearing shoes the whole time.

His eyes twitched and he slammed the glass on the counter with more force than necessary. A drink, that’s what he needs.

“Mixed signals buddy.” And there he was in all his flannel glory, and those hideous pun t-shirt (Never trust an atom, they make up everything). Never would he have guessed the devil would be a elf in science pun t-shirts.

“No, Valdez. I am not coming to your rager party.” He made towards the refrigerator.

“Whatever man your loss.”

There was an audible slam of the door as the fridge door fell of it’s hinges and over a startled Frank, followed by a crash of food spilling on to the floor.

“LEO!”

“So, what was it this time?”

“He broke the fridge.” Frank stabbed his food gloomily.

“And?” Percy waved a ketchup covered fry.

“He fixed the AC.” Frank mumbled.

“That’s good right?”

“After he broke it.” He snorted.

Percy was in the year above him. Swim team captain and marine biology major. They met by accident and hit it off immediately.

They made it a point to meet in the dinner near the college campus once a week, or when they could.

“What else?” he drawled lazily, and Frank would feel guilty about turning all these meetings into venting sessions, except Percy wasn’t the type to entertain people just because it’s polite, so he probably didn’t mind.

“He brought someone back to the dorm. Again. Some blondie, Maria. This is the third this month. And it’s distracting, and I have told him clearly to bring someone when I am gone… How does he even land these many?”

“He is kinda cute?” Percy shrugged.

Frank pulled a face. “He has a horrible track record. Can you believe he flirted with Ms Grace?”

“To be fair he flirts with everybody. I don’t think it counts.”

“Still. That’s the Thalia Grace.”

“Touché. Talked to the Dean?”

“Jason said, only Octavian is vacant. And that guy is… creepy.”

Percy nodded solemnly. “Heard he guts plush toys to some cult god he worships.”

Frank looked at him wide eyes, and just like that Leo was forgotten.

At least until he reached back to his dorm.

“Frankie! You are back.” Leo flashed him his infuriating smirk that he knows gets on his every nerves. “Hazel was just leaving.” And that asshole turns to her, “Until you changed your mind and decided to stay.”

He flirts with everybody; it doesn’t mean anything. Percy’s voice echoed warningly in his mind.

Hazel flushes, and looks down. Those flawless curls hiding reddened cheeks. “Thanks for the offer but I can’t stay past curfew.”

“Aw.” Leo leans forward, “That’s not a no.” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t be stickler for rules, get that enough from Frankie boo here.”

This time Frank’s cheeks heat up. “Leo.” He hopes he would stop.

“Fine, Fine. Goodnight, Hazel.”

“Bye, Leo.” She presses her books to her chest, and Frank shuffles hurriedly to the side as Hazel moves past him.

He slams the door once Hazel is past.

“So,” Leo straightens from where he was leaning against the wall. “Somebody has got a crush.”

“Don’t.”

“Cant blame you, she is a real looker.”

“Oh, come on, don’t play.” He stalks back towards his room, his back toward the Latino. “You already knew that.”

“I did?” there it is again, the annoying mocking tone he didn’t bother dignifying with a reply. But that didn’t deter Leo from barging in his room behind him either.

“I mean, were all those lectures ignored in the favour of staring at the back of her head, and doodling H+F in the back of your notebook, did give me an inclination but thought they stood for Himbo plus- “

“Shut up, asshole.” He whirled around. “You know I freaking liked her.” He stalked towards him.

“Oh yeah like how you knew my Chatelier’s experiment made twelve percent of my grade?”

“I apologized for it.” He spit back in his face, grabbing his forearms.

“That doesn’t make up for it, jerk.” He hissed back.

Blood roared in his veins, drowning out any further jabbing remarks from the squirming boy in his arms.

Gods the things he would do to shut him up.

“-and would you please let me go, I am pretty sure this counts as phys- Mmph! ”

He kissed him. That annoying fucking mouth, with those pretty fucking lips. He bit on his lips tugging at them, pressing that tiny body against his.

He kissed him. Fuck.

Frank stumbled back in horror. “Shit I am sorry, I didn’t- “

“Oh no.” Leo lunged at him, and he stumbled back in surprise, catching his hips. “You would be sorry when I am done with you.”

Harsh demanding lips pressed against him, a sharp nip and the metallic tang of blood spilled on his tongue, making him curse.

The heels of Leo’s feet dug in his back, “Bed, bed, bed!” He panted, slim but strong fingers tugging at his hair painfully, tilting it back. He grabbed his lips in another kiss that had his dick aching in his pants.

Frank stumbled blindly towards his twin bed, his hands groping the Latino’s ass, as they both fell on the congested bed in tangle of limbs.

Leo’s hand left his hair and trailed over his collar, clever fingers making a quick job of his shirt, hips shamelessly grinding in his abdomen.

“Come on, man, get naked.” He ran his fingers over his chest, tweaking his nipples.

“Leo.” He pulled back, “Aren’t we going a bit fast.”

Leo’s lips pulled back in a condescending sneer, “You sure you wanna be a cock blocker.”

His hand snaked down to the bulge in his pants, and he involuntarily humped forward into the pressure. “I already hate you enough.”

That was a reminder enough. The clothes were gotten rid of in a flurry of uncoordinated limbs, and broken buttons, until a very naked Frank, had a very naked Leo in his lap.

He dug his teeth into the hollow of his collar bones, and Leo hissed, but didn’t stop the wild rhythm of his hips. Frank’s hand squeezed the ample flesh in his hands and parting them.

The head of his cock slipped between them, sliding over the fuzzy hole.

Leo’s hips stuttered, and he exhaled shakily, fingers digging in his shoulders hard enough that Frank knew they would leave welts.

“Lube? Tell me you have lube” his voice was so deep; it had his cock twitching.

“Top drawer, in the back.” He mumbled, leaning back until he was laying down as Leo stretched over him, searching his drawer.

He couldn’t help but mouth over his well formed abdomen, for his deceptively short stature he was strong. Lithe muscles and surprisingly broad shoulders.

Fuck he hated him so much.

There was a click of lube opening, as Leo pulled back, his fingers dripping with lube.

He leaned forward, one hand beside his head while he reached behind him.

Frank knew the exact moment Leo’s fingers breached him. His eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched and his breathing became a tad bit heavier.

He reached up, pressing a sweet almost a innocent kiss against his lips, and for a moment Leo let him.

“Let me do it.”

And just like that Leo pulled away.

His weeping cock bobbed proudly between his supple thighs, his dusky nipple looked raw and abused, there was a myriad of hickies littering his chest and his hair was wilder than usual.

Yet, that jerk had the audacity to smirk mockingly at him.

“Not your girlfriend, Zhang. So don’t treat me like it.” he must have done something inside him cause his eyes fluttered for a moment. “Besides- Ah” his back arched, “we are doing this by-mmh- my rules, cause clearly you are as clueless in this-Ah!”

“What is your problem.” Frank had jostled his fingers out of him as he flipped them over. “I am just trying to be nice.” He snarled.

“No what you’re trying to do.” A lube covered finger smeared across his neck, “is fucking coddle me.” He spat.

“I am not coddling you.” He glared indignantly at the infuriating boy underneath him.

“Oh yeah? What is this? Fucking me? Please, you are not even in me.” He sneered mockingly.

“I am- I don’t –” Leo mercifully cut his spluttering off with a kiss.

“God I didn’t know I had to just spread my legs to get underneath your skin.”

He would have tried replying, except Leo had wrapped his lubed up hand around his dick, slicking it up with quick efficient strokes, and Frank had been so painfully hard all this time all he could do was helplessly jerk forward into the warm wet hole, until Leo tightened his grip. “Don’t come.” He warned, as he guided him to his stretched hole.

Frank to his dying day would deny the sound he emitted when his head slipped in.

A loud unashamed sound, as his head dropped onto Leo’s shoulder, as he panted harshly. Leo was tighter and hotter then anything he had ever felt before. And so deliciously soft.

He wouldn’t have been able to stop the unrelenting rolls of his hips as he pushed deeper if he wanted to.

Like he had no control over his hips, he pushed in inch after inch, as Leo’s back arched off the bed until Frank bottomed out.

For a moment Frank could just lay still and shiver so as to not bust a nut, Leo as so tight around him, it was probably painful for him.

“Move, move, move, jackass.” Or maybe not.

“Oh, gods fuck me, or I am gonna fuck up your laptop and not repair- Oh yesss!” Leo’s eyes rolled back in his head, as Frank pulled out almost all the way and then pushing in rapidly.

“Why can’t you shut up for a moment.” Frank picked up his pace. “For once –mmh” his nipped at his ear, “just shut up- ah fuck- and moan.”

“Maybe- mmph- Maybe if you put all that beef - oh Dios- and man boobs (he gripped said boobs) to use than I will.”

Frank dug his teeth right below his ears, just shy of tearing skin, but definitely marring the skin, as he readjusted his grip, hooking his hands underneath his knees and practically folding the twink (because that’s what Leo fucking Valdez is and Frank is tired of lying) in half.

He must have hit his prostrate with the deeper angle cause Leo made a he- would- never- admit- it- but- adorable high-pitched sound, his hands flying between his legs, except Frank slapped it away and wrapped his own hand around his flushed, almost painfully purple cock.

Much to his pleasure Leo hooked his own hand underneath his knees, holding himself open.

“Didn’t know” he panted, “all it took was a good dicking down to shut you up.”

Leo’s eyes opened up to slits, in what he thinks is a glare, but it is hard to take him seriously on good days, even harder with his cock stupid bambi eyes, and drool covered chin.

Fuck! This is the hottest thing ever and Frank hates him so much.

Frank lost his carefully maintained rhythm, finally rutting in abandon. The bed creaked threateningly, the headboard banging fiercely with the force of his thrusts.

Paired with the slick sound of where Frank was jerking Leo off, slap of skin against skin and squelch of Frank fucking Leo, it sounded like a cheap porno.

Harsh breathing was littered with moans and litany of curses. There tongues ran sloppily against each other, Leo tweaked his nipples, clenching down on Frank as they both hurtled toward the peak like freight train.

The orgasm was a bang.

Literally.

In hindsight, two fully grown men fucking on a barely hanging on twin bed was not the wisest plan. But what can he say? Leo brings out the worst in him.

“Did it?” Frank muttered tiredly. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Get off.” Leo’s voice was slurred and strained, “You are suffocating me. And you are sleeping on the couch.”

“What was it this time?”

“The bed.”

“Leo broke your bed?”

“Something like that.” Frank mumbled.

#percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #frank zhang #leo valdez #freo #kinktoberverse2021

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Note

Finally got around to continue on with our universe. Forgive me for my procrastination 😏.

- Rex has this cute, boyish crush on Ms.Tano awww,

- Cody might once or twice call out Mr.Kenobi on his bullshit essay assignment lol (he still thinks it's his fav teacher tho),

- Yoda as a principal omg yes?!,

- like most of the time students and teachers don't know what he is talking about during school assemblies, is he being too philosophical or is Mr.Yoda just straight up high 😂,

- Din becoming a new superintendent of the school district? Honey, that's an amazing idea, duh,

- Now he dresses up to work in this nice, sleek suits, (probably provided by Boba),

- You enjoy this look on him,

- He'd still pull up to his office in this besr up truck of his tho,

- Now you and Din work even closer, given your position in social work,

- So... Office sex? 🥵,

- Din sometimes taking Grogu to his office, letting him wreck havoc while in there , renaming the files on his computer to gibberish and doodling little froggies on his documents,

- You are basically Din's assistant at this point, because he doesn't know how to be organized 😂,

- He'd still visit his old class because he misses his precious kiddos,

- omg Grogu carrying his Mr.Froggers in this cute little, clear backpack, hell yes,

- Din won't abuse his newly given authority, always staying humble and still carrying about children's education and well-being (this is peek bde right there, C'mon, let him finally bring Mandalore to its former glory),

- Rex asking Ms.Tano if she could join them for the library story time,

- Din the tiddiy man to the rescue!

- You won't ever be able to complain about pain in sensitivite breasts during your periods or pregnancy, because his big, warm hands all always ready to take gentle care of the tiddies,

- Omg, Din losing his composure because of your milk factory, he'd love to keep you pregnant for the rest of your lives lol,

- Paz work out routine always ending up in some kind of wrestling with you,

- He'd walk shirtless around the house, flexing his ripped muscles, because he loves how it makes you flustered, cheeky bastard,

- and of course his gray sweats™ deliciously hugging his thighs and other curves 🥵,

- he'd try to teach you some type of arm to arm combat for the self defense purposes,

- but your lessons don't last long,

- his size!kink going berserk when your delicate hands try to overpower him,

- he'd just simply manhandle you onto the floor lol,

- Boba won't admit that out loud, but he loved when you once put your hand around his throat while you were riding on his dick,

- He's dom through and through, obviously,

- But letting his princess take a lead?,

- he'd try to put your hands around his throat from time to time, until you catch on that,

- but don't get too carried away,

- once you slapped his ass,

- let's say he wasn't amused at all,

- ''Princess having grabby hands? Let me show you how it is done'',

- you weren't able to sit straight for the next few days

Sorry, again I went all over the place with those but I hope everyone will enjoy them anyways - 🐣

Its fine darling, I took a break from asks yesterday anyway! 💕

Office sex with Din you say?

Imagine walking into his office in a pencil skirt, and you are talking business but Din is just staring at how fucking perfect your thighs look in that skirt

And how your tits pull at your button down shirt

The next thing you know he's kissing you and locking the door, before wrestling you on his very cluttered and unorganized desk

If everybody didn't hear you, they definitely heard Din and incessant praising of your outfit and body

Now, Din doesn't even know how to understand principal Yoda most of the time, and the dude was there when HE was in school

All the kids have bets going on how old Yoda truly is, but he won't tell anyone

Rex having a crush on his favorite teacher? 1200/10 great idea

Rex totally got ecstatic when she showed up to library story time, and he pulled her down to sit with him

Cody totally teases him for it, but Rex shoots back about Mr. Kenobi and Cody just turns red and walks away

Imagine spending a whole weekend help Din organize his office, only to walk in on like a Thursday afternoon and find Grogu sitting at the desk doodling on papers and a bunch of files scattered on the ground while Din sits on his couch that he has and is reading over things

You'd be so mad and yell at both of them

Grogu's frog is now Mr. Froggers, thats its name

Now we talked about Din and your tiddies, but what about you and Paz's tiddies?

Paz just going about his workout routine shirtless, and the whole time he just knows that you are ogling his chest and arms, flushed and ready to pounce on him

Paz lifting weights? You're watching his thighs flex the entire time his doing squats

And when he's bench pressing, if your not watching hits arms you're staring at the delicious outline in those grey sweats that you can't decide if you love or hate

Joining Paz for his after workout shower, only for him to add to the work out by slamming you into the wall and doing some hip thrusts 😉😉

And Paz trying to teach you some self defense? Man gets so turned on, especially when you land a good punch on him (he loves a good strong and confident partner)

The first time you actually pin him down, he has you flipped and is wrestling you hard from behind as a reward for doing so good, and because you had made him achingly hard

Boba with a choking kink you say?

The first time you did it, it was on accident as you were cumming and you just needed to grab something, you were aiming for his shoulder but in your bliss you missed

When you squeezed slightly Boba was shocked at how much he actually enjoyed it

After that he'd start grabbing your wrist and putting your hand on his throat, but if you squeezed to hard or tried to take control he would grip your wrist roughly as a warning

The one time you smacked is ass, he just growled at you flipping you over whispering what you said in your ear, before wrestling with you the roughest that he ever has

Oh but imagine, sitting on Boba's lap at a club, he's talking business and you're tipsy and horny as all fuck so you move and straddle his leg and start rubbing yourself against him slowly trying to get his attention

Boba just acts like this is normal, placing one hand on your waist, while it was very obvious that the person he was talking to got thrown off guard

That night when you finally get home, Boba wrestles you into bed telling you that you are such a needy little one

Anyway, I got carried away here, woops 🤷‍♀️

(SEND ME THOTS!!!)

#🐣 anon #modern au #din djarin x reader #din x reader #boba fett x reader #boba x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz x reader

21 notes · View notes

blossom-hwa · 3 years

Note

3racha cafe au ps? bc the one w the dancers was so funny

KASJDHG I’M GLAD YOU FOUND MY MEDIOCRE ATTEMPTS AT HUMOR FUNNY ANON <3 <3 ANYWAY I LIVE FOR 3RACHA BEING IDIOTS SO THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN, I HOPE YOU LAUGH AT IT!!!!

3-year anniversary drabble game: send me an NCT/WAYV/Stray Kids/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

I’M SO SORRY I HIT POST ON ACCIDENT WHEN I WASN’T DONE SO I HAD TO PRIVATE THIS SO I COULD FINISH IT HHHHHH

Title: Cafe Shenanigans

Pairing: no pairings, just 3racha being dumb

Triggers: a lot of cursing, suicidal jokes (purely jokes, if you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please do not read this - it’s along the lines of like ‘pls kill me now’ but yeah)

quick clarification:

better than tony: chan

chingban: changbin

gremlin: jisung

better than tony: changbin what have I told you about swearing in front of customers

chingban: not to do it

better than tony: then why did I hear you say shit when you knocked your head against the counter

gremlin: HOW DID CHANGBIN KNOCK HIS HEAD AGAINST THE OUCNTER EVEN HE’S NOT /THAT/ SHORT

chingban: I don’t exist for anything but pain

chingban: when will I stop being clowned for no reason

chingban: also I stooped down to get more syrup okay I wasn’t standing when I fucking hit my head

better than tony: you will stop being clowned when you learn the meaning of professionalism

gremlin: didn’t you lock yourself in the bathroom one time to send cat memes to minho

better than tony: THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT

chingban: pls let it go chan the guy just laughed okay

chingban: no harm done

chingban: well my dignity is in pieces

gremlin: can’t break something that never existed

chingban: watch me pour hot coffee down your throat while you scream in pain tiny sucker

gremlin: who’s calling me tiny

better than tony: kids please

chingban: ONE FUCKING CENTIMETER

better than tony: I'm the manager and they still won’t listen to me

better than tony: I'm giving up on life

gremlin: we’re right here you know

better than tony: did I say something wrong?

chingban: ooooo breaking out the punctuation

chingban: he’s serious today

better than tony: I'm always serious

gremlin: your cat memes say otherwise

better than tony: WILL YOU LET THAT GO

gremlin: if another bitch asks for a complicated-ass order, fucking soy latte with no foam or whatever the fuck

gremlin: I'm going to slit my throat in front of the cameras

gremlin: and my ghost will haunt this fucking cafe for the rest of time

chingban: aren’t there better things to do after you’re dead

chingban: like

better than tony: rejoice in the fact that you are no longer alive?

chingban: ^^

gremlin: no I just want to make sure I'm a pain in your asses even beyond the grave

chingban: a little bitch even in death, I see

gremlin: you got me !

better than tony: why do you have an extra space between your last word and the exclamation mark

gremlin: extra chaos

better than tony: as if your existence wasn’t chaotic enough already

chingban: just a suggestion

chingban: if you want to haunt us beyond the grave

chingban: team up with that little dude ji changmin across the mall at build a bear

gremlin: omg yes thank you for this lovely piece of advice

better than tony: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

better than tony: N O

better than tony: CHANGBIN WHY WOULD YOU GIVE HIM IDEAS

chingban: I need entertainment

chingban: and you getting scared shitless is entertainment

chingban: additionally if I'm the one providing the advice by the transitive property I'm not the one who gets pranked

gremlin: <3

better than tony: I should honestly fire both of you

better than tony: all you do is text at work

better than tony: swear in front of customers

better than tony: and leAVE HAIRPINS IN THE FUCKING SINK

gremlin: I APOLOGIZED FOR THAT

chingban: felix says minho threatens to fire him and hyunjin at least once every shift

better than tony: I should do the same

gremlin: nah you’re too soft for that

chingban: ^^

better than tony: I want to argue but I can’t and I hate it

gremlin: <3

chingban: <3

better than tony: maybe I'll be the one who slits his throat in front of the cameras

gremlin: no you won’t you’re too soft to haunt us beyond the grave

better than tony: you’re right I won’t haunt you

better than tony: I'll just enjoy being dead and not fucking alive and having to deal with you

chingban: ngl that sounds like a pretty sweet deal

gremlin: but haunting

chingban: no

gremlin: :(

better than tony: changbin look you’ve made him sad

chingban: I-

chingban: YOU STARTED IT

better than tony: <3

chingban: breaking news chan has the capacity for evil and I don’t like it

gremlin: in my defense I was left alone

better than tony: that doesn’t explAIN THE FUCKING FIRE IN THE R E F R I G E R A TO R

better than tony: HOW DO YOU EVEN SET FIRE TO A FUCKING REFRIGERATOR

chingban: I honestly wonder why chan hasn’t fired us yet

chingban: mostly jisung but also me

better than tony: A R E F R I G E R A T O R

gremlin: chan

gremlin: listen

gremlin: was this worse than ‘wow’

better than tony: ....

chingban: nothing could be worse than wow

chingban: his gc name is proof

better than tony: FUCK

gremlin: okay cool thank you for agreeing

gremlin: now

gremlin is typing...

chingban: the fuck are you typing

chingban: a whole ass essay??

gremlin: if setting a fire in a refrigerator is still a less horrible mess than wow was, that means that chan can no longer yell at me for setting a fire in a refrigerator because he was one of the main contributors to the mess that wow was, meaning because he contributed to a bigger mess than the refrigerator fire, he is unable to yell at me because to do so would be hypocrisy because he committed a worse crime than I did

chingban: did that... did that really just fucking make sense

chingban: quick chan use your lawyering skills to find some loophole in this there’s no way jisung can be making sense

gremlin: okay fuck you

better than tony: your argument is invalid because you also contributed to wow

chingban: ROASTED

gremlin: fuck I really thought I had chan beat there for a moment

chingban: fat chance

better than tony: OKAY AS PUNISHMENT

better than tony: NO MORE TEXTING GET BACK TO WORK

gremlin: yes papi

better than tony: oh my god I hate it here

gremlin: question

gremlin: if cookie monster entered the cafe and pointed a gun at me and told me to give him all of the cookies in the display case and the oven

gremlin: what should I do

better than tony: I

better than tony: I don’t even know how to respond to this

chingban: give him the cookies wtf

chingban: where’s your sense of self-preservation

gremlin: flew away the first time I jumped out of a two-story window to avoid becoming ‘it’ in a game of tag in third grade

better than tony: that

better than tony: that explains so much

chingban: I feel like I should be surprised but I'm really not

chingban: that’s the most jisung thing I've ever heard of

gremlin: <3

gremlin: but back to my question

gremlin: what should I do

chingban: I literally said to give him the fucking cookies

better than tony: I agree with changbin

gremlin: but what if he gets greedy and asks for the cheesecake too

gremlin: and it’s my day to take home the leftover cake

better than tony: would you die for cheesecake???????????

gremlin: without a moment’s hesitation

chingban: the amount of brain cells I lost throughout this conversation

chingban: unfathomable

better than tony: I'm quitting my job

gremlin: no pls don’t who else will changbin and I bother during breaks

chingban: you say that kind of bullshit about cookie monster and cheesecake and then you go and say ‘changbin and I’ instead of ‘me and changbin’ like normal people?????????

gremlin: look you may have had a crusty ass English teacher but my English teacher was LIT and I'll have you know I would take a bullet for her

gremlin: the least I can do use proper grammar when it comes to common mistakes

gremlin: mistakes that plebs like you make

better than tony: this conversation has gone off the rails

chingban: a train wreck

gremlin: more like 15 train wrecks mashed into one

better than tony: just. pls get back to work

gremlin: not unless you promise not to fire yourself

better than tony: it’s?? not?? possible?? for?? me?? to?? fire?? myself??

chingban: he means quit

better than tony: oh

chingban: I speak fluent jisung

better than tony: pls shut up

better than tony: fine I promise

better than tony: please get back to work

better than tony: preferably without burning any refrigerators

gremlin: no promises

better than tony: I'll take what I can get

52 notes · View notes

kasienda · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous Reveal - Just an Ordinary (Bad) Day

Marinette choked back a cry as her eyes landed on the black butterfly that fluttered towards her. She slid down to the ground, and pulled her knees to her chest. How had she sunk this low? Yeah, her day had sucked, but it was the suck of an ordinary bad day where everything seemed to go wrong.

But it shouldn’t have been soul ending. Ladybug’s responsibilities hadn’t interrupted Marinette’s life at all. Chloé hadn’t been picking on or undermining her. Lila hadn’t cornered her in the bathroom, and while her history teacher was probably irritated that she had run out of class, she wasn’t facing a potential expulsion.

It was just an ordinary bad day.

Surely, not anything worthy of an akuma. Especially not an akuma for Ladybug.

Marinette should have been able to handle it. She always handled it. She just needed to breathe deeply and calm herself down.

And yet, the akuma fluttered ever closer.

Continue reading on Ao3

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to breathe.”

Marinette choked off a sob, scuttled backwards on her butt away from the sparkling butterfly, and did as her kwami advised. She took long and even breaths, trying to soothe herself, but she was losing the battle. Her tears threatened to claw back up her throat anyway.

It had been an absolutely terrible day.

It had started with the nightmares. She hadn’t been able to fall into slumber without tearing awake an hour later with her pajamas sticking to her sweat soaked form, struggling for air. On a bad night, Marinette didn’t always remember the haunting images that plagued her attempts at rest, but she would tear awake with a pounding heart and crying eyes just the same.

But this night, the dreams were far too vivid. In some, she faced the concerned faces of her friends and family, but she didn’t know their names. In another, she lived underground, living off rats after Hawkmoth’s dystopian wish came to fruition in the form of iron-clad authoritarian rule. But the worst nightmare featured Chat Blanc’s soulless blue eyes staring straight through her - never seeing his partner and friend. He hunted her through forests covered in winter white, or he threw her off the tallest building in Paris. And in the last one, he hadn’t tried to hurt her at all.

No, he had tried to turn his cataclysmic power on himself.

He had been so alone. Died alone in a desolate world.

She hadn’t been able to save him.

And after that, she had been unwilling to try again for sleep.

It felt like she hadn’t slept at all. Her head existed in a fog with a dull ache between her temples. Her thoughts and motivation were even more sluggish than usual this morning. She wished that she could just sleep through one whole night just once this week. Was that too much to ask?

When she hadn’t made it out of the bathroom quickly enough, her mother had been kind enough to leave a breakfast tray on her desk. Only, with a towel over her head as she was drying her hair, Marinette hadn’t seen it. She had knocked the whole tray - strewn with eggs, toast, and coffee - over onto the floor when she stumbled past. It wouldn’t have been a big deal except she had a project laid out on the floor. A pattern pinned in place that she hadn’t cut out yet. The coffee alone no doubt ruined the fabric she had spent months saving up to buy.

Marinette fell to her knees in front of the disaster.

Her mother found her there still clad in only her towel, staring stoically over the lost project.

When thin warm arms wrapped around her, Marinette’s started in surprise.

“Oh Marinette, I’m so sorry,” her mother apologized. “I didn’t mean to risk your project. I was trying to save you some time.”

Marinette shook her head against her mother’s chest. “It wasn’t your fault,” the teenager responded tonelessly. “I didn’t see it.”

“I can’t promise anything,” her mother soothed, as her hand rubbed warm circles along her back. “But I will try to save the fabric.”

Marinette nodded, but she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes from the disaster. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t really about the fabric. It was about everything.

If Ladybug hadn’t been needed last night, no doubt Marinette would have finished cutting the pieces out, and had the project tucked away safely.

If Marinette wasn’t the Guardian, she would have had more time to earn more money to replace the loss, and she would have more time in general to recreate the now soggy patterns. More time to spend on the things that brought her joy.

As it was, Papillon had her up and running frantic at all times of day and night.

It wasn’t fair.

“Marinette, I will clean this up,” her mother assured her, still rubbing her back. “Do you think you could start getting ready for school again?”

Marinette stumbled to her feet, and began the usual mad dash to collect all her things before heading off to school.

She was only five minutes late by the time she ran out the door, with a ham and cheese quiche in her bag as a second attempt at sustenance. It wasn’t until she had fallen into her usual seat beside her best friend that she realized she had forgotten her essay.

The essay that she had actually completed, proofread, edited, and printed out. The assignment was no doubt still laying in her printer’s document tray on her desk in her room.

She let her head fall to the desk in frustration. Why did it have to be for Mendeliev? Any other teacher would have let her retrieve the paper during lunch and turn it in for full credit. But Mendeliev? While the science teacher was never very sympathetic with anyone, she had lost all patience with Marinette and her scatterbrained tendencies months ago.

Which is why Marinette’s grade was in jeopardy. She could not afford this late penalty. Having to retake the course in summer school was the absolute last thing she needed to add onto her plate.

At the end of class she had asked anyway, but the stern science teacher glared down her nose. “We’ve already had this conversation, Marinette,” she said coldly. “I’ve no interest in repeating it now.”

Her head hung low, Marinette trudged into the hallway barely noticing the bustle of students around her. Until one of them crashed into her and icy cold swept across her front.

“Oh my god! Marinette!” Rose’s shrill voice punctuated her shock. “I’m so sorry!”

“Marinette!” another voice crooned mockingly. “Finally found a fashion statement that suits your personality, I see!”

“Shut up, Chloé!” Alya barked already at her friend’s side, trying to help wring out the dark liquid from Marinette’s original shirt.

Marinette crumpled like paper on the spot. Hot tears sprang to her eyes, her throat closed up, and her chest felt tight.

Rose squeezed her hand, as tears sprang to her blue eyes. “Marinette,” she sobbed. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I was just running to meet Juleka. It was an accident. Please forgive me.”

Marinette squeezed Rose’s hand in return. “I-it’s okay, Rose. I-I know it was an accident. Today… today, has just…” and she choked on the words.

“Ladies!” Damocles’ voice barked across the courtyard. “Get to class!”

“But sir!” Alya objected. “Marinette needs to get cleaned up.”

The principal eyed the three girls. “Marinette is fully capable of cleaning herself up in the restroom. You and Rose need to get to class.”

Her friends glared daggers at the principal’s disapproving frown, but eventually shouldered their bags, and turned towards class with sympathetic smiles and slumped shoulders

Suddenly, Marinette stood alone in the courtyard in her sopping wet blouse. She blinked her eyes furiously, beating back the tears that threatened to fall. When she could breathe easily again through the lump in her throat she picked up her bag, and made her way slowly to the bathroom.

But within the privacy of the tiny girl’s bathroom, her emotions caught up with her again, and was soon weeping softly as she tried unsuccessfully to dab the coffee out of her pale pink shirt.

How much was too much, before a girl couldn’t take it anymore?

She fought against the thought, and forced her breathing to slow until she could dam up the flow of tears. She could do this.

She was Ladybug.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Alya: Hey girl. I just received a slip to leave for a dentist appointment. I have to go. Are you going to be okay?

The words blurred for a second, before Marinette stubbornly wiped her eyes, and recentered her breathing all over again. Of course, she would be okay.

She was Ladybug.

She typed back a quick response assuring Alya that she would manage.

After she finished rinsing her shirt the best she could, and using a hand dryer to get it down to damp rather than soaking, she returned to class.

Marinette ducked under the teacher’s disapproving gaze, and scrambled to her seat.

History proved to be particularly dreary that day. The teacher was just droning on and on. She would have had difficulty enough paying attention on a normal day. As it was, Marinette’s emotional reserves were shot and with Alya gone for her appointment, and Adrien absent for who knew what, there was nothing there to distract her. Soon, she caught herself nodding off.

“Marinette!” Her teacher’s sudden unexpected voice tore her from her unsanctioned nap. “If you stay awake in class, you might actually score higher than a D on the next exam.”

And that was the straw she could not handle. Tears burst from her in uncontrolled torrents. Right in the middle of class. Consoling and judgemental comments alike had poured in around her.

She didn’t wait for the teacher to call the class back to order. Instead, she bolted for the exit.

She had thought she could soothe herself in the privacy of the empty hallway, but instead she had found herself on the ground, backed into a corner on her butt, face to face with an akuma.

It honestly was almost pretty. Electric violet sparkled across the butterfly’s black fluttering wings.

Some part of her wanted to reach out and touch it.

Because Marinette was sick of crying, tired of being the bigger person, and far too aware that her thin shoulders could not bear the weight of protecting an entire city from a terrorist indefinitely.

She had no fall back position. She was it! A sixteen year old girl. Who thought that was a good idea?

If she was going to lose someday anyway, why not today?

Tikki’s bulbous form flew into her face and took up her entire field of vision.

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to breathe,” she added gently.

Marinette nodded, trying to follow those directions.

Because she couldn’t be akumatized. No one would know Ladybug was out of commission. No one could bring out extra allies from the miracle box.

But her throat was tight and her chest felt hollow and she just wanted to curl up on herself and cry.

Chat Noir would have to face her alone.

The butterfly melted into her earrings. She felt them grow hot, but she couldn’t move as the electric violet flooded her vision.

Hello, Lady Liberty.

His voice was cold, but booming. It seemed to scream from inside her own head. Her hands clutched either side of her face.

“Marinette!” Tikki yelled, but Marinette had to strain to hear her.

You bear a heavy load. Let me ease your burden by allowing you to let it all go. You can be free.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Marinette wanted to let go. She wanted to be free.

But Tikki was still screaming, and Marinette knew her kwami was the one she ought to be listening to. “Don’t fight your feelings! If you fight them, they double down. Try to accept them. Forgive yourself, Marinette. Have patience and compassion for yourself. Please! Can you do that?”

Marinette nodded, but who was she nodding to? She didn’t know.

I grant you the power to free everyone from the burdens they carry.

Marinette nodded again.

“Think of something that makes you feel safe and loved,” the other voice interrupted urgently. “Something that makes you have hope! Go to that place on your mind, Marinette.”

Her mind instantly flooded with visions of her partner.

Being tangled up with him in the string of her yoyo the first time they met. He hadn’t been upset. He hadn’t doubted her ability. He had been excited and wanted to know her name.

Him diving in front of her to take a hit only to instantly fade from existence. But he had smiled, just for a moment. Like he had died happy knowing he had protected her.

His infuriating smirk every time he managed to pull off a stupid joke at a ridiculous time or one up her in some ridiculous competition.

He gave her advice - patient and heartfelt - even when she was asking for advice about confessing to another boy.

His arms wrapped around her - solid and safe - after her biggest mistake that had cost her a mentor. His faith and trust in her had never waivered.

And suddenly, she was laughing through her tears.

She was in love with Chat Noir.

When had that even happened?

It didn’t matter, but the revelation made one thing crystal clear: She couldn’t be akumatized.

That would leave her partner alone.

And she would never do that to him.

Marinette gasped for air as the butterfly broke away. The akuma couldn’t hold her. Not like this, not with the joy that flooded her form at the realization that she could be happy - that she could make her kitty happy.

The winged creature flapped away, and Marinette sagged to her knees. Her bones felt like jelly, but she was giggling hysterically.

The black butterfly flew away. Only once it was out of sight did it occur to her that she should have transformed and purified it.

But she hadn’t been thinking at all, and now Ladybug was going to have to deal with an akuma.

She supposed that was better than Ladybug being the akuma.

Muffled screams pierced the silence, followed by the sound of a classroom door slamming open.

Marinette didn’t move immediately. She remained huddled up on the floor unmotivated to get to her feet. Students evacuated from their rooms - some more orderly than others. Despite the chaos around her, Marinette remained unaffected by it.

Even an explosion rocking the ground beneath her legs still folded underneath her form, was not enough to bring her out of her funk. Paris could wait for five minutes.

“Well, look at you!” Chat Noir’s booming voice echoed from the courtyard. “Aren’t you a regular class act?”

Marinette was running for a safe spot to transform before she had made the conscious decision. While she was willing to make Paris wait, she couldn’t leave her partner fighting for a second longer than necessary.

Not ever.

No matter how done she wanted to be with this day.

“M’lady!” He greeted happily when she landed beside him.

“What’ve we got?”

“Apparently a pop quiz burst this kid’s bubble!” Her partner reported, his green vertical pupils never leaving their adversary. “Apparently he was angling for an A in Geometry.”

She sighed. How mundane. “His teacher is the target?”

“Monsier Fontaine,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Let’s get this over with, kitty.”

The akuma wasn’t particularly dangerous, which wasn’t surprising since she knew he hadn’t been Hawkmoth’s first choice.

But Ladybug was having trouble keeping her head in the game - she was still raw and shaky from too close a call. She stumbled through an easy dodge more than once. But Chat was always there hauling her to her feet or blocking the attack.

Once he had her upright and centered for the fourth time, she wasted no more time waiting for an opening and immediately called for her lucky charm.

A spotted frying pan fell into her hands. She blinked at the pan, her mind remaining stubbornly blank. She had no clue what to do with this!

“What amazing plan will you cook up next?” Chat grinned at her, his baton spinning in his hands blocking another blow.

She looked into his smiling eyes, and everything instantly fell into place. God, he always was exactly what she needed. Of course she had fallen in love with him.

The battle lasted another twenty-two seconds.

But when Chat Noir offered her a fist for their traditional victory fist bump, she knocked it aside and seized him in a hug instead.

He stiffened for a second, but then his tension fell away and his arms encircled protectively around her. “LB? Are you okay? I didn’t think that battle was that hard. I certainly don’t remember dying that time.”

“Shut up!” she whispered into his chest as she clung to him.

His arms tightened around her. “As you wish, M’lady.” His head leaned against her own and she stood there feeling the comfort of his solid warm frame holding her upright. They just stood there for several seconds. Everything was quiet. Then his chest was vibrating. Was he purring?

She hadn’t known he could do that.

She nuzzled her cheek into his chest, closer to the soothing vibration.

“LB, are you okay?” he asked again.

She shook her head. “I just had a really bad day.”

Her earrings beeped in warning, but she remained within his embrace.

He sighed and melted against her. “Who do I need to beat up?” he mumbled.

She giggled. “I’ll text you my list.”

“I’ll take care of it by end of day tomorrow,” he joked, his voice tickling her inner ear.

She knew he was joking, but she grinned anyway. He was always on her side, no questions asked.

“I need to talk to you somewhere private. Where do you think would be safe from prying eyes?”

He pulled away just an inch and searched her face intently. She had no idea what he saw, and she quickly found her gaze falling into her hands, a heated blush creeping out from under her mask.

“Do you remember that café we went to after patrol last week?”

She nodded.

“There’s a deep balcony in the alleyway about three stories up. The building is closed for renovations, but the balcony is untouched.

“Perfect. Go recharge, and meet me there?” She requested.

“See you in ten, M’lady!”

Ladybug launched herself up out of the school’s courtyard and onto Paris’s rooftops. Her earrings beeped again. She ducked behind a chimney, and let the transformation fall. Tikki fell into her hands.

Tikki didn’t take her offered cookie. Instead, the kwami flew up to Marinette’s face and nuzzled her head into Marinette’s cheek. “Are you okay, Marinette?”

Marinette leaned into the affectionate gesture. “I’m exhausted, Tikki. I feel raw and numb. But not as upset. Thank you, by the way. I would not have survived that without you.”

“I’m always happy to support you. I am sad that it was necessary today.”

Marinette stroked the top of her kwami’s head. “I’m going to tell him who I am.”

To her relief, Tikki didn’t object. Instead, the kwami nodded. “I understand. But if you’re emotionally done for today, just know you don’t have to talk to Chat Noir right this second. It can wait until tomorrow or next patrol.”

Marinette shook her head. “Today proved that not telling him is a potentially huge risk. I am not going to sleep again until I fix it. And plus, he deserves to know. He’s wanted to know for so long.” She trailed off for a moment as her feelings caught up with her all over again. “He’s going to be so happy,” she whispered, a tear slipped down her cheek even as she giggled.

“You love him?” Tikki asked with a soft smile.

“I don’t even know when it happened!” Marinette exclaimed. “And that stupid cat is never going to let me live it down,” she grumbled.

Tikki did a happy little dance in the air. “I’m happy for you, Marinette. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, Tikki. Now, let’s go.”

Tikki inhaled the cookie in two gulps. Marientte called for her transformation and launched herself into the skyline once again, her heart light even if butterflies fluttered in her stomach with nervous energy.

She arrived at their meeting place. He was already there sitting in a lotus position frowning into space. His expression brightened when he caught sight of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked for the third time, his eyes shining with concern.

And she found herself lost in his gaze - sincere and yet, incredibly open. How had she ever turned this boy down?

“I…” she trailed off, unable to find words. She just needed to say it. Why was she hesitating? This was going to make everything easier and he would be thrilled, wouldn’t he? He had always wanted to know.

But he hadn’t asked in a long time. Maybe he had moved on. Like she had asked him to.

She shook her head at herself. It didn’t matter. She had been akumatized. This wasn’t about what either of them felt. Not telling him was putting millions in danger every single day.

She found herself smiling.

“M’lady?”

She dropped down next to him, deep into the private balcony with walls on three sides. The balcony wasn’t designed to have a view. She suspected its function was just to allow the inhabitants to be outside.

“Tikki, spots off,” she whispered.

“Woah! What are you doing?” he demanded, turning his head away.

That wouldn’t do. She took his face gently between her hands. He didn’t resist as her skin tight suit peeled away in a ripple of pink light.

He just stared at her, his eyes wide in shock. “M-Marinette? But… I saw you… and L-ladybug.”

“Fox miraculous,” she explained.

“Ah,” was all he managed to say, his beautiful green eyes wide with shock.

“I-is this okay?” she asked.

He blinked at her dumbly. “Uh, y-yes, of course it is, m’lady! More than okay! Just completely unexpected.”

“You don’t have to reciprocate,” she told him.

He blanched. “Are you kidding me?! Plagg, cla-”

She pinched his lips closed with her bare hands. “No! Wait! Let’s talk first. You can reveal yourself after if you still want to.”

“But I…” he objected, his body tense and unmoving.

She covered his mouth again. “Please?”

He sagged against her hold. She didn’t remove her hand until he nodded. “Whatever you need, M’lady Princess.”

Every muscle in her body loosened at the new combined affectionate nickname. Princess. She was his princess. And his lady.

“Tikki?” Marinette called.

The kwami nodded.

“Spots on.” And she let her magical energies wrap her once again in its protective warmth.

Chat’s eyes were as wide as canyons as he watched her display. “Wow! That was… amazing. Your transformation is like a dance. You’re so graceful. I mean… I knew that, but this is just like the epitome of...”

She covered her face with her gloved hands, trying to cover the heat she felt growing from the bottom of her mask. “Please, stop,” she begged. How was she ever going to tell this boy what she needed to when he kept sending her thoughts and feelings scrambling in a million different directions with gushing praise?

He grinned. “I can’t help it,” he objected. “You’re so amazing. I mean... I already knew that, but now…” he trailed off and really looked at her. “I’ve suspected you more than once. I just… But after kwami buster, I assumed it was just wishful thinking.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wanted me to be her?”

He barked a laugh. “You have no idea.”

Her blush bloomed from her cheeks to the very tips of her ears. But she didn’t know what to say, and the silence stretched between them.

“So… uh…” his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “What changed your mind?”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach in an attempt to soothe herself - to assure herself that she hadn’t truly become an akuma. She hadn’t betrayed her duty or her partner in that low moment. “I just... I need you to know.” It was all she managed to say before her throat seemed to snap closed, choking off everything else she needed to say.

“It must’ve been some bad day to convince you to go against the prime directive of superheroing,” he offered, his voice gentle and soft.

And she laughed, but within seconds her mirth transformed into tears and she was finally crying, the sobs tearing through her.

His arms instantly wrapped around her. And she fell into his embrace and just let herself cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here,” he soothed, his hands rubbing comforting circles on her back.

And she cried herself out. It was a good cry. A release of not just the day, but also of all the tension and stress she had carried for weeks, or maybe years, with no place to unburden herself.

Until today.

“What happened?” he asked when her cries had finally faded.

The question was thrilling. Amazing even because it occurred to her that for the first time since taking up the mantle of Ladybug, for the first time in years, she didn’t have to filter anything.

“It’s stupid really. Just a bunch of little things that all added up.” And she told him all of it. About the nightmares, and she’d tell him about the reality of Chat Blanc soon. But for now, she stayed focused on the day. She spoke of her ruined fabric, her feelings that mishap had triggered about being Ladybug and the Guardian, about her blouse getting ruined, about her friends not being there in class, and her stupid stupid teachers wo just didn’t understand that homework could never be her top priority. “And I could have handled all of it, I swear! It’s just so hard on top of all of this. The akuma was the last straw.”

“Akumas do have the worst timing,” he commented.

She sighed. He didn’t realize that she didn’t mean the monster they just fought, but the raw little black butterfly.

“It was meant for me,” she admitted softly. “It actually succeeded in melding with my earrings.”

He turned rigid underneath her, suddenly as frozen as an ice sculpture.

Her grip around him tightened. “And you know what I was most angry about, Chaton?” she continued, determined to get all of it out. “I wasn’t angry at Papillion. Not really. I was just upset that I couldn’t let myself be akumatized. I’m the only person in Paris who isn’t allowed to just say “fuck it” and let the butterfly take me. The only person who isn’t allowed to have a bad day. I want to be able to have a bad day!”

“I want to be able to let myself be akumatized, and just be able to trust that Ladybug and Chat Noir will take care of it. Why don’t I get that?”

She pulled back just enough to see his face, and she was horrified to see the tear tracks down his cheeks.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”

His eyes landed on hers. “Whatever for?” he demanded.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she admitted, brushing his tears away with her thumb. “I’m sorry that I’m so pathetic. That I wasn’t strong enough.”

He pulled back, and turned her so they were looking right at one another eye to eye. He had a hand on either one of her shoulders. She felt like he was staring directly into her soul, but she couldn’t look away. She had never once seen him so serious.

“Buginette, I need you to hear me right now,” he paused as if expecting her to object. When she didn’t, he continued. “You are the strongest person I know. From what you said, I gather that you were able to throw off an akuma after it had gotten you.”

She nodded confirmation.

“I’ve never known anyone to do that. I didn’t know it was possible. Maybe someone has done it before. I guess I wouldn’t have a way of knowing, but… I guess what I’m saying is that you’re not pathetic. Not even close. You’re so strong, and incredibly resilient. And I don’t know how you’ve done everything you do as Ladybug and as Marinette for so long.”

His eyes bored into hers, never once did he look away.

“And you’re allowed to be human, Buginette. And this feels weird to say, but I want you to be able to have a bad day, too.”

She laughed. And he smiled in response, touching his forehead to hers. His compelling green eyes filled up her whole vision.

“I’m sorry that you’ve felt so alone in holding the mantle of Ladybug. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here in the way that you needed.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true! You’ve always been here. You’ve always given me what I needed even when I didn’t realize. And me feeling alone was more my fault than yours,” she insisted. “I’m the one that insisted on keeping our identities secret. I thought it was too dangerous to share our identities.”

She pressed her lips together in thought.

“But when I was facing that akuma, I realized that not sharing is dangerous, too. That I’ve been keeping all my secrets in one basket. And while that makes them harder to lose, it also makes me more vulnerable. If I hadn't been able to fight off that akuma, you wouldn’t have had any back up and you wouldn’t have known that Ladybug wasn’t coming.”

“You’d likely be an absolutely terrible akuma,” he commented. “I mean, you kick ass without anything boosting your skills. I’m going to have nightmares about akumanette now.” His tone was light.

She stuck her tongue out at his teasing. He smirked.

She allowed the moment of silliness before growing solemn and serious once again. “Master Fu kept all his secrets in one basket and kept himself hidden for over a century. He told one person - me. And less than two years went by, and all it took was one stupid thoughtless mistake on my part and it all came toppling down!”

Chat squeezed her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s also easier for him to stay hidden and keep secrets when there aren’t akumas out terrorizing the street every other day!”

“And I don’t even know how to do this as well as him,” she continued to rant as if he hadn’t spoken. “And I am falling apart, Chaton.” she broke into soft sobs again.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m right here. And now that I know who you are, I’m going to be so present and so supportive you’re going to wish that you had never revealed your identity!”

She traced the curve of his jawline with two fingers. “In this moment, I really don’t think I’m going to regret any of this.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “For?”

“For trusting me. I promise I will do everything in my power to protect you, your secret, and by extension, your loved ones.”

She nuzzled further into him, her head resting on his collar bone. She didn’t want to be caught crying again.

“I don’t know if I’m worth your devotion, Chaton,” she whispered.

His arms tightened around her waist. “Shhh! Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

The tears flowed before she could stop them. “I-I don’t know how… to be the Guardian,” she confessed.

He only smiled. “You didn’t know how to be Ladybug at first either. You rose to that challenge beautifully.”

Her lips twisted into a displeased frown. “Only because I had such an amazing partner,” she said emphatically.

“I only have ever followed your example,” he told her. “You taught me to be a hero.”

She laughed. This boy. He never stopped. “God, I love you.”

Chat Noir looked like she had clubbed him with a two by four. His eyes were overblown, and his mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise.

She bit her lip, trying to assess his reaction because for once in his life he was being infuriatingly silent. “I meant it. It wasn’t just a slip. I actually love you.”

He blinked at her, unmoving.

“P-please say something,” she begged.

“I… uh…”

She wilted at his hesitation. “I thought you’d be happy…”

He pulled her against his form, tucking her head under his chin. “Trust me, Bugaboo, I am over the moon! I’m not sure that this day could get any better honestly. I’m just also in shock and more than a bit confused.”

She relaxed into his embrace, melting at how natural it felt to be held in his arms.

“Since when do you love me?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a gentle breeze.

“I think it’s been a while now, but I realized it just today,” she confided into his chest.

“How?”

“When we saw the akuma, Tikki told me to go to my happy place and I thought of you,” she sat up and looked up at him then. “You’re the only place anymore I feel safe and completely understood. And I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”

“What about your friends?” he whispered, his eyes swirling with an emotion she could not label.

“They’re great. But they can’t understand... and it’s not like I can explain it to them.”

“What about the boy you love?”

“I had to let him go.”

“Why?”

She leaned up against him once again, her gaze falling to their feet. “I couldn’t share all myself with him. And he doesn’t need all my baggage. Plus, I think I already missed my chance. He’s in love with someone else.”

She could hear his frown. “How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“He told you he was in love with someone else,” he repeated, the disbelief clear in his voice.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I find it hard to believe that he could love anyone else when he knows you.”

She rolled her eyes. “He told me that the girl he loved didn’t like his jokes, and since I was sitting right next to him in his fancy limo car when he said it, I knew he wasn’t talking about me.”

He went rigid underneath her. She jerked up, and searched his face. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing!” he said, turning his gaze away.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

He gaze swung back to her, his cheeks burning in the most beautiful pink. “I just find it impossible that he wasn’t talking about you.”

She gave him a flat look. “He definitely wasn’t talking about me.”

Chat’s gloved hands cupped both sides of her face. “He was actually.”

She was lost in his intense gaze.

“He just didn’t know it was you,” he whispered.

She stared at him for several seconds, but she shook herself and pulled away. “How would you know? You weren’t there!” she objected.

His claws scratched at the back of his neck. Her eyes zeroed in on the action. It was familiar.

“I know you don’t believe me, but It’s true. He was talking about you,” he insisted, looking right over at her. “You never have liked my jokes.”

“That’s not true! It’s not the jokes that suck!” she objected. “Though they are a bit lame,” she tacked on softly. “But it’s the timing! Your timing sucks!”

And then her expression faded. Her eyebrows scrunched towards each other under the pressure of the mask. “Wait, a second. I have never liked your jokes?”

“Well, you definitely didn’t like it when I pretended to be a wax model.”

She felt her face go slack, her eyes overblown and gaping. “A-Adrien?” she whispered.

“Hi?” He gave her a self conscious little smile.

“H-hi,” she managed back, her voice too high.

His whole face lit up in understanding. “Oh my god! You always stuttered around me because you liked me?”

Her cheeks burned hot.

“I was convinced forever that you didn’t like me at all, or that I was intimidating somehow for being a fashion icon,” he rambled.

“You were intimidating,” she broke in. “You were so kind and genuine. And just… incredibly patient. I liked you so much. I was terrified of messing things up. Which I did constantly, because I am such a spaz.”

His whole form softened, and he offered her the smallest most sincere smile and she gasped. Seriously, how had she never recognized him before this.

His hand slowly moved towards hers and he wove their fingers together, before touching his forehead to hers ever so gently. “Nothing has ever been messed up. You have always amazed me on both sides of the mask. I fell in love with Ladybug when she stood up to Hawkmoth on our first day on the job. I love the way her brain works and how her creative genius can find victory when she has almost nothing to work with.”

“And I’ve always admired Marinette for the way she goes out of the way to make everyone feel welcome - even stray cats that land on her balcony, the way she expects others to do the right thing, and the way she stands up when someone else doesn’t live up to those ideals. I love when her eyes get so big when she’s nervous and I positively love the moments when she trips over her own feet.”

She smacked him playfully, heat blazing from her neck to her ears. “Shut up! You do not!”

He laughed. “I do though! It gives me an excuse to touch her.”

She went still, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Every time you trip, I get to catch you or offer you a hand to get back up. I love those moments, Marinette. I’ve always cherished them.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice small, her eyes filling with emotion she could not define.

“Really,” he assured.

She moved before she thought about it. She literally threw herself at him, and he barely caught her; he was so startled. But he did catch her. Because he always caught her. And that made it really easy to kiss him.

Her lips pressed against his. And she took satisfaction from the fact that he took him a second to react, that she had managed to catch him off guard.

But then he did respond and she didn’t have the space for thought.

His hands cupped the base of her skull, cradling her whole head. His claws gently kneaded into her hair, sending tingles shooting down her neck and all the way down her spine. And his lips - they were so soft. As soft as a baby’s newborn skin. He gently sucked in on her lower lip causing her to gasp. They were sharing the same breath. His tongue tentatively brushed past her lips and she met it with her own.

Unfortunately, she eventually needed to breathe again.

“I love you,” she gasped against his mouth as she pulled away.

He smirked. “I told you that you’d fall for me eventually.”

She shoved him playfully away when he cackled happily. But she was laughing too.

“What am I going to do with you?” she demanded.

He pulled her against him again, and kissed her chastely. “Love me forever, I hope.” And then his expression grew serious. “Because I love you, Mari. I have since the day I met you.”

She grinned and traced the side of his face with a knuckle. “Forever doesn’t sound so bad,” she admitted before kissing him again.

And it really didn’t.

Even if he never let her hear the end of the fact that she had finally fallen for him despite her denials. Even if she had to put up with puns at the worst possible times. Even if he insisted on taking blow after blow for her.

If she was being honest, she didn’t want to hear the end of it. She wanted him to tease her for forever and a day. She wanted to hear his stupid jokes. And she wanted to fight with him at her side.

Because that was who he was. And she loved him.

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ladynoir #identity reveal #angst #happy ending #Marinette's no good very bad day #Marinette reflects #Supportive Chat Noir #love confessions #miraculous reveal #my own content

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skittikyu · 3 years

Note

Panprice, all of the emojis /srs /nf

A-

All of them???

Alright here we go /nm /lh

🌻 who’s taller?

Dave. Absolutely Dave. /lh I’ve loved that headcanon ever since someone pointed out the height difference in the intro to Escaping the Prison-

🍃 who’s the big spoon?

Probably Rupert because I can see Dave liking to be held™

🌺 who asks the other out?

See Panprice is one of those ships I was talking about in that other ask where I see it being more of a “Person A confesses to Person B thinking it isn’t mutual but when it turns out it is they just sort of become a thing” situation.

So if you reframe the question as “who confesses first” I can honestly see situations with either but I’d sooner assume it’d be more likely Rupert because Dave seems like he’d just

But who knows, maybe he’d blurt it out on accident or force it out in a moment of bravery. Jury’s out to lunch on this one LOL

🍄 who’s clingier?

I think both of them would have their moments, for understandable reasons??

Dave is touch starved from having no human contact for months while he was a prisoner and Rupert already lost him once and missed him like hell

🍀 who steals the blankets?

Rupert strikes me more as the type to toss and turn a bit so he might yoink™ by accident sometimes

🪵 who watches the other sleep?

?????????

okay, interpreting that to be a little less creepy-

I think Dave probably stays awake longer than Rupert sometimes. Like Rupert has a very demanding, exhausting job and will crash like a rock while Dave is an overthinker with recurring nightmares so he probably takes longer to fall asleep and will just look up at the ceiling whilst Rupert snores next to him LOL

So yeah he wouldn’t watch Rupert sleep but he might glance over from time to time or just listen to him breathe for reassurance that everything’s fine now-

☁️ who spoils the other?

This is another one I think they’d both have their moments with because Rupert wants Dave to have nice things because he’s been through a lot and deserves to be happy and Dave wants Rupert to have nice things because he’s grateful for him and everything he’s done for him

🌾 who eats the others uneaten pizza crusts?

?????????

The fuck kind of heathen- how about both of them just eat the whole pizza slice like normal people?? /lh

🌸 who cries when they watch sad movies?

I wanna say Rupert just for the joke of it being the one you don’t expect /hj

That and it goes hand in hand with my headcanon that he’s the one who gets scared watching horror movies while Dave just sits there with him like

🌷 who apologises first after an argument?

Again, probably equal amounts with both of them on this one too

Rupert is aware he has a bad temper and can come off meaner (not that he’d ever be mean to Dave, but y’know- harsh/serious/etc) than he means to be sometimes so once he’s cooled down he’d immediately want to tell Dave that he’s sorry because he knows if he takes too long he might start overthinking and get scared that Rupert hates him or something

Then Dave I’ve always headcanoned with some form of anxiety (probably GAD) and y’all who have it know how it is sometimes, where you apologize because the tension and lack of closure is too much-

I doubt these two would have too many arguments, though - even ignoring the fact that Dave probably avoids confrontation like the plague, they’re adults who communicate healthily and even when they do argue (because let’s face it that’s a normal, unavoidable part of every relationship) they seem like the type of couple that resolves the issue over the course of the argument-

🪴 who wears the other’s clothes?

I’m not sure?? I can see them having similar fashions of black/grey colours so they probably sometimes wear the other’s clothes on accident and don’t fully realize why it feels slightly off unless the other one asks about it, but that’s if they even recognize their own clothes

But yeah Dave’s taller so his clothes are slightly longer and Rupert’s got a bit more muscle so his are a bit wider

☀️ who beats the other at chess?

I think they’d be fairly evenly matched?? Strategizing is part of Rupert’s job and Dave seems like the type of guy who passes the time with games like cards and chess-

💐 who needs more reassurance?

Dave for obvious reasons. Poor guy probably feels like a screw up who ruins everything sometimes, what with his string of bad luck.

🌿 who cooks the best?

Dave. Rupert is British. Do not trust British people with food. /j

🐚 who proposes?

Probably Rupert, but, I can see situations where it could be Dave instead

An engagement seems like something they’d probably talk about before the actual proposal anyway cause obviously Rupert’s not gonna scare the shit out of Dave getting down on one knee with 0 warning and/or prior discussion

and I think Dave would sooner eat his own hat than drop that on Rupert in a similar situation

But yeah they’d probably talk about getting married starting after the 2 year mark and then it would just be a matter of whenever one of them makes it official-

Here’s your fucking essay, anon /nm /lh

#skittikyu speaks #ask #anonymous #panprice #Feel free to disagree with anything I’ve said here these are just my interpretations /gen

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ihopuhopwehop · 3 years

Note

I like to see your take on one of this: we need more of this prompt

🔥Zutara 🌊

The Ember Island Players doing a play for the Fire Nation's Most Beloved Relationship, Firelord Zuko of the Fire Nation and Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, but the craze doubled when they didn't get together, or did they???

Basically, the whole Fire Nation and selected people from both the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes creating a system that could get them access to other fan works of the two.

Sokka started it. He lives for a good dose of chaos.

Hello! Thank you so much for being so patient with me as I finish finals! I took my last one yesterday and submitted a ten-page essay :D I am now done!! And as such, I just finished this! I hope you enjoy it!!

I present...

ZUTARA: A MUSICAL

THIS WEEKEND ONLY, FREE ADMISSION TO THE EMBER ISLAND PLAYERS RENDITION OF THE MOST THRILLING TALE OF ROYALTY AND ROMANCE, ZUTARA: THE MUSICAL. DOORS OPEN AT 7:30 PM. COMPLEMENTARY FIRE FLAKES WILL BE SERVED UPON ADMISSION.

Sokka had done a good thing today. Or rather an entertaining thing. He sold his sister out. That’s right, her and Firelord Zuko want to have a secret relationship behind his back while he’s out training warriors in the South Pole, then they’re gonna get what’s coming.

Really, if they had just told him themselves he would have been fine with it…eventually, but having them trust him enough to tell him would have helped him get over it a lot quicker BUT NO instead he found out through Uncle Iroh making an offhanded comment about their children being called steambabies and Sokka being understandably confused and Uncle Iroh nonchalantly mentioning that they were a couple now.

Sokka, at the time, had been so surprised that he spit out his bite of fried armadillo bear meat, which was unfortunate really because Fire Nation cuisine had so many new and delectable flavors. Uncle Iroh had looked alarmed when he realized Sokka had not been told yet, but Sokka really wasn’t paying attention to Iroh’s supposed to-be soothing parables as he figured that must have been why Katara had decided to stay in the Fire Nation this time around instead of coming back home with him. It must also be why Aang had been in a particularly foul mood the last few weeks.

Sokka was brought back to the present as the man at the booth handed him a plump bag of coins.

“Thanks for the tip kid, this play is sure to be a hit. So many people shipped them together already.”

Sokka inwardly blanched at that, knowing that must mean Katara and Zuko were out in public together a lot, but he pushed that thought aside to continue the conversation.

“No problem. Let me know how it goes. Oh and if you could send a script over to King Bumi of the Earth Kingdom, that’d be great. He’s always looking for romance novels to read.”

The greasy man looked at him like he was crazy to suggest sending a king this type of play but nodded his head none-the-less.

“Will do. —” The man paused, “Say, aren’t you Master Katara’s brother?”

Sokka smirked, “That I am. That I am, kind sir.” Sokka then realized he couldn’t let his sister know it was him who released the play, so he held up his boomerang and pointed it at the man’s head, “But you can’t tell her anything! She’d kill me if she knew I told.”

The man’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “So it’s true? Firelord Zuko and Master Katara of the Southern WaterTribe are dating?”

Sokka reeled at that, “No, no! Er, no, I mean, maybe? Who knows, only time will tell, bye now!”

And with that he turned on his heel, proud of his recovery of that conversation.

Katara stormed into Zuko’s meeting room the minute the last fire sage ambled out.

“What the spirits is this?” She asked as she slammed a flyer for ZUTARA:THE MUSICAL down on the large marble table.

Zuko raised an eyebrow as his eyes swept over the page. He was about to respond to her inquiry when she continued in her rage, “Did you tell someone?!?”

Zuko stepped back a space to put a little more distance between her anger and himself, “No of course not! Did you?”

She ran a hand through her dark curls, narrowly avoiding getting them caught in her braids, “Would I be this mad if I told? Of course, I didn’t tell! I haven’t even told Sokka yet!”

That was when Zuko remembered something that he knew would cause a problem from them. He sighed loudly and drug a hand down his face, “We need Uncle in here.” He turned to his assistant standing a few paces behind him in the corner, “Could you please tell my Uncle his presence is requested in the Peace Meeting Room?” As the assistant nodded and turned to leave, Zuko offered a kind ‘thank you’ and turned back to Katara.

“I think Iroh knows.”

Katara looked shocked but then composed herself, realizing it would have only been a matter of time before he knew since they were always working in close quarters anyway.

“What makes you think he knows?” She asked as she moved to sit down in a previously vacated seat.

Zuko didn’t answer for a minute and Katara realized he looked a little embarrassed. “What Zuko? Why would he know?”

“I believe he was having tea in the garden when we were watching the turtleducks last week. I hadn’t noticed he was there until he mentioned during our weekly tea time that sleeping by the pond may not be the safest thing to do, but he was glad I had a waterbender by my side to do it.”

Katara groaned, “Of course Iroh knows! He’s too smart not too!” Katara then paused as she remembered the day by the pond. Her and Zuko had gone to watch the turtleducks and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Then when they had woken up, her and Zuko chased each other around the pond, which ended up in her pushing him into the pond with his full Firelord Regala on. It was hilarious watching the turtleducks swim up to him as he pouted in the water.

She giggled a little as she thought of his face and noticed Zuko’s features soften in real time.

“We’ll figure it out Kat. Plus, he was bound to know sometime right? As long as he didn’t tell anyone else…”

“But who told! Do you think it was one of the guards? Or your assistant?”

“They’ve been instructed not to, I highly doubt they would disobey my orders on something like this.”

She raised an eyebrow, “’something like this’?” She questioned.

Zuko grimaced knowing he had said the wrong words, “Something that isn’t relevant to war, peace, or the outcome of humanity. Us dating isn’t a big deal unless we get engaged or the public finds out too soon.”

Katara pursed her lips, “Maybe not a big deal to you, but I had to turn down the Avatar. That’s bound to have some repercussions if people find out.”

Zuko shook his head, “You turned down Aang, our friend.”

Katara was starting to get angry, “Yeah, our friend, The Avatar, who thought it was his destiny to marry me! You don’t think Aang would have told just to get back at us do you? I don’t think he would but if he was hurt enough…” Katara trailed off worriedly.

“I highly doubt he had time to tell anyone. He went with Toph to the Western Air Temple to restore the architecture, he would have had his hands full with that.”

Katara nodded slightly thinking over who could have told, but the only people that had appeared to know were the palace workers, Iroh, and Aang.

Zuko sat down beside her, putting a hand over the one she had resting on the table. “We’ll figure it out Kat. For now let’s talk to Uncle and see if he knows anything.” Just as he leaned forward to give her a kiss, he noticed his Uncle shuffle through the large, oval doors. He pulled back and tried not to smirk at Katara’s disappointed face.

His Uncle chuckled, “Don’t stop on my account Nephew. I got an eyeful last week.”

Zuko scowled at him, “Uncle, tell me you didn’t tell anyone?”

His Uncle took on a guilty face causing Katara to bang her head on the table and Zuko to groan.

“Uncle!”

“It was an accident! I was having lunch with Master Katara’s brother upon his arrival yesterday, and he pulled it out of me! He is a master of persuasion that one.”

Katara chuckled, but then stopped as she realized this meant that Sokka knows. “Sokka knows? As in, he knows?!”

She stood up abruptly, “What did you tell him?!”

Uncle Iroh looked sheepish, “Er. That your children would be called steambabies.”

Katara gaped while Zuko flushed in embarrassment, “Uncle! You didn’t!”

“Ah. But I did. So sorry Zuko, but a friend of mine from the Northern Water Tribe sent me a scroll that a student of his had written about you and Lady Katara that mentioned the clever name. Apparently, many people are speculating on your relationship. Some even encourage it by writing.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, “What do you mean “encourage it by writing?”

His Uncle smiled, “I mean romance scrolls, nephew.”

Zuko banged his head on the table while Katara gasped slightly. “You mean people are writing stories about us! What kind of stories! How did they even know? I hope my dad hasn’t heard about this yet.”

“Ah, the soul of the world is always searching for new love. Especially when a good story, such as two royals come about. Adds dramatic effect.”

At this Zuko grabbed the previously forgotten flyer and slid it harshly towards his Uncle, “Did you have anything to do with this Uncle?”

His Uncle beamed, “No, but I wish I had. A musical! How creative!”

Katara and Zuko both groaned.

After a short pause of her and Zuko thinking, and Iroh requesting a pot of Jasmine tea, Katara spoke again, “We need to speak to Sokka.”

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

Sokka strolled happily back up the steps of his sister’s boyfriend’s palace and was met with a guard and a servant.

“Master Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, your presence is requested in Lady Katara’s living quarters.”

Sokka smirked, knowing he was about to tease his sister beyond belief. That, or freak out, depending on what she was doing with Zuko when he got there.

“Alright, is she, alone, by chance?”

The servant hesitated before answering, “I believe she is with Firelord Zuko and Royal Advisor and Dragon of the West, Iroh Sozin.”

Sokka furrowed his brows in confusion over Iroh being there but didn’t think much of it as he ascended the steps towards her bedroom.

He slammed both doors open as he strutted through the door, “Hello Princess Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, daughter of Chief Hakoda, sister of the handsome Master Sokka, friend of the Avatar, and girlfriend to—”

Katara interrupted his speech unfortunately, with Uncle Iroh watching in pleased amusement. “Alright we get it, you know. But did you tell anyone Sokka, because if you did, so help me…”

Before she could roll out any threat Sokka interrupted her, “Excuse me! If you had just told me yourself this wouldn’t have happened!”

Katara’s eyes narrowed as Zuko raised his brow in surprise, “What wouldn’t have happened Sokka?”

He stuttered, “Er- uh, I wouldn’t have choked on my armadillo bear meat?”

Iroh nodded sagely, remembering the night before.

“Sokka,” she said in warning, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“Ok, alright fine! I implied you were dating but I didn’t confirm it! I left it up to the viewers discretion!”

Katara and Zuko both looked surprised and then turned to anger.

“Sokka! —” Zuko started.

“You did this?!” Katara finished punctuating her sentence with thrusting a paper at him.

He looked down at the paper to see a flyer for the musical, “Man, word travels fast here.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Yeah word does travel fast here, and because of you people know that their nation’s leader is dating the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe! Do you know what this could do?! Other nations could be mad that they found out so callously, think that the Water Tribe will get more resources because of our relationship, or Agni, even be mad she’s not dating the Avatar! Why would you do this?!” Zuko asked raising his voice.

“Hey! If you guys had just told me from the beginning that you were dating, no one else would have had to know! Instead I find out because you are having steambabies!”

“I was planning to tell you when you got here, but Iroh beat me to it! And besides, we just wanted some privacy before everyone else found out! Is that so bad?” Katara asked, feeling guilty for not telling her family yet, but knowing she wouldn’t take back the last few weeks for anything.

“How long has this been going on?” Sokka asked angrily when he noticed Zuko reach out to touch Katara’s elbow. His eyes flashed between the two of them.

Katara hesitated while Zuko answered quietly, “about a month and a half.”

Sokka blanched, “Before I even left! What, you couldn’t even write me a letter Katara or or—explain why you didn’t come back with me?! I had to explain to the tribe that their princess was staying with the Firelord for some unknown reason! And not to mention Aang stopped by and was moody all week leaving everyone to believe something happened between you two, and I still had no idea why my sister wasn’t there with me.”

Sokka realized he wasn’t hurt because they wanted privacy, he was hurt that Katara had chosen not to tell him why she was abandoning their trip back home.

Sokka was pulled out of his head when Katara placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the reason I wasn’t going back yet. I just wanted some time alone to sort things out with Zuko and figure out the best way to tell you and the tribe I was dating the Firelord. Can you forgive me?”

Sokka thought about it for a second before nodding petulantly.

Katara quirked a smile, “Good. Because I need you to meet my boyfriend.” Katara was now smirking and Zuko was beaming at her.

Sokka gagged, “Gross! Don’t go all googly-eyed in front of me Sparky!”

Katara laughed, “Then you’re really not going to like this!” Katara let go of his shoulder and crossed the room to kiss Zuko passionately with Sokka gaping and Uncle Iroh chuckling.

“Eww! Oogies! Stop, stop! You just told me, ease me into the affection won’t you!” Sokka covered his eyes and only looked up when he heard Katara laughing and Zuko turning red from embarrassment.

“Like you and Suki don’t kiss all the time!” Katara waggled her eyebrows as Iroh stood up.

“Ah, young love. Lovely to be but hard to see.” He said as he ambled out the door with a short wave to them all.

They all burst out laughing at his odd parable and then continued chatting into the night, including Katara explaining what happened between her and Aang and Sokka giving Zuko a warning not to hurt his sister.

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

A servant walked up to the throne of Earth King Bumi and bowed as he bestowed a scroll to him.

Bumi quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected mail and snatched it out of his friends’ hand.

His eyes widened in joy as he read the title of ZUTARA: A MUSICAL. His hooting laugh and a few snorts echoed throughout the room as he continued reading the dialogue between Master Katara and Firelord Zuko.

“Zu Li, send a copy of this dialogue to Piandao of the Fire Nation, Pakku of the Northern and Southern Water Tribe, and…Toph Beifong of the Beifong Family. They will be sure to enjoy this script.” He continued snorting as the servant made to take and copy the scroll.

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

Master Piandao was not surprised to learn that his former pupil and current Firelord, Zuko, was dating Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe. Before the final battle of the war, they had seemed very close to each other. He was only surprised it took them this long to figure everything out. None-the-less, he thought it a good idea to stop by the play, especially since Ember Island was not far from his vacation home. He could use a good vacation and a play to lighten his spirits.

He packed up his carry-on, including a sword gifted to him by Sokka, created by his metal bending friend, and boarded a faery across the way.

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

Mater Pakku of the Northern and Southern Water Tribe scanned the scroll King Bumi had sent him, wondering why on earth the crazy king would choose to send a play about his granddaughter dating the Firelord to him. Was this a hint? He thought. Did King Bumi know something he didn’t?

There was only one way to find out.

Attend the Musical that would be played in two days’ time. Hopefully the fire nation will be able to clear a few things up for him. He packed up his things, kissed Kanna goodbye, saying he had business to attend to in the Fire Nation, and readied the ship that would take him to Ember Island. He decided not to tell Kanna about her granddaughter’s happenings unless something was actually happening.

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

Aang brought a scroll that had been delivered to the Western Air Temple for Toph, over to her handmade earth house and walked in without knocking.

“Toph! You have a letter!” He called as he moved into the house and rummaged through her cabinets for some fresh fruit.

“Twinkle Toes, we’ve been over this, I’m blind! You’re going to have to read it to me.” Toph said as she moved into the kitchen to sit at the table across from where Aang had sat to eat her food.

Aang sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, “Right. Sorry. Um, okay…” He went to unroll the scroll and promptly frowned at what he saw. ZUATARA: THE MUSICAL? Had Katara and Zuko already announced they were dating? He knew they were but they had said they would give him a warning before they told everyone so that he would be prepared for the questions about his and Katara’s own failed relationship.

“What is it?” Toph asked curiously as she noticed Aang heartbeat pick up.

“Um.” He had yet to tell Toph that Katara and Zuko were dating and he wasn’t sure it was his place to do so. But if they can publish a play about it, surely he could tell Toph.

“King Bumi sent a script of a play. Um, a musical to be exact.”

Toph’s face brightened, “Really! What is it this time!? He sent me a few leaflets a few weeks ago, I’ve been waiting for more!” [pretend that braille is a thing back then and that king bumi normally sends her stories made with earth that has braille on it :)]

Aang scratched the back of his head again, “Zutara.” He mumbled quietly. He was surprised when Toph’s smile got even wider.

“No way! Did they finally get their crap together? Or is it just another romance scroll that ships them?”

Aang spluttered, “another romance scroll? You mean there’s more of Zuko and Katara?”

Toph schooled her features, “No. There is none of Zuko and Katara. Speaking of which, how are you and Katara doing, by the way?”

She noticed his heartbeat pick up again and wondered if that was a good or bad thing.

“We uh—well we broke up I guess? We were never really official, but I had assumed we would be together, but she rejected me several weeks ago because she said her and Zuko were dating…” He trailed off at Toph’s excited, “Alright!!”

He stared at her for a moment until she continued, “I mean. I’m sorry you and Sugar Queen didn’t work out Twinkle Toes, but really it’s for the best. No offence. Zuko and Katara have been dancing around their feelings for each other for ages and then when he took that bolt of lightening for her, I just knew they would be together! But anyways, how are you handling this?”

“I mean, I’m okay now. It was hard at first because it was so unexpected but then they said they would wait to tell everyone so I could have some time to get myself together. Guess that only meant a few weeks though if they are okay with a musical being made about them.”

“No way, this has Snoozles written all over it. I bet he found out and wanted to mess with them.”

Aang hadn’t considered that Sokka did not know yet, but if he had found out, he was sure Sokka would do something to cause drama. There was a lull in the conversation as Toph and Aang both thought about what the musical meant.

“There’s only one way to find out if they’re telling people.”

Aang sighed, “We have to go, don’t we?”

Toph let out a decidedly more girly grunt then Aang had ever heard her make and she jumped up from the table, “Let’s go see a musical!!”

Aang smirked, “You’re blind Sifu Toph, you can’t see a musical.”

“Spirits, Aang, you can see, can’t you? So my point still stands! Maybe we’ll even get a seat on the ground floor so I can see!”

Aang shook his head while Toph ran back towards her room to begin packing. He was excited to be getting a short break but seeing a musical about how his forever girl chose someone else was not what he had in mind. Oh well, Toph would need someone to steer Appa.

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Uncle Iroh had bought 2 extra tickets for the musical. He had received letters from Piandao and Pakku stating they would be coming this weekend to catch the musical. He wrote back saying he secured a seat for them both, while ignoring Pakku’s questions about his nephew and Pakku’s granddaughter’s relationship. Pakku would find out soon enough.

He also secured enough bags of fireflakes to enjoy throughout the play, along with some ginseng tea for himself. Dinner and a show were Iroh’s cup of tea.

He noticed that Sokka had also secured two extra tickets, though Iroh was not sure whether it was for Toph and Aang or perhaps Suki and someone else. But he would find out soon enough.

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Katara’s POV:

Zuko and Katara had debated on whether or not they should go. If they went, they could play off the musical as a joke, but if they didn’t there would be no news to confirm it either. In the end, Sokka had convinced them to go so he could brag about his playwriting skills, even if Katara thought it was weird that her brother wrote a romance play about her.

Sokka had also warned her that Aang and Toph would be coming, which worried Katara, at least for Aang’s sake, but also upped their credibility if they decided to play it off as a funny musical with no truth to it.

None-the-less she was excited to have almost the whole gang together again, even if for something as stupid as a musical. Though, Katara thought it was a better reason to be together than because of a raging war.

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

It was now the first showing of ZUTARA: A MUSICAL and Sokka was thriving.

He was an hour early to his written show and already half the auditorium was filled. He had also gone backstage to see how the Ember Island Players created costumes and such, and they had done spectacular, though Zuko’s scar was still on the wrong side. Sokka thought that added comedic effect so he left it be.

Just then someone punched him in the arm, making his spill his bag of fireflakes.

“Ow! Watch it— oh, its you.” He said to Toph petulantly.

Toph grinned, “Hello Snoozles. How’s the play coming?”

Sokka grinned, “It’s great the costumes are amazing! They left Zuko’s scar on the wrong side like before.”

Toph chuckled, “Classic. Now where’s Sugar Queen and Sparky?”

“Zuko’s coming with Iroh later and Katara went to the bathroom. She thought it’d be better for them to come separately.”

Toph raised her eyebrows, “Wait so they aren’t dating?”

“Shh!!” Sokka whispered, though no one was around their families seat since Zuko let them sit in a Royal Suite. He then leaned closer to Toph to continue their conversation, “They are dating but they don’t want to announce it yet. And anyways, where’s Aang? I thought he was coming?”

“He went to get some more fireflakes.”

Sokka pouted, “I wish I had fireflakes, but somebody just had to punch them out of my hand!”

Toph snickered, “Stop whining. You’re a guest to the FireLord, just order someone to get some more for you.”

Sokka looked aghast, “I’m not going to order them to do it, I’ll just ask Aang for some of his. We can share like old times.”

Toph smiled lightly, “Hopefully this play will end better than the other one.”

“If they kept my ending the same, it should.” Sokka assured.

Just then Katara, Aang, and Pakku walked in. Sokka was surprised to see his step-grandfather in the fire nation.

“Pakku?! What are you doing here?”

Sokka stood to greet him and noticed him eyeballing Katara and Aang chatting amicably in the doorway.

Pakku smiled slightly, “I came to see if the rumor about my granddaughter was true, though judging by her and Aang, I’d say they are not.”

Sokka replied after he hugged Pakku, “Oh no. They are, the people just don’t know it yet, so if you could keep it on the down low that’d be great.”

Pakku looked at Sokka like he was 400-foot-tall purple platypus-bear with pink horns and silver wings.

“What do you mean they’re true!?! Katara is dating Zuko, the FIRELORD!?” Pakku’s outrage was met with four people shushing him before Katara came over to explain.

“Pakku, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, but we wanted to work everything out first and then tell the tribe. No body else knows besides those in this booth, so please don’t tell anyone else, not even Gran-Gran.”

Pakku opened his mouth to argue until Aang came up and hugged him. “Long time no see Master Pakku. How are things in the Poles?”

That was enough to distract Pakku for the moment, which Katara was thankful for.

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Zuko had on his casual FireLord Tunic, instead of the entire ensemble. Uncle Iroh had said casual wear would be fine for the night since it was not a peace meeting or something like it. It was just a night on the town.

Even so, Zuko kept fidgeting with the edge of his sleeves. He was so nervous. He didn’t want to make a mistake and accidently kiss Katara in front of everyone and he also didn’t know how the play would turn out. It was nerve-wracking, especially knowing Pakku and Piandao were also here to see the play about a rumored romance regarding himself.

He thought it really weird.

As he walked beside Uncle and Piandao into the Ember Island auditorium and up the steps to the royal suite, he couldn’t help but get more nervous as camera’s shuttered around them. [I don’t know if cameras were a thing back then but if LOK can have everything they did, surely some type of camera would have been invented, even if it’s a crappy one]

He made sure to stand tall and not look directly at them so he could avoid any unwanted questioning and when he made it into the suite, he sat in between Sokka and Uncle so that no one would suspect anything of his and Katara.

But it was so hard.

He really wanted to hold her hand or something, but with Pakku behind him and the possibility of someone seeing him, he didn’t risk it.

And it seemed Sokka was enjoying his torture because he kept throwing slick glances his way and then failing to suppress a smirk.

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

Katara chewed on her lip as the lights finally went down. She was worried about Pakku threatening Zuko, about the play, and about what the public would say. She hoped they would accept them being together, but she knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Especially because she was a waterbender from the South Pole.

Either way, she pushed these thoughts aside to focus on what Sokka called his “creative genius”.

His creative genius disappointed her as her character’s first song was about hope. She threw Sokka a hard glare as she noticed both him and Zuko trying to suppress their laughter. They weren’t very good at it, and when Toph starting laughing loudly, they too burst into uncontrollable laughter. She smacked both of them on the back of the head and then faced forward with her arms crossed. She thought she even heard Aang giggling and that just made it all worse.

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

Several scenes later and now Katara was the one smirking. The play had Zuko’s character singing about teen angst and turtle ducks, which she found hilarious because only Zuko’s friends would know that the angsty Firelord truly adored turtle ducks.

Her, Sokka, and Aang all shared a look before glancing at Zuko and when his face shifted into a scowl, they couldn’t help but burst into raucous laughter, with Uncle Iroh, Piandao, and Toph joining in.

Zuko scowled even further.

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

It seemed Sokka had based a lot of the story from real life events that were dramatized.

Instead of Aunt Wu predicting she’d marry a “powerful bender”, he changed it to a “powerful firebender” but then ended that scene with Aunt Wu being wrong about everything so Katara wasn’t sure why Sokka would even change it if he was just going to discredit Aunt Wu anyways.

He had Zuko save Katara from falling rocks, but instead of her real reply of “Okay, you can get off me now!” Sokka changed it to, “Oh Zuko! You have given me rock hard hope!” Causing everyone to groan and Katara to flick Sokka on the harm.

Instead of Zuko saying “I’m never happy”, Sokka changed it to “I’m only happy with Katara.” The actor for Zuko had added a dramatic hair flip after he said the line, which had Katara giggling.

At one point, Sokka had written Zuko singing a song with the phrase, “That’s rough buddy” after each character of Team Avatar revealed something that had happened before Zuko joined the group. Both Zuko and Sokka had shared a glance and a laugh when that happened, though Katara wasn’t sure what the significance was.

Really, the play was overly dramatic and ridiculous, but it was quite funny, especially if you knew what actually happened and knew Sokka changed it to be lighter than it actually was at the time. It helped Katara think back on those hard days without as much sadness as she normally had when she thought about them.

Nearing the end, Katara was thankful that Sokka had not included Zuko being struck with lightening from his own sister…Katara didn’t know if any of them could handle that, but especially not the members of the Fire Nation Royal Family.

The closing scene was very ambiguous, which Katara was grateful for. It would make playing it off as a joke much easier.

It ended much how the end of the war had, with Zuko and Aang speaking to the crowd and Suki, Sokka, Toph, and herself holding hands behind them while they finished their song about peace.

The final note ended and the entire theatre blew up in applause and whistles. Eventually, the audience stood up and continued their praise, with Sokka bowing theatrically even though no one knew he had written the play.

Katara politely clapped while she caught Zuko’s eye. He nodded his head at her and she smiled back at him.

As the group descended the stairs from the Royal Booth, they were surrounded by a large crowd of people asking questions. The main one being if Katara and Zuko were a couple. One person even asked if Toph and Aang were a couple, which had both of the young teens blushing furiously.

Zuko’s only comment was that the musical was very well written and he hoped that whoever the playwright was, they had more in store for the Ember Island players.

Katara said the play was dramatic and that the humor was a lot like her brother’s.

The group thought they were in the clear and headed towards the main doors…

until Uncle Iroh stopped Katara in front of the ostrich horses they rode on and very publicly asked her if she would be joining his nephew for dinner tonight, leaving everyone to groan and the reporters to swarm again.

THE END :)

also, thank you to @clarensjoy for teaching me how to do the “keep reading” thing lol it helped a lot.

#zutara #not canon compliant #ember island players #uncle iroh bc i love mr. tea man #make tea not war #atla #gaang #hehe #:)#thanks for the prompt

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silentauroriamthereal · 3 years

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Author interview tag

I was tagged by @therealsaintscully! Thanks, you! :)

Name: SilentAuror

Fandoms: Just Sherlock, though I also follow some Old Guard blogs. :)

Where you post: AO3. Though I was almost knocked over the other day when I got a comment on an old HP fic over on skyehawke.com! It’s been literal YEARS since I got a review on anything over there! :P

Most popular multi-chapter fic: Against the Rest of the World for sure. :)

Favourite story you’ve written so far: With 87 posted fics and 2 more currently on the go, I can’t possibly answer that. That’s cruel. Lol.

Fic you were nervous to post: This, on the other hand, is easy, haha! Three stories, all for very different reasons:

1. The A.G.R.A Complex. This was my first Freebatch fic and I thought I might well be burnt at the stake for even writing any RPF. The notion for this story caught my muses’ attention, though, and they eventually forced me to write it against my will. I can’t be held responsible. Lol. It still amazes me that people continue to read it to this day. The notion: Martin and Benedict are friends. There’s a car accident and Martin suffers a fairly mild brain injury. While in his coma, dreams the entire first three seasons of Sherlock, which in this universe, haven’t happened. The nature of the brain injury is such that he keeps shifting mentally between the reality of who he and Benedict (and Amanda) are, and seeing himself and everyone else as their characters in the Sherlock universe. When I posted it, I intended it to be left up to the reader whether to see it as kind of an AU to actual reality, or else a prequel to the filming of Sherlock. When I finally decided to write a sequel, it meant that I had to be the one to make that clear, which made it a prequel. It became a three-part series, with the second part set during and just after the filming of series 3 (the dodgiest in the moral sense, since it dances around and into real life events), and then the third story takes place ten years later.

2. The Final Proof. Why? Easy. Major character death, and it’s Sherlock. That’s clear from about the first sentence, I think. I had written At the Heart of it All, which features Sherlock running an experiment using the hearts of people who lived lives where they had loved and been loved, and people who hadn’t in an effort to prove his own ability to love to John. He says something at the end of that story about wishing he could see his own heart at the end of their life to see which of the hearts his own resembled by then. And then my muses, my terrible, terrible muses said, “hey... you could write that: you know: Sherlock at the very end of his life, making John promise to look at his heart after he’s died, and complete his experiment.” I, like, teared up just at the thought, and honestly, I cried for most of the writing of that story. I’m assured that about 99% of the people who have read it have also cried throughout, so... sorry. Yeah.

3. Scars. Why? Easy, again: the entire story is riddled with gaslighting and other types of emotional abuse and mind-fuckery, and an actual rape scene. It was painful to the point of being interally corrosive to write, but I still felt it was a story I needed to tell. I did my homework on this one, consulted multiple therapists who work specifically in the field of men who have been absued (emotionally, physically, sexually) by female partners. I thought no one would read it. I thought I might lose half my followers on tumblr. But I still wrote it. It still amazes me that people read it, even more when they actually like it, and still like me after. Lol.

How you choose your titles: Hmm... each title genesis is different, I would say! Sometimes it’s a general theme of the story, sometimes it’s a specific concept or single word, occasionally (but not often) it’s a song title. Sometimes it’s another language, particularly Latin. In The A.G.R.A Complex, the title of the story is also the name that the neurologists given to the brain injury Martin experiences. Vena Cava is titled for the name of the vein that Mary’s bullet punctured in Sherlock’s heart, based on a medical analysis I had read. Scars takes its theme from both Sherlock’s external scars from what he went through during his time away, and John’s internal scars from Mary’s emotional abuse. I also have a whole series of (unrelated) flower-themed stories: The Green Carnations comes from ACD era coding for homosexuality. The Yellow Poppies is the story I wrote after the deleted scene about Magnussen’s hospital visit came out, which features both he and Mary as dual villains, and yellow poppies placed in Sherlock’s room as a threat from one or the other of them. The White Lotuses has a leitmotif of Hinduism and slow-blooming self-awareness and romance. The Red Roses is a Molly POV where she helps Sherlock and John get together in spite of her own feelings, and The Wisteria Tree is an amnesia story that has Sherlock forget the past six years of his life, including the five years that he’s been married to John, and how they find their way back together in spite of that. Rosa Felicia - bonus, both a flower name AND Latin, lol! - is a coming-of-age story about Rosie at the age of 19. Where My Demons Hide is a mid-series 4 story that I wrote after The Lying Detective aired, but before The Final Problem did, and is the title of an Imagine Dragons song. Pater Noster is Latin for the title of the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, but also quite literally just means “our father”, and is a story that centres around the events surrounding the death (murder) of John and Harry’s father. You get the gist.

Do you outline: I always say that one should know how a story begins, how it ends, and at least a few of the major points between those two events. So yes, but loosely. I think that over-plotting kills creativity. It’s not an essay. But even essays need space to grow.

Complete: 105 stories back in my skyehawke days, the vast majority of which are HP, totalling in about 1.5 million words. 87 stories in the Sherlock fandom (though those include my 4 Freebatch fics), totalling in over 2.3 million words now.

In progress: I have two stories currently pending: a Christmas story called The Secret of Hazel Grange, and a trauma-based, co-sleeping fic called Nocturne.

Coming soon/not yet started: I never comment about fics I haven’t yet started. Might curse the entire process, lol.

Do you accept prompts: No, alas. Neither prompts nor commissions. While I’m constantly desperately poor, it takes something out of the writing process for me once it becomes a job. I just feel like that’s not what fanfic is about for me. No judgement to anyone else who does write for commissions, whatsoever - we all have our own process! For me, I’m happy (make that incredibly grateful!) to have donations or supporters through my Patreon (eep: x), but writing to order just doesn’t quite jive for me. I also don’t take prompts, not because I don’t want them, but because I have such a huge backlog of my own ideas that I’ll never get to as it is. There will never be enough time to write all the fics I want to write! That said, don’t think that you can’t still suggest your ideas. My “official policy” (lol) is that I don’t take prompts (for the aforementioned backlog reason), but that doesn’t mean that if you do send me one, my muses won’t seize upon it and force me to write it. You never know. I certainly don’t, at least. :P

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: I’m super excited by the notion of actually getting my Christmas fic finished by Christmas. Lol. Here’s hoping!!

Tagging: Anyone who reads this and is a writer, or thinking about becoming one. You’ve been tagged!

#writer stuff #memes and things #sherlock #johnlock #silentauror

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Atlantis 6

Previously on Atlantis

The moment she woke, Clarke kept her eyes closed and just listened, realizing that things were not what she’d expected. She felt the familiar weight of her blankets, and she smelled the smell of her parent’s house, the smell as old as time, that she often never noticed, but after being removed for so long, inhaled greedily as she dug her face in her pillow.

There were noises downstairs that finally registered before she opened her eyes, held her breath, and hid in the pillows. She heard some clamor of her parents making breakfast, coffee steam sifting up through the vents. She heard the squeak and chatter of some birds in the trees outside her window. For a moment, Clarke pretended that she was miles underwater, and there might be a beautiful girl awkwardly standing outside her door.

But there wasn’t, and there wouldn’t be. Clarke rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling before digging the heel of her hands into her eyes and sighing. A day ago, she was in a beautiful palace, and now she was back at her parent’s house, without a job, without a career, without a mentor, without any idea of what was to come forward.

Her body was completely healed, a feat that was mind-blowing considering her wounds and condition after the explosion and being stranded at sea. But now, when it was quiet, and she was safe in the familiar, Clarke realized the massive grief heaped upon her, that surviving came at a cost.

When it got to be too much, when she cried silent tears that covered her face and left her chest fluttering and aching, Clarke wiped her face and took a few deep breaths, hoping to find some sort of center amidst the flood of absolute pain that washed over her entire body. She wanted to take another sleeping pill and pass out until her heart didn’t hurt anymore, but that seemed unwise.

As soon as she made it down the stairs and stepped into the kitchen, Clarke realized she’d made a horrible mistake and should have stayed in bed.

“Clarke! Oh my God!”

“We were--”

“I’m so glad you’re--”

“You look!”

The chorus of voices erupted and she took a step back, confused and overwhelmed by the outpouring of her closest friends as they began to circle and reach out and smother.

“Okay, okay, back up everyone,” Abby jumped in carefully, keeping the horde from her terror-stricken daughter. “Give her a moment to breathe. I’m sure she’s not used to being around people, they had her in isolation due to exposure during the explosion.”

“But luckily, she didn’t come in contact with any of the pathogens she was studying,” Jake smiled graciously behind the island as he added more pancakes to the pile forming on the large breakfast display. “Better safe than sorry though.”

“You should have seen your mom. I think she nearly got arrested for trying to break into a government installation,” Raven offered with a smile as Abby hit her shoulder.

“Come sit,” Octavia hurried, clearing more of a path. “You must be hungry.”

“Not really,” Clarke smiled softly and took the seat anyway.

The friends shared a look as Clarke sat there and looked at the display of everyone trying to be normal. Abby hovered, rubbing her daughter’s back, soothing away the worries that remained. No one knew about the ten minutes ago, where she broke down and clawed at her chest in her bed. No one.

“Your appetite will come back,” her mother promised. “Let me make you a little plate. Everyone can dig in. Your friends have been anxiously waiting to see you.”

The general hubbub of people moving about the kitchen really only settled well after Clarke had a plate set in front of her. She ate a blueberry and nodded, smiling at her mother to tell her not to worry. It felt like before, like how it always was, since middle school, the whole gang fighting over this and that, piling over each other to eat. Even when college and life took them different ways, they were never far off. There was something grounding in it, just like her sheets, just like the noises of the morning.

“So what happened, Clarke? We only heard bits and pieces on the news,” Raven explained between mouthfuls of Jake’s famous pancakes. “They kept repeating the same things, over and over again.”

“What did they say?”

Clarke already knew the story. She’d been held in a government facility for six hours and briefed on how to behave and what to say. She had a business card with FBI on it and Agent Barne’s number hidden in her sock drawer.

“Just that a bad storm led to the ship sinking. I can’t imagine how bad it must have been,” Octavia shook her head. “At first they said no survivors. We all thought you were dead for seventeen hours.”

“I’m… I’m…” Clarke furrowed and shook her head, looking guiltily at her food, afraid to meet their eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“But you’re not,” Bellamy interrupted. “And you don’t have to talk about what happened.”

A pointed look was exchanged between him and the rest, warning them to behave and not push.

“There isn’t much to tell,” she shrugged, perking up a bit and deciding to pick up her fork. “The storm was bad, and then I woke up in a government hospital. I wish there was a better story. I was checking weather reports in the navigation center, and I think we hit a wave or gust and I must have hit my head and blacked out.”

“It’s not every day that a concussion is a blessing,” Jake offered, finally taking his seat with the rest. “But it must have saved you.”

“A blessing,” Clarke repeated, contemplating the word for a moment before taking a big bite of breakfast. “Like these pancakes. I feel better already.”

The group chuckled and refused to talk about the accident again, while Clarke ate and smiled until she couldn’t any longer. She explained that she was still a little drowsy, and wanted to lay down. Every person promised to be back and see her again, demanding that she call if she needed anything at all. With grateful and long and tight hugs, her lifelong friends filed out as Clarke slipped upstairs.

It truly was exhausting, to finally think about it, to remember the storm and her colleagues and all of the people who died. The numbness-- that was the true blessing of Atlantis. There wasn’t time to grieve when her body was overloaded with stimuli, unlike now, where everything was mundane and allowed her to think.

Clarke slipped into her childhood bed again, and she pulled the blanket over her head, rolling into herself tightly before drifting off to an uneasy sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

For about a full week, Clarke existed in a fairly mundane routine of recover that all at once suited her and drove her nuts. Simultaneously, she felt prepared to do something-- anything-- and yet, could not imagine doing anything other than nothing. Her body and mind and soul needed time to come back, and she knew it. It didn’t make it any easier for her to stomach, but she begrudgingly listened.

Every morning she got up and had a special breakfast her father made, even though her appetite was minimal and favored banalities. And then she would take a walk, sometimes with a friend, sometimes alone before coming home to shower and read or watch tv before a nap. Usually someone came by in the afternoon before dinner to occupy her, keep her busy, keep her doing something. Then came a family dinner, every night, her mother arriving right on time to join them. Dinner led to a movie, which then led to sleep.

It was a safe and easy schedule in which she didn’t talk about anything with anyone.

Until the arrival of the invitations for the funerals for the people finally confirmed dead after the concluded investigation into the crash and retrieval of bodies from the water, an initiative led by the Atlanteans as a gesture of good faith.

Two weeks after her return, Clarke found her schedule consisting of funerals, nearly every day, each more difficult than the last, but as the final crewmember standing, as the only representative of her research team, she sat there at each and remembered with everyone else, commiserating in their grief. It helped and hurt, as any cathartic thing is meant to do.

The third week she returned somewhat to her normal schedule with an intermittent funeral, the last residual ones ending quickly.

A month after her return, Clarke felt marginally normal, except that she had no idea what the future held.

It took five weeks for her to schedule an appointment with the university, despite her mother and father telling her she could take more time.

Only after six weeks, did Clarke allow herself to really think about her time in Atlantis. Most of the time, she found herself daydreaming about Lexa in some form because it was one of the few thoughts that made her feel unburdened and less heavy in her chest. But, she actively kept herself from thinking too much, often shaking away the thoughts when her mind began to drift.

After the nightly movie, and after she excused herself to sleep, Clarke sat at her desk and look at her laptop, knowing full well what was about to happen. She moved to lift the lid and then stopped, closing it and drumming her fingers along the top before looking over her shoulder at her closed door, straining her ears to hear anything.

Though it was quiet, she hurried to place an old sweatshirt near the bottom of her door to block out any light, listening again, closer to the hall, at the familiar noises of her parents getting ready to go to sleep.

Satisfied that no one would see her, Clarke ripped open her laptop, and quietly as she could type, logged in and began to type her query.

L-E-X

Backspace.

A-L-E-X-A-N

Backspace.

P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S O-F A-T-L-A-N-T-I-S

Enter.

In the dark room, the glow of the screen colored her face, but she didn’t care. She bit her lip and looked at the photos first, and upon not finding many, looked through the first few search results. Little was known about Atlantis, let alone the heir to the throne, and any pictures that existed were not good.

Mildly disappointed, Clarke slumped back in her chair and toyed with the scroll, debating what to do with no information and how deep, exactly, she was willing to dive into conspiracy theories and doctored photos.

Backspace.

A-Q-U-A-G-I-R-L

Enter.

Clarke paused only to look back at her door and close her laptop slightly, though not all the way, when she heard a sound in the hall. She held her breath and waited for her parents to go to bed before opening it fully again.

There were more search results for that name, and Clarke mildly regretted it, because the images of Lexa, in a skin-tight suit, with a weapon, was a little disorienting. And then she stood beside her father, who was, even though it was an understatement, an actual mountain of a human. Lexa had his eyes, his chin, his grin, and goodness, did she have a similar fitness regime.

Slowly making her way through the gallery, Clarke smiled to herself when she thought about Lexa, shy and with red-tipped ears, kind and gentle and soft to her for no reason at all. And then she looked at Lexa’s biceps.

“Fuck,” Clarke sighed and shook her head.

Backspace.

A-Q-U-A-G-I-R-L -B-I-C-E-P-S

Clarke hesitated before smiling to herself.

Enter.

XXXXXXXXXX

The meeting at the university didn’t turn up much good news, as the semester was just ending and the summer was approaching. With an epic catastrophe to handle and fix, the powers behind all decisions, didn’t have any answers other than to enroll Clarke the following semester to finish her degree requirements.

It was fair and just and gave Clarke time to recover and get back into thinking about existing again. Of course, Clarke found anything reasonable to be exhausting, in and of itself, and so she hated having to wait, hated losing her research, hated everything about everything that left her stuck.

Three days later, however, she found herself back at the Spindrift, unsure of why she was there, and marvelling at how it operated when it was opened. People were buzzing about, familiar with their duties, as if it hadn’t opened merely two months prior.

“It’s nice to see you again, Agent Barnes,” Clarke smiled, shaking the agents hand as she approached the waiting area.

“Thanks for coming down.”

“I don’t think I had a choice.”

Clarke looked over her shoulder at the two men that picked her up for her ‘appointment.’ When she looked back, the agent was not amused.

“You are being formally offered a position here, at the Spindrift.”

“I might formally ask why?” she furrowed and looked at the blue folder that was handed to her, complete with the seal of Atlantis on it. “I’m still in my degree program for the Masters, and haven’t decided to complete the doctorate…. Is this salary serious?”

“Government salaries are never a laughing matter.”

“I could make three times this in the private sector.”

“Yes,” the agent nodded. “And you would never work with any Atlantean healers or products ever again.”

“Why me?”

The agent opened another folder she was carrying.

“You searched Atlantis comma Princess Lexa six times,” Barnes read from the folder, dragging her finger along the words there. “And Biceps comma Aquagirl, approximately a dozen.”

The manilla folder shut quickly.

“Per the queen herself, in conjunction with your university and the United States government, you are being offered a position at the Spindrift for research in intercontinental knowledge sharing.”

Clarke furrowed and shook her head, not sure of what she was following entirely. There was certainly some mortification in there, she knew that, felt it eating her alive in front of the agent with an inability to change her inflection at all.

“I find this idea the best case scenario, and you to be a complete risk to yourself and the sanctity of Atlantis,” the agent muttered, tossing the folder on the table. “Accept it so that I can watch you behave yourself and stop doing searches online of a reclusive and dangerous foreign entity that only you have visited.”

“You… you-- you hacked my computer?”

“You are an intern and only living non-Atlantean who has been to Atlantis, of course your government is watching you.”

“But why? I don’t know anything.”

“You know enough.”

“Who else has seen this?” Clarke blushed, though she attempted to hide it as best she could. There surely was no surviving this level of mortification.

“No one.”

“Was my offer made because of-- because I know--” she paused and took a breath. “Who did this?”

“This offer was asked for by the Queen herself on behalf of one of her greatest medical researcher. Apparently you are the only person this researcher could tolerate.”

That feisty old broad, Clarke thought to herself as she shook her head.

“How is… um, how-- How is the-- uh-- How is Aquaman? I heard about a battle before--”

“You have seventy-two hours to think about this. I will only ever communicate with you regarding official matters in this office, and anything relating to activities done by Atlantean royal family are unofficial until commented upon by official state representatives.”

“You sound like a blast at parties.”

The agent didn’t move at all at the comment.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke apologized. “That was rude. You are just so-- intense.”

“I’ve worked fifteen years with the King to make this a reality. If I wasn’t intense, it would be for nothing.”

“Can I ask about, um, the Prin-- about Lexa?”

“Officially, no.”

“Unofficially?”

“Unofficially, no.”

“But you just set it up like you would say something unofficial.”

“I cannot control any inferences made.”

With growing frustration, both at the agent and herself, Clarke pursed her lips and looked down at the seal on the folder. It was something, and some sort of direction in a time when she very badly needed it.

“Unofficially,” the agent finally started, lowering her voice. “Just save the pictures. Why would you keep searching the same thing?”

“After a brief, embarrassed pause, Clarke nodded and looked back at the agent.

“I’ll look this over and get back to you. Unofficially or officially or whatever, thank the Queen, if you see her.”

The agent nodded instead of arguing, nudging her head slightly so the agents would continue to escort the scientist back toward the entrance.

XXXXXXXXXX

Three months after her shipwreck and rescue to an untouched land, hidden in the depths of the sea by a beautiful princess with a mythical bloodline and inheritance in the shape of a trident, Clarke sat at her desk in a very small cubicle, in a very small office, with six other research associates.

It was a very tedious job for the first few weeks, and just on the horizon was the actual research that Clarke hoped would lead to figuring out what the healer did to heal her so quickly, and if she could figure out how to help other people.

There was an element of escapism to worke each day, enough that Clarke found herself staying late to avoid her worried family’s glances and the mothering that all of her friends did. It was appreciated but also extremely stifling for someone who was stubborn and willingly admitted it.

“You heading out soon?” Wells asked as he shouldered his bag and looked over the cubicle wall to see Clarke’s small desk, covered with pictures of Atlantean books.

“Yeah, in a bit,” Clarke nodded, not looking up from the notebook she was writing something down quickly.

“I could wait around and we could go grab dinner. There’s this great place in town. Only like fifteen minutes from the main gate.”

“I’m not sure how long a bit is going to be. I want to finish looking at this property sheet before we get samples next week.”

Kind and bright, Wells was a soft-spoken doctoral student with a knack for keeping an eye on Clarke without being overbearing. Always firmly pressed in his khakis and tucked primly with his button downs, he hid behind thick-rimmed glasses, but ran marathons. He wasn’t overwhelming in the eye he kept on his co-worked. Sometimes, Clarke thought he might even fancy her a little bit.

When Wells didn’t say anything, Clarke looked up and offered a smile as he debated the next step for the evening.

“Get out of here,” Clarke told him. “I won’t be too much longer, and some quiet will help me.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have a good weekend.”

Clarke watched him nod and returned to her work, doing her best to transcribe an ancient language with limited training and the most basic knowledge of what some of the ancient plants used. She felt like an archaeologist, investigating something she would never truly understand, and yet she’d been there. She’d heard the words spoken.

The ‘little bit’ she mentioned gradually turned into a while, and the evening settled outside on the water, calming it until the waves were nearly non-existent. There was still a fading light outside when Clarke closed her notebook and shut her laptop for the evening, and it only truly disappeared after she shouldered her bag and shoved in a few folders to work on over the weekend.

With a final look around the office, Clarke nodded and made her way to the door, preparing for two long days of her parents making sure she was alright. She needed her own place, and enough space to stop thinking about--

“Lexa?”

The same smile, the same caught look in her eyes, the same stance, the same eyes-- the entire package looked back at Clarke expectantly. Gone were the formal Atlantean clothes, and in their place was simple jeans and an old sailor’s sweater, a shoulder lovingly patched by expert hands. Gone were the intricate braids and armor, and instead a wild mane perched itself atop Lexa’s head, blown about by the wind and her hands in equal measure.

“You’re here late.”

“You’re here.”

“You said you’d be close.”

Without meaning to, Clarke took a step forward before catching herself. Lexa tucked her arms behind her back, ever vigilant to remain proper and royal.

“Have you eaten?” Clarke finally broke the quiet.

“You were my first stop after my grandfather’s. I don’t know my way around land that well.”

“I’m honored.”

“Care to show me around?”

The question came with a grin, and Lexa extended her elbow willingly, waiting for Clarke to take it again as she hadn in the Hanging Gardens. That was all she needed, to remember that it hadn’t been a dream, that three days, three months ago happened.

There really wasn’t a question to it at all.

Clarke nodded, smiled, and took the arm offered to her, and whatever else would come attached.

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