#not much thoughts to put here bc all my rambling was left in the ao3 end notes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch2

[My parents don’t get up until seven, and they’re in the lab by eight. They typically don’t leave the lab until after I get home.] Danny says as he leads Damian into the kitchen, the automated voice of the translator AI cutting through the air easily. Damian stuck close to his side, eyes narrow and a snooty look of disdain stamped on his face like a printing press while his eyes flit around the room.

The kid had woken up immediately upon Danny shuffling out from beneath his desk, and he had to scurry back to avoid being skewered by Damian’s katana. He bumped into his desk in the process, and the muffled thud it made against the wall had Danny praying that his parents wouldn’t wake up from the noise.

(“I should’ve confiscated that.” He muttered, gripping the table with white knuckles and mouth pursed into a thin line. The business end of Damian’s katana staring him in the nose.)

(He should’ve expected the baby assassin to sleep lighter than a feather. His mistake, of course. Damian realized quickly after where he was, thankfully, so Danny didn’t have to fight him off in his room. The noise and mess that would make would have surely woken up his parents, and he still hasn’t come up with an excuse as to why Damian was even there.)

So now with Damian awake, Danny decided to just go ahead and give him a quick tour of the house so that he knew where everything was. Fuuuck, it was only setting in now that he had to leave the kid home, alone, all day.

(Maybe things will be fine. Murphy screwed him over already with this, he has other people to torment, surely. Like the other heroes, for example.)

Wherever Damian’s ‘League of Assassins’ was situated, it was probably ten times nicer than Danny’s house. That is, if Danny’s assumption from the look on Damian’s face was correct.

Breathing out through his nose, Danny leads Damian over to the fridge, his fingers digging into the phone screen again. [I don’t have an excuse ready for why you’re here, so please don’t get seen by them. They spend all day in the lab so you should be able to roam the house freely.]

He feels like the butler from a period drama set telling the down-on-her-wealth noble lady the rules of the manor, while she was staying with a fabulously wealthy nobleman of higher standing. It felt ridiculous. But it was unfortunately necessary, he can’t imagine what kind of reaction his parents would have to Damian — and what kind of reaction Damian would have to his parents.

Damian scowls at him and says something in Arabic, spitting it out like acid while his arms cross over his chest grumpily. Danny stops and turns to him fully, raising a deadpan eyebrow. Damian repeats what he said, looking at Danny like he wants him to spontaneously burst into flames.

They stare at each other for thirty, uncomfortable seconds, with Danny keeping his deadpan steady, before finally he silently holds his phone out. Damian breaks their staring contest to look down, and his surly expression deepens.

Grumbling under his breath, Damian snags it out of his hand. Danny counts his fingers as he pulls his hand away.

(When he counts all five still there, he drops his arm back to his side.)

[I will stay hidden, for now.] Damian spits out, looking supremely disgruntled. It’s kind of endearing, but endearing the same way a tiger cub was. Cute, but undoubtedly dangerous. Rather than handing back his phone, Damian speaks into it again. [But figure out what to tell them. I am above hiding.]

“Planning on it.” Danny mutters, nodding sharply before taking back his phone and turning back to the fridge. Before he even takes the handle, Danny pushes his hair from his face and leans forward, pressing his ear to the door. The metal is cold on his cheek, but he barely pays it to mind.

Ecto-contaminated food didn’t have nearly enough of a signature to fully trigger his ghost sense, but it did make a strange, buzz-humming sound that felt more internal than external. Like the sensation that Danny himself was humming instead.

From his peripherals, Danny can see Damian staring at him with unconcealed bewilderment, his apparent surliness temporarily forgotten in favor of looking at Danny like he was an idiot. “Madha tafaeala?”

In lieu of answering, Danny just holds up a finger at Damian. Something the little dude really doesn’t appreciate, as he immediately scowls at Danny and makes that ‘myeh’-like expression that kids do when they’re trying to give someone they don’t like attitude without actually saying anything. The one that, as far as Danny is concerned, doesn’t have a real term for but everyone knows what it is anyway.

Either way, Damian makes a face at him that does, briefly, succeed in irritating Danny. He says nothing and cranes his ears instead, trying to catch if there’s any internal buzzing coming from inside the fridge. His hand drifts instinctively to the counter, where he and Jazz had moved the knife block for this exact reason.

…Will he have to hide this with Damian here? He hopes not, the last time the knife block got moved he forgot, and had to strangle a half-eaten chicken from the fridge after it came back with fowl vengeance.

When he doesn’t hear or feel anything out of the ordinary, he leans back and swings the door open with ease. Rows upon rows of liquid-jellied-solidified-whatever-it-was-feeling-at-the-time ectoplasm sat in glass canisters, tupperware, and bottles on the shelves. Glowing green in between the stuff that was actually food, and washing a buzz over Danny like someone just draped him in a weighted blanket.

(He should clarify. Ectoplasm does exhibit its own signature that’s too weak to signal his ghost sense, but that buzzing-humming feels more like the painless tingling of when part of his spine falls asleep. Except everywhere, and the feeling is heavier in his head. It’s oddly comforting. Nostalgic; like the smell after the snow’s freshly melted and the weather is warm. It is very much not like the ominous, buzzing-humming-intent of a partially reanimated chicken that’s regained some of its sentience and wanted revenge.)

Behind him, Damian makes some kind of squeaking sound. Or maybe it’s more like a yelp. Either way, it’s alarmed and loud enough that Danny turns around with half a jumping heart and a ‘shush’ on the tip of his tongue.

“Ladayk ma' lieazir!” Damian hisses, pointing behind Danny at the canisters behind him. Damian’s eyes narrow into slits, and he hunches up like a stray cat that’s been cornered. “Min 'ayn hasalt ealaa ma' lieazir?!”

Danny follows the point of his finger, and sees the ectoplasm canisters behind him. “The ectoplasm?” He asks aloud, looking back at Damian in bewilderment.

Apprehension tightens slowly in his chest. Damian used that word again — and Danny only catches it because it was what Damian had been calling him last night, in the warehouse. He thought it meant ‘stranger’ or something — but, he glances back at the ectoplasm in the fridge.

Was Damian calling him ectoplasm?

He knows what ectoplasm was?

What had been a steady tightening in his chest suddenly fastens like a noose. Danny reaches for one of the canisters just to make sure, and Damian watches him tersely as he curls a hand around one of the canisters and pulls it forward. He doesn’t take it off the shelf, but he does gesture slightly with it. “This?” He asks, “The ectoplasm. Is this what you’re talking about?” He knows he has a translator on his phone, but he doesn’t think he’ll need it for this.

He recalls the word Damian used, and frowns. “The- the lazeer? Laziere?” It’s an embarrassing attempt at trying to repeat it, but Damian understands what he’s saying anyways and nods sharply.

“Niema, ma' lieazir. Kif lidayk.”

Danny really doesn’t like that Damian knows what ectoplasm is, and he really doesn’t like the idea that his League of Assassins place knows about it too, and seemingly has access to the physical stuff. This feels too much like going swimming in the ocean and feeling something brush against his foot.

Now he really needs to make sure that Damian never makes it back to the League. The idea of a bunch of assassins finding out that his parents can make ectoplasmic weapons terrifies him, just a smidge. (Just what has he gotten himself into?)

Putting the canister down and pushing it away from the ledge, Danny reaches for the milk instead, his heart beating uncomfortably in his ears. A discomfited “Hn.” comes out under his breath as he plucks the jug off the shelf and shuts the door, it closes a little more forcibly than normal. Danny reaches for his phone.

The word ectoplasm doesn’t translate into Arabic, he checks before he says anything. Danny reaches over Damian to put the milk on the table as he types, still frowning uneasily. [It’s ghost stuff.] He says, and then says aloud: “Ectoplasm.”

“Ec-to-plasm.” Damian repeats curtly, lip curling. Danny nods curtly.

Rather than repeating himself, Danny types into his phone again. [You’re not allowed in the lab without me. Don’t touch the ghost stuff in the fridge, it’s dangerous.] He says, [I was listening to the fridge because the food likes to come alive and attack, if you need food from the fridge, grab a knife.] He’ll try and show Damian how to listen for reanimated food later, it’s a little harder without a ghost sense but the food moves, so he’ll show him how to listen for that.

Damian scoffs; “'Adhhab hayth 'urid 'ayuha almuhtal.” and reaches out to take the phone from his hand.

Rather than letting him, Danny pirouettes away, holding his phone over his head, “Nah-ah-ah.” He says, watching Damian’s face twist indignantly into anger. [We’ll talk more later, I want breakfast and you’re probably hungry.]

(Is he avoiding? Absolutely, he is. But it’s early, and Danny is much too tired to entertain the impending doom sinking into his chest like snow caving in a roof. He needs to do something about the information that a league of assassins has access to ectoplasm, but that something is… being put on the backburner for now.)

(Maybe he’s just catastrophizing — he’s gotten pretty good at that over the years. Maybe he’s putting too much weight on the idea; maybe he’s just sleep deprived. No, he’s definitely sleep deprived. Either way, he’s putting a pin in the murder group for now.)

Danny turns for the pantry, and takes about one step before he remembers the phone in his hand. Twisting around, he plops it onto the table for Damian, and then marches over to the pantry for the cereal.

The oven clock reads six-twenty-eight, and that doesn’t have Danny feeling all that great. He said earlier that his parents got up at seven, so they only have thirty-two minutes before then. Then another ten or so before his parents come down for breakfast. Mom takes the shower first, and dad comes downstairs to get started on breakfast. Sometimes it's cereal, but he likes making eggs if they haven’t been irradiated.

The pantry swings open and Danny pulls out a box of cereal, his brows furrowed in thought. Dad will want to talk to him if he sees him — so it’s for the best that Danny and Damian finish eating before dad makes it to the hallway. He turns and glances at the time again. Six-thirty. Thirty minutes. He puts the box onto the table and grabs their bowls and spoons.

There’s a look of apprehension on Damian’s face as he puts everything down, his fingers curled around Danny’s phone. His eyes flick up to Danny, and then he holds up his phone. [Is this what you eat?] He asks, before eyeing the table again.

Danny can’t stop the quiet snort that escapes him, his thoughts quieting for a moment as he slides into his chair, before reaching over and plucking the phone out of Damian’s hand. [Sorry bud, it’s all we’ve got time for before my parents get up.]

Damian makes a disgruntled face, and sits down.

(He idly makes a mental note to wrangle out of Damian later what kind of foods he likes. He’s not too bad at cooking. He’s better than Jazz, at least.)

—-----

They make it back up to Danny’s room by six-fifty-two, just as Danny hears his parents shuffling around in their room. They’re up a little earlier than normal. His mom’s limb, quieter footsteps already padding for the master bathroom. Danny is closing the door when he hears a familiar thud, and the low, sleepy groan of his dad sitting up and putting his feet on the ground.

Damian bounds away and is already situated on Danny’s bed when he turns around, fingers snatching his katana from beneath the pillows before he turns and sits stiffly with it in his lap.

It was a bit of a ridiculous sight: despite being awake for nearly an hour, Damian’s bed-head hadn’t changed a bit, with a tangled bunch of curls jutting out from one side of his head. Pair that with him still wearing Danny’s NASA tee (and being swamped in it), and the katana, and Danny was half tempted to snap a picture. Again, he was finding himself endeared.

He does end up sneaking that picture as he strides over to his closet to rummage for clothes.

[I’ll try and think of a way to get you home.] He lies as he shifts through the shirts on the hangers, typing with his thumb, and tilted halfway with his phone jutting out for Damian to hear. [But that’s gonna take a while, so we should get you some different clothes soon.] There was no way he was letting this kid wear the same thing every day, this might take weeks.

He yanks a yellow turtleneck that Tucker got him off the hanger and tosses it out onto the bed. It lands next to Damian with a quiet thump, and the kid shuffles away from it with a glare as if it's personally offended him. Danny stifles a smile and walks out, grabbing his hoodie-jacket from its spot on the door and tossing it onto the bed as well.

Damian grumbles something, then holds out his hand for the phone. Danny hands it to him as he passes by, going over to his desk to pick up his gloves and grappling hook, before turning to his bag.

[I am not worried about the time, Mother will come looking for me.] Damian tells him, sticking his nose up into the air and missing the cold seize of Danny’s heart and the tensing up of his shoulders. His mother. Who was probably also an assassin from the assassin club Damian was made from.

(A blood rush sends stars spinning around in the corners of Danny’s vision, and he pauses in order to stare blankly at the top of his half-opened backpack. He quickly blinks it away, and unzips his bag fully to shove his gear into one of the larger pockets.)

He hums low, turning to look at Damian with a fake smile plastered on his face. “That’s great, bud.”

(It should be a good thing, but he can’t quite shake the whole ‘assassins’ thing. Specifically… well, all of it. It’s all giving him a headache to sort through.)

Damian scoffs at him, [I cannot understand you.]

Danny snorts unwittingly, turning and shoving his gloves into an inside side pocket just as Damian throws his phone at him. He catches it before it can slam into the wall — or Danny’s head, and puts his grappling hook into his bag before typing into the translator. [I said that it’s good. I’m glad your mom is looking for you.]

That was another lie, and he felt bad that it had to be. Damian rolls his eyes at him, and Danny stuffs his phone into his back pocket and grabs his hook.

When his bag is accounted for, Danny finally focuses on getting dressed. He moves out to the bathroom to change, admittedly hot-footing it a bit so that Damian is alone for the least amount of time possible. He passes a sleep-mussed Jazz heading for the stairs, and she pauses to mess with his hair.

“Did you stay up all night again?” She mumbles, her fingers catch on a few tangles, but slide out at the end easily. “You don’t have bedhead.”

Danny pauses, half-distracted by the feeling of her hands in his hair and the urge to hurry through getting dressed. “Only a little.” He says, scurrying away and opening the door to the bathroom. “Was workin’ on a case.”

Jazz frowns at him, and he closes the door before she can say anything.

(He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when he remembers that Damian will need other essentials than just clothes, and immediately starts compiling a mental list.)

He’s got half an arm through his jacket when he leaves the bathroom, his attention split between getting it on and typing into his phone. When he opens the door, there’s quiet, rapid footsteps shuffling before he sees Damian hopping back onto the bed, staring at him stonily and like a kid who was acting like he hadn’t been doing anything.

A smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, and he types into his phone to add something before hitting play on the translator. [I have to head out now, you can look around my room if you’d like. Don’t touch the brown files on my desk, I’ll be back after school ends. I should have a game plan by then. Don’t be seen by my parents.]

As it speaks, Danny strides over and grabs his backpack. Damian’s eyes follow him the whole time, and Danny slings his bag over his shoulders and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

Damian nods curtly at him, and before Danny leaves he reaches over and plucks a hairband off his dresser, pinching it between his teeth.

“Okay, I’m off.” He repeats, voice slightly muffled by the hairband as he starts pulling his hair up. There’s a huff from Damian and a knowingly annoyed look, and Danny’s smile grows a little out of amusement. He tugs the tie out from his mouth and twists it around his hair. “Be good, Damian.”

Green eyes narrow at him, and Danny hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him.

(He was a little — no, scratch that, a lot apprehensive about leaving Damian here alone for most of the day. He was worried about his parents, perhaps a little too much, and he was worried about Damian recognizing the ectoplasm in the fridge. He’s worried about the whole thing with these ‘League of Assassins’ people, and he’s worried about how he’s going to explain Damian’s presence to his parents. And he’s most especially worried about how on earth he was going to convince Damian to not return home.)

Instead of going for the stairs, Danny turns and hurries over to the end of the hallway where the ladder to the rooftop is. There’s a lot he needs to think about, too much for him to want to walk with Sam and Tucker.

The nice thing about people is that they don’t really ever look up.

—----------

Danny: hey i’ll meet you guys at school

Tucker: did something happen during patrol?

Danny: something like that

Danny: i’ll tell you in class

Sam: alright. Hop safe

[Danny liked Sam's message]

—-------------

(if continued)

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude!”

“I know!”

Danny drops his head onto his desk with an unceremonious thump, groaning low with his nose smushed into the wood. Sam’s hands, buried in his hair and in the midst of messing with it, stills to let him. Some of the strands slip out of her fingers and pool around Danny’s face, causing a curtain. It tickles a little.

Maybe he should have just walked to school with them, telling them about Damian probably would’ve garnered less attention that way. He can feel the gazes of their classmates — or at least, the ones not slowly filtering into the room — turning onto them, and burning into his head.

But running over the rooftops, albeit only until the residential area ended, was sorely needed. It didn’t help clear all of his thoughts, or really much of any of them, but it’d chased away the worst of his anxieties about it. Like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room.

(This has been, officially, the longest… five hours of his life. And he’s had many, many long five hours in the last two years.)

(Pariah Dark and his evil future self are tied for the record of being the longest twenty-four hours of his life. Finding out he was a clone doesn’t count — it was still ongoing, and distressingly permanent.)

Tucker makes a noise, and Danny turns his head just in time to see him drop into his desk beside him, lifting his hat to run his hand over his curls with a look of disbelief. He’s staring unseeingly over Danny’s head for a whole of two seconds before looking back down.

“So he just — what, popped out of the ground? Like a daisy?”

Sam continues with her ministrations, and her fingers brush against his neck as she straightens his hair down his back. It’s soothing, enough so that the sleep-soreness of his eyelids becomes a lot more evident to him.

“Hn. Something like that. If the ground was a once-in-a-lifetime portal and the daisy was a murderous six year old.” He mutters, blinking slowly to try and keep himself awake. Sam’s nails scratch behind his ears, gathering up his hair again to finger-comb out the tangles, and he sighs quietly in content.

He sees Tucker suppress a smile, and he can practically sense Sam doing the same thing. Danny stares, did his ears do the thing again—?

“You don’t think a ghost had something to do with it?” Sam asks him, her voice staying low as she tugged out the knots in his hair. “It’s really strange that…” She pauses. Danny can feel her lean against his chair, and he lifts his head slightly as Tucker leans in too. “..that Damian just appeared in front of you right after you got done with fighting a ghost.”

Hrm. She was right. It was weird. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He says quietly, “I was too busy trying to get him to stop attacking me.” And after that he was busy trying to get them both home in one piece, and then after that was the whole identity crisis—

And he’s gonna stop there before his tired mind latches onto that spiral again.

Sam and Tucker’s mouths press together worriedly, and Danny finds himself frowning too. “Maybe I can sneak into the Zone sometime this week and ask one of the Ancients.” Frostbite knew a lot about the Infinite Realms in general, but Pandora might know more about strange magic.

He could try Clockwork, but finding the clocktower always feels like a scavenger hunt, and getting straight answers out of the ghost is like trying to catch the wind in a bag. Danny normally wouldn’t mind, he kinda likes the challenge, but now is not a good time for that.

Either way, it was just another thing on his long list of things to do this week, on top of everything else he had to do since acquiring Damian. He could feel a stress headache coming in, and it was only — he takes a quick glance at the clock — eight-fourteen. Yeah, longest five hours of his life. And counting.

Hrrm. “I just can’t believe my luck.” He complains, of all people to clone, of all kids to end up being cloned. It had to be the one kid who, by technicality, was his biological son. That thought alone felt like a tsunami about to swallow him whole. It was confusing, and complicated.

It shouldn’t have to be.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t view Damian Wayne as his son. Not by a long shot. Damian Wayne was Bruce Wayne’s son. But just like how Ellie isn’t Danny, and Danny isn’t Bruce; Damian is not Damian Wayne. And Danny still doesn’t view him as a son, and obviously Damian doesn’t view him as a father. But it all feels like a strange gray area, like a merry-go-round that’s not turning off, and it wouldn’t have to be if his parents hadn’t been fucking careless with their DNA samples—

It’s been four months why does he still feel so raw—

Tucker snorts roughly, bringing Danny out from his head.

He breathes in deep, blinking quickly, as Tucker leans back into his chair. Sam starts sectioning off Danny’s hair. “Yeah, fair enough,” he says, “bad luck is my schtick though, Danny, so don’t go start encroaching on my brand.”

“Your brand?” Sam repeats, voice lilting upward. Danny can imagine she’s raising an eyebrow at him, and he snickers both at the thought and at Tucker.

Tucker’s eyes light up at the sound, and he grins like he’s won a prize. “Yeah, my brand! You know, Bad Luck Tuck?”

Danny snickers louder, adjusting to sit more comfortably. “I thought your brand was Too Fine Foley.”

“I can have more than one brand.”

Sam snickers this time, in the midst of braiding Danny’s hair. It feels fantastic, Danny hums lowly, sinking like putty into his desk. “I’m pretty sure that’s called a monopoly, Tuck.”

Danny laughs quietly, blinking lizard-like. “Tuck Driver.”

Sam barks out a harsh laugh, and it trails off into stifled chuckles as Tucker’s jaw drops. The wide grin on his face betrays any potential upset he might have though. “That’s the mania setting in.” He says, voice thick with laughter, “That’s the fucking sleep mania talking right now. Take a nap, dude, we’ll wake you up when class ends.”

Sleep sounds great actually, and he’s gonna do it soon anyways with Sam still doing his hair. But— “I’m not done talking about Damian.” He protests, but his eyes are closing on their own, as if all they needed to hear was him agreeing to sleep to do it.

Tucker waves his hand, “It’s not like we can’t talk about him later; nap first. Your eyebags can’t get any darker.” He assures, “Don’t worry, we’ll take notes for you.”

“Hnn… fine.” Danny says, and lets his eyes close. He’s out like a light in minutes.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #clone^2 #dpxdc fics #starrys fics #danny's 'hns' are my favorite thing ever i hope you guys know #the longer i look at this the pissier i get at the word count -- i think its too low -- so im going to post this now without looking #not much thoughts to put here bc all my rambling was left in the ao3 end notes

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alittlebitgoofy · 10 months

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calm after the storm (marcia/spice)

i'm finally writing properly again, gay people with mental issues are so <3, and i cannot stop thinking about marcia they are very cute and wbk ilove spice so much, cheers to aubrey for giving me a fic title bc i lost my titling ways in the great war of 2023 (not posting for ages) they/them marcia, she/her spice, (luxx is there for like two seconds but they/she) ao3 link

Marcia’s head spun as they stood up to answer the soft knock at the door. Who was the poor soul about to interrupt their mental anguish?

Opening the door, Spice beamed back at them, her bright blue eyes such a contrast to Marcia’s sullen brown ones. Spice for all her friendliness was an absolute idiot to put it nicely, she cocked her head in confusion when Marcia didn’t say anything, just staring at her as she stood in the doorway.

“Uh, you okay?” Spice’s eyes darted around, taking in the withdrawn Marcia in front of her. Though they were quite a bit taller, they seemed to have shrunk, shoulders caved inwards as their head hung downwards, as if making eye contact with her was the worst possible thing to do at that moment. “Fine.” Short, cold. Two words that rarely describe the blonde’s tone. They were all but begging to be left alone, for Spice not to pry and go off somewhere and forget about the state she had seen them in. “You don’t look it.”

So much tact, Marcia bit back the snide remark, being rude wouldn’t help this. They just wanted to be alone. “Thanks.” It came out forced, their voice cracking slightly, shoulders hunching in more when Spice leant into their personal space to look more carefully. “Have you been crying?” “Luxx isn’t here, there’s no point hanging around.” Deflecting, Marcia shrugged, about to slink back to their bed before Spice spoke up again. “Don’t ignore me, have you been crying?”

They stayed silent, sitting back on their bed with the door still wide open. Spice took a step inside, closing it quietly behind her before slowly walking to hover by Marcia’s side. “Can I touch you?” They only nodded, chest tight just at the thought of having to verbalise anything. Spice sat down next to them, wrapping her arms around their shoulders and pulling them into a tight squeeze, her grip loosened after a second, though refused to leave. Marcia tensed up at the contact at first, though relaxed into it when Spice’s hand wandered to gently stroke their hair. “I know that look, that feeling. It hurts and you don’t wanna talk about it cause that makes it more real, right?” A muffled hum of agreement came out of the blonde, burrowing their way into Spice’s shoulder as she kept her grip on them.

“Sometimes i get like that after class, everyone always knows what they’re talking about and sometimes it feels like whenever i breathe everyone’s attention is on me cause i’m the dumb one.” Marcia hummed again, leaning their head into Spice’s hand as she continued to talk.

“It sucks but I get it, I promise I’m not like them.” “I thought you were only nice to me cause I'm friends with Luxx.” Marcia finally spoke, the tightness of their chest receding as Spice continued, like she was talking to an old friend and not a friend of a friend who she’d never been alone with. “No? You’re nice! Of course I'd be nice back. I can’t be mean to pretty- uh- well you’re not a girl are you? Are you just Marcia? I know that’s what Luxx says, she’s just Luxx. Or are you a girl but not a girl, some people are like that-” Spice’s rambles got interrupted by a quiet interjection from Marcia “You can call me a girl if it’s easier.” “But do you want that?” “....no.” It took a lot out of them to say that, mulling over what they really did want. Sure the word girl getting used for them made their insides crawl and twist into a knot but they didn’t want to be a bother. “So what would you rather?” “I guess a person? I’m just a person. Just Marcia.” “Okay, I could never be rude to a pretty Marcia”

“You’re silly.” Marcia muttered, finally moving to look at Spice, taking in the soft smile on her face, the way her expression seemed so genuinely caring, the way she continued to squeeze them at any sign of distress. “I try.” She giggled, Marcia realised they’d never spoken for this long before, they never made her laugh before. Luxx’s obsession with Spice was becoming a lot more understandable the longer they talked. “I think you’re pretty too. You’ve got a kind heart under all that silliness.” Spice’s face shifted, her eyes widening as her pale complexion gave way to turning a similar shade as Marcia when they spent too long in the sun. Her eyes darted down, smiling nervously in a way that made her ever cuter.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Marcia hesitated, though the comfort they felt when next to spice broke down that barrier, the anxiety of letting their innermost worries be known. “I just, I think i’m too much. Like when I correct people. I know how I look, that I don’t say much when people use the wrong words. Or that I talk too much and I’m annoying. Or why can’t I know what people mean all the time, why does every conversation leave this nagging feeling that I’ve done something wrong even when someone’s made it clear I haven’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, what did I do to feel like this?” Marcia blinked, letting all their feelings tumble out without a second thought before processing and instantly turning into a river of apologies. “You didn't ask for all that you were just being nice I’m sorry-” “Don’t be. I asked. I wanted to know.” “Okay, I’m s-” “No. No you’re not. No being sorry for being sorry.” Spice interrupted a second time, her tone pointed enough to be serious but not enough for Marcia to think they did something wrong. “Okay I’m not sorry?” They hesitated, snickering slightly at how it sounded. “Exactly! Now you’re getting it!” There was the gleeful grin she always wore, Spice’s hands finally moved from Marcia’s shoulders, one travelling to wrap around their waist while the other came to squeeze their hand.

“If anyone ever makes you feel like that, just remember you’re not the only one. You’re not broken, we’re just different.” “I wish we weren’t. I wish I could be normal.” “I do too sometimes, but other times I’m glad to be the way I am. Other people are so boring, where is their passion? Their creativity? Plus it makes you hotter to be a bit silly. “You know that well?” “Of course, I’m the silliest, hottest girl in the city.” “I wish I had your confidence.” “Truthfully I just fake it, I’m nowhere near as confident when Sugar isn’t around. She’s the smarter one, I’m just the silly one who makes people laugh.” “I don’t think so, I think you’re great in your own ways. You can recognise feelings in people without them saying anything.” “I guess so, I don’t know why we don’t talk more, you’re cool Marshie!” Any calmness in their body quickly vanished as another knock came at the door, their whole body tensing with a nervous tremble. Spice’s eyes narrowed, squeezing their hand before making her way to the door.

“It’s okay, I'll handle it.” Luxx stared back, raising an eyebrow at the nervous looking Marcia and Spice staring back at them.

“Should I come back later?” Spice glanced back to Marcia, shrugging as they looked confused, then overwhelmed as the chatter from the hall came through the open door.

“I’m gonna say yeah, I don't think they’re doing good enough for more companies right now.” “Fair, I’m gonna go bother Mistress, bitch stole my straightener and hasn’t given it back.” “Ooh, tell her I said hi.” Luxx left after that, leaving Spice to silently pull the door shut and lock it once more, scooping the nervous Marcia back into her arms and letting them cry it out. Muffled sobs soaked through her shirt, though Spice chose not to say anything, holding them gently while their body shook with another pained whimper. The tears slowed after a while, though their head never left its place burrowed against her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m here. No one’s getting through me. I won’t let anyone see you like this. I promise.” “Thank you.” Marcia weakly mumbled, tightening their grip on Spice when her body shifted ever so slightly. As if any sudden movement could pull the one comfort they had in that moment away.

It didn't occur to either of them that this was the closest they had ever been, that some unknown tension had lifted the second Marcia opened up and Spice joined them. It was too much to think about in the moment, but Spice felt something change, her heart sunk at every cry the blonde let out and fluttered when they flashed a small smile whenever she’d try and lighten the mood with a bad pun.

“So, if I wanted to call you cute again, could I call you aww-cia?” “You’re so dumb.” “No, I’m Spice.”

Marcia rolled their eyes at that, though the fond smile on their lips dissolved any malice it could have had. Spice continued chattering every thought that came into her head to fill the silence, occasionally joined by the taller blonde though they preferred to sit and listen, feeling calmer the more she went on and on. Even if she jumped between topics every 30 seconds, there was something comforting about hearing Spice’s rambles.

“And then I asked if she was a porch or a bike person and-” Spice trailed off, curiously noting the lack of any real response from Marcia before she noticed their eyes having shut, still leant against her chest, their own body gently rising and falling with calm breaths.

Spice smiled to herself as she leant back to stretch out, allowing Marcia to stay in her arms as she did so. How did she never notice how cute they were before that day. Being close to them like this, she could get used to it.

#rpdr fanfiction #marcia marcia marcia #spicia #that's the ship name ig #spice/marcia #spice #callmespice

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keeponkippenon · 2 months

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Posting my ao3 Madlyn fic here, bc I don't know the next time I'll have the writing motivation to start chapter 2. I originally posted chapter 1 on July 25th, 2023 (the motivation basically left me the instant it published 💔). Hope y'all enjoy :] ------------- Chapter 1

From Boyfriend to Wingman

Ashlyn: Hey, can we talk?

Big Red: Of course 😊

Ashlyn’s nerves were through the roof as she silently waited for Big Red to show up. She had texted him asking if he’d meet up at her place, and was now starting to get lost in thought about it. This was the night she planned on breaking up with him, and now all that was left was figuring out how to say it. She’s been mulling over it for weeks now ever since realizing her feelings for Val back at camp. Which in turn led to her figuring out that she is, in fact, Queer.

While she still cared deeply for Big Red, her heart was longing for something new. This recently discovered part of her has given her a new way to look at herself, and now she wanted to see what else there was to explore. While distance may make the heart grow fonder for some, for others it helps put feelings into perspective. All of this coupled with some unexplored feelings that she may have for her newly made friend, Maddox.

Interrupting Ashlyn’s thoughts were the sound of footsteps approaching, those footsteps ending in a welcoming hug from Big Red. She hugged him back tightly, now came the hard part that she can only hope ends well.

“Hey Ash, you wanted to talk?” Big Red spoke, looking into Ashlyn’s eyes expectantly. There was something comforting about the way he looked at her, like no matter what was said, he’d understand.

“Um yeah” She hesitates for a moment, directing him towards a couch where they could sit down. “So do you remember that night back at camp? The night of the Frozen show?” Ashlyn finishes. Hoping to jog Big Red’s memory, as well as to stall due to her nerves attempting to get the best of her.

“How could I forget? It was probably the best thing to happen this summer..” He starts, but trails off as he sees the look on her face. “Is this about that conversation we had?” Big Red silently looks at Ashlyn, thinking about why this would be brought up so long after the event. Though, whether he realized it or not, he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“Biggie, while I was at camp I realized some things about myself. Things that are more than just what my rising sign is… which is apparently a leo and not a capricorn like I’ve thought for basically my whole life-”

She takes a deep breath, and slowly exhales. “Uh, but that’s besides the point.” Laughing nervously at her own rambling, she continues on. Letting go of the last of her fear, before finishing her thought.

“That conversation we had, I wasn’t being truthful. I care for you, so much. You’ve made me feel loved, and like I can do anything. You’ve been there for me whenever I needed someone, and you’ve always shown that all you want is for me to be happy.” A moment goes by, then another. And finally…

“But my heart seems to be pulling me in a new direction, and I think it would be best if we were just friends from now on.” As the sentence left her mouth, tension filled the air around them. The room was quiet, far more quiet than she’d like at this moment. As time felt like it stretched on for ages before Big Red finally spoke.

“You know, I kind of felt like that was where this was going.” Ashlyn starts to form the beginning of an apology after he says this, but is quickly interrupted by Big Red continuing.

“And while it does hurt, you’re right that all I want is for you to be happy. And if that happiness lies elsewhere, then that’s okay. I never want to hold you back from that, so don’t apologize. There’s no need.”

The relief Ashlyn felt in that moment was liberating, a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and tears had begun to form at the corners of her eyes. She tightly hugged Big Red as they sat there silently, the understanding and care was evident from the warmth of the hug itself.

When they finally pulled apart, Big Red’s eyes lit up as if he had just had an epiphany of sorts. Suddenly he spoke.

“You don’t have to tell me, and I don’t mean to pry. But, did someone at camp catch your eye by chance?” The unexpected question caused Ashlyn’s eyes to widen in surprise, this reaction resulting in Big Red immediately starting to smile from ear to ear.

“Someone totally did! Ash, that’s amazing.” he exclaims, grabbing Ashlyn’s hand as a gesture of support. She sighs, taking in his reaction to this newly found information. She couldn’t be more grateful that she wasn’t losing his friendship, and that he would still be that beacon of light in her life that he always was.

“Okay well, I may or may not have made a new friend at camp who just so happens to have wormed their way into my heart just a bit.” She starts, wondering how best to describe Maddox to Big Red. Her feelings were still fairly new, and she didn’t know exactly how to work them out

just yet. But what she did know is that Maddox was someone important to her, someone who had helped her figure these new things out. That’s at least something to think about during this journey she seems to be going on.

After a moment more of thinking, she continues. “Her name is Maddox, and she was nothing but kind to me the entire time I was at camp. I still feel horrible for how I treated her throughout it all, but despite everything she still gave me a chance.”

Ashlyn’s face begins to heat up, watching Big Red for any slight reaction he might have. She keeps talking.

“She’s funny and observant, and I don’t know. I guess I wish I had a bit more time with her. Maybe these feelings wouldn’t be so complicated then.” She finishes, looking away from him in an attempt to save face. She didn’t notice her heart rate had risen as she spoke, coupled with the nerves that had shown up once again.

“Well, it seems like we both figured something out about ourselves this summer.” He laughs. Hoping to calm her down a bit in the process. He was just happy that she seemed more content with herself, and that she was able to tell him this without worry.

While Ashlyn was beginning to collect herself, Big Red began forming an idea. An idea that may just help Ashlyn in all the ways she needed in this moment, all that he needed was her approval. “Hey Ash, how do you feel about having a wingman?” Smiling wide at her curious gaze, he begins explaining his plan. -More (hopefully) coming soon- Feelings to be Explored - Chapter 1

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bonesandthebees · 11 months

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Spruce not reading honey and tangerines made me remember i got like halfway through before losing all my ao3 tabs and never finishing it 😭 i’ll have to go back and find where i was soon

Also one of my only thoughts after burning gold was literally just “wow tallulah covering her eyes for moat of the fic? She really is just like her father”

Also also WF WF WF MY BELOVED clinic and stars will always have a special place in my heart but sbi’s fight after wilbur said he knew why tommy left at the syndicate meeting will always have a special place in my heart, i re-read it sometimes just for fun

Every once in a while i’ll also remember i was here when the last few chapters of clinic weren’t out yet and then i’ll feel old

I vividly remember checking if clinic had updated, it had, and it was the chapter where puffy came and visited tommy and brought him cinnamon rolls and revealed she was a former-hero

And then i remember being here for all of wf, and reading stars when it only had one chapter and then forgetting about it until it was finished 😭

I can picture so clearly in my head checking wf one day at dinner, i had only read the first chapter a while back and hadn’t kept up, there was now five chapters and i was so excited. I was eating tacos. I kept up with wf updates after that

Sorry for the ramble, everyone’s recent asks have reminded me of a lot of things lmao, still debating if i should re-read stars and i’m so very close to giving in

- 🪐

NOOOO I ACCIDENTALLY INCLUDED THE COVERING EYES BIT AGAIN THIS TIME WITH TALLULAH I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE why do I keep doing this

the fact that you reread that painful fight in wf for fun certainly says something /j (it was such a fun scene to write I'm so glad you enjoyed it so much)

damn you've been around for that long?? you're really an og saturn anon. I remember when I wrote that clinic chapter with puffy and tommy talking after he'd been kidnapped and that conversation ended up being so much longer than I meant it to be. I was so frustrated bc it meant I had to put off the crimeboys reconciliation convo by another chapter and I wanted to write that one so bad, but the puffy tommy convo was so good and flowed so well so I couldn't be too upset

looking back on when wf was updating feels a bit like a fever dream for me bc 1) I wrote most of it during the winter quarter of my senior year of college. we'd gone back to in person for fall quarter after a full year of online bc covid, but then winter had a surge of covid cases again so almost all my classes went BACK online but I had one optional in person class once a week. so I had a lot of free time to write and would spend entire days in a campus coffee shop writing wf 2) sirentwt happened while I was writing wf. that was certainly a Time

anyway i love that you remember you were eating tacos when you noticed wf had 5 chapters up now. I remember I kept trying new drinks at the coffee shop every day when I went there to write but none of it was very good but it was a student run place that had really nice vibes so I became a regular anyway

#ask #saturn anon #world forgetting

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yourmcu · 4 years

Text

Emotional Support Mode

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary:

in which the reader is the loner, antisocial daughter of Tony Stark and the other Avengers including her father never acknowledge her presence (they thought some sort of interaction made you uncomfortable) so she becomes friends with Friday instead - Tony probs finds out and it’s gonna be all cute n fluffie once he realizes -

Word count: 2,243

a/n: hi just wanted to write fluffy tony :)) also I used they/them for friday’s pronouns

Warnings: angst n fluff, friday’s a bit more advanced (not like they aren’t already but) bc they could almost act like a literal human here.

read it on ao3!

You arrive back at the Avengers facility, shoulders slumped and just tired in general since you have a lot of homework and projects to do from school, most of them due by the end of the week. You also have exams later in the week.

“Hey, Fri,” you huff as you make your way to the elevator.

“Welcome home, Y/N. Where do you want to go?”

Yes, you're very close with the A.I that they started calling you by your first name. “To my room - and uh, will you remind me to read two chapters in my history book after I’m done with all my homework? I also have this project, I just need some measurements later, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to be a long night, you sigh heavily just thinking about it. Now you’re probably wondering, ‘you live with the Avengers! Why don’t you ask Tony and Bruce for help? Maybe Steve and Bucky for your History test?’

Yeah, well... you barely talk to any real person you live with. Maybe it’s you, you always thought you're making the team uncomfortable. You don’t even talk to your own father often which is kind of depressing on your part.

You love them, they’re like your extended family, but it just isn’t working out. Maybe they just don’t like you. Up to this day you still wonder why Tony took you in when you were just a baby (you were a mistake from one of his one night stands) - he had the choice not to.

“I’m assuming you zoned out again. You have arrived to your room five minutes ago.” Friday announces.

“Y-yeah sorry,” you shuffle out of the elevator and swiftly head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“I also asked if I should inform Mr. Stark that you have arrived home.”

“No, no thanks. He’s busy and... probably wouldn’t care anyway,” You mutter the last part as you pile the books you need on your desk. “Can you put my study playlist on, please?”

----

“What time is it, Friday?”

“7PM. I was about to remind you to take a break.”

You get up from your chair and stretch, halfway through the last of your homework which is a two page essay. “You’re too kind, thanks pal,” when you walk out your room to head to the kitchen and grab a snack, the lounge is empty, kitchen empty,

“The team’s on a mission? I thought they had the whole week off,” you say before gulping down a water bottle.

“I checked the security footage: they left about an hour ago. Captain Rogers was talking about getting dinner.”

You put the bottle down. “Oh,” you try to mask your disappointment. This isn’t your first time being alone, they always left you here when they had a mission of course but... well, it’s not like they want you around them. “I’ll - I’ll just make myself something later, then. Not a big deal. I have to study anyway.”

Another hour later, the Avengers are back. They're all conversing happily as they pile in the lounge. Peter's rambling about upgrades for the Spiderman suit while Tony's typing away in his phone, nodding at everything he says. Everyone else is arguing about the TV channels and talking about the new restaurant they ate at.

Rhodey shifts, looking around. “Why do I feel like we forgot something?”

Natasha looks at him, waiting for him to go on.

“I assure you, I brought Mjolnir with me this time.” Thor butts in.

“No not that, what time does Y/N get home from school?” No one answers. It’s not like any of them know. It's natural that Rhodey would be worried about his goddaughter (even if they rarely talk). He turns his head to his best friend who’s now walking away with Peter, an arm around his shoulder. “Tony, where’s Y/N?”

He doesn’t hear since he has his full attention on his protégé.

“I’ll start making this tomorrow, I guess. I still have to buy materials.” You mumble to yourself, but you hope Friday's listening to everything you say just to make you feel less lonely. You swipe the hologram of the blueprint away and place the thick books in front of you.

“I would like to recommend a suitable study plan.” they state.

You rub your eyes, sighing, “I’m already halfway, I would’ve considered it earlier though.”

“This is only a recommendation, feel free to ignore it.”

You push yourself away from the desk and mutter a “go on,”, fiddling with your pen.

“Asking Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes would give you more details for your History examination, since the pair were originally from that time period. The same goes for Mr. Banner for your Science examination, I believe he has seven Ph.D’s, you may also approach Vision for the same topic. Mr. Stark has all the necessary materials for your project in his lab. Would you like me to-”

If only it were that easy. It should be easy, the thought alone makes you really nervous. “No, I - I appreciate the recommendation, Friday, but - I think I can do this on my own.”

“But you’re tired and it is almost midnight. I would help you myself but you specifically told me not to.”

They’re not wrong. Your eyes are starting to droop and you barely understand anything you're reading. You're also fighting back tears - why is talking to your family so hard?

“I can sense sadness. Would you like me to activate emotional support mode?”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds great right about now.”

----

“Crap. Guess we lost track of time again, kid,” Tony wipes his hands with a rag while he looks at the time on his computer. “You better get home. I’ll send May a text for keeping you this late.”

“Okay, thank you Mr. Stark. I’m just gonna use my suit-”

“No. Happy will drive you.”

Peter knew better than to argue and insist so he just nods and smiles sheepishly. A minute later Happy came ‘round to take him home.

Tony turns back around. “Friday, make a new project for me please, I’m adding minor upgrades to the Spiderman suit.”

“Not now, boss.”

Oh. He did not expect that. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N is currently opening up. I would like to give her my full, undivided attention. Please come back after fifteen minutes or so.”

Tony doesn’t exactly know how to feel about that. He never sees her outside her room anymore that he kinda forgot she existed tonight - oh fuck, they didn’t bring her to dinner with them.

“Well,” he exhales. “What is she saying?”

“That would be an invasion of privacy.”

“I’m her father-”

“Are you, sir?” Friday’s clever remark makes him stop abruptly.

It’s pretty clear that he’s been a shit father. Not only does he ignore you all the time but he treats Peter way better than his own flesh and blood. The Avengers on the other hand, they were nice people, but just didn’t understand so they try their best to get out of your way.

You were afraid of rejection, afraid to interact, because you had no idea what everyone thought of you. Did they like you? Did you make them uncomfortable? Did they want you around? What about Tony, did he really want a daughter in his life? Because you noticed he’d be better off with a son, yeah, like Peter goddamn Parker.

Tony sighs, walking out of his lab and heads to the mini bar to grab a drink. He needs to think: there's absolutely nothing wrong about you, he just didn’t do his job right, you thought he didn’t care, you thought nobody did. Even Friday is turning against him, doing a better job of comforting and being there for you.

“God, I’m such an asshole,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead. He drinks his last shot and heads to the kitchen. “She still awake?” He calls out.

“She is.” Friday has a bitter tone.

He's hesitant to ask again, feeling really bad for not knowing this simple question - “what’s her favorite beverage?”

----

“How do you feel?”

You sniffle. “Well y’know, better than before. I should probably go to sleep. Thanks, Fri.”

“You’re welcome. Also, Mr. Stark is outside your door.”

“W-what?” You put away your books and straighten up, rubbing your damp eyes. “You’re serious? Okay, uh, let him in?” It's more of a question.

“Alright.”

You turn to face your desk as Tony enters the room, holding two steaming mugs. He sits at the end of your bed, just right next to the chair you're sitting on. “Hi,” he gives you a small smile and hands you a mug.

What’s the occasion?

“What’s this?” You ask quietly before taking the mug from his hands. Tony's being gentle and soft, it's odd but you’re not complaining.

“Green tea with honey. I... I thought I saw you make that stuff once.” He says, not mentioning the fact that Friday told him that.

“Oh, well, yeah,” you take a small sip. He added a bit too much honey but other than that it was good. “I thought you preferred coffee, though,”

Tony shrugs, his eyes glistening when he looks at you. “Wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

“Did - did you want something, Dad?” You always found yourself awkward, couldn’t even make conversation with someone for long, always wanted to get straight to the point so it could be over with.

He looks like he wants to say something but he just averts his gaze to you, his hands, the floor, then suddenly he leans in and hugs you. Your feel your heart swell and body warm up, it’s a new sensation for you after all, you rarely get hugs from people. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything. I’m such a bad dad, I don’t deserve you. I even forgot you when we went out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I had loads of stuff to do earlier anyway, so, but yeah I was just - I just overreact, I’m sensitive. I don’t blame you and the others for not liking me, I know there’s nothing like-able about me, I’m not like Peter-” You ramble, tears now leaving your eyes again.

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” Tony says as he pulls you closer to him, head resting against his chest while he rubs your back comfortably. “Y/N Stark, you are smart, brilliant - I was just an ass for not acknowledging that.”

“I know you’re just saying that to-”

“Oh, but I’m not,” he now places his hands on your shoulders, getting you to look at him. “Tell me who built their first engine when they were eight?”

You blush, “Dad-”

“No, come on, I wanna hear it.”

“I did.”

“Yes you did. And who made a completely functioning robot at their middle school science fair that blew all the teacher’s minds?”

You’re trying to hide a smile, recalling the memory, “I did.”

“And who,” Tony gets up and walks to the bulky looking thing that you covered with a sheet, pulling it off, “is currently building a computer from scratch?”

“Dad! That’s still a work in progress,” he messily places the sheet back and chuckles.

“My point is, you’re a clever and talented girl, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down. And you don’t have to be shy around your family, those idiots have been dying to get to know you but since you don’t talk much... they don’t want to force it. We love you,” he says. “I hope you forgive me ‘cause I really wanna make it up to you. I’m not calling Peter in for a few weeks.” Tony sits down beside you again.

You couldn’t believe he’d do that for you. “You don’t have to, if you need him for something then-”

“-then you could help me instead, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m really sorry for being such a lonely freak,” you yawn, getting back into Tony’s open arms. “I love you.”

Tony tucks you in and lies down beside you, “I love you tons, kiddo.”

You snuggle into his chest, feeling his steady breathing while he rests his chin above your head.

----

It's morning. The Avengers are gathered at your open bedroom door.

“Are you getting all of this, Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Steve turn that shuttering sound down!” Natasha hisses at the super soldier who's doing his task, taking pictures.

Steve almost drops the phone and has Bruce fix the volume for him.

They’re all watching you and Tony cuddle together, still fast asleep.

“Do we have to stay here until they wake up?”

“Unless you have a great way of waking them up, yes. Now shut up.”

“If you think about it we definitely look creepy right now.” Sam comments.

“It’s their fault for having the door wide open all night!” Clint says.

Tony's actually awake the whole time, listening to them bickering. “You have three seconds to get the hell out of here before I make all of you polish my suits.” With that, the team races down the hall, pushing each other to get away first like literal children.

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shotorozu · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔰𝔥𝔦 ᥊ 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you find yourself in a bar that you and your ex used to go to regularly. the local bartender calls your ex- shinsou hitoshi; thinking you guys are still together.

𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀: angst to fluff (happy ending), sfw, pro hero au (aged up), drinking (alcohol mentions and intake) ex to lovers, minor todomomo (not the center of this fic) reader is in the top 5, some swearing.

𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱: [Y/N = your name, L/N = last name, H/N = hero name, ] f! reader, quirk not mentioned.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: i also did this trope on ao3 with todomomo, so i better not see people think i plagiarized them because.. that’s literally me lol. also! i was very conflicted, bc i also wanted to do this with shouto but since I already have 2-3 fics in the making, i went with hitoshi (but let me know if you wanna see shouto’s version.)

word count to be added when im not sleep deprived

　　　　　　　　˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚

You swivel down another shot down your throat, not caring of the burn in your nose, nor do you care about the smell of the alcohol.

You’re never like this, this is not the best representation of yourself, no. This is not who you are as a person, and the way your former classmates look at you with concern when you chug down another shot shows how unusual this is to them.

“Take it easy..” Momo pats your back, and you exhale heavily, putting down the glass. Everyone is certain that you’ll obtain some serious hangover, almost to the point that you’d have to take the morning off to treat your hangover. They’re aware that you’re not this careless, since you're in the top 5 after all.

But they let you be momentarily, but why you may ask?

Because this is your way of coping a breakup with your boyfriend of 3 and a half years, Shinsou Hitoshi. They’re aware on how hurt you really are, and to be real- they were the ones that asked you to come out with them tonight to distract you.

“They’ve been going at it for a while, it’s almost concerning.” Tsuyu comments, as she tends to a slightly tipsy Mina, holding her so she doesn’t fall face first into the floor.

The least they could do is let you be, while you're not totally blacked out.

The local bartender- Maki, looks at you with concern when you order another shot, yet they still give it to you (with the slightest hesitation) since you’re such a good friend to her. (Your rank makes you very respectable, it’s almost intimidating! but your casual friend ship with the bar tender says other wise.)

But on the contrary, you'd know when you’ve reached the limit, and you’d probably know when they’d start refusing your requests of another shot.

One by one, their friends depart from the table, either they were too drunk to even handle it so they were brought home, or something came up- everyone could agree that they all had some sort of worry towards their dear friend’s very out of character coping mechanism.

“I have to go soon,” Momo sighs, when she receives a text from Todoroki- though it’s very obvious that she’s still very concerned for you, considering that she’s the only friend left. “Please take care of Y/N, Maki-san.”

Maki nods at your black haired friend, and the creation hero looks at you one last time before leaving the bar.

Lifting your head, your words are slurred as you request for another shot, which seems like the umpteenth time that you requested for a shot. The concerned bartender still attends to your needs, yet- she’s contemplating of calling someone if you ask for another.

Likewise, you finish that shot in a moment, and you slump down on the table. Eyelids fluttering slowly as your laughter is filled with intoxication, your cheeks are warm from being inebriated from the intake of alcohol.

You don’t notice how your concerned bartender dials up a number, requesting for them to pick your drunken state.

»»————-　➴　————-««

“Did you know the word bed is shaped like one?”

It’s now past midnight, and you’re mouthing off about something random, the train of thought is endless (but it’s more like a shower thought ramble.) Your fists are deep into your hair- holding your head up so it doesn't hit the table, meanwhile Maki paces back and forth- still tending to other requests from the very few customers left.

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, yeah.” They answer absentmindedly, “Man, I haven't seen you in nearly 4 months! it’s been a while. You knows how to hold your alcohol so frankly, this is the first time I’ve seen this side of you!”

“Oh really?” You slur, continuing on to spout out purposeless words.

The bartender’s response is a total blur, words turning into background noises, and a part of you is lucky to still be conscious and still functioning (yet it's barely)

“..But you hold it well for--”

You’re also very lucky that you’re a little too under the influence to even register the name.

You didn't know you’d take this breakup with him harshly. The most you were expecting was just.. crying while eating ice cream.

But no, it was an utter shit hole.

The door busts open, and the bartender’s expression seems to brighten up “Ah, there you are!”

You grumble, the bar’s lights causing your eyes to sting- and your head hurts too. You might need some aspirin later.. you close your eyes shut. The bartender is chatting with the unknown person, and frankly- you just wished you didn’t intoxicate yourself this much.

“Y/N,”

The baritone voice is almost sufficient in sobering you up. Turning to the familiar voice, you see the tall figure, sporting bedraggled purple hair.

It’s Shinsou Hitoshi. A reason why you’re in such a mess, coping with a breakup in the first place.

You almost fall off your chair in sudden revelation to the appearance of your ex lover. It was almost like.. your drunken state was making you see things- a possible hallucination maybe? it has to be that. Maybe it’s the side effect of the growing headache?? What was in that shot?

“Ugh, I must be crazy,” You wipe your cheek from slob, your head throbbing from the growing headache. The weary purple head raises an eyebrow, and the bartender is confused by the sudden tension. It's abnormal, alright.

The reason why you broke up was because of his lack of self care.

Again, it’s not like he was being a shithead and cheating on you, or being a total prick of a boyfriend and neglecting you, and it’s definitely not the other way around either.

It was probably the opposite. He'd neglect himself for days on end, not caring about himself, and not caring about his own being. It was.. not what you wanted at all.

You figured just because the both of you are rising up heroes, and also adults- he would’ve gotten a grip of not neglecting himself.

But even habits like that don’t get old.

“Hitoshi- seriously, when was the last time you’ve took a breather?” growing slightly irritated by Shinsou’s continuous neglect of his own self care, and also the fact that he’s clinging onto you 24/7.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, pinching your cheek. Heck, you should be glad he wants to be with you for the majority of the days. But you can’t tolerate him when he’s constantly complaining about being tired, although making little to no efforts in taking care of himself. Heck- his dark circles got even darker- how is that even possible?

“’Toshi, it really does. You can’t neglect self care.” Your brows furrow when he chooses to ignore your words. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You should be glad that I want to spend time with you.”

It stung. What the hell did he even mean by that..?? scoffing, and slightly offended, you reply “That’s not the main issue.” you cross your arms “We’ve talked about this before, remember?” You reason out, giving him the nice benefit of the doubt. You'd like to be civil here.

He ignores you once more, and you can actually feel the irritation grow within you. “I don’t want to be the reason why you neglect yourself.”

“I’m really not, okay?” He retorts back, “Why do you always have to bring up things that don't matter?”

Aggitated, you snap back “Wh- we’re talking about you! Hitoshi, we’ve talked about this- and you said you’d work on it! do my words mean nothing to you?” Hitoshi’s gaze flickers up, only staring at you, as if it was his own way of judging you and your intent.

And that’s how it erupted into a full fight, and into your eventual breakup.

You didn’t know how expressing your genuine concern for him blended into him saying things he’d never mean in his entire life. He doesn’t stop you when you walk out, not saying a thing at all

There was no verbal breakup. It was just.. there.

The unknowing bartender interrupts the nonverbal tension, “I thought you’d be a lot happier, y’know.”

“We-”

“..’ll get going now, thanks again.” Before you know it, Hitoshi’s hooking your arm around his shoulders— as he walks to the door, leaving the very familiar bar.

It’s awkward, surely. You’re not sure why he was there, and you’re not so sure as to why he decided to come to your aid in the first place. If Maki called him, and he was requested to come to you in question, then he could’ve just..

“..sent someone else,” You mumble. You reek heavily of alcohol, and your skin is undeniably warm. Frankly, he doesn’t remember the last time you were like this— was it the first time you had a drink? it was years back at this point.

You’re pretty.

Beautiful,

That’s one thing that hasn’t change. Surely, what changed things was the fact that he said some.. horrible things— and refused to even listen to your concerns, which ultimately cause your breakup. His relationship status changed into some lonely and young hero, and his heart ached in different ways.

But you’re still very beautiful, to him.

Doesn’t matter if you’re all dolled up for a hero interview, or a mess on a off saturday. You’re still beautiful.

But now— he’s focused on your words, and he’s taken aback when you continue to speak, causing the both of you to stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You’ve coulda asked s-someone else to pick.. me up.” Your words are slurred, a normal side effect of being drunk. However, seeing your ex has surely sobered you up.

“That’s true,” Shinsou moves to continue walking, so you guys weren’t standing on the middle of the side walk on a cold early morning.

“What are you even doing at a bar at 1am?” He changes the subject, but you’re still caught on to your previous question. “You didn’t answer my question at all, meanie.” Her grip is firm, so there’s no way of budging it.

His laugh lacks humor, yet he feels obligated to answer her. Or else they’d be stuck on the sidewalk, due to her hero grip.

“It didn’t feel right,”

“Yeah sure.” You grumble, “Because you suddenly care.”

“I’ve always cared, Y/N.”

“Really?” You say, not really believing him anyway. “You seemed pretty sure with your words back then to care.” Despite being toxicated, your words have undertones of venom

“You may say that, but.. I’ve always cared.”

“Then why the hell did you say all of that back then, huh?” Overwhelmed by seeing your ex, who you still fucking loved by the way— tears grow at your eyes. “If you’re lying, stop it.” You say, literally not in the mood to be lied to right now.

You’re literally being carried by your ex, while intoxicated, while also having a throbbing headache.

“I’m not.” Hitoshi answers firmly. A certain edge grows in his throat, and he hates it.

“Yes you are,” Your voice is now wobbly, it’s really just a mix of your overwhelming emotion, as well as your drunken state. “You would’ve told me that weeks ago!”

You were always right, and he knows it. Ever since from the last moment you shared with him, your words were just.. nothing but the sheer truth. Yet, he’s only hurt you— because of his denial.

He knows you’re right, and he knows that he had his habits of neglecting his own care. Though that’s why he decided to change, that you were in fact- correct all this time.

And he was just an ass to even admit it.

“You’re right,” His fists crumple, grip tight as he fights his sudden urge to break. “You were always right. I’ve always cared, and you’ve always cared about me. Yet I was worried of changing, not being around you just so that I could take care of something that’s not really important-”

“But you are, Hitoshi,” You sob, nearly collapsing onto the ground— “You matter so much, yet you don’t even see it, and if I’m going to contribute to your destructive ways— then...”

“How could you? If you don’t care about my words, then do you care about yourself..?”

Shinsou sighs, bending down to meet your level— you’re gasping and sobbing into his chest, tears angrily running down your cheeks.

“I know, kitten, and I’m sorry.” Wiping your tears with his thumb, he speaks once more. “That’s why.. I’ve thought about what you’ve said, and I decided to take care of myself a bit more, I want you to know that.. I do care.”

You glance up at him, the city lights luminating his face— enough for you to see the adorning expression he’s sporting.

“..really?” You speak, in a nearly hush tone, again— you’re still very drunk, and overwhelmed with emotions. This could’ve been passed off as a fever dream, and you could’ve been normal with it.

“Yes, Y/N.” His mouth perks up into a small smile.

“Then.. would you allow me to start over with you again?”

Pushing against Hitoshi, you envelope him with your arms— it’s almost cliché and dramatic, the way you collapse into his arms like it’s the last day on earth.

But.. Shinsou’s glad he has you again. Finally a chance to prove that he’s changed.

ーーーーーーー

BONUS

You sit on the counter of your apartment, hands covering your face— as a way to shield your eyes from the prodding sunlight that peaks from the windows.

“This should help,” Hitoshi hands you a cool glass of water, “The way you hold your alcohol is terrible,” You chug down the glass of water, and you take a jab at him with your feet.

He hisses at the sudden attack, and only chuckles, “You’re mad because it’s true kitten,” He teases

“Shut up,” You draw him in with your leg, setting the glass down, “Just kiss me already,”

And so he does, pressing your lips against his— savoring the sweet warm moment he’s been practically starved of for nearly 4 months.

He pulls back, his expression showcasing that he’s tasting the aftermath.

“Ew, you taste like beer.”

You glare at him, and take another light jab, “Of course I do, Idiot.”

Despite saying all of that, he pulls you in once more.

　　　　　　　˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading (literally the first fic i’ve ever posted, so y’all BETTER like it or i’ll 💀)

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing

do not plagiarize my work :)) (literally don’t, it’s 3:26am on a tuesday.)

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loverboytrashmouth · 3 years

Text

Wish You Were Sober

pairing; Reddie

word count; 4k

summary; Eddie is tired of Richie flirting like a madman whenever he gets alcohol in his system.

a/n; so i decided i’m making a kind of series of reddie fics i write based on songs, bc i’m the type of bitch that listens to any music or intakes any kind of media and thinks “iMagiNe tHiS bUt rEdDiE<333″ so ya there’s that lol. here’s a lil angsty one shot based on wish you were sober by conan gray, aka a superior song if u ask me. as always, read on ao3 here if you’d like and enjoy ! :)

Nirvana blared through the speakers and traveled throughout the too small apartment owned by some random guy in one of Richie’s classes. Richie didn’t know him too well - he thinks his name is Chris? Collin? Something with a ‘C’ - but, hey, a party’s a party, and free booze is free booze.

The trashmouth was chatting loudly over the music with Bill on a dingy leather couch, waiting for Stan and Eddie to return with more drinks. Richie was already significantly further along than his friends in terms of his drunken state, all obnoxious laughs interrupted by hiccups and long, gangly limbs flailing more wildly than usual. It almost should be concerning to the other Losers, having only been at the party for less than a couple hours and their friend already being long gone, but it was what they were used to. Since they were 15 and stealing liquor from their parents, the Losers constantly saw Richie’s “go big or go home” attitude with drinking. They assumed it was just Richie wanting to be the life of the party and center of attention, whether that meant going shot for shot with Mike, accepting any type of drinking related dare from Beverly, etc.

Richie let them believe this, because it was better than telling them the truth. It was easier than admitting to them that around the same time he started sneaking a copious amount of vodka from the Tozier’s alcohol stash, he was also realizing certain feelings he had for a certain Loser.

Richie Tozier loved Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie was sure it was just one of those basic laws of the universe, one that’s impossible to ignore and inevitable to come to pass. Despite this, living in a small town like Derry meant getting the shit kicked out of you if you even look at another guy for too long, soulmates or inescapable love or whatever be damned. Richie had gotten beatdowns left and right from neighborhood bullies for being a “faggot” before he even knew what the word meant, so he, unfortunately, knew this from personal experience.

But now, sitting in an apartment in Manhattan of all places, attending NYU with three out of six of his best friends, away from those assholes in Derry, Richie thought he’d loosen up. Let himself be brave.

He soon learned that was easier said than done; who knew what 19 years of internalized homophobia could do to a man?

It’s not like he was afraid of being more of an outcast; he was already a loser with a capital “L,” and he, along with the rest of his friends, carried the title like it was given to them by the Queen herself. Deep down Richie knew the rest of the Losers wouldn’t even bat an eye at the fact that he liked dudes the way he should have liked girls, so he wasn’t afraid of losing them either. And deep, deep down, Richie also knew there wasn’t really anything wrong with him. Why would he feel such a way if it was supposed to be such an unnatural and vile thing? He couldn’t help who he was, who or how he loved, and God, he loved Eddie so much he thought he could just burst with it sometimes.

That shred of acceptance, though, was buried so deep in his lanky form, and the only way to reach it was through a ridiculous amount of shots. Or beers. Or just about anything with a decent alcohol content, really. He’d even settle with wine if he had to.

When Richie was drunk, he was able to be more clingy and face less consequences. He was already an affectionate guy, constantly pinching Eddie’s cheeks and throwing a lazy arm around the shorter man’s shoulders whenever he could. With alcohol, though, he’d give sloppy cheek kisses and intertwine his fingers with Eddie’s and allow his face to form a subtle blush when an intoxicated Eddie would lean into it.

“Sorry for being all over ya last night, Eds. You know how gross and clingy I can get,” he’d say the following morning, and then they’d fall back into their rhythm of bickering and ‘your mom’ jokes. Business as usual, like clockwork every time they’d get wasted.

Richie thought it was going well, that his feelings were going totally unnoticed, that he was stealth. Until this particular college party, that is.

Richie’s attention left his conversation with Bill about the newest Die Hard film when he felt the couch sink next to him, turning to meet eyes with a mildly tipsy Eddie. The taller man’s face immediately lit up, a goofy smile spreading across his chapped lips.

“Hiya, Spagheds! What’s cookin, good lookin’?” Richie slurred out, his arm finding its way around Eddie’s waist and using his other hand to snatch the mixed drink his friend was holding out for him. Eddie responded with his usual scoff and eyeroll, but Richie noted an extra bite to it that he wasn’t used to getting from him.

“Don’t call me that, asshole! And haven’t you ever heard of personal space?” Eddie grumbled, wiggling himself out of Richie’s side embrace and putting some distance between the two. The arm that was once around Eddie made its way to Richie’s own body as he dramatically grasped at his chest.

“Eddie, baby, you’ve wounded me! Since when do you pass up some signature Tozier cuddles?” Richie was met with a simple huff in response as Eddie avoided his gaze. Richie’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at the lack of attention he was receiving from the man who would usually be giving him the most attention, but he was overall too drunk to overthink. With a shrug, Richie downed his freshly made drink in record timing before crunching the plastic cup in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, causing Eddie to scoff again from next to him. Stan spoke up from beside Bill before Eddie could ream his friend about his lack of care for tidiness.

“Maybe you should start on some water, huh, Rich?” Richie gasped dramatically, turning to look at Stan as if he had just told him pigs fly.

“Staniel, did you just ask moi to drink water? What’s the point of free booze if you’re not gonna take advantage?” He asked incredulously before standing, wobbling on his long limbs for a couple seconds and giggling a bit before regaining his balance. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go see if my boy Chris has any good brewskis lyin’ around.”

“Isn’t his name C-C-Connor?” Bill asked, shaking his head in amusement. He seemed to be the only one enjoying the trashmouth’s antics this evening, as Stan’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern which he tried to pass off as annoyance, and Eddie still kept his gaze elsewhere. It was the latter that made Richie itch for another drink.

“Whatever the fuck, Billiam. I’ll be back in a jiff, my loves! Try not to miss me too much!” Richie exclaimed with a bow, breaking out his British accent for his next sentence. “But if I find m’lady Mary Jane, don’t wait up, lads! Pip pip!”

Before Richie could step five feet from the couch, an aggressive hand was yanking him back by the wrist. Losing his footing due to the intrusion, Richie stumbled once more, nearly toppling onto Eddie. The shorter man’s tight grip on his arm was the only thing that kept him from sending them both back onto the scratchy leather of the couch below. Richie beamed at the attention he was finally receiving, despite the glare Eddie was boring deep into his features.

“Sit the fuck down, Richard. You’re not drinking anymore fucking beer and you’re definitely not smoking anything. You’re drinking some water and I’m taking you the fuck back to your room, asswipe,” Eddie said sternly, getting as close as he could to Richie’s face with the height difference between them. Richie couldn’t help but love when Eddie got like this; sure, he was red in the face more with anger than with the alcohol, but the anger was backed by mountains of concern. It reminded Richie how much his love cared about him, even though he was sure their forms of love differed. There was still some kind of love there, and sometimes, that was enough for him.

Although Richie felt his chest swell and he wanted nothing more than to ease Eddie’s anger and please him, his mouth rambled before his brain could tell it what to say, as usual.

“If you wanted to get me alone, Eds, all ya had to do was ask,” Richie slurred with a wink, slowly bringing his hand up Eddie’s arm, his calloused fingertips slightly teasing the warm skin. Eddie’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red, from anger or something else, no one was sure - until Richie’s hand was being swatted away, the smack of it loud enough for Bill and Stan to hear over the music from their spot on the couch. Richie mumbled a curse under his breath as he rubbed the skin Eddie came in contact with, a sting lingering there. He opened his mouth to speak again, some kind of excuse or apology on the tip of his tongue, but never got it out due to Eddie’s voice cutting him off.

“Stop doing this, Richie! Just stop! I’m tired of it!” Eddie's voice was slowly rising, and the tremble that laced within his words acted as some kind of magical potion; suddenly Richie had never been so sober.

“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay. I’m sorry, whatever I did I’m sor-” The apology was interrupted with another signature scoff as Eddie looked at the ground, shaking his head, breathing out a humorless chuckle.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” he said with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking Richie in his eyes once again. Despite the apartment being dark with the exception of a couple of lamps scattered around the area, Richie could see the glistening threat of tears waiting to spill from the doe eyes he loved so much. His heart ached.

“Of course you don’t know what you’re doing, Rich, because you’re too fucking drunk! You’re always too drunk. I just… I just wish you were sober for fucking once!” Eddie practically screamed, before his voice softened with hurt again. “I just wish you’d act like this with me without fucking booze.” There were a couple beats of silence between them, two pairs of dark eyes swimming with gallons of emotions simply blinking at one another, the only noise coming from Eddie’s sniffling. Richie did all in his power to search for a response, but for once in his life, the trashmouth was at a loss for words. After what felt like forever, Eddie finally ended the moment by turning on his heel and making a beeline for the door, leaving Richie to stand in dumbfounded silence while his intoxicated brain processed the scene that just unfolded. His thought process was interrupted by a voice coming from the couch.

“Wha-what just happened?” Bill asked, his amusement from earlier in the night completely dissipated and replaced with a mix of confusion and concern.

“Richie’s oblivious and a dumbass is what just happened. Nothing new,” Stan deadpanned from next to him. Richie snapped his body towards the pair, making his head spin and reminding him of just how drunk he was. He blinked at the two in an attempt to adjust his sight before raising his hands in defense at Stan’s comment.

“What are you talking about? Do you know what that was about?” Richie asked, pointing towards the direction Eddie stormed off in. Stan rolled his eyes before standing up and grabbing Richie by the shoulders with both hands, giving him a serious look.

“When we went to get drinks, Eddie talked to me. About you. About how you act when you’re drunk, all over him and shit, more than usual. And how much he likes it, but he hates that he likes it, because you only do it when you’re drunk.” Richie continued to gape at his friend, clearly not connecting what Stan’s words meant. Stan sighed, scrunching his face in annoyance and gripping Richie’s shoulders tighter. “He’s in love with you, asshole! Either tell him you love him too, because trust me, everyone except him knows you do, or stop leading him on. It’s fucking ruining him, man!”

Realization finally hit Richie, his eyes welling with tears as Stan’s grip on his shoulders softened. “He- He is? Are you sure? This- This isn’t funny, Stanley. A-Are you sure?” he breathed out, and if it wasn’t for the weight of the situation, he’d made a joke about how he was sounding like Bill, nervous stutter and all. Stan gave a slight nod and responded, but Richie didn’t hear what he said. His mind was suddenly racing; find Eddie. tell Eddie. kiss Eddie. EddieEddieEddie.

Before he knew it his feet were running just as fast as his thoughts, not 100% sure where he was going, just knowing he needed to find Eddie. Richie raced out of the apartment building into the chilly air that was New York City on a late November night, frantically scanning the streets. His eyes soon locked on a figure about half a block down, leaning against a mailbox, head in his hands. Even with the distance between them, Richie could tell he was trembling, either from the cold or from crying, he wasn’t sure. As he felt the sharp breeze across his skin exposed by the rips in his jeans, he assumed probably both.

Richie thought better than to call out his name, opting instead to slowly approach Eddie. He did his best to labor his breathing in his short walk over, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that was about to take place. The confrontation that would bear all feelings, all confessions. All of the walls Richie had been building around himself since high school would finally come down.

He wished he had another drink.

“Eds?” He spoke softly, possibly the softest he’d ever spoken, as to not scare Eddie and send him running. The shorter man lifted his head from his hands, and Richie’s heart broke even more at the sight before him. Eddie’s eyes were red and puffy, a wall of hurt extremely evident in the soft brown. His nose was runny, and his lip quivered as he looked away when he realized who was standing in front of him.

“Don’t call me that,” he practically whispered, just loud enough for the other to catch it over the bustle of traffic in the streets surrounding them. Although he was avoiding the other man’s gaze like his life depended on it, Eddie made no attempt to walk away. Richie took that as a small win.

“Eddie, talk to me. Please. What’s up? It’s just me and you, man. C’mon.” Richie wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Eddie. Offer a comforting hand on his shoulder, run his fingers through his hair, hold him close, tell him everything would be okay. But he didn’t dare move.

A car honked down the street, offering the only noise that cut through the thick silence when Eddie didn’t take Richie’s offer to speak. The former stayed silent with his head down, finding the dirty concrete under his pristine white converse highly interesting. Richie let out a sigh.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk. I’ll do all the talking. I’m the Trashmouth after all, aren’t I?” Richie offered a lame chuckle when his attempt at a joke fell flat, Eddie not breaking his frown even slightly. Richie cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing. “Look, I talked to Stan, he told me what you guys talked about, and -” He was cut off by the same humorless chuckle he heard in the apartment minutes ago, but this time it dripped with sadness rather than anger.

“Dammit, Stanley, you fucking traitor,” Eddie mumbled mostly to himself. He shook his head with a deep sigh and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, making them impossibly redder, before willing himself to look at Richie, his voice finally reaching above a murmur for the first time since leaving the party. “Secret’s out, I guess. I’m a fucking cliche. The fuckin’ queer that fell for his best friend.”

All Richie could do was silently stare, mouth slightly agape and eyes comically blown, amplified more so by his glasses. Sure, Stan had told him this not even five minutes beforehand, but hearing it from Eddie himself was an entirely different experience. He figured under different circumstances, Eddie would probably be laughing at how dumb he was sure he looked. Instead, the shorter man looked at him expectantly with tears still in his eyes, clearly waiting for some kind of response, and expecting the worst. They stood this way, basically a mirroring of what played out in the party upstairs before Eddie stormed out, for a solid minute before it was - once again - Eddie who broke the silence.

“So much for doing all the talking,” he muttered, the volume of his voice lowering, Richie realizing as Eddie looked back at the ground that he was closing in on himself once again. “Good night, Rich.”

“No,” Richie finally spoke, his arm darting out to grab Eddie’s hand before he could even adjust his feet to leave. “Please don’t walk away again. Please.” His voice broke on the last plea, his own eyes finally beginning to water. Eddie was still staring in the opposite direction down the concrete path he was planning on following before he was interrupted, but was staying put, not rejecting Richie’s hand in his. “There’s so much I wanna say to you, Eddie. So much. I just… Shit, I just don’t know how.”

Richie was crying just as much as Eddie was at this point but quieter, unable to pull himself together as much as he wanted to be brave. Eddie turned his head to face Richie with his glare still hardened, only softening when he saw the state Richie was in. Eddie had known Richie since they were literal children, and he knew better than anyone that Richie Tozier didn’t cry like this. Not unless something was truly eating at him. The anger Eddie felt towards the situation seemed to have completely disappeared as he comfortably squeezed Richie’s hand, giving him encouraging eyes.

The taller man used his free hand to rub the tears from his eyes, giving him a better look at Eddie. They were standing fairly close to the lone street light of the block, the faint orange tint of the bulb complimenting Eddie’s lightly tanned skin and chestnut eyes. Without thinking, Richie brought his hand up to Eddie’s face, cupping his cheek and wiping a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb. He continued softly rubbing at the skin there after the tear was gone, his thumb dancing across the freckles, his mind flooded with thoughts of how beautiful the man before him was. Eddie closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in the feel of Richie’s touch.

Unable to find words again but refusing to let the moment slip out of his fingers for the third time of the night, Richie did the only thing he truly knew how to do; he acted impulsively.

If asked, Richie wouldn’t be able to pinpoint exactly when he decided to kiss the man he’d loved since he was 15 in the middle of Greenwich Village at one in the morning. Before he knew it, the hand on Eddie’s cheek slid down to his neck, pulling their lips together before the shorter man could react to the shift in Richie’s hold on him. As much as he didn’t want to admit the fact, Richie knew he wouldn’t have taken such action if it weren’t for the alcohol flowing through his veins, but at this point he didn’t much care. When their lips met, he forgot all about the booze, and became drunk on Eddie.

Eddie kissed back without hesitation, letting go of Richie’s hand and easily snaking his arms around his neck, with a comfortability as if they had done this thousands of times. It was sloppy due to the pair’s mixed tears along with their lack of experience, but nevertheless the two men kissed with purpose, as if the fate of their livelihood depended on this moment. Perhaps it did.

By the time they pulled away and rested their foreheads together, Eddie’s fingers had found themselves tangled in Richie’s dark curls, and Richie’s hands were gripping Eddie’s hips for dear life. The kiss hadn’t lasted too long - thirty seconds or so, if that - however the energy both men poured into those short seconds left them panting heavily, their breath tangling together, hot in the other’s face in the midst of the cold air around them.

“That was better than talking,” Richie breathed out with a wet chuckle, causing Eddie to finally crack his first smile of the night. It was a small one, the corners of his mouth curving only lightly, but Richie saw that his happiness had made its way into his stare.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie whispered with no real bite in his words before bringing their lips together again, this kiss softer than the last. While their first kiss was filled with the passion built up from years of mutual pining and secrets, their second let them convey the deepness of their love without words to speak. A tender peck of their lips told Richie everything he needed to know; this moment was very much real, and Eddie Kaspbrak very much loved Richie Tozier.

And if the kiss wasn’t enough, Eddie made sure to tell him when he pulled out of the kiss and rested his head on the taller man’s shoulder, pulling him into a proper embrace.

“I love you, Rich. I- I think I always have,” he confessed, his voice slightly muffled from where his face was buried in Richie’s neck, but the other man heard him loud and clear all the same. Richie released his grip on Eddie’s hips and wrapped his arms around him, letting himself breathe out a sigh of relief as he held him impossibly closer.

“I love you too, Eds. So fucking much, fuck.” Richie pressed a kiss to soft brown waves, breathing in the clean scent of lavender shampoo mixed with light cologne, his senses filling with just Eddie.

Standing in the middle of a bustling city they barely knew in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, arms wrapped tightly around one another, ignoring the strangers that walked past them most definitely giving them some variation of judgemental stares, Eddie and Richie had never felt more at home.

“Alright, Trashmouth,” Eddie started, reluctantly pulling away from Richie’s hold. Richie pouted at the loss of feeling Eddie’s body pressed against his own, making the latter chuckle and playfully roll his eyes. He pressed a quick peck to said trashmouth before continuing. “We can talk about this more in the morning. Right now, you need water and sleep.” Richie slapped a toothy grin onto his chapped lips after, once again, being reminded of how intoxicated he still was, falling back into his goofy demeanor with ease.

“Ya gonna take care of me, Dr. K? Ugh, what a dreamboat,” he replied, miming a cartoonish faint. Eddie simply giggled and grasped Richie’s hand once again, interlacing their fingers and leading him in the direction of their dorms. Richie fell back ever so slightly as to not get caught looking at Eddie like the lovesick dork he was, feeling a warmth grow in his body he was sure wasn’t due to the alcohol.

Richie still drinks after this night; old habits die hard, of course. However, Richie didn’t have to be drunk anymore to admit he loved Eddie. He told him sober and drunk, day and night, and vowed to remind Eddie just how much he loved him until the day they died.

#my writing #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #reddie angst #it #it chapter one #it chapter two #it 2017 #it 2019

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star-lemonade · 3 years

Text

Country Side Vacation (1/2)

Rating: R (AO3: E)

Word count: 3.6k

Genre: smut, romance

A.C.E Junhee x Reader x A.C.E Donghun

CW: smut, mentions of overstimulation, threesome, friends with benefits, a bit of unnamed ex bashing xD

Thanks to @alexing1061 for helping when I was stuck :3

Request: Ok so this is random and it just came to me and I just thought I need it from you bc you’re the only one I know who wrote Poly- So basically can I request something where it’s like you and all of ace are friends and there’s a water fight or whatever that you walk in on and coincidentally you’re wearing a white shirt and it becomes see through but you don’t realise and join the water fight and then ace get flustered and it’s just a nerve war and teasing back and forth and some spice and ty ❤️

You heard the fight before you could see it. There was yelling and laughing coming from the yard behind Junhee’s parents house. He had invited you and some of his other friends there as his parents had left on a two week vacation. Living in the big city was good, but getting away from the late summer heat and crowd was a welcome change. You stayed at a small pension, because you did not want to sleep on the couch in the living room.

The scene that greeted you behind the house was chaos. Somehow the five guys had gotten some water guns. The color on some of them was faded and the plastic of all of them looked dull. Yuchan ran around the yard trying to avoid Byeongkwan’s shots. He was not very good at it evidently by his wet t-shirt. Donghun was watching them, waiting for a good opportunity. His hair had gotten so long that he could tie it up and it looked beautiful on him. If you were perfectly honest, you had had a crush on Donghun for some time now. You had known him for about two years now and it felt like it was too late to make a move now.

Junhee emerged from behind a small shad. You felt a blush creep up your neck. His hair was wet and he wore a floral print shirt that he had not bothered to button up. Secretly you hoped he would never find a girlfriend just so you could stay friends with benefits. Park Junhee was probably the most gorgeous and most ridiculous person you had ever met. He had a smile that could sell water to fish only to drop it before it was paid.

After your break up with your ex, Junhee had come to your place.

###############

There was a knock on your door. I don’t want to see anyone. Who is this again? You did not move from the couch, hoping who ever was there would take the hint and leave. Even though you had finally got your shit together and had broken up with that jerk of an ex boyfriend, you did not feel good.

Another knock, this time louder.

“Please open the door! It’s Junhee.”

Junhee? What is he doing here? You threw back the blanket and staggered over to the door. A storm of knocks was coming down on your door now and when you opened it, Junhee almost fell into your apartment. He took a step forward to avoid the fall and back away again, pretending like nothing happened.

“What do you want?”

“Food and drinks.”

He picked up a plastic bag from the floor and showed it to you.

“Can I come in?”

Junhee gave you his best puppy eyes and it worked. You sighed and opened the door more. He beamed and entered your apartment. Only after he stood in the living room you noticed how your apartment looked. On the couch table were discarded snack wrappers and three mostly empty mugs. You had not washed the dishes in two days either. Fuck. I look like a mess.

Junhee sat the bag down on the couch table, took something out and grabbed the mugs with the other hand. He will see the kitchen. The mugs landed next to the sink that was already full and he put the other thing in the freezer.

“Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

He had brought food from one of your favorite take-out places. You sat down on the couch and took a spoonful. No sooner it had touched your lips you realized how hungry you were. Not eating the whole day did that to you.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?”

Junhee had sat down opposite you and helped himself to some food too. He did not answer your question, so you added:

“Sit next to me.”

I don’t smell do I? No, I showered. Not too long ago actually. Standing under the hot water was a good feeling and you had slept in that day.

Junhee did not want to argue with you and had sat down on the couch. He placed more food on your spoon as you ate. Would be kind of romantic if I didn’t feel like crap and had not lost hope in men.

Junhee took the plates after you had finished and you got up to help.

“Sit.”

“But…“

You stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do and just feeling exhausted. He pushed you back down onto the couch and even wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. Defeated you sank into the soft fabric. Junhee took something out of the freezer and pressed it into your hand.

“You sit down, eat some of this and tell me what exactly happened while I wash the dishes.”

It was ice cream. The one you liked, from your favorite brand.

“ He didn’t even know that this was my favorite.. ”

A sob was rising in your chest but you held it. It made you shiver. A hand landed on your head.

“It’s okay.”

Junhee’s voice was soft and it broke your resilience. You began sobbing. It was unfair that you had put so much into your relationship, but all you got in return was cheating. Your ex had never loved you, you were sure of that. You had just been the most convenient option. Junhee pulled you into a hug and you cried against his chest.

“Everything will be okay.”

It repeated like a mantra in your ear.

The following week you tried to get your mind off your ex and when Junhee asked you if you wanted to go out for dinner, you accepted.

“Thank you for being there. Last week.”

Junhee sipped on his drink, some fruity cocktail, and looked at you.

“No problem.”

He insisted on accompanying you home because you were a bit tipsy. Unfortunately it also took out your filter.

“You know what the worst thing is? The asshole fucked her all the time. He went to her almost every day and nailed her. And I..”

Stopped yourself before you said it. Even your tipsy brain understood this was sensitive.

“You what?”

Junhee gave you a side look.

“Nothing.”

He pouted. This was not something he wanted to let go. Junhee did not give up,

“Come on! Tell me.”

You groaned in exasperation. There was no way you could say it.

“No.”

He caught your arm and spun around. His expression was dead serious.

“Please.”

You licked your lips.

“I haven’t had sex in months, okay?”

Without waiting for his response you tore your arm from his weak grip and almost ran the last few meters to the building entrance. Junhee did not follow you.

The next day however he showed up at your door.

“Hi?”

“Hi.”

Junhee stood awkwardly in the hallway. The fluffy sweater and dark blue jeans looked cute on him. Something tickled your nose. Junhee almost never wore perfume, but for some reason he did now. Very odd.

“What do you want?”

Junhee chewed on his lip and avoided your eyes. What is going on? Is he nervous?

“I think… maybe… how should I put this… theoretically…”

He stopped himself from rambling and took a deep breath. You had never seen him like this.

“Do you... want to have sex with me?”

His face was flushed with the most adorable blush. You fell open but no sound came out. This was not what he had said, no it could not be. Surely you had misheard him.

“Look, it is okay if you don’t want to. Totally fine. I won’t be mad or anything.”

His hand came up in a pleading gesture. You swallowed.

“We shouldn’t have this conversation in the hallway.”

You pulled him into your apartment and slammed the door shut behind him. All of this was very confusing. Why is he suddenly asking this? Without being aware of it you had started pacing the room. Is it because of yesterday? You stopped and looked at Junhee who was awkwardly standing next to the door..

“Are you offering out of pity?”

That thought of Junhee giving you a pity fuck was not very pleasant. You still had some dignity left.

“No. I just … want to have sex with you.”

This time he met your eyes even though he resembled a tomato now.

“Of course, only if you want to.”

The truth was you had never thought about having sex with Junhee. Not because he was not attractive, but because he felt so out of your league.

His hand came up to your cheek and his thumb gently rubbed over it. The blush was still on his face and you found that incredibly attractive. Almost as if suddenly magnetic your lips snapped to his. He froze as you moved against him. Up close he smelled like he had been walking outside, but also of the perfume and flowery shampoo. You were starting to feel awkward kissing his unmoving lips and wanted to pull away when his hand landed on the back of your neck. Your lips lost contact but his hand guided you back. The kiss was intense and needy. His tongue slipped into your mouth and a quiet noise escaped you. A hand landed on your waist and pushed you up against his chest. Despite him looking like a twig he felt solid and warm. You wanted to touch his skin so badly and snuck a hand under his sweater. He had tucked in the shirt he wore under and you pulled it loose.

“Do you want to move somewhere else?”

Junhee looked at you as you finally slipped your hand under his clothes and sighed at the soft skin of his lower back.

“Yes.”

You took his hand and led him to your bedroom. Surprisingly it was very clean. Stress made you want to tidy up and organize things. Even the bed sheets were freshly changed and nothing was lying around.

Junhee cupped your face with both hands and brought your lips together. His kissing made your stomach drop and your heart flutter in a way you had not felt in quite some time. It almost felt like you had a new crush but no sooner had the thought appeared, you pushed it aside. This was about sex, Junhee did not have feelings for you and it was not like you had feelings for him either.

“Everything alright?”

He had backed off a little and gave you a concerned look. Right I had been thinking, not kissing.

“Yes. Sorry I… it’s nothing.”

Junhee did not move to continue so you grabbed his shirt and back up to the bed. You sat on it and practically pulled him on top of you. He was heavier than you had expected and now his weight was basically pinning you into the bed. Yes, beautiful, warm Junhee was on top of you and everything else left your mind when he smiled.

“I’m sorry, I’ll only pay attention to you from now on.”

You put your hands around his neck and he pecked your lips.

“I sure hope so.”

His lips moved to your neck, kissing down towards your collar. Where he touched you your skin felt hot and a shiver went through your body. His soft hair brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck and the hot breath that followed his kisses was nerve racking. Something hard pressed against your leg. Wow, someone is eager. You had expected him to shift his hips away, but instead he tried to wedge one knee between your legs. You let him and a moment later the hardness was pressed against your leg again. Wondering what would happen if you teased him, you gently moved your thigh. The answer was a sharp inhale.

“Can I take off my shirt? I really want your mouth on my chest.”

It came out too fast for your brain to filter it out. Junhee seemed a bit dazed and just nodded without actually moving. You stared at him.

“I can’t take my shirt off like this.”

He smirked suddenly and instead of moving off you placed his elbows next to head.

“No. I guess. you can’t.”

Every other word was followed by a peck on the lips.

“Junhee!”

You laughed as he showered your face with little kisses. They tickled your skin and you squirmed beneath him. His lips catch yours with a different energy. It was sweet and warm at first, but then he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You could not stop the moan bubbling up in your throat when his knee pressed between your legs.

There was nothing you wanted more in that moment but to be naked already. You pulled on Junhee’s sweater and shirt, exposing his back to the cool air.

He stopped kissing you and sat up reluctantly.

“Okay, okay.”

You used the change to pull your hoodie and t-shirt off while Junhee watched. He waited for you to toss your clothes away before he started to peel off his sweater. The confidence in this part was written on his face even though he tried to hide it. You will like what you will see. That is what his movements said. No matter how much you wanted to rain on his parade, to be unimpressed, you actually loved his body. He was not the tallest or biggest guy you had ever seen, but his lean, definite chest and arms were making your mouth water. Your eyes got stuck on his stomach where you could see the outline of his abs appear when he breathed. Further down was something else outlined.

There was not much time to admire the view though because he followed your suggestion from earlier and his mouth landed on your collarbone.

You ran your hands over his back. The smooth skin radiated heat and you wanted to feel more of it against you. If you could have your body and his touching everywhere, that would be heavenly. The thought left your mind when his mouth reached the hem of your pants. You practically yanked him up by hair.

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

Your grip loosened and you were a bit sorry. It must have hurt.

“Can I use my hands or do you not want to be touched there at all?”

This was certainly not something your ex would have asked.

“Just don’t use your mouth okay?”

He rested his chin on your stomach and studied your face.

“If you’re uncomfortable we can stop.”

Stop now when my underwear is soaked?

“Can I touch you?”

Junhee swallowed audibly.

“Sure.”

He laid down beside you on the bed and finally you got to run your hands over his nice body. Kissing his neck earned you a whimper and it was very cute. You let your mouth wander down, tracing the outline of his abs with your tongue. He sighed and closed his eyes. A thin trail of hairs lead down from his bellybutton to the hem of his pants.

“Can I take them off?”

You hooked a finger into one of the hoops of his pants as he opened his eyes. There was no awkward tension between you two, just a kind of expecting anticipation and he smiled.

“Yes.”

Pulling down the zipper inevitably meant running your hand over the hard bump on his hip and you did that very deliberately. Going so slowly that it was almost just one notch at a time. It was driving Junhee mad. He bit his lip and his eyes alternated between shooting daggers at you and pleading you to continue. The pants had gotten pretty tight because of the teasing and you had some mercy. You pulled the pants down and let your fingers run over his bare legs in the process.

There was something vulnerable about Junhee lying in your bed with only his tight boxers. You could not help yourself but compare him to your ex who had never shown any cracks. He had been in charge because he was the man in this house. And here was Junhee. His arms were over his head with his hands grabbing the headboard, looking at you with a softness that made your heart clench.

You ran your hand over his firm thighs and cupped his hard penis. He closed his eyes and his mouth fell open a little bit. How had you never thought about how beautiful Junhee would look? You kissed the skin just above the hem of his underwear before pulling it down a bit. His hand was on your cheek.

“You don’t have to, okay?”

Oh. You had hated to give your ex blowjobs and at some point you had told Junhee while drunk.

“It’s really fine if you don’t. I won’t be mad.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek and his voice was heartbreakingly soft. You nodded.

“Okay.”

The underwear still needed to be removed so you hooked your fingers under the elastic and pulled it down. The trend of his body continued here too. He may not be the biggest but so pretty. You took him into your hand and marveled at the silky smooth skin. A decision was made in an instant. Your lips closed around the tip and you ran your tongue from the bottom of the head up to the slit. Junhee gasped and his hand was in your hair. Whatever he wanted to say was replaced by a moan as you took him into your mouth as deep as you could. The sounds he made the situation in your pants worse. The gasps and cute little moans were almost too much to handle. How will it be when he actually comes?

“Stop.”

He lightly tugged at your hair to emphasize his point. You let his penis slide out of your mouth.

“I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

“Why?”

Didn’t all guys think it’s hot when you swallow?

“You don’t like it.”

That was true. The taste of cum was not a good memory for you.

“What do you want to do now?”

Junhee looked at you and for a second you wondered what would happen if you said you wanted him to leave. Would he just gather up his pants and go? You decided the answer would be yes. From everything you knew about Junhee, you were sure that you could trust him.

“I want you on top of me.”

He nodded.

“Okay just let me get something.”

While he left the room you used the time to look in the mirror and check your hair. He came back with an unopened package of condoms. I admire his preparedness. Junhee took one of the packages out and sat the box on your nightstand.

You watched as he grabbed himself and rolled the condom on. Yes, Junhee was beautiful but not only on the outside.

When he entered you it felt perfect, as if this was how it was supposed to be. You wrapped your legs around his hips as he began to move them. It had been some time since the last time you had sex, that was not with toys, and you suddenly felt self conscious, unsure. He stopped.

“You okay? You’re a bit cramped up.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek.

“It’s been a while…”

You did not know what else to say and hoped he would understand.

“Do you still want to continue?”

If you were honest you were not sure.

“Maybe you can convince me?”

“Okay.”

You wondered why his voice was so soft. It was almost as if he was talking to someone he loved.

He kissed you again, deeply. His hips had moved a bit away and after a moment you knew why. He needed the space for his hand to slip between you two and rub your clit. Whatever reservations you had had were blown away by his tongue in your mouth and his fingers between your legs. With the rising tension, the fact he was still inside you, it felt good. You wanted him to move and buckled your hips against him. The moan that followed made you want to move more to hear it again. Junhee’s voice had always been pleasant, but his moans were maddening. You pressed against him for more friction and he met your movements. Without either of you truly being in control the pace quickened.

He pulled his mouth off yours as he got closer. His eyes clamped shut as he drove into you hard and faster than before. You gasped when his hand found your clit again and rubbed it haphazardly. His breathy moans pushed you more towards the edge. They were beautiful to your ears and you could not get enough.

“Fuck.”

A wave of bliss hit you and your whole body tensed before going limp.

After the initial encounter with Junhee, surprisingly, others had followed. You had been sure the amazing sex would be a one time thing but the next week he had swung by again. Quite a few more meetings had happened after you got the message that you could ask him too. Another thing that had established itself was that despite his very forward behavior the first time Junhee preferred when you were in charge. He loved it when you rode him and pulled his hair. One time he asked you to continue riding him after he had already come. It had been scary and heartbreaking at first to see tears running down his face, but he told you not to stop. Afterwards he was the happiest you had ever seen him.

“You’re the best.” He had cooned as he snuggled up against you.

Splash.

To be continued soon :3

A/N: This got unnecessarily emotional??

#ksmutclub #a.c.e smut #A.C.E donghun smut #Donghun x reader #Jun x reader #star writing #request #kpop smut #a.c.e fanfic #A.C.E x reader #A.C.E jun smut #Junhee x reader

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tiifalockhart · 3 years

Text

Invisible Enemy

Anonymous asked: Hello, I want to request also a Prompto bc i love him 😍 like his insecurities kicking in and then his s/o will kiss them insecurities away, kissing his cute freckles and adoring his stretch marks (i have them too 🥺) just to get sunshine boi smile again, not too saucy, bye thank you *flies away*

Pairing: Prompto x Reader

Word Count: 2k

A/N: hello!! thank you so much for your request. I hope you enjoy it!! feedback is always appreciated

Ao3 || Masterlist

Prompto could brave anything...

After building up enough confidence to do so, of course. He could fight off giant snake women in the deepest caves in all of Duscae, and only feel a bit of anxiety after the fight. His adrenaline would be pumping to the max and he’d actually look forward to the next battle. He’d been frozen, burned, petrified, and even turned into a frog, and yet he still was able to put on this magnificent brave front.

...That is until the enemy he’s fighting is himself.

The greatest curse to him was his insecurities. He hated them so much. His intrusive thoughts would pop into his mind and ruin his joyous mood. They sucked away so much of his life... It was almost devastating. No one knew why Prompto would randomly go silent during conversations in the car, or why he would sometimes distance himself in camp. It was saddening, watching the light leave his eyes sometimes.

It wasn’t the same when he was fighting an invisible enemy. He’d do anything to distract himself. He’d play random games on his phone, maybe go out and practice shooting, sometimes he would even offer to go exploring at night to take his mind away from the berating verbal abuse his mind gave him.

He’d think about the insecurities he’s carried with him since he was a child. Was his weight okay? Did he look okay? Maybe the others were friends with him out of pity. Was he really funny or were the guys just laughing to make him feel better? Maybe he should go on a jog in the morning. These constant thoughts plagued his mind and caused him to unendingly doubt himself until he was swallowed up by his insecure and depressed nature. He wish he could fix it within a snap, he wished that he could just make them go away, but he couldn’t.

When the two of you first met, you seemed so... Confident. He watched the way you walked without a qualm in the world, how you smiled brightly and laughed happily and took everything with a grain of salt. You seemed to love life... It was admirable. Prompto wanted to be like that desperately, to be happy and carefree, but he was sad and cared too much.

As the two of you got closer, he tried to follow your lead but it never worked. Eventually, his thoughts would come back just as he began to feel better. It was a sick circle of doubt.

You began to notice it when he became distant and quiet, how he would stare out the window of the car silently or how he’d laugh hollowly. You would grow concerned and ask him about it, but ultimately receive no answer from him. Usually, he’d brush it off, typically saying something along the lines of “Sorry, I’m just tired” or “Sorry, I didn’t realize.” You understood how hard it was to talk about feelings, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be okay with those answers.

It wasn’t until after the two of you began to date that he began to open up more about his insecurities. It would be random occurrences when he’d mention it. Sometimes it was at dinner, sometimes it was when the two of you were about to sleep, sometimes it was just out of the blue when you both were watching TV. He began to speak his mind more, which you appreciated greatly. It seemed to be healthy for him as well.

That is until he completely broke down one day.

You’d never seen anything like it before, it was like he was a completely different person. He was so on edge and upset about seemingly nothing and refused to talk about it. He tried desperately to bottle it up and swallow it, anything so that he would stop his mind from racing.

That night, you found him in your bed, curled up and crying. It was such a pitiful sight. You couldn’t find the right words to comfort him, you weren’t quite sure what was causing him so much pain. So, to attempt to comfort him, you simply laid next to him and hugged him.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after several minutes passed. Prompto let out a shaky sigh as he slowly shook his head.

“No... I don’t want to bother you with my issues.” He muttered, his voice rough. You gave him a sympathetic look before moving closer to him. After planting a very gentle kiss on his cheek, you cleaned away his tears with your hands.

You sat up and carefully pulled him closer, holding him in your arms. “You won’t be bothering me. Tell me about it.” You whispered comfortingly, gently rubbing his arms and shoulders.

He sighed and nodded somewhat reluctantly. “Sometimes... I feel like I’m not good enough, you know?” He murmured, tilting his head back to look up at you. “Like... I don’t look as good, I don’t fight as well, my personality isn’t that good. It scares me... Because sometimes I don’t know if those thoughts are true or not.”

You frowned at his confession, smiling weakly and leaning down. You placed a kiss on his most prominent freckle on his forehead. “I think you’re perfect.” You whispered, pressing another kiss on another freckle. “I also think you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.” You reassured, pressing another kiss to another freckle. “You don’t have to be sad, because you’re more magnificent than you think.” You whispered, beginning to press more kisses to his freckles. Your lips traveled from his face and down to his sun-kissed shoulders. You massaged his shoulders afterward, a small smile gracing your lips.

He relaxed under your touch, his eyes slowly falling shut. “You think so?” He whispered, a little too dazed to respond properly. You let out a soft laugh as you nodded.

“I know so.” You answered, running your fingers through his hair. “I think you’re lovely.” You continued, shrugging lightly.

“Even for who I was?” He asked, a shaky breath leaving his lips. You raised a brow in confusion. Was he referring to his teenage years..? You sighed softly and shifted so that you were hugging him around his waist from the side.

“Your past defines who you are... But that doesn’t necessarily involve looks.” You murmured, looking up at him. “Experiences make up who you are, looks inevitably don’t matter, especially after the change you went through.”

“But... How do I know that it doesn’t?” He responded, shaking his head and letting his head fall back onto the pillow. You looked up at him, a glint of concern evident in your eyes.

“Well... Because when we met, I knew nothing about your past until you showed me.” You pointed out logically, shrugging. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to one of the stretch marks left on his stomach, causing him to shudder. “Have you heard Noctis, Ignis, or Gladiolus mention it? What about Cindy or Iris?”

He hesitated and nodded slowly. “No... They’ve never said anything about it.” Prompto replied, his brows furrowing.

“That’s right, because no one is worried about it... They’re more worried about being your friend and taking care of you and making you happy. They don’t care what you looked like, they just want to make sure you’re okay.” You explained as you trailed kisses along his stretch marks. He nodded hesitantly as if he silently understood.

“Can we cuddle?” He asked randomly, which caused you to smile.

“Only if I get to be big spoon.” You answered, moving up and wrapping your arms around him from behind. He sighed in relief, his eyes falling shut as he leaned into your touch.

“Thank you...” He sighed, before eventually drifting off to sleep. You admired his peaceful expression and simply held him. Hopefully this would have an impact on him... You hoped that he would be feeling better by the time you two woke up.

The next morning, you woke up to find yourself alone. A confused look formed on your features as you stared at the pillow in your arms. Quietly, you stood and wandered around the house in search of Prompto, until you came upon the kitchen. You raised a brow in confusion as you entered, noticing how Prompto was bent over the oven. “Prompto?” You called out, a confused look on your features.

“Oh-” He tried standing up, but ended up hitting his head on the counter. “Ow... Good morning.” He greeted, pulling out a pan of biscuits. “I decided to make breakfast, I feel really good after last night, you know? I was going to bring it to you in bed, but you ended up waking up. But it’s alright, we can just eat it here. Oh, what kind of jam do you like?” He rambled on, turning to take off the oven mitts and grab plates for the two of you. The confusion never left your features as you took a seat, watching him curiously.

“How... How did you make that? I thought you were awful at cooking.” You began, eyeing the tray of biscuits. “And... I don’t have a preference of jam... Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He grinned and laughed, placing some biscuits on your plate and handing it to you, before taking a seat next to you. “I feel a lot better after last night. You helped a lot, you know? Hey, we should go see Noct today!” He explained, spreading jam on the biscuit in his hand before eating it. He seemed to be much more energetic today... Scatterbrained as well.

“Oh... Sure, we can. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” You responded, smiling at his eagerness and beginning to eat. Maybe things were going to be okay for him after all.

After your meal, the two of you got dressed and headed out, meeting up with Noctis, Ignis and Gladio. They seemed to notice the change of attitude for Prompto as well, which made you feel slightly relieved. He was energetic and talkative, and even brought out his camera often, which you missed in the past few weeks. It seems that he’s returned to normal. You were thankful for it.

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prfctparis · 3 years

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Red Jell-O and A Trip to the Healers

AO3 Link

summary: in which mace windu spends part of night with two of the most stubborn kids in the jedi order. if he had any hair, they might make him go gray within the hour.

a/n: ok so basically, lately my mind has been super duper focused on my star wars au (which exists solely in my head right now) where anakin doesn’t turn to the dark side mostly bc he has a little sister (aka my oc zariza) and other factors, and instead of rambling about that for paragraphs on end i’ll just say: this is a drabble/one shot thing that takes place in that au, but years before the clone wars begins. if you’re curious, and if i did my math right, anakin is 14 here and zariza is 10. but yeah, hope u enjoy reading this!

Master Jedi Mace Windu stares at the young girl with a carefully blank expression. The youngling – an initiate, no older than ten, if he remembers correctly – stares back, almost as if she is daring him to say something, which… Doesn’t surprise him. Not in the slightest. This is Skywalker Number Two, after all, and even though she is much quieter than her older brother, she no doubt causes as much mayhem as he does.

He just wants a snack. He ran out of them in his own quarters. Looking at the young girl, something tells him he won’t be getting the snack.

Mace refrains from sighing.

This is not how he thought his night was going to go.

“Initiate Skywalker,” he begins, hoping it comes off as a greeting than a silent reprimand. “What a coincidence it is seeing you here.”

Her dark eyes narrow the slightest bit. The expression simultaneously looks like Anakin yet nothing like him at all.

Honestly, though he is loath to admit it, sometimes he forgets the two are brother and sister. After all, they hardly look anything alike – different fathers, he remembers Master Healer Che explain to him and the Council members when they were wondering if they were actually related. Anakin has blond hair that is bleached light from his years on Tatooine yet now is slowly darkening with age, and bright blue eyes and tanned, fair skin, whereas his sister has wild and wavy dark brown hair that almost looks black with eyes to match, and light brown skin. She also has abnormally sharp canines for a human – no doubt a hint at whatever type of alien race that is in her blood; they have yet been able to figure it out.

They both do that damn stubborn chin tilt thing, though.

It can be…aggravating, to say the least, when someone is trying to get them to do something and they don’t want to.

Mace gives into sighing when she doesn’t budge. “Zariza,” he tries again, “what are you doing? It is midnight.”

The stubborn chin tilt stays. Kriff. “I could ask you the same thing,” she says.

“You should be sleeping.”

“…So should you.”

“Skywalker.”

“Window.”

Mace’s brow twitches. Okay. Okay, he can deal with a ten year old. He successfully taught Depa, didn’t he?

(Then again, Depa hadn’t been a child who was hell bent on infuriating him on purpose; she had also been thirteen, and the only chaos she brought and still brings are the occasional pranks on him and the jokes about his bald head; luckily the padawan drama ended with the beginning of her Knighthood.)

If only Master Rheba Toome was available – or Kenobi. They both have somehow managed to become the designated Skywalker Wranglers, as Master Koon had once said after an incident when a slightly murderous droid with a flesh eating plant attached to it got loose in the Temple last year.

An idea comes to him suddenly. “You tell me why you are in the Temple’s kitchens so late, and I will say nothing to your crèche master. I might even let you leave with what you came for–,” he doesn’t miss the subtle yet sudden jolt of suspicious relief, “–but if you don’t, I will take you out of here myself and speak to Crèche Master Aryn the moment we get back to your clan.”

There’s a long, tense silence where Zariza debates with herself in her head. So long that Mace wonders if he will have to repeat himself. Then, “Ani’s sick.”

That…is not what Mace had been expecting. He raises a brow. “He is?”

She nods, and points to the fridge a few feet away. “And he likes the red jell-o.”

“Is he in the Halls?” Mace asks, growing slightly concerned because Obi-Wan got sent out to a solo mission just the day before and Padawan Skywalker hadn’t been allowed to go. He didn’t put up much of a fight, which shocked yet pleased everyone. Now, he knows possibly why he didn’t, and that makes the situation slightly worrying.

Zariza opens her mouth, pauses, closes it with pursed lips, and shakes her head no.

“And why isn’t he?”

She shrugs, a bit defensively. “I dunno. Probably thinks he’s fine. He went to his lessons all day – Aayla tried talking him into going to Healer Bant but it didn’t work.”

Mace frowns with furrowed brows, but quickly smooths his expression when gets a sense of guilt and shame and a vague impression of an apology, though he doesn’t know what for. He kneels down without a second thought, and hates (that’s not the Jedi way–) how her chin is tilted down, eyes casted to the side, as if expecting some harsh punishment for…what? Caring for her brother? Telling Mace that he’s sick? If he was any less of a Jedi, the ones who enslaved the Skywalkers would be six feet under.

He makes sure to release the anger into the Force before speaking again; he will need to meditate later. “I am not upset with you, little one. Not anymore, at least. I’m simply concerned about your brother’s health right now,” he assures her.

Zariza huffs, still looking away, but she’s no longer tucking her chin into her chest. “So am I,” she mumbles petulantly. “S’why I want the red jell-o. He likes it.”

“So you have said. Can you tell me how he was feeling last time you saw him? Or in your Force bond, right now?”

“Uh… Sick.” A beat; Mace refrains from spouting a heavily sarcastic remark to a ten year old. “Um. He threw up once he got back to his and Obi-Wan’s rooms. Said something ‘bout being really, really tired earlier. He’s sleeping now.”

Mace hums, and stands up. “All right. Well then, let’s go. I want to check on him, and if needed I will be taking him to the Halls of Healing.”

Zariza frowns as she finally looks at him, but then her eyes travel to the fridge. There’s a silent question there. She goes to ask it but stops herself, and nods. “Okay,” she says instead, almost a mumble, and turns to leave.

He watches her for a second, glances at the fridge that holds the red jell-o, and then moves to walk beside her. “If I was sure it would not upset his stomach, I would let you take some jell-o to him now. But… Maybe tomorrow, if he is feeling better, you can.”

As she tilts her head to look up at Mace in surprise, he makes sure to stare straight ahead. “…Really?”

Mace nods. Then, looks down at her and gives her the barest of smiles. “Really.”

Zariza’s eyes narrow once again. “You promise?”

“I promise– but only if he feels better,” he emphasizes when she starts to grin. “No other time than that.”

“What if he asks for some and he doesn’t feel better?”

Patience, he reminds himself as they walk through the sun halls of the Temple. “Then ask Master Healer Che, or one of the other Healers.”

He gets silence as a response and he glances down to make sure she hasn’t suddenly run off. It’s happened before with her crèche master and Master Rheba Toome and Knight Kenobi – one could say she has a knack for simply sneaking off at the most random times – and he would very much dislike if she snuck away from him in the dark hallways. But, she’s still at his side, clearly thinking about something. Hopefully about what Mace just said and not about putting another flesh eating plant on a half working droid of Anakin’s.

“…What if there aren’t any Healers around?”

“There will be.”

“But what if there aren’t?” she presses.

Mace sighs quietly, hopefully enough to where Zariza doesn’t notice. “Then wait for one.”

More silence. Another glance. She’s still there.

“…I guess I can do that,” she says.

That is, well, kind of concerning. But better than the girl outright disagreeing with him, that’s for sure.

The rest of the walk to Knight Kenobi’s and Padawan Skywalker’s room is done in silence. Mace acknowledges the nocturnal Jedi with a nod, and Zariza shyly waves at the ones who notice her. When they get there Zariza let’s herself in, unlocking the quarters with zero problem, and hurries inside. Mace follows at more relaxed pace. He notices as she takes one look at the living area’s couch, frowns, and makes her way to the little hallway. Mace looks as well, and notices the padawan’s abandoned holopads for a few of his lessons, as well as just a general mess of the area that one would expect from a 14 year old when left alone.

Zariza speaking tears Mace’s attention away from the mess.

“Why the kark are you lying on the bathroom floor? ”

“E chu ta, Zari! None of your business.”

Ah. Huttese cuss words. Nothing unusual, but still.

“Watch your language, young ones,” Mace reprimands lightly, and makes his way to the bathroom where Anakin, indeed, lying on the bathroom floor.

Anakin groans. “Ah, chuba, why’d you bring him?” He sounds pitiful, so much so that it comes out as a whine more than anything. He’s sweating, too, and sickly pale, with visible bags under his eyes from where Mace and Zariza stand at the bathroom entrance. By the smell, Mace and tell that he’s thrown up again. None of is visible, so he’s sincerely hoping Anakin made it to the toilet in time and flushed.

“Because you’re a sick koochoo,” Zariza says.

“Language,” Mace says almost absentmindedly.

She huffs and crosses her arms. “I only called him an idiot.”

“I’m not sick,” the teen denies. It’s a weak argument. Mace can only raise an eyebrow. “And I’m not an idiot, either!” Raising his voice defensively sends Anakin into a coughing fit that ends rather quickly. He groans and curls into a ball, all the while keeping his face on the tile flooring.

Zariza rolls her eyes. “And I’m Jabba.”

Mace sighs and enters the bathroom. He crouches down to Anakin, and places the back of his hand on the boy’s forehead. He jerks away just as quickly, though that doesn’t keep Anakin from making a pitiful sound at the loss of contact. Mace’s lips form a thin line. “I think it’s best if I take you to the Healers, Padawan Skywalker,” he says.

“Nooo, I’m not sick!”

Mace shakes his head. “You are – you have a fever, Skywalker, and it’s best we take you to the Halls of Healing since Knight Kenobi is off planet.”

He mumbles and groans something indiscernible.

Zariza walks over and nudges Anakin’s side with her foot. “Do you want some red jell-o?”

“Kriff no.”

Mace almost tells them to watch their language again, but decides that is a fight he will have with them another day. Preferably during daylight hours and not at midnight when they were all supposed to be healthy and sleeping. Preferably, it won’t be him having such conversations with them.

(Truthfully, he loves the children in the Order, the Skywalker siblings included – but right now in his exhausted, slightly hangry state, he can only spend so much time with them.)

She hums. “What about tomorrow?”

Anakin stills. “…Maybe.”

The initiate grins and looks at Mace, clearly pleased with the answer.

He nods and gives her a smile of acknowledgment, then refocuses on the task at hand. “Can you get up and walk? Or will I be carrying you?”

Anakin gives another response that might as well be in another language, and Mace closes his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes in slowly a few times, centers himself, and opens his eyes again a few moments later.

“Okay. Carrying, it is.”

Anakin hardly protests – well, he tries, at least, but it can hardly be counted as anything – and Mace picks up him with not too much difficulty; one arm around the boy’s shoulders, the other under his knees. As Mace leaves the rooms, Zariza follows and turns off the lights along the way, and even locks the door once they are out into the hallway.

And then she starts talking. Continuously.

It’s a vast difference from earlier, and it catches Mace by surprise. Quickly, though, it dawns on him that she’s talking for her brother’s benefit. From droids to podraces to Master Yoda’s swamp stew to the names of new plants she has learned about, and so and so forth. Something about the rambling must help, because Anakin relaxes more as the walk to the Halls of Healing goes by. So much so that he gives up on holding his head up and rests it on Mace’s shoulder, almost passing out completely by the time they make it to the Halls, Zariza tapering off about a holoshow she heard one of the older initiates talk about the other day.

“Master Windu,” one of the Master Healers, a nocturnal species, greets with a bow. Dark, large eyes focus on the brother and sister once they stand straight. “Ah, and the Skywalkers,” they say, playfully flicking their tail in Zariza’s direction to get a giggle out of her.

“Hullo,” she says, smiling up at the Healer.

“Healer Rou,” Mace returns the greeting. “I’m afraid we have a sick padawan on our hands.”

“Hm, yes I see,” Healer Rou says, and moves closer to rest a hand on Anakin’s forehead just like Mace had done before. They remove it quickly, though not as fast Mace did. “He definitely has a fever. How long has he been feeling badly?”

The question is aimed to Mace, but he looks down at Zariza for the answer.

Her eyebrows raise at the realization. “What? Oh, uh… Last night, maybe?” She shrugs, shuffling awkwardly. “I dunno, really, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, little one,” Healer Rou assures her. They pat her head with a kind smile. “It is okay if you don’t know.”

Zariza nods, relaxing a little. “He, uh, he’s puked a couple of times.”

Healer Rou hums, and motions for them to follow them. They do. “It is most likely a stomach virus of sorts, nothing too serious and nothing we can’t handle. It has been going around this month, I’m afraid. Padawan Skywalker will be the fifth one to have gotten it. I am assuming the plan is to have him spend the time here while he gets better? Until Knight Kenobi returns, that is.”

Mace nods while they enter a medical room, and carefully sets Anakin on the bed after Zariza dashes forward to pull the covers back. “Yes, it is. And Initiate Skywalker wants to give him his favorite red jell-o tomorrow if able.”

Healer Rou smiles, amused. “Of course. Come by at lunch and if he can stomach it, whoever’s rotation it is should allow it. Now; I have got everything under control from here, Master Windu – I will be sure to keep you updated, and will send a message out to Knight Kenobi letting him now as well.”

“Thank you, Healer Rou,” Mace tells them.

“Yeah, thanks Healer Rou!” Zariza exclaims, and rushes to hug the Jedi.

Healer Rou chuckles, hugging the young girl back. “Of course. Head on off to bed, now; we don’t need two sick Skywalkers,” they tease.

“Fine, I guess,” she sighs, far too dramatically for a ten year old that has both adults stifling their laughs.

But unfortunately, it actually takes ten more minutes to leave. Master Vokara Che appears, and speaks to Mace about how long Anakin might have to stay while Healer Rou pulls up Anakin’s medical file. Mace signs what he needs to, double checks with Vokara Che and Rou what he knows about any medicinal allergies he might have, and then leaves. Zariza sticks like glue to him the entire time.

Two steps out of the Halls of Healing, Mace stops in his tracks and picks her up after she yawns three times in less than two minutes.

“Th’nks fo’ helpin’, Window,” she mumbles into his shoulder with muffled, half asleep words.

Mace sighs, but smiles despite himself. He gently pats her back. “Of course, Zariza. Let’s get you back to your clan, hm?”

The answering soft snore he gets in return has him chuckling.

He hadn’t planned on his night to go this way, but he would be lying if he said he regrets it.

#star wars oc #mace windu #anakin skywalker #oc: zariza #take the fear that i don’t need #my writing #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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asterekmess · 4 years

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(I was gonna save this for tomorrow, but FUCK IT) Eyyy, still being salty over here. Pls block the tag ‘rant’ if you don’t wanna see anymore of these. Or maybe ‘anti-scott mccall’ though, tbh, I’m not sure how much fun it would be to follow me if you aren’t anti-scott mccall. I’m pretty vocal abt disliking him.

ANYWAY.

I wanna talk about the concept of Derek being a ‘creeper’ because of all his wandering around the lacrosse field, at lydia’s party, etc. And by talk about, I mean ramble about incoherently. By which I mean, please know that I’m not trying to insult or fight anybody who makes this joke or uses this concept in fic or whatever. I’m just ranting bc I love this boy and his trauma makes me sad.

ANYWAY. (This is insanely long, so I’m adding a “Read More”)

I just have a lot of feelings about people seeing Derek as a stalker/creeper because he keeps showing up at lacrosse practice and in Scott & Stiles’ rooms, etc. It gets mentioned in loads of fics (I see a lot of “Creeperwolf” which I think is supposed to be an endearment?) (And there’s lots of fics that talk about how ‘you used to be/are really creepy, following us around’ Again, not judging) (Dude it’s even a whole tag on AO3 ‘Creeper Derek Hale’) and it’s joked about a lot in fandom (the vine with the ‘every step you take’ song and the swans on the building comes to mind). I see it a lot, and dude, it hurts me.

Let’s look at Derek’s current mental state and what he’s been dealing with, going all the way back to Paige. (Or, tbh, his birth) Derek is a werewolf. He was born a werewolf, to a family of werewolves. He grew up within the supernatural world, in a whole different culture to humans (honestly, my fury at the lack of werewolf culture/history/worldbuilding is worthy of its own post. Let me know if by some ungodly chance, you actually wanna hear my thoughts on it.) and presumably the number one rule in all of werewolfdom is “Keep the Secret.” Now, Derek’s fuckin’ 14/15 (I put his birthday on Christmas, like most of fandom, and if his house burned down when he was 16, in the spring, and he was dating Kate for a while before, he would’ve dated her when he was 15, and we don’t know how long there was between paige and kate, but let’s give him a summer of mourning. So. 14ish with paige) and he starts dating this human. He’s kinda shit at keeping the secret, implying that either he’s only dated werewolves before, or she’s his first girlfriend ever (also implying that maybe some of the people on his basketball team are werewolves, bc they don’t seem to notice his weird way of talking [pack members maybe? fuck, my heart]) and he’s maybe not as careful as he should be. (More implications arise, and we begin to build our own history. If Derek was never taught not to say dumb shit like ‘i caught a scent’ then was he even in public school before freshman year? Were the Hales all homeschooled before high school to help keep the secret? How soon do wolfy abilites arise? Do they hit with puberty? Fuck, I digress.) He says some dumb shit, and Paige gets suspicious. Of course, he doesn’t know that, and he has some kind of meltdown about her eventually finding out his secret. We hear from Peter (who’s villainized, so we’re not supposed to necessarily believe what he says, but what we see in the flashback doesn’t make a huge amount of sense either so *shrug*) that he enlists Ennis to bite Paige, believing that if she is bitten she won’t spill the secret and she’ll be more inclined to accept that Derek is a werewolf. Now, she fucking dies. Paige dies in Derek’s arms because of this, and he finds out at the last second that she already knew the secret. He feels guilty enough abt getting her killed but now he’s got a whole new batch of guilt from finding out that apparently he’s so bad at keeping the secret of his ENTIRE SPECIES that she found out he was a werewolf. She could’ve exposed them all at any time. He had to be terrified. Next, he’s 15/16 and he meets a gorgeous older woman who presumably showers him in affection, and all the horrors that go with that whole situation (I don’t wanna go into detail, because obviously). But again, whether Derek tells her himself or she just knew or she finds out, whatever it is, Kate knows Derek and his family are werewolves. AND SHE KILLS THEM ALL. Derek has no clue what the fuck is going on. All he knows is he is the only link between Kate and his family, which must mean that it’s his fault she knows about them. Once again, he’s revealed the Big Secret and people Died. He and Laura bolt to NY for six years, where presumably they live in hiding thinking the Argents are coming after them to finish off the Hales. Then Laura gets sent a funky letter and goes back to Beacon Hills. Now, we have a lil more confusion (i’ve got a whole buttload of issues with the timeline, but let’s not get into that now) because he says he came looking for Laura, but later he mentions that he knew she was in Beacon Hills and was searching for...whoever burnt down their house...that whole plotline confuses the shit out of me (derek knew kate did it. he blamed All the argents, but he knew kate was involved. So why was Laura looking for the pendant. and if he didn’t tell her then why was he looking for the pendant?? And what did the pendant have to do with the deer and the spiral?? Halp.) but whatever. He shows up and finds his sister dead, the hunters arrive in town the next day, and suddenly there’s an angry alpha Attacking Humans.

We’re finally in the present. Derek has lost what little family he had left, except for a catatonic uncle. He already has two instances in his past where the worry of keeping werewolves a secret has caused deaths. And now there’s this teenager. No, actually, two teenagers. One who was bitten, and one who shouts out “You’re a werewolf!” in the middle of the preserve, instantly figuring out a centuries-old supernatural secret. Derek is fucking terrified, and things are only getting worse. This kid who got bitten? Derek follows him to see if he’s really a wolf, to find out if he knows what’s happening to him, if he believes the other teen. He finds the kid JUMPING OVER PEOPLE’S HEADS in broad daylight in front of everyone. Derek might’ve had a couple verbal giveaways but this is just ridiculous. Then, even better, the kid goes on a date on the FULL MOON with THE YOUNGEST ARGENT. There’s about a billion reasons to follow Scott to the party. It’s a FULL MOON, for one. HE’S WITH AN ARGENT for another. And of course he can’t just walk into the party. He’s fucking 22 for fuck’s sake. This is a high school party. He’d get arrested. And of course he doesn’t introduce himself to Scott beforehand. He has no way of knowing if this kid is on the Alpha’s side. He’s the Alpha’s Beta, it would make perfect sense for him to be obeying the Alpha. OR since he’s with the Argent, maybe he’s working with them. Maybe he’s a plant of some kind. a hunter pet. Laura was used as bait to catch Derek, why not Scott too? But he sees quickly that Allison has no clue what’s going on, at least with Scott, and he takes her home and steals her jacket to lure Scott into the Preserve where he can’t hurt anyone. Then, when he sees Scott get chased by the hunters, with no Alpha coming running to protect him, he decides “Alright, guess this kid’s my ally. Gotta protect him.” Yeah. He says some weird shit. But the evidence points to Derek not knowing much about bitten wolves. He tells Scott that he doesn’t know how to train a bitten wolf, but he does know how to help Scott recover memories (the memory loss appears to only happen in the early days of shifting, which lends more credibility to the possibility that born wolves don’t start shifting properly until later in life [puberty being the most likely milestone] and he therefore has experience with that, but not with the kind of control Scott needs, that he’s known his whole life). Born a werewolf, he’s never considered the bite anything other than a gift. He also just lost his entire family, so sue him for trying to find some kind of connection between them. (It honestly makes total sense for him to use the term ‘brothers’ bc he KNOWs Scott won’t understand the concept of ‘pack’ yet) So, now that’s decided to help Scott, to protect him, he goes back to the school. SURELY now that Scott knows what he is and how dangerous he is when stressed, he’ll reign himself in during lacrosse, or even just back out of it altogether. There are lives at stake here, be them human, or if Scott exposes the secret, werewolves. SURELY this kid wouldn’t put everyone in danger over a fucking game. But no. Not only does he keep flaunting his abilities, but he SHIFTS ON THE FIELD. If Stiles hadn’t Dragged Scott out of there, the entire supernatural world would be EXPOSED by this ONE KID. Derek passed Terrified about a hundred miles back. He’s gotta be fucking out of his mind with fear. I don’t blame him even a little for threatening Scott. If Scott’s not gonna do the right thing on his own, then threatening him is worth it if people don’t DIE. Then, bc Scott’s a pissy baby and goes to shout at him and be a fuckwad, and Stiles is nosey and neither of them have boundaries (I love Stiles, but fucking seriously, digging up a grave?) Derek gets ARRESTED. He pleads with this lanky teen who is brave enough to climb into the cruiser with a WEREWOLF. Who’s FRiends with a Werewolf. Who figured it out so quickly. He pleads with him to understand how dangerous this is, to stop his friend. And Stiles looks like he’s gonna, but Scott bolts bc of the wolfsbane (Which...listen if I’m being really salty, a deep bitter part of me genuinely wonders if he was that freaked out, or if he overheard Derek beg Stiles not to let Scott play, and Scott ran away from Stiles so he wouldn’t get told no, bc he wanted to play.) and by the time Stiles finds him he’s already dressed for the game. And DEREK WAS RIGHT. Scott DID lose control. He DID shift on the field. At LEAST one human saw him shift, and the coach for the other team knew something was up too. He DID expose them, and he did it further bc Jackson is suspicious now. Now, I’ve reblogged a gifset of it before, the moment when Derek shows up at the lacrosse field and finds Jackson standing in it after Scott’s run off, staring at a glove with a claw hole in it. He is watching his worst nightmare come true. Scott has exposed them and Jackson is going to figure out werewolves, just like Stiles did. He knows right that instant that people are going to die. I’ll reiterate what I said in the tags on that gifset. It’s extremely likely that Derek bit Jackson out of self-preservation. Jackson had been threatening to tell the hunters and the entire world if he didn’t get what he wanted. The safest thing to do was give Jackson the bite so that at least he would be putting himself in danger too if he exposed werewolves. He forced Jackson to have to keep the secret for himself because he knew Jackson wouldn’t do it for anyone else. (And he knew Jackson had some self-preservation, compared to Scott, and wouldn’t want to expose himself.)

Listen, I just. I just get so sad watching Derek sneaking into people’s rooms and standing on the edge of the field and showing up in the locker rooms. He’s trying to help. He’s trying to protect. He wants to be there in case Scott does something stupid (which he does, again and Again) to protect him, even after Scott REFUSED to help him stop a SERIAL KILLER because there wasn’t anything in it for him. Even after Scott fucking blackmails him by leaving him hanging on a grate with wires plugged into his side and his abuser on their way back to hurt him, he still helps him protect Allison (who watched him be tortured and did nothing. [He still has the capacity to acknowledge that it’s not her fault. That she couldn’t save him. He doesn’t blame her for it and he certainly doesn’t want her to die.]) He wants to keep his Betas safe. He stands in the parking lot waiting for them to test Lydia because he doesn’t want them to have to go through with killing her alone (and he only tries to kill her because she DOESN’T pass the test [although I admit it’s a dumb test] and because the kanima is KILLING people. More people have died and I don’t know how the fuck Derek manages to keep standing, let alone having such capacity for empathy and optimism and sarcasm after everything he’s dealt with. He’s constantly being hunted by hunters or humans, or fuck even Scott himself, since every time Scott gets upset he blames Derek for everything (I’m still fucking disgusted that he turned up at Derek’s place and accused him of murdering his own sister.) And STILL he shows up. No matter how many times he’s shoved away and ignored and yelled at. He shows up and he stands on the fringes and he waits for the chance to help.

And what’s creepy about that?

#personal #rant #Fuck i love Derek and I'm so fucking sad #i have a lot of feelings okay?#like I said #i'm not judging people who use the concept in fics or who make the jokes or whatever #i'm just talking about my own feelings #anti-scott mccall #Meta Ramblings

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Pulling Leaves Off Trees, Chapter 1: Been Through the Wringer a Couple Times (Multi) - Sportkuras

Summary:

c’est bon: damnnn

c’est bon: wait. jan isnt your apartment near shea’s

human girl: @jansport spill

Jan could feel her stomach drop as she looked at the message.

“Oh, goddamn it.”

—

Or: The girls try to survive college, and everything else that comes with almost being an adult.

A/N: my first fic here on artificialqueens! i noticed that arent many college au’s and group chat fics of the s12 cast so i let myself be self-indulgent for once!! its unbeta’d so apologies lmao but you can talk to me here and you can find the ao3 link here! comment if you’d like!

***

Jan started her morning like almost every college student in their third year would: to be woken up by their alarm after a night of heavy drinking. She woke up with a start and groaned as Chromatica II started blaring from her phone, blindly reaching for it on her nightstand and peering at the time.

Damn. One in the afternoon, huh?

“Thank god I don’t have class today.” The blonde muttered as she checked her notifications: 7 from Twitter, 3 from Insta, and 1 from their group chat. She sat up from her bed and scrolled through the chat, trying to quell her pounding headache.

Bon Voy

Members: jaidaessencehall, heidininacloset, jansport, jackiecox, gigigoode, crystalmethyd, britafilter, dahliasin, nickydoll, aidenzhane, and widowvondu

lebron essence ball: okay so

lebron essence ball: me and shea are at the library rn and she’s complaining to me abt how she couldnt sleep right

lebron essence ball: and chile….it was bc someone was getting RAILED last night lmaooo

lebron essence ball: she said, and i quote, “the bitch had such a good time even I’M jealous”

c’est bon: damnnn

c’est bon:wait. jan isnt your apartment near shea’s

human girl: @jansport spill

human girl: also

human girl: feels weird that we didn’t start this day with a good morning announcement from jan

c’est bon: the vibes were off 😞

Jan could feel her stomach drop as she looked at the message, “Oh, goddamn it.” She’s now acutely aware of their apartment door opening and Rock’s footsteps padding from outside her room, most likely just coming home from her class. She suddenly remembered exactly what happened last night; most especially memories of what happened between her and her roommate . Memories of them being drunk as hell, coming back to their apartment from god knows how many bars, going to Jan’s room giggling like teenagers on a sleepover and well. You know.

Jan checked her phone again.

lebron essence ball: jannette….would you happen to know who was the lucky gal? 👀

backpack backpack: good morning to you too gigi 🙄

human girl: *Afternoon, actually

human girl: Now spill! I know you know almost everyone on that floor.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. How in the hell was she gonna say that her and Rock got drunk and hooked up as casually as possible? She could lie, but Jaida, Brita and Widow could smell bullshit coming from a mile away, and she’s a horrible liar. They’d know she was bluffing.

Might as well get it over it. She let out a sigh as she typed out a message, hoping that it was only Jaida, Nicky and Gigi who were online.

backpack backpack: haha yeah so um

backpack backpack: that was me & rock actually

Even though no one could see her, Jan hid her face behind her hands, bracing for the worst. Several dings! had come from her phone as soon as she sent the message. Of course it wasn’t only Jaida, Nicky and Gigi who were online.

cox destroyers: Oh my god.

Jan’s eyes widened when she saw Jackie reply, although she’s not quite sure why she was panicking about Jackie knowing about her hook up with Rock in the first place. All she knows is that she’s gonna have to face Jackie (and everyone else, for that matter,) later.

sin city: ohhh bitch—

c’est bon: you and ROCK???

dom top: !!!

dom top: idk who Rock is but get it sister

backpack backpack: Thank you! Thank you, Heidi. It’s like you’re the only one who’s not acting weird right now.

c’est bon: lmao heidi

c’est bon: she’s jans roommate

human girl: Janice Elizabeth Sport.

von du for two: not this shit again i swear to god

tap water: Jan.

tap water: You know that I love you

tap water: BUT WILL YOU PLEASE STOP SLEEPING WITH YOUR ROOMMATES

Jan rolled her eyes at the messages, wanting the ‘news’ to be over as soon as possible. “And they say I’m the dramatic one.” She huffed as she quickly typed on her phone again.

backpack backpack: okay can y’all chill 🙄

backpack backpack: we just got drunk and slept together, that’s all.

backpack backpack: tell shea im sorry though xxxx @jaidaessencehall

lebron essence ball: bitch you know it ain’t about having a drunk hookup with someone

lebron essence ball: its about the fact that you banged your roommate AGAIN

backpack backpack: oh COME ON

backpack backpack: this was just the second time!!

backpack backpack: and lemon’s with priyanka now!!!

von du for two: girl you & lemon were fucking almost every week i can’t with u

von du for two: going at it like rabbits while we were outside your apartment getting ready to watch glee :/

tap water: and, frankly, i don’t want to come up to your apartment to run lines with you if i have to hear y’all fooling around. my good, christian ears have heard enough.

She felt her face heat up in embarrassment.

backpack backpack: oh my god can you guys please shut up!!!!

backpack backpack: it’s not gonna happen again bc it was a one time thing

backpack backpack: i promise

human girl: [dwayne the rock johnson voice] are you sure about that?

backpack backpack: yes georgina goode i am 100% sure

Jan bit her lip as she looked up at the door to her room. Okay, she’s not 100% sure, but not because she regretted it or anything. As much as her brain was allowing her to remember, last night was good. Great, even. But between auditions, college, and working in the café, her love life (or lack thereof) is on pause for now. Besides, it’s not like anyone has been actively pursuing her, or vice versa.

But it wouldn’t hurt to ask Rock, right?

Sighing in defeat, Jan quickly got up from her bed with her phone still in her hand (as much as her hangover allowed her), left her room and knocked on her roommates door, hoping that she wasn’t busy. She heard a faint “come in!” from the other side and opened the door softly.

“Hey, roomie.” She joked.

Rock looked up from her drawing tablet and slipped off the headphones from her ears. “Glad to see you’re finally awake, and here I thought you were a morning person.” Rock’s room was a mess of color and paraphernalia; while Jan’s was strictly purple, pop culture, and musical theater, hers was an array of figurines and albums on the shelves, kpop & anime posters tacked on the wall behind her bed reaching up to the ceiling, and a somewhat decent gaming setup in the corner of her room. Crystal and Nicky would be proud.

Jan rolled her eyes, “Yeah, well, last night was something,” She slightly cleared her throat at the mention of last night. “Also, about last night…”

Rock raised her brow, “Go on?”

“It was a one time thing, right?” Jan furrowed her brows in question, “I mean, last night was amazing , as much my brain is allowing me to remember. And you’re hot, so, I’m not complaining. Really dig the anime e-girl vibe, and I’m sure anyone would tap that ass! I mean, I did, but I’m just—”

“—Not looking for anything right now?” Rock cut her off, saving Jan from turning into a hungover, rambling mess.

She let out a sigh of relief, sitting on her roommates bed and putting her phone down, “Yeah, doll. Just been really busy right now, y’know? 3rd year isn’t a joke.”

The pink-haired girl let out a snort, “Oh, I know the feeling. And don’t worry, I wasn’t looking for anything either, and while last night was fun,” She looked at her pointedly, and Jan was calm enough to actually smirk at the incident between the two, “I’d much rather have you as my friend than as my fuck buddy, because you are loud , girl!”

Jan shrieked at that, “Oh my god, shut up!” She threw a pillow at Rock’s head while the girl let out a cackle, “My friends were on my ass about that too, some friends they are.”

“Wait, you told your friends about that? Aren’t you friends with Nicky?”

Jan huffed, “Mama, more like I was forced to tell them. Jaida’s friend, Shea—whose apartment is next to ours, by the way—was complaining to her about how she couldn’t sleep last night because of, um, my tendency to be vocal.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Rotted bitch!” Jan threw another pillow at Rock, this time missing because the girl was doubled over in laughter, “I can’t believe you! The disrespect, really. I shouldn’t be taking this from you, I still have a shift to do at 3.”

“But you took it from me real good last night, so,” this time Rock shielded her face as Jan threw pillow after pillow at her, trying to speak through her laughter, “Okay, okay! I give, I give! I’m sorry, mom!”

“Bitch! I can be a top if I want to!” Jan exclaimed in mock offense. As their laughter subsided, the blonde suddenly had an idea, “Oh! What if I invite you over for dinner?”

Rock smirked, “One: we’re roommates. It’s not really inviting me to dinner if we eat in the same room. And two: I thought you said you weren’t looking for anything?”

“I mean dinner with my friends, gorg. All 11 of us eat together at least once a week, this time we’re gonna crash at Heidi, Jaida and Brita’s. Maybe you wanna come and meet them? I know you and Nicky know each other somehow, so it wouldn’t be too awkward, right?”

“Introducing me to the family already? Ain’t that a bit too early for you, Ms. Sport?”

“More like introducing you to a bunch of kindergartners,” Jan muttered as she checked her phone for any new notifications, “But yeah, I want them to know you as my roommate and friend , not as my roommate who I slept with.”

Bon Voy

dom top: okay so jans sex life aside

dom top: y’all are still coming over tonight?

sin city: yes girl!! college sucks ass sm i need to eat my feelings

c’est bon: wouldn’t miss it for the world mon ami xoxo

cox destroyer: I’m gonna be a little late! I just have to return and borrow some stuff in the library.

human girl: can we please order pizza hut <3

lebron essence hall: no <3

von du for two: we are going to order dominoes like civilized people

human girl: ugh fine, all of you have 0 taste

human girl: crys said yes btw she just has class right now

tap water: aiden said she’s gonna come too, she just can’t message the chat bc she’s still in her shift

Jan grinned at Brita’s message, finally getting the chance to steer the conversation away from her.

backpack backpack: So if she can’t message the chat because of her shift, why’s she messaging you, miss brittany filter?? 👀

Jan can feel Brita’s eye roll from miles away.

tap water: She speaks!

tap water: And don’t act like this conversation isn’t over, Miss Janice Sport. You have a lot of explaining to do.

“So, are ya gonna introduce me as your forbidden, but passionate lover? Whose romance was short-lived, yet wild, fiery and unforgettable?”

Now it was Jan’s turn to let out a cackle as she left Rock’s room, “More like my chaotic mess of a roommate who farted herself awake!”

This time it was Rock’s turn to gasp in offense, “That was one time and you fucking know it! And my answer is yes, by the way!”

Jan sent a message to the chat before grabbing her towel and putting her phone away to take a shower.

backpack backpack: oh btw i’m inviting rock to hang out with us!!! I promise she’s super fun and that we’re just roommates and see y’all soon please dont kill me or make it awkward with rock xxxx

tap water: are you

tap water: kidding me.

von du for two: oh for the love of GOD

***

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tsipasce · 4 years

Text

Same Difference Ch. 13

A/N: sorry for the late upload for anyone following, I’ve been pretty lax on uploading on here bc of the low interaction with these posts (I think like 3 people read this, maybe lol). But I’m going to try and upload them here just in case.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12

AO3 | FFN

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Yes. That’s why we’re on the phone.”

“We don’t have time for games today. You need to come to the base immediately.”

She’d recognize that “not now, Nanami” tone anywhere. Whatever it was, it was serious. Switching gears mentally to brace for the impending shitstorm, she exhaled,” Give me 30 minutes.”

“20.”

“What? That’s not even realisti—” she stopped, hearing the phone click. Rolling her eyes, she watched her friend exit the post office and walk over to the car.

“So, I say we go to that new brunch place first and then—wait what’s wrong?” Hitomi pivoted recognizing her friend was much less enthused than when she’d left. Nanami turned to her, an apologetic look on her face. “The hospital has you on-call again, huh?”

“Duty calls, sadly.” She felt bad about lying, but knew she’d feel worse if Hitomi got caught up in her mess. “Though I don’t know how long it’ll take so we might be able to salvage the day.”

“No, it’s ok, I understand. Take your time, we can always hang tomorrow or later in the week. When do you need to be there?”

“… in 20 minutes.”

“That’s unrealistic.”

“That’s what I tried to tell hi—I mean them, but it’s an emergency. Mind dropping me off at my house?”

“You got it. I’ll drive, you watch for cops.” Before Nanami could protest, Hitomi screeched out of the parking lot and back down the road they came.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Waving bye to her friend, Nanami hurriedly grabbed her keys and work bag just in case the talk carried over to lab work. Running down to her car, she sped over to the base, basically rolling out of the car when she arrived as there were only 5 minutes to spare. Hearing a noise, she reflexively turned to look but continued running forward. Suddenly she felt herself run into a solid figure as she bounced back, falling onto her soon-to-be-late keester. Regaining her bearings, she looked up and saw an older gentleman in traditional attire, his hair slicked back and his face serious.

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she apologized, giving him an earnest look.

He paused for a beat before giving her a kind smile, offering his hand to help her up, “That’s alright miss, no need to apologize. Where are you off to in such a hurry anyway?”

Crap, how do I get out of this one… she strategized inwardly on how to answer the question discreetly without sounding rude. “Oh nowhere, I just have to… make a house call! I’m a doctor, and my patient’s a massive germaphobe; very needy, you see.” She laughed awkwardly, hoping he bought it.

At her last comment, she could’ve sworn she saw a look of recognition flash across his face, but figured it was her imagination. “Oh, I see. Well he’s a lucky man to have you. As such an attentive caretaker, I mean. I won’t hold you up any longer, have a nice day Dr… what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” She smiled, “You have a nice day too!” She said as she continued her jog to the base. She looked back to see him waving, returning it as she rounded the corner. Well that was close.

Once at the front gate, the door opened before she knocked, an irritated Overhaul waiting on the other side. “What took you so long. I said 20.”

“And I was going to say that was unrealistic before you rudely hung up on me. Besides, I would’ve actually gotten here on time if not for your friendly neighbors. I don’t know how the HOA of this neighborhood decided to let you of all people in. Everyone else seems so nice.” She pouted.

“What are you rambling about?”

“Your neighbor? I ran into an old man outside—I didn’t tell him where I was going or why I was here, obviously—but he seemed nice, if not a tad nosey.”

At this she saw him pause, “… What did he say to you?” The question much meeker than the last.

“Uhm, I bumped into him by accident, so he just asked where I was going, told me to have a nice day... oh! Also, how lucky you are to have me. You know, obvious stuff.” His brows raised before she quickly clarified the last statement, “As a doctor! I told him I was your doctor. He was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing.”

Though he donned his usual mask, she could tell his features had softened at whatever he was thinking. She’d even bet there was a small smile forming, but at what she wasn’t sure, “Hm, I see. Well, there’s no use in loitering around, let’s go.”

“Well you’re the one that stopped but ok” she said under her breath. He turned, giving her a warning look as she shrugged, raising her hands in faux surrender.

They continued down the usual pathway in the underground base before reaching his office and passing it, going down a hallway she wasn’t familiar with. It gradually became much darker the further they went, and the air temperature felt as though it had dropped at least 10 degrees, almost causing her to shiver. After what felt like an indefinite amount of time they arrived at a door, but before Overhaul could reach the handle, it opened, a panicked Kurono standing in the doorway.

“He had a pill.”

Looking past him, Nanami could see the assailant from the night before. Though he was savagely beaten, it was apparent he’d killed himself with whatever pill was hidden in his mouth as foam was formed around it, his body still going through its final convulsions. Working in a large hospital, she’d seen her fair share of people dying, but to say it got any easier would be a half-truth. The vision was familiar, but it was still unpleasant, no matter who it was. In contrast, Overhaul seemed irritated for a second before realizing something and returning to his stoic expression.

“No matter, we got all we needed from him anyway. Follow me,” he directed at her as he left the room and Kurono to dispose of the body. Nanami somberly followed, mentally giving the man a moment of silence. Whatever happened, she knew the importance of remaining objective in the presence of death. There might come a time when she’d make some bad decisions herself—to put it ever so lightly— and she hoped whoever was there in her last moments wouldn’t relish in her death either. They arrived at the door of his office, the clicking of the handle rousing her from her thoughts. He sat down across from her on one couch as she sat on the other, now feeling a bit out of place in her casual attire.

“It seems you have a price on your head.”

“Hm?” Nanami squeaked, her face that of disbelief.

“The lackeys that tried to take you were sent by the head of the Okumura clan, a rival organization. He seems sure you have a unique ability and learning of our partnership only seemed to confirm this.”

“Bu…But I was so careful. I don’t talk to anyone about us, I take weird routes every time I come here, I always use the burner ph—“ she began frantically before he cut in.

“You were not at fault for this. One of the new recruits was abducted. He didn’t know much, but he gave enough information to pique their interest.”

“And what happened to him?”

He was surprised at the question, but answered anyway, “He was set free after the questioning.”

“Well where is he now? Maybe he can tell us something useful about them and what else they want.”

“He’s no longer with us.”

“… Like he quit?”

“…”

“Overhaul.”

“… As I said, he’s no longer with us.” They stared at each other, Nanami now knowing the “snitches get stitches” saying to be only half true. Something tells me stiches wouldn’t help him now… She sighed, his blank expression unwavering as he continued, “Also, there is no ‘us’ when it comes to you and I and the Okumura. You will stay here until this problem is solved.”

“I’m gonna do what now?”

“You heard me. Your apartment is no longer safe. Considering they probably expected to see their men return last night with you captured, they will undoubtedly send more to finish the job.”

She opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. She knew it wasn’t safe to stay at her place, but staying at the base was just a lot, especially if her assumption about not being able to leave was correct. “Ok, but I have work and a life. Am I just supposed to hide here and put all that on hold?”

“Would you rather put it on hold or have it all end?”

“…That’s not fair.”

“Most things aren’t.”

She shifted in her seat biting her lip, realizing she was losing the argument. Every counter she came up with she mentally shot down before speaking it. I could stay at Hitomi’s house? No, they’d just follow me there and attack her too, or worse… I could stay at home and defend my place? Except they wouldn’t stop coming. My place would be trashed and then the neighbors would find out...I could...

“I could go in myself and get them. It’s my head they’re after, I’ll just have to convince them it’s not worth the trouble.”

He gave her a pitiable look, knowing the suggestion was equal parts blind bravery and desperation, “Your training with Rappa has made you a capable fighter, but are you really prepared to kill another person, permanently? Dozens of them? Simply maiming them wouldn’t be enough, they’d keep coming until…” He paused as he saw her look down in defeat, her fists clenched in her lap, her jaw tightening. She was angry—mad as hell—but she knew he was right. She was a fighter, not a killer, and no amount of training could change that overnight. She knew the logical solution to the problem, but her nature wouldn’t allow her to solve it. Seated across from her, his head tilted as he gazed at her pensively. Overhaul couldn’t figure out why but seeing her so upset was… unpleasant. He wanted nothing more than to make it stop, though the motivation behind the action remained a mystery. “Dr. Watanabe,” He continued slightly softer than before, her fists unclenching for a moment at the change in tone, “Your strengths lie elsewhere. Strategically, it makes the most sense for you to be here. It will only be for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Nanami could tell he was trying, but the frustration with the situation lingered. Attempting to calm herself and accept reality, she finally managed to respond,” Can I at least get my stuff first?”

“Yes, but let’s be quick about it.”

“’Let’s?”

“You didn’t really think you were going alone, did you?”

“No!... Well, yes. Fine, let’s go.”

#overhaul #overhaul x oc #overhaul fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha oc #bnha fanfic #bnha oc #nanami watanabe #mha overhaul #overhaul x nanami #fanfiction #same difference

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serenlyss · 5 years

Text

Concordat

Rating: G Relationships: ritsu&reigen, ritsu&shigeo Summary: He’s expecting another old woman searching for a beloved family cat, or maybe a young man concerned about a cheating partner, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a kid. “Is this… Spirits and Such Detective Agency?" (When Reigen Arataka, PI, decided to pursue a career as a detective, he'd never expected to take on a missing persons case. Then again, he hadn't expected to receive said case from a literal child, either, and yet, here he is.) Crossposted to AO3: Concordat

Concordat - An agreement or treaty relating to matters of mutual interest.

This is a gift for my dear friends @winsstar-writes and @pigpantpoop on tumblr for their Detective AU, which I've just fallen in love with so fast hahaha. So here's more Ritsu and Reigen content bc I love their dynamic So Much. I hope you two like it, ily <3

---

Reigen sinks into his office chair, letting his whole body slouch with a long sigh. Business is slow at the agency today, and he’s bored out of his mind waiting for someone to show up and give him something to do. Outside his window, he can hear rain hitting the sill, a gentle summer storm outside chasing the pedestrians indoors. He has no clients scheduled for the rest of the day, and it’s only just past lunch, which means he’s going to spend the rest of the work day sitting around, doing nothing.

He rummages around in his suit pocket for a cigarette and lighter, leaning over his desk. He holds the cigarette between his lips and lights it up, uncaring of the cloud of smoke that leaves his lips and hangs around him. Briefly, he thinks that he must stink of it, and that it won’t make a very good impression if a client walks in on him smoking in his own office, but he can’t bring himself to care, today. He leans back in the chair again, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Maybe I should just pack it up, move on to something else, he laments with a frown. He’d left a comfortable office job for this, but, well, he’d always been a bit of a drifter. Perhaps the detective life just isn’t what he’s cut out for, after all.

The chime of a bell reaches his ear as the front door to his office is opened, and he hastily moves to put out his cigarette, pressing it down into the ashtray at the corner of his desk. “Come in,” he calls, voice cracking slightly as he attempts to put on his cheerful customer service voice, and pushes himself up from his chair to greet his guest.

He’s expecting another old woman searching for a beloved family cat, or maybe a young man concerned about a cheating partner, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a kid.

“Is this… Spirits and Such Detective Agency?” asks the literal child who’s come to greet him. He can’t be older than ten, considering the primary school uniform he wears, and he looks up at Reigen from beneath a furrowed brow, dark gray eyes scrutinizing him carefully. His black hair sticks up in all directions, like he’d just rolled out of bed before coming here. Reigen is deeply unimpressed, but, well, it can’t hurt to humor a child for a little while.

“Yeah, this is the place. What can I do for you?” Reigen asks, opting for a plastic smile as he beckons the boy inside.

The boy shuffles a bit on his feet, looking around the office with undeniable skepticism written all over his face, and then reluctantly takes a step inside. The door falls quietly shut behind him, and he hovers in the entryway. His gaze is more deliberate and calculating than most adult clients Reigen’s had. “You’re the detective?” he clarifies, flashing Reigen that uncertain look again.

Reigen resists the urge to sigh. What was with this kid? “Reigen Arataka, PI, at your service! I must say, I don’t get a lot of kids coming here, though. What’s the matter, you lose something?” He can’t fathom why an elementary school student would come to him for answers, of all people, or what a kid would find so important that he’d need the help of a detective to find. It must be some kind of prank.

The kid shakes his head, clinging to the straps of his backpack as though he can’t figure out what else to do with his hands. “No--I mean, yes, but not like what you’re--I’m looking for my brother!” he stammers, fumbling over his words nervously. He looks away, seemingly embarrassed, his face flushed pink. “Nobody else I talked to would take me seriously… the police keep saying they’re going to find him, but they won’t even listen to me when I tell them--” Suddenly, the kid freezes, cutting himself off abruptly.

The mention of a missing brother makes Reigen pause in his tracks, halfway to his desk where he usually sits and consults with clients. He’s an only child himself, but the thought of losing a sibling… He shakes his head, turning to face the boy and raising a brow at him. “Tell them what?” he prompts, though he honestly isn’t really sure he wants to know.

The kid looks up at him with uncertainty, eyes filled with distrust, then glances away again. “My brother… he was kidnapped because he’s an esper,” he mumbles, and quickly adds, “I know it sounds stupid and crazy, but it’s true! I’ve tried to tell the police, but they don’t listen to me! Your sign said you specialize in psychic cases, right?”

Reigen freezes. He’d known at the time that adding that caveat was a stupid idea, but he hadn’t expected anyone to come to him about a missing esper. He’d only done it to attract the easily-manipulated types, the older folks who believe in spirits and the gullible people who think throwing around a little table salt is enough to exorcise them, but this is in a league of its own. “Esper?” he echoes, feeling the dread inside of him multiply.

“Yeah, that’s what I said!” The boy says, impatient. “Everyone keeps telling me to give it more time, but it’s been months now. I can’t give up on finding him!” He fixes Reigen with what is potentially the most determined expression the man has ever seen on such a young child, hands balled into tight fists that quiver with barely-contained emotion. “So? You can do it, right?”

For a few long moments, Reigen can do nothing but stare, and then he clenches his teeth, glaring. “Is this some kind of joke?” he blurts, annoyed. “It’s not funny, kid, so just give it up already.” The words come out a bit harsher than he intends them to be, a hint of spite behind them, but he can’t find it in himself to be remorseful.

He expects the kid to give up then, to either admit to his prank or burst into tears or do some other kid thing, but instead he gets angry. “I’m not lying!” he snaps, stomping a foot on the floor in his outburst. “Two months ago, my older brother disappeared while he was walking home from school. I wasn’t there ‘cause I was in the hospital, but I know he wouldn’t have just wandered off! Someone took him, and I need to find him!” He’s rambling, the words tumbling from his mouth without much forethought, and Reigen can practically feel his desperation in the air. He continues, “I-I can’t just leave things the way they were, I can’t. I have to find him, I’m going to find him. I have to be someone for him, be there for him! If I don’t try, then what kind of lousy brother am I?”

The kid sniffles and reaches up to his eyes, just inches in front of Reigen, and it’s only then that Reigen realizes that the child has begun to cry, big crocodile tears that leave his eyes red and puffy and his nose a little wet. He can feel his brain short-circuiting at the sight of the crying boy; he has very little experience with kids, and would never, in a thousand years, consider himself the kind of person a child goes to for help or comfort. And yet here one is, crying in the middle of his office and all but begging for his help. He takes a breath, steadying his racing thoughts. I’ve never attempted a missing person case before, he thinks to himself, but something keeps him from outright refusing. Ask me to find a cat, sure, but a whole-ass person? I’m not equipped for this… Then again, had he ever really been equipped for a job? He’d always prided himself on being flexible with the kinds of jobs he would take--’flexible’ is a lot nicer of a word than ‘unqualified’--and, well, crying children have a certain persuasion of their own about them.

He isn’t sure what possesses him to do it, but he reaches up and pulls the tan hat from his head, pressing it against the boy’s mop of dark hair with a gentle puff. “Alright, enough of the tears. It’s not exactly my line of work, but what the hell--heck, what the heck?” He corrects himself with a cringe of embarrassment, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind all that much as he peeks out from beneath the brim of Reigen’s too-large hat in bewilderment. “Why don’t we start with a name, huh? Since you barged in here and demanded I help you out.”

The boy blinks, and a little light returns to his dark gaze. “Oh, my brother’s name is Shigeo,” he says, a little breathless, like he’s still processing the fact that he’s finally receiving the help he’s been searching for.

“Well, I was talking about your name, but that’s important, too,” Reigen corrects, flashing the boy an amused smile.

The boy flinches, and immediately the bewilderment is gone, replaced by a childish little pout that’s probably meant to be angry but comes across more endearing instead. Endearing… god, what is wrong with me today? Reigen berates himself. He’s in way over his head. “Kageyama Ritsu,” the boy replies stiffly, clearly embarrassed and attempting to hide it behind a stubborn frown.

Reigen moves over to his desk and flips his pad open to a new page, retrieving a pen and starting to jot down the two names. There will be lots of details to gather, still, but for now he’ll stick to the basics. Once he’s written down the two names and started to organize his messy thoughts, he gestures Ritsu over to sit in the chair across from him. He sets his pen down and clasps his hands in front of him on the desk, putting on his business face. “Alright, then, Ritsu, let’s talk.”

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #kageyama ritsu #kageyama shigeo #fanfiction #mp100 fanfic #serendipitousfics #im posting this to escape the vore conversation ghpgihpgohigpi #gift fic

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itsthesinbin · 5 years

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Better Late than Never! (1. First Meeting)

Read on Ao3!

As you all know, I’ve recently been Fixating on The Addams Family. Naturally, I wanted to look up Gomez/Reader/Morticia fics, but.... sadly, all of the ones I’ve found are Nasty As Hell. Mainly yandere-incest fics.

So, I’m gonna change that!

@darthsuki made a self insert prompt list recently, and I’m using that as a template for the ideas in these one shots I’ll be posting! The one shots are ALSO inspired @guiltyhipster‘s au where college students live with the Addams bc the dormitories are crowded.

This is a reader insert series, based after one of my ocs. Reader will be using she/her pronouns, because this is mainly me writing for myself.

This series will be based after the 1960s show, but in a modern setting.

The one shots won’t be super long, bc this isn’t a full blown fanfic. It’s just smth for me to do in my off time. Hope you enjoy!

You were a few days late.

Your parents had tried to keep you at home- moving on campus was a waste of time and money- but they couldn’t stand driving you every day any longer. Of course, when they tried to move you onto the college’s campus, they were told they were full.

The only place left was at a mansion nearby that was renting out their home to a few students.

The Addams’ mansion had a… bit of a reputation. Especially among your family. Your parents were devout Christians, and their… different way of living was very disgusting to them. You never really thought their way of living was BAD, just strange, but your family thought differently.

Your mother, especially, as she cussed out the sign when she realized where you three were parking.

“No damn way,” she huffed as your father pulled into the driveway. As you peeked at the mansion, you saw a small child run inside, a headless doll in her hand.

“Are you gonna keep driving back and forth, then,” your father snapped, before getting out of the car. Your mother glared at him, before following. She barked at you to hurry up, making you jump and scramble out of the car.

As your bags were brought out, a couple exited the house. A very tall man in a suit followed after them, and the stern gaze he had made you look away really fast.

“Welcome, welcome,” the shorter man cheered, going to shake your father’s hand. The man was oblivious to your father’s angry glare.

“I am Gomez, and this is my lovely wife Morticia.” The woman bowed her head a little in greeting, smile light but eyes critical.

“Leonard, and this is Carol.” Your mother grunted out a greeting, handing you a suitcase and telling the married couple your name. You shifted nervously as the larger man approached.

“Lurch will take your things to your room- if you’d please, Lurch?” The butler grunted affirmatively, holding his hands out for your bags. The larger suitcases were given to him, albeit with apprehension, and he limped into the house.

“We’re so happy to have your child joining us- the other students will love the new addition,” Gomez rambled, leading you three inside. Your father cleared his throat, catching your new landlords’ attentions.

“We can’t stay long- we’re just dropping her off.” He passed over a check with your rent for the first month, as well as contact information, then began to leave.

“If she causes trouble, feel free to call. We’ll set her straight.” The car door slammed shut, making you jump and clutch your bag tighter. They didn’t bother to say goodbye before hurrying off of the property.

You shuffled your feet nervously, staring at the bottom of Mrs. Addams’ dress. She almost seemed to glide toward you as she put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to tense up. Her touch seemed hesitant, before placing the hand firmly on your upper back instead.

“Come with us, then,” she said kindly, leading you between her and Gomez. The man placed his hand on top of his wife’s, holding a lit cigar in the other.

“Oh, we’ll have a fun time, I assure you! Grandmama made her special cookies for your arrival, and saved the bats just for you! Well, and me, but they’re mostly for you,” he laughed, patting your shoulder as you were led inside.

You gaped at the interior of the house, wondering why it was basically a macabre museum. A two headed turtle sat on an end table, and a moose head with crooked antlers stared at you from over the unlit fireplace.

You heard the door shut behind you three, but when you looked back, no one was there.

“Thank you, Thing,” Morticia called over her shoulder, not bothering to stop the walk to the kitchen to address this “Thing” further.

You entered a dining room, and Morticia finally removed her hand to go into the kitchen with Gomez. Probably to get the cookies he was talking about.

Quite a few people were at the table. Two small children- the girl from earlier- were sitting with a group of, you assumed to be, the other college students.

“Hey, we were wondering when you’d get here,” a girl in a hijab greeted, pulling the empty chair next to her out for you. You hesitated, before sitting with her.

The students- and children- introduced themselves, and the girl warned that this place was kinda weird.

“Just don’t go in the playroom until you get used to the place,” another girl warned, her hair a soft pink. “Got terrified my first day here cause I walked in there while Pugsley, there, was swinging a battle axe.” Your eyes widened, and the young boy grinned.

“I was reenacting a beheading! Not my fault you walked in as the prisoner was trying to run,” the boy snarked, grinning slightly. Bubblegum-girl, named Bonnie, simply snickered slightly in return.

The couple returned with a bubbling, smoking cauldron and a large plate of cookies. You were given a smaller plate and a teacup, containing two cookies with bat decorations and some of the bubbling liquid.

You swallowed slightly, examining the drink for a moment. Gomez clapped his hands on your shoulders, making you jerk away in response. His own hands jumped back a bit, before giving you an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. This is Uncle Fester’s own tea blend- give it a try,” he laughed. Encouraging nods from the students nearby got you to, hesitantly, take a sip of the tea.

… Bitter, but not bad. You don’t quite get why it was bubbling and steaming, when it wasn’t that hot, but… it was nice.

Your new landlords left you with the other students and their children, heading into the sitting room. Gomez noticed a sullen- more than usual- look on his wife’s face.

“Something wrong, Tish?” Morticia hummed softly, glancing back at you shifting in your seat nervously.

“Something seems… off, Gomez, about our new guest. Her family seemed… distant, and she was terrified- and not in a good way.” Gomez pressed his lips into a line, as much as he could around the cigar in his mouth. Morticia looked down at the check and contact information, before smiling slightly.

“Why don’t we cash this and give the money back to her, hm? I’m sure she needs it more than we do.” Gomez grinned, moving the cigar out of his mouth to kiss his wife’s hand.

“Brilliant idea-” he was interrupted by a squeaking noise, followed by screaming. His grin widened.

“She must’ve tried the bat! Sounds like she’s having a blast.”

#the addams family #addams family #gomez x reader x morticia #polyamory #ask to tag #fic #mod fic

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theaceace · 5 years

Text

I call this - what if Aziraphale hadn’t managed to find a body in time for the apocalypse, AKA I wanted an excuse to make Crowley sad and drunk. There is a happy ending, which I will get around to writing soon. Ish.

Thank you to @i-swear-this-is-for-homework for listening to me ramble. At some point I’ll clean this up and put it on AO3, but today is not that day, it’s already late enough.

Follows book continuity closer than the series.

Enjoy?

Aziraphale had been discorporated before, of course. One didn’t have a physical form for six thousand years without accumulating a little wear-and-tear1, or scratches in the paint, so to speak. It had, however, been a remarkably long time since his last jaunt through the metaphysical. Only ninety short years2 after he had turned his back on the Garden of Eden for the last time, Aziraphale had rather unfortunately found himself on the wrong end of an extremely unpleasant man with an extremely sharp dagger. Not yet knowing what would happen to him, he hadn’t thought to counter the attack, or even so much as move out of the way; after all, this was no weapon of divine or infernal design.

So he had been in for a rather nasty shock when he found himself face-to-face with Heaven’s quartermaster and the prospect of filling out innumerable forms3 and joining a thankfully short waiting list before he could be assigned a new body.

It had been enough to put him off the whole experience, and as such, he had endeavoured to avoid it at all costs in subsequent years.

He had done a commendable job of it, all told. There had been a couple of instances that had required a little last-minute intervention of demonic origin, but he tried not to dwell on those too much. Not, to be clear, because he felt it was a sign of personal failure, but rather because the memory tended to give him the ethereal equivalent of heart palpitations.

This instance had been somewhat different – for a start, the only violence had been in the form of a remarkably irate witchfinder bellowing nonsense and waving his finger around. For another, though Aziraphale had found himself unexpectedly flung from his physical form, there had been no real harm done to it4 which made for a nice change. That had been several hours and four continents ago. Now, Aziraphale was starting to feel really quite exhausted.

It ought not to have been possible, he thought glumly to himself. After all, exhaustion was, by definition, something that happened on the material plane. Cells didn’t have enough energy or something – he’d never bothered himself with the particulars, as he’d never considered any scenario that it might apply to him. Really it should have been impossible for angels to get tired. They were fonts of divine energy, beings that existed on an utterly separate level from the concept of exhaustion.

And yet, here he was, wherever that may be now. Exhausted. Incorporeal. No idea how much time had passed since he’d stepped into the circle, and therefore no idea just how long the world had left before it all went a bit explodey.

As a matter of fact, though he didn’t know it at that precise moment, the world had been due some explosions approximately twelve minutes earlier, right around the time he had decided to do the metaphysical equivalent of tucking up his feet on the sofa and dozing in front of Springwatch with a cup of tea tilting precariously in his hand. He had hoped that this would go some way to restoring him to the point that he could continue looking for a suitable body to inhabit that was both receptive and at least in the same country as the antichrist.

So far it didn’t appear to be making much of a difference, but Aziraphale was persevering nonetheless.

He was persevering so hard, in fact, that it took him what may have been a small eternity – but was probably closer to a few seconds – to notice that he was no longer alone in the space between dimensions.

Being that the other entity also lacked a body, and didn’t appear to be an angel, demon, or Crowley, Aziraphale was rather thrown by this.

“Um. Hello,” he said5 finally. He didn’t really know what else to do.

“Hullo,” said the being, in what might have been a curious voice if he had a voice, and Aziraphale had ears capable of discerning a curious tone. “What are you doing stuck all the way out here then?”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, in a pale imitation of his usual bluster. He found himself wishing rather desperately that he had hands with which to fuss shirt cuffs, and a throat to clear. “Well you see, that’s a rather long story, and I’m afraid we may be on something of a tight schedule – at least, I think we are, it’s rather hard to tell, but I would hope that even like this I might have noticed if things had, er, got under way.”

“No, it’s okay, we’ve got time,” said the being. “But I think I probably know most of it already, and it’s just boring if you hafta hear the same story twice so close together. Are you Aziraphale then? ‘Cause if you’re not then I really think you should just tell me now. I’ve already got a lotta work to do, and I really do need to find this Aziraphale person. Angel. Angel-person – sorry, that’s not rude, is it?”

“I – well, no, I don’t believe so,” Aziraphale said. He contemplated lying to the being for just a moment, but some deeply-held instinct told him just what a bad idea that would be. “And yes, I am Aziraphale.”

“Oh, good,” this time, Aziraphale was swamped with an impression of relief. “It really would’a been a pain if I’d ‘ad to go ‘round looking for you everywhere and when.”

“Um,” Aziraphale said blankly. He tried to take a moment to rally himself, and failed miserably. “To, to whom am I speaking?”

“’m Adam Young,” said the voice, apparently oblivious to the tailspin this sent Aziraphale’s poor, racing mind into. “And I think you’re last on my list of things to get sorted out. First I thought I could just put you back the way you was and that’d be jus’ fine, but then I reckon’d I should probably come get you sorted m’self. ‘s tricky trying to get someone back in a body that dun’t exist when they’re not even in the right place for bodies to be.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said faintly; he was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he was speaking currently to the antichrist, a being that could theoretically wipe him from this and every other plane of existence6.

“An’ then I thought it’d be rude if I just went and stuck you back in the same body as you had, an’ din’t even ask if that body was okay for you,” Adam continued, and he somehow managed to give the impression of a wide-eyed, if not entirely earnest, stare. This was impressive given that he had no body, no eyes to widen, and no actual voice to give any sort of inflection. Aziraphale would no doubt spend a great deal of time later being appropriately impressed, when he was no longer trying to metaphysically hyperventilate.

“Yes, yes I was rather fond of it,” Aziraphale managed. In that precise moment, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you if that was the truth or not7. He only knew that he really didn’t want to be putting in any special requests for a new body to the antichrist, who had, as far as he was able to tell, not made the world go all explodey.

“Oh,” said Adam in something like relief. “Tha’s good. Easy, I mean. I’ll hafta drop you off where you were, though. Jus’ gimme a sec, I’ll get you all fixed up proper.”

And it was so.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and took a deep, unnecessary breath. He patted his hands over his coat, and tried to twist himself around to see that everything was present and correct. He thought that perhaps his coat was a little longer, his sweater a little more fitted, but it was really quite hard to tell in a body that was still relearning what synapses were.

He turned slowly, but there was no sign of Adam – not even a lingering hint of ozone to suggest he had ever been there. He then continued turning, struck by the sudden realisation that he had no idea where on God’s green Earth he was.

“Oh,” he said, followed swiftly by a word that may have been inappropriate in polite company – but, if there is no polite company to hear an inappropriate word fall in a forest, who’s to say if it made a sound?8

*****

1 – In that particular instance, it had been rather more tear than wear

2 – Give or take. Functioning calendars had only existed for sixty of those years

3 – Literally – humans hadn’t invented numbers that could count that high yet

4 – Aside from the unfortunate dissembling down to the molecular level

5 – He did not speak as you or I might speak, as he lacked the mouth necessary to do so. He did not even speak as you or I might imagine a formless denizen of Heaven would speak. To properly explain how he spoke would require a number of PhDs that don’t exist on Earth and an in-depth understanding of the wavelengths that angels generally occupy outside the range of human perception, of which this author has neither

6 – He was also rapidly coming to terms with the fact that he had listed ‘child murder’ as one of the possible solutions to the problems the day had presented. Very low down the list, mind you, but still certainly present

7 – It was

8 – It did

*****

The world had been restored for thirteen hours, and a lone demon had been drinking solidly for twelve of them. The first hour had been dedicated to transporting himself back to London, or it would have been a solid thirteen.

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he had been this drunk. It might have been in what would later become Croatia, in 1132 BC. It may have been just after the Library of Alexandria – ahem – was destroyed. It might have been sometime in the First World War1.

Certainly, he thought, staring at the empty bottle in his hand with something a little like betrayal, he had never been this drunk on his own.

And really, that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it?

He let his head fall back against the plush pile of the rug beneath him. It didn’t make quite the satisfying thunk he’d been hoping for – more of a dull whoomf, really – so he waved unsteady fingers through the air to miracle up the delayed sound himself. That, he thought, was much better suited to his current mood.

The bottle in his other hand had once contained a rather fine 1947 Cheval Blanc that he hadn’t tasted a single mouthful of, and now contained little more than dregs. He hadn’t bothered to get himself more bottles – only continued refilling this one every time it got too light. He’d just tried to do so again, and managed nothing more than a faint headache, so for the moment he’d abandoned the attempt.

Crowley blinked blearily up at the ceiling, and lamented his inability to fall into a drunken coma.

Oh, he could sleep well enough – Crowley was a champion sleeper. He was also quite proficient in naps, snoozes, dozes, and the sort of lazy Sunday afternoon in which you are sure that you were awake, yet somehow cannot produce a single piece of evidence to prove it. All of that was, unfortunately, very different from a drunken coma. They all involved being able to keep his blessed mind quiet for longer than two consecutive minutes.

Aziraphale had been keeping this bottle back – not for any sort of special occasion, but just because it hadn’t, he’d said, felt like the right time to drink it. Aziraphale was very big on listening to those odd little feelings of his. It had been exactly where it had been kept since Aziraphale first bought it in 1948, still perfectly preserved, and Crowley’s hand shook a little when he had picked it up.

There had been a part of him – small, but far too loud to completely ignore – that had hoped to hear the angel’s huff behind him. To have the bottle snatched away because it still isn’t time for this one, my dear, really.

Of course, it had been only him, the bottle, and the books. He’d almost tried spilling a little wine over the first-edition Dante, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to, in the end. As satisfying as it might have been, it still seemed like a step too far. Besides, he thought to himself. Besides. It had been bad enough being allowed to drink the wine. He didn’t know what he’d do if there was no-one to stop him ruining the books2.

Crowley’s wandering mind found itself pondering if Adam had recreated the holy sigil that Aziraphale had hidden beneath this very rug. He could find out, he supposed, then groaned as even the thought of standing made his head swim. It was harmless to him inactive, but he still didn’t like the thought of sitting atop a direct line to the big guys Upstairs.

Even if he did have a few choice words for them.

But then again, there was always the chance it wasn’t Heaven at all. The Metatron had looked terribly confused3 when he’d cornered them about Aziraphale on the airfield. Maybe they really hadn’t had anything to do with it. Maybe they really didn’t know what had happened.

Which only left Downstairs, something that Crowley felt only marginally more equipped to deal with. Beyond that, there really wasn’t a terribly long list of suspects.

Only the divine or the infernal were capable of true smiting. And if Adam hadn’t brought Aziraphale back, then that meant there was nothing left of him to bring back. It was a fairly simple progression of logic that managed to completely stall Crowley about halfway through. Six thousand years he thought bitterly. Just enough time to get used to having someone around.

He lifted to bottle to his lips again, grimacing as he remembered his last attempt to refill it. Well, there was no rush. He had time. It wasn’t the end of the world.

Pity, that.

Well, no. That wasn’t fair. After all, this world had always been more or less decent to them – him. And he had just spent the last eleven years trying to make sure it could continue being decent. It would have been a terrible shame if, after all that effort, it had just gone and ended anyway.

It was just that. That. That Crowley had always trusted in the universe to look out for him, one way or another. And he’d never quite realised that, in all of his optimism, he’d somehow included Aziraphale in that assumption. That if there was something out there in the universe watching his back – be it God, Satan, someone else, or just the natural forces of cosmic entropy – then it only made sense that it would be watching out for the angel as well.

Crowley had been wrong about a lot of things – one of the perils of having been around since the Beginning.

He didn’t think he’d ever been as wrong about anything as he was about this.

“Bugger thissss,” he said, trying to sit himself back up for just a moment, before abandoning the attempt when all it did was offer him a better view of the empty room, a mug of congealed cocoa still sat on the desk, and the tartan throw on the back of the sofa that Crowley had foolishly miracled up as a joke and Aziraphale had loved without the slightest hint of shame or irony.

“Sssshould the burn the placccce back down! ‘d sssserve you right, Zira! Leaving me to deal with the apocap – apolac – Armageddon all by mysssself! Going and getting yoursssself all, all ssssmoted!”

Crowley waved his hand towards the general vicinity of the rest of the shop in a gesture that he thought was appropriately menacing.

“I will! I’ll sssset fire to every one of your biblessss! You’ll, you’ll have to thwart me!”

And nothing happened. The books didn’t catch fire. Crowley did not feel thwarted, so it was probably just that he was in no fit state to be setting fire to anything. He was too busy, he realised in a distant sort of way, making an awful keening wail as he scrunched his eyes shut as tight as he could.

It was probably a good thing he’d been in some sort of shock on the drive back. If he’d felt anything like this, he likely would have hit multiple other road users, and then Aziraphale, from wherever he was or wasn’t, would have been exceptionally disappointed. Well, there was every chance Aziraphale was exceptionally disappointed with Crowley right now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If the angel wanted to judge him, he could come right on back to life and do it to Crowley’s face.

“Why?” He moaned, from somewhere low in his throat. “What did he ever do? He wasn’t the one who, who invented original sin. He wasn’t the one who mucked up the Plan. What did he do to desssserve thissss?”

Unless – unless that was the point. Punishment wasn’t really punishment is you didn’t exist to suffer through it. Maybe it wasn’t about Aziraphale.

After all, Crowley was the only one suffering now.

Both Heaven and Hell, while unimaginative, were both very keen on the ironic sorts of punishments. And while Crowley would have liked to think that a benevolent God wouldn’t approve of this sort of thing, he knew enough about the Creator – and all the things that had been going on since free will really took off – to know that God wouldn’t really care. At least, not enough to interfere.

Ineffable, as the bloody angel would have said. Except he wasn’t here to say it now, and Crowley certainly wasn’t going to stoop so low.

Begging on the other hand, was a low he had stooped to before, and would no doubt stoop to again.

“Jusssst,” he started, and tried to get the hissing under control. It probably wasn’t a very polite way to address the Almighty, especially not for one of the fallen. “Jussst, please, ssend him back. He should get to ssee that hiss books are all okay, and that the world isss ssstill sssspinning. He’ssss done enough good for that. Thwarted enough wilessss. And all the onessss he didn’t were my fault, really. Ssssso bring him – jussst bring him back. I know we haven’t spoke in a really long time, and I know we aren’t on good termsss, but pleassse. For, for Zira’s ssssake, pleassse, he’sss all I’ve got left, he’sss the only good thing I still have from Heaven, pleassse-”

His voice cracked and gave up, but Crowley didn’t notice. He kept up his pleas silently, mouth working awkwardly around a tongue just a little too long and forked to pass for human. His ears were ringing unpleasantly – either a product of the wine, or the fact that praying was always more than a little bit painful for demons.

But the ringing in his ears just grew louder for a brief, horrible instant, before cutting out entirely.

Had Crowley been even slightly less of a drunken, mumbling mess, he may well have realised that the ringing was actually the doorbell of the shop. He may have heard the click as the door was unlocked, or the shuffling of fine leather shoes over the mat. He may not have, of course, but we will never know for certain. The reality was, he was that drunk, and he didn’t hear any of those things. The very next thing he heard, in fact, was an aggrieved sigh, and a rather put upon tsk. Crowley didn’t have the willpower at that precise moment to lift an eyelid; but then, he didn’t have to. He was very well acquainted with that put upon tsk. His mouth stretched into something that may have resembled a smile if it hadn’t wobbled quite so much.

“Ssssstill wassssn’t time for it then? Angel?” He asked, waving the bottle haphazardly around. A couple of drops splashed on his face, and more than a couple onto his shirt. He gestured to miracle them away, but didn’t bother to look and see if it had worked.

“My dear, I’ve never seen you in such a state,” said a familiar voice to his left. Crowley’s grasp on the bottle slackened, and he felt it fall from between his fingers. It must have landed on the thick, soft rug somewhere beside him, because he didn’t hear it hit the floor.

Crowley loved that rug. He could write sonnets devoted to that rug. That rug and him had been through something real over the last twelve hours.

“I’ll take this, Crowley,” said the voice that Crowley knew better than any sound in the world, a little nonsensically.

It wasn’t Aziraphale. Crowley knew that – had several very good arguments for it, in fact4.

He didn’t open his eyes to check.

There was a sensation like fingers – soft, warm, and a little bit heavenly – running over his hair. Crowley tilted his face up towards it. He may not look so much like a serpent these days, but he’d never quite managed to shake the habit of seeking out warmth. If Crowley really concentrated, he could almost muster up the familiar scent of bergamot and dust that always seemed to cling to Aziraphale’s overcoat.

“Oh, my dear boy, what happened?” Asked Hallucination Aziraphale. “I was only gone a day.”

“Yesssss!” Crowley hissed despite himself. “A whole – a whole blesssssed day! The firsssst day of, of, of the resssst of my life!”

He hiccupped.

It wasn’t a sob. Crowley didn’t sob.

He did, however, drunkenly hiccup several times in a row, hard enough to make his chest ache and his eyes water. He swiped furiously at his face and tried to curl himself into as small a ball as possible – had he been sober enough, he might have even shrunk himself down into a little snake to curl up even smaller and tighter. Snakes didn’t have treacherous tear ducts. Snakes didn’t drunkenly imagine their dead partner gently lifting their head into a soft lap. Clearly, snakes were the superior beings, and it had only taken him six thousand years, one heartbreak, and one stage of grief to notice.

“Well now,” the voice was somehow both kind and exasperated, a combination that Aziraphale had mastered several millennia ago, and that Crowley had clearly thought worth committing to memory. “Whatever is the matter? The world is safe, my books are all here, and don’t think I didn’t see your car outside. Anything else can be dealt with, hm?”

Crowley shook his head wordlessly, but didn’t trust himself to open his mouth. He’d only end up hiccupping again.

“Crowley? Can you sober up, dear?” Crowley shook his head again, but this time managed a sullen little,

“Don’t want to be sssssober.”

“Dare I ask why not?” Crowley had long known he was the only demon with something even approaching an imagination, but even he hadn’t realised just how good it was. He was quite certain he’d managed to get Aziraphale’s stuffy, put-upon eye-rolling spot on.

It seemed perfectly obvious to Crowley why he should never like to be sober again, and as a hallucination of his, it should be perfectly clear to Aziraphale too. He opened one suspicious eye just a crack; just enough to see a vague outline that may have been angel-shaped with none of the defining characteristics.

“You’ll go away if I’m ssssober,” he said wretchedly. The lap under his head jolted slightly, which was really rather rude for a hallucinatory pillow, in Crowley’s opinion.

“I most certainly will not!” Ah, yes, the bluster. Crowley always did like tempting that out. “For a start, we’re in my shop! And if you will insist on staying drunk, I should at least like to know why on Earth you thought it was a good idea to pass out on my nice rug!”

“Din’t pass out,” Crowley muttered sullenly, and didn’t point out that it wasn’t for a lack of trying. His brain and any products thereof would already know that, so it would be rather pointless.

“Crowley,” said the angel warningly.

Crowley found himself overtaken by another sudden bought of hiccups.

“They killed my best friend,” he said, and didn’t hiss at all. The hand that had been moving gently through his hair all this time, almost unnoticed, stopped for a second and shook, before starting again.

“Oh. I – well. I’m terribly sorry to hear that, dearest,” Aziraphale said, and there was no hint of temper in his voice. Just something a little shaky that Crowley couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Have you,” there was hesitance now, where there hadn’t been before. Crowley tried to reach up, in the vague direction he thought the angel’s face might be, to pat at it reassuringly. Aziraphale was de – gone. He had nothing to be hesitant about, and Crowley tried to tell him that with a few clumsy swipes of his hand against what may have been a cheek. It felt like Aziraphale was smiling, but his voice was still sad when he spoke. “Have you tried asking Adam about it? He’s really a terribly nice boy, under all of the Hellish powers.”

Crowley managed a despondent shake of his head.

“Silly angel,” he said, and it was fond now. He had decided, rather abruptly, that he could be as fond as he wanted. As fond as he had been for six thousand year, under it all. “Can’t bring back something that dun’t even exisssst anymore. He already fixed everythin’ elsssse.” He leaned up a little, and whispered, like it was some great secret,

“I even assssked Death.” He spoke over Aziraphale’s squawk of you what? “And y’know what he ssssaid? That it wassssn’t hissss jurissssdiction anymore!”

It had seemed something of a win-win at the time. Either Death could do something about it, or he would be annoyed enough by Crowley’s asking to do something else – at that point, Crowley hadn’t been too picky. But it seemed his luck had run out – his optimistic streak had carried him as far as it was able, and not an inch further.

“Would you tell me about them?” Aziraphale asked after a long moment of silence. His voice small, and tight, and something about it struck Crowley as wrong, but his brain was far too slippery to grasp what it was. “They must have been something truly special, to go to all that trouble. It might – help. Help you, I mean.” Crowley thought this through hazily, before nodding. He wasn’t sure if it really made sense or not, but he was willing to trust that Aziraphale would know more about this sort of thing than him.

“Known ‘m since – sssince – forever. Before time was a thing,” Crowley said. “Could alwaysss count on him. And we din’t have a lot in common, but we had all the important bitsss! And bessssides, you get used to people being around that long.”

Aziraphale laughed, a little uncomfortably.

“Well now, you don’t need to tell me that, my dear,” he said.

“But I do!” This, suddenly, seemed extremely important. Crowley pushed himself into a popstion that could be described as upright, if one were feeling particularly generous5, and peered unsteadily into the hallucination’s eyes for the first time. They looked exactly like Aziraphale’s, complete with the little golden flecks that always caught the light no matter which way he turned. Bless it but Crowley was good.

“I never told you when you were alive, and now you’ve gone and got yourself smited, so I’ll never get to tell you again!”

He had the singular pleasure of watching Aziraphale’s eyes widen, and a flood of colour rush up his cheeks, but didn’t pause to appreciate the sight, steamrolling over any of Aziraphale’s attempts to talk.

“You were -! You were -! Huffy, and you had terrible taste in clothes, and I don’t underssssstand what’ssss so great about Classic FM that you thought it had to be the only blessed channel you can get all over the country no matter how bad the ssssignal is, and sssometimes I hiss my words just because I know it makessss you smile, and I’ve never unkilled a duck for anyone else, and none of it mattersss because Heaven or Hell or ssssomeone decided to off you, and now I’m sssstuck here on my own waiting for the next go-around!”

It was quiet for a long time. Long enough for Crowley to slump back into the hallucination’s lap and close his eyes again. They really were so heavy, and sore after the hiccups made them water so much.

“I really do think,” Aziraphale said finally, “that you ought to sober up.”

Crowley didn’t dignify that with a response beyond tightening his grip on the angel’s calf.

“It would be in both our best interests?”

Still not worth a reply.

“For me?”

That made him pause a little, before shaking his head definitively no.

“Oh, for the love of – someone.” The next thing Crowley knew, he was up on his feet, through no effort or will of his own. There were a pair of arms wrapped rather solidly around his shoulders, and his feet didn’t want to move separately, apparently rather stuck on the idea that they used to be a tail. His face was pressed heavily against a soft shoulder though, so Crowley didn’t complain, even when the wool tickled at his nose. He had the vague feeling that he was being led somewhere, but he’d be redeemed if he could figure out where.

“Here we are,” Aziraphale muttered, right before he dropped Crowley onto what felt like a bed – just the right side of springy, with a thread count that was honestly sinful. Crowley appreciated it for an all-too-brief second before he found himself gripped by panic.

He surged up, and halfway off the bed before Aziraphale caught him again.

“Nuh – no!” If Crowley lay down in a bed, then he would go to sleep. If Crowley went to sleep, then he would wake up sober. If he woke up sober, then Aziraphale would be gone. “Nonono.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale’s voice was firm, though his hands were soft as anything where they were untangling Crowley’s from his lapels. “You need a good night’s sleep my dear, and to face the morning with a clear head. I promise you it’ll all seem much brighter.”

Crowley shook his head where it was mashed against the side of Aziraphale’s neck. The neck in question moved a little as Aziraphale sighed.

“Would it help if I stayed with you?” He asked.

That… gave Crowley pause. He hadn’t thought of that. If the hallucination stayed with him while he slept, and Crowley held on tightly enough – well, he was pretty solid now. As long as Crowley didn’t move a single muscle as he slept6 then it should be fine.

There was something amiss with that logic, but exhaustion had crept up on him like a snake in the grass, and Crowley found himself being lowered back to the bed once more, this time unresistingly.

“There you are,” was the last thing Crowley heard as he slipped off to sleep. He had just enough time to congratulate himself on miracling up such a comfortable bed – he’d even managed to permeate the pillows with Aziraphale’s scent, which he desperately pressed his nose into now – before he was swept away7.

*****

1 – In fact it was none of these, for the simple reason that Crowley had never been this drunk before in his very long existence

2 – Well, no, that’s not entirely accurate. He did know what he would do. He was just trying very hard not to think on it too long, when he knew that Aziraphale would disapprove most vehemently

3 – Insofar as a being with no face made of holy fire can look confused

4 – The arguments went as follows:

· Aziraphale had been smited. Smote? Smiten?

· Aziraphale would never approve of Crowley’s deep love for this rug

· Aziraphale had never, in six thousand years, sounded quite so fondly exasperated, and he wouldn’t have started now

· Aziraphale was dead

· Aziraphale hadn’t started nagging him about the wine

· Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned the new books that Crowley had noticed Adam stocked

· Aziraphale wasn’t coming back

5 – As well as a little hazy on the meaning of the word ‘upright’

6 – Which was, fortunately, how he naturally slept anyway

7 – Had he stayed awake any longer, he would have realised that not even he would have miracle up such a hideous quilt cover. He also would have felt the careful, cleansing touch of a kiss against his forehead to keep away bad dreams – though demons have no other kind. But he did not stay awake, and so he noticed nothing.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fic #sorry not sorry

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