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velvetmel0n · 4 years

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Insatiable

Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping don’t worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending

A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? I’m just as surprised as you are, who am I

@damerondjarin @rzrcrst @okay-hotshot @beskars @acomplicatedprofession @huliabitch @pascalplease @darksideofclarke @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreams @generaldamneron @criminal-cookies @someplace-darker @amarvelousmandalorian @roxypeanut @leahsafae @bunnyart-blog @duamuteffe @themandjalorian @hopelikethesun @dindjarindiaries @paniclana @winters-buck @pedropascalito @agentpike @hiscyarika @lesqui @mandadoration @the-huttslayer @poeticandors @tintinwrites @mserynlarsen @hystericalmedicine @queenofheavenandhell @himbopoes @qveenbvtch @bookshelvesandteacups @yougottakeeponkeepinon

Something is— something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that he’s returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way he’s moving, the way he’s hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like he’s hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You can’t see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better.

Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. “Mando?” You hate how your voice sounds even as it’s leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.

You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didn’t realize how attached you’d truly grown to it until now.

The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs won’t support him any longer and he— he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time you’d be fascinated by the skin he’s showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.

“Something got under the helmet,” His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. “Just— I feel so, feel so hot,”

You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. “Did you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?” You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You don’t think this planet houses a lethal strain— uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.

The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin he’s ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories you’ve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that he’ll go for his helmet next, that you won’t be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?

“It smelled...sweet, but, but more than that—” He doesn’t know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he can’t reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but it’s already taken hold and now he can’t stop.

He’s having trouble remembering why it’s a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until he’s sick with it. He feels like he’s burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton but it’s watering for you.

His mouth. That’s right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He did— some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he can’t describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he won’t be opposed to tasting it again.

“I don’t know, something— something good,” The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isn’t smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after you’d met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because he’d had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.

If the circumstances weren’t so dire you think you’d laugh because this is ridiculous.

You swallow and raise your hands like you’re trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. “We need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?” You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you aren’t sure what you’re more scared of— him forgetting himself or you letting him.

He’s breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what you’re trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. “You’ve heard of adamari, right?”

That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. “This one isn’t lethal we just— you just have to ride it out,” Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you can’t stop him, you know you won’t want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and that’s why one of you has to leave.

“Look, it’s probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,” You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before he’s too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere between a few hours to a couple days.

You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. “I’ll go.” The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadn’t sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.

He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. “Take care of the kid for me,” It’s a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple ‘of course’ into the still air. He doesn’t resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.

You’re trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.

Should you— should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You aren’t afraid of him, not really, and you don’t want him to think that you are. What you’re afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you can’t keep your eyes closed. You’re afraid that it’s the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you.

You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him.

You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe he’ll get far enough away before it really slams into him.

You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how he’s faring, if it’s gotten worse yet. If he’s in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like you’re so afraid of.

It’s the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and you’ve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasn’t woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well.

And then the lights go out.

Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like you’re floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you don’t already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside.

The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you can’t see a thing.

Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until you’re shaking and you don’t know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.

What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks it’s shameful and can’t bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if it’s never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.

You’re pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if he’s plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.

You don’t even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you don’t run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress.

You don’t know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.

“M’sorry, I— I tried, so hard, I’m sorry,” He slurs into your ear and all the breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because you’re not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. He’s taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere.

They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you can’t stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because there’s just so much of you he’s never touched, never felt like this and you’re so soft and warm and he’s losing his mind.

“S’okay, really,” You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because it’s like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs.

His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think he’s trying to watch himself play with you— you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that he’s trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe that’s the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and you’re unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. “M-Mando,”

The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you.

“Wanted this for s-so long and you— you’re—” You’re letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he can’t believe it. You’re arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and he’s never been this hard in his life.

His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesn’t waste time, isn’t capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear and— and he fucking chokes.

You’re so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He can’t get over the fact that you’re almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver.

“Im-imagined this,” He can’t stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isn’t pollen that’s caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff he’s spent the past months edging towards. “Didn’t know yo-you’d be this— this warm,” His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment he’s slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because there’s no way you’re this hot, there’s no way you’re drenching his hand and moaning for him.

He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good you’re taking his fingers. How he’s been dying for this.

You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but you’re greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.

You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and it’s all too much.

You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorian’s moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You don’t notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.

You don’t realize you’ve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. “Please, p-please, Man-Mando, just— I need your cock,” You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and you’re still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you’re rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still haven’t gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and it’s like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. They’re hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know you’ll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you and you can’t wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.

Any control he’s managed to cling to is gone and he’s helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razor’s edge.

This is what he’s been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.

He’s barely pulling out, as if he can’t stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious. The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you can’t manage to care.

You aren’t being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot that’s causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well you’re taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat.

You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toes— so you do it again.

He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and you’re only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and he’s pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate. And then, almost before you realize what’s happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet. Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first and— and then you’re mewling some pitiful parody of his name because he’s fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesn’t stop.

Which he doesn’t. You’re sensitive and shaking and he isn’t stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and you’re sure you’ve never heard anything better. Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat.

The Mandalorian doesn’t move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesn’t rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over again—

“More.”

Hours later you’re sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.

You’re drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.

You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isn’t a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm. The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. “This, it— it started because of the pollen,” He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesn’t take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing.

You don’t answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You don’t reach for it. You don’t even move your hands from where they’re braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.

You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. You’re higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness that’s settling into your muscles.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #mandalorian smut #star wars fic #star wars smut #first time writing mando and first time writing sex pollen we've got a double whammy folks

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altariaas · 3 years

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your face all made up (living on a screen)

Adrien knows, to some degree, that it’s the important things that are the most important to say out loud, but it would help to know that someone’s actually listening. It would also help if things would stop breaking every time he acknowledged his emotions, too.

i’ve taken a total of three steps into this fandom but sure, let’s skip to season 4 and fall face-first into the Angst™, as it goes. I just think Adrien should get a little raw powers of destruction sneaking out of control in his daily life. as a treat. Post-Rocketear so lots of spoilers etc.

Adrien walks home from the fight against Nino’s akuma with a raging headache, a developing case of massive anxiety, and a purpling bruise the size of a basketball on his shin.

The last one isn’t actually from the akuma. Those injuries got neatly miraculoused away, along with Nino’s heartbroken betrayal. No, the bruise is from Adrien’s incredibly stupid attempt to funnel his tornado of emotions into something concrete by kicking the front gate, only to completely miss and slam his shin into the solid steel rungs instead, sending him stumbling back in a pained fit of trying to think up creative curse words that won’t result in his father murdering him if he overhears.

Metaphorically, of course. Father’s not a murderer, except when it comes to the slow death of Adrien’s social life.

Though he really…can’t entirely blame that on Father, either.

And there comes the developing case of anxiety. Adrien swallows, a feeble attempt to banish the souring feeling in his stomach and the aching tightness in his chest. He wraps his arms around himself, staring up at the mansion and fighting the increasing urge to run. The inside of his cheek stings as he chews at it, already abused from how hard he’d bitten there earlier when Nino had started making…observations. Accusations. Wildly misdirected statements that definitely aren’t any insight to how Nino truly feels about what might be the truest version of Adrien’s slowly splintering self, if he’s going to be dramatic about it.

Overly passionate, Father’s voice echoes hollowly somewhere in the back of his head. Prone to fits of drama, just like his mother.

Spinning abruptly on his heel, Adrien beats a steady path away from the mansion gates and toward…somewhere. Somewhere that won’t make that developing case of anxiety worse, and where no one can witness his fits of drama.

The urge to send the front camera a rude gesture in farewell is violently stifled as Adrien keeps his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like the action will keep everything in neat and perfect and safe from view. He feels more than hears Plagg rustle curiously in his front pocket, but Adrien ignores the action, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

Then the sharp reminder of how it felt when Ladybug ignored him in favor of Rena Rouge comes back and bites him solidly in the guilty part of his feelings, so Adrien pats his front pocket reassuringly.

“Just taking the long way home,” he murmurs.

Plagg’s eyes are calculating, almost greener than usual as they stare at him, and Adrien feels uncomfortably perceived. Not in the cold, bug-under-a-microscope way he feels sometimes when Father looks at him, but a hot kind of uncomfortable, the way he feels when someone looks right past the Adrien Agreste mask and sees—

What? What do they see? An awkward boy stumbling back against a wall because he never learned what his real self was supposed to look like? Hollow flirting and annoying with a capital a?

Fits of drama, Adrien reminds himself. He shouldn’t take it so close to heart. Not when Nino looked so devastated, so heartbroken. Not when Ladybug’s been giving him uncomfortably clear signs that Nino might’ve been right.

“If you say so, kid,” Plagg finally replies. “But I better get that camembert sooner than later.”

A half-smile tugs at Adrien’s mouth. “Sure, Plagg.”

At least Plagg still wants him around, masks and all. It’s a small comfort, but Adrien clings to it, his arms tightening around himself. Sure, things didn’t go…wonderfully, today, but it’s not all so bad. He got slammed into a van a couple of times, and maybe a couple of busted ribs, but that’s nothing, comparatively. And sure, Father’s finding more flaws in him to coldly evaluate than usual, and Nathalie’s growing paler and sicker by the day, and Ladybug’s either freezing him out bit by bit or starting to forget about him entirely and he isn’t sure which is worse, and his schedule is slipping further and further from manageable by the day and Nino dislikes a side of him so much it sent him straight into an akuma and—

“—kid, stop!”

Adrien’s thoughts cut off abruptly as his foot catches, his sense of balance going horizontal as he stumbles, and proceeds to nearly slam the rest of him face-first into the concrete. Plagg’s sharp warning echoes in his ears as he rights himself with a panicked yelp, hopping once while frantically hoping no one was around to see — whatever that was.

“Kid,” Plagg starts, but he doesn’t finish. He’s left the front pocket, his eyes bright green as he stares at him.

Adrien blinks, shaking the slight sense of vertigo off. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

Huh. What did he do? Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien glances at the street he stumbled over. He frowns.

The culprit is a jagged, snaking tear in the concrete, half a meter deep and the length of Adrien’s arm. He stares at the spiderwebbing cracks that branch out of it, fine grains of crushed concrete already scattering in the slight wind.

Weird, he thinks. He doesn’t remember fighting Nino this far down the street. Lucky Charm should’ve fixed that, even if he did.

“Adrien,” Plagg says, and there’s an uncharacteristically cautious edge in his voice. “What was that?”

Adrien cups a hand around Plagg, running a finger over his head in apology as he draws him out of view again. “Lost in thought, I guess,” he says, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

Plagg doesn’t reply, still staring at him with a look Adrien can’t quite identify. He feels oddly disoriented, like he actually did fall and hit his head, and now it’s spinning in retaliation. Across the street in front of him, the stoplight flickers — red, then orange, then red again. It flickers out entirely, before snapping back to a bright, acidic green. Adrien rubs his eyes.

“Let’s…let’s go home,” Plagg finally says, tucking himself back in Adrien’s shirt pocket. He doesn’t entirely meet Adrien’s eyes as he does, but he curls up against his chest, solid and warm, and it’s almost enough to banish the ache that lies beneath.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “Home, then.”

————

There’s a memory Adrien has, from when he was younger. It’s one he holds tightly to his chest, tattered and frayed as it is.

He was much smaller than he is now — barely six years-old, maybe, and small enough to hide behind the large statues his mother would put funny hats on to make his father laugh. She’d done just that earlier, standing tiptoed on the staircase as she’d slipped a terrible orange bowler hat on the pretty lady Nathalie said was from Greece. Adrien had giggled behind his fingers and his father had laughed, an unfamiliar sound that’s faded in memory now, but a bright and real one nonetheless.

It had been a good day, until mother had come down with a cold during dinner and Adrien had jolted out of sleep from a nightmare about giant, ugly orange hats that snatched up his mother with their ribbon-like fingers and took her away from him forever.

He’d sprinted through the house like the horrible hat monsters from his dream were on his heels, slipping in his socks up to the cracked door of his father’s study.

He hadn’t needed to knock, then, or even schedule a meeting. He’d slid through the doorway and barreled into his father, only to be caught by strong arms and swept into his father’s lap, warm and safe from any monsters that dared to follow him here.

“I’m worried about your mother, too,” his father had said. “But it’s just a cold, you see? Nothing to go slipping and falling down the stairs about.”

He’d received nothing but a sniffle in response.

“Alright.” Fingers had pinched around his nose as his father sighed. “How about we read a story then, until you’re not so frightened? Just you and me.”

The book they’d started that night was about a prince and a planet and a rose, and Adrien still remembers the sound his father’s voice made as it resonated where Adrien’s cheek pressed against his chest, his arms holding tight and warm around him, like nothing bad could slip in from outside and hurt him.

It’s a favorite memory of his, one Adrien finds springing back to mind whenever Father gives him a smile, half-formed and distanced as they are.

Lately, though, it’s a memory that stings to think about. It makes it harder to look Father in the eye, for some reason.

————

“And like, I really can’t say this enough, but I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, Nino, it’s fi—”

“No seriously, dude, I’m really sorry, I—”

“Nino.”

His friend finally jerks out from his puddle of miserable apologies, and Adrien gives him a weary smile. “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I dragged you into the boiler room then got akumatized,” Nino says, distressed. “That’s worse than like, the plot of eight different horror movies.”

“Your head was shaped like a giant blue tear, it wasn’t that scary,” Adrien assures him.

“I am ninety percent sure I remember shoving you to the floor,” Nino moans, not reassured in the least.

Part of Adrien’s mind, the part that sounds a little too much like a spurned cat whom hell hath no fury, or however the saying goes, wants to pipe up with the fact that getting shoved to the floor was five-star treatment compared to what Nino (akuma, Nino’s akuma, that’s important) had proceeded to do to him afterwards.

The bus-slamming thing had hurt.

Not as much as hurting Nino would’ve, though.

So instead, Adrien gives Nino the kindest smile he can, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says, “As if the akuma gave you the biceps to pull that off.”

“Hey,” Nino knocks their shoulders together, his guilt ridden expression easing just a bit as he gives him a half-hearted grin. “I’m ripped, bro.”

It takes Adrien a moment to reply, too busy fighting the overwhelmingly — traitor — urge to follow the warmth of contact with Nino like a starving animal. He doesn’t need to fight for too long — his brain throws everyone thinks you’re a joke at him just in time for Adrien to hunch his shoulders in and give Nino an awkward little grin of his own.

Maybe his brain’s a traitor too, though, because he doesn’t remember Nino even saying that about Chat Noir.

He thinks.

Hopes.

Actually, his brain can go sit in a corner if it’s going to keep throwing stuff like this at him. Shaking anything and everything knowledge-wise that belongs to Chat Noir from his mind, Adrien turns his attention back to the scribbled game of hangman they’ve been playing on the corner of Nino’s history notes. Group projects are supposed to be fun, anyways, especially with Nino.

“Uh, c,” he guesses.

Nino adds a single c to the blank letter spaces. Adrien squints at the paper, his mouth downturning at the suspiciously familiar arrangement he has so far.

_adia_t, ca_ef_ee, d_ea_y

“Nino,” he says, carefully.

Nino smirks. “Mm-hm.”

“If this has anything to do with perfume ads—”

“Uh-huh?”

“Then I hate you.”

Nino cackles, scribbling in the rest of the rest of the accursed phrase as Max loudly hushes him. Adrien rolls his eyes and huffs, but he’s unable to stop the small smile of amusement. It quickly fades as his words to Nino echo with an uncomfortable emphasis in his head.

You’re being stupid, he tells himself. Adrien pushes away the nagging feeling. Nino knows he’s not serious. He knows Adrien doesn’t actually hate him. Just like Adrien knows Nino didn’t mean it, when he said all that stuff about Chat Noir.

His fingers tighten around his pencil. He’s not supposed to be thinking about that. Nino apologized, to Chat Noir himself, and just because Adrien can’t get the sting out, it doesn’t mean that Nino meant anything genuine by it.

Overly dramatic, Adrien reminds himself. Way too emotional.

The ache in his chest makes itself known again with a pang, and Adrien bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at Nino from the corners of his eyes.

Maybe he should tell Nino he cares about him, just to be sure. The words form in his mind, only to catch abruptly in his throat, thick and cloying. He thinks of how thoughtlessly he’s been able to tell Father he loves him. Thinks of how easy it’s always been to tell Ladybug how much she means to him.

He thinks of how neither of them seem to like meeting him in the eyes, lately.

He swallows the words, opting to smile brightly at Nino instead. It’s probably for the best. Nino’s always been better at picking up on people’s feelings, anyways, and he doesn’t need the kind of nagging assurance Adrien does. And it’s not like Adrien’s had much luck telling people he loves them, lately. Actually, if you look at his track record, he probably hasn’t…had any luck at all.

Adrien shakes his head, shoving the coldness creeping into his chest as far to the corner of his mind as he can, and sketches out enough blank spaces on the paper to spell fake mustaches are the new sexy.

If he can still make Nino laugh, it’s fine. He wouldn’t be laughing if he thought Adrien was annoying and obnoxious.

So see? It’s fine.

————

Adrien thinks about elastics, sometimes. The stretchy, rubber kind that Mme Thurston uses to pull back the longer locks of his hair while she’s doing his makeup, tying it up in a neat little explosion on top of his head that makes him look like a blond weed. She makes it look easy, twisting the little bands around and around, until they’re tight enough to hold his hair in place.

(Adrien’s hair is always easy, of course. Chat Noir’s hair, on the other hand, would probably give Mme Thurston nightmares. Mainly because Adrien has a fun little habit of shaking his head side to side until it’s an unrecognizable blond disaster, but that’s not particularly relevant.)

(Ladybug doesn’t even need to use elastics, opting for the soft strands of ribbon that hold her pigtails in perfect place.)

Adrien doesn’t normally use elastic bands either, but he likes the way they feel when he’s nervous, stretching and rubbery, then snapping perfectly back into place, like he’d never twisted them all out of proportion at all. The way he can hook his fingers in both ends and pull and pull and pull, but they never quite snap.

Felix has a fun trick with those, when they do photoshoots together.

(When they used to.)

He’ll press a little elastic against Adrien’s arm and pull the end back, just far enough, then let it snap back into place, stinging little red marks when it slaps against skin.

“Stop it,” Adrien scowls at him, but the expression wavers. Playful isn’t a word he uses along with Felix very often, but photoshoots are always more entertaining with him, at least. Or they were, until his mother disappears, and family photoshoots grind to an utter and complete halt forever—

—just for now, his father says, until something changes, until that something happens, until that metaphorical other foot that’s always hanging over Adrien’s head finally stomps its way back to earth and demolishes him in the process—

Felix replies by stretching another elastic between his fingers, shooting it toward him this time like a little slingshot. Adrien snags it out of the air, slotting it between his own fingers to fire back. It misses by a miserable meter and a half, because at the time this conversation takes place, he and Ladybug haven’t stayed up all night practicing their aim by trying to hit the left ear of Le Stryge on Notre-Dame.

Felix snorts, snatching the elastic from the floor, and makes a show of placing the band back against Adrien’s wrist. He pulls it back with a meaningful look, like an exasperated teacher. “It’s the bounce back that hurts,” he tells him. “Not the stretching part. When it snaps back to place—” He demonstrates by releasing the band, and Adrien flinches at the tiny sting. “—that’s the part that hurts.”

Four years later, having up close and personally experienced what a shattered ribcage stabbing into your lungs feels like, Adrien wants to correct Felix on tiny little elastic bands and what actually hurts, but the point, he guesses, is that he still remembers what it felt like.

He still thinks about those elastics sometimes, and how far they can be pulled until they snap back into place. How the little rubber band can make it so far, get so close to breaking, only to snap right back to where it started.

(Chat Noir doesn’t use elastics, either.)

————

For all that Adrien will stand by stuffing the worst of his emotions into a box and never thinking about them ever as a perfectly reasonable way to go about handling things —and whatever Plagg says doesn’t count, he’s a kwami who compares emotions to cheese — Adrien really does believe in communication as key.

Living it out is just. Another thing entirely.

But Adrien’s lived his life with a cold mansion’s worth of words left unsaid, so on principle, he really does believe that if something’s important, you should say it. Maybe nobody will really listen to you, or take you seriously, but at least you’ll have said it, and maybe at some point they’ll remember you said it, and it’ll mean something to them.

But maybe that’s what stopping him this time — he just can’t decide if it’s the idea of not being listened to that scares him, or the idea of actually being heard that’s worse.

It’s not like he wants to tell Ladybug he’s upset. It’s not like he even wants to be upset.

It doesn’t change the fact that he is, kind of, a little bit, (a lot) — but again, on principle, Adrien just — he doesn’t like being upset. It’s all uncomfortable and hot and it sits on his chest like a rock, weighing heavier and heavier until he learns to get over it.

It’s only worse when he tries to say something about it, because that never works. Maybe it’s a really sucky side effect of being homeschooled for most of his life, but every time Adrien opens his mouth to tell someone he’s upset with them and here’s why, it always backfires spectacularly. There’s a weird moment where something happens and the other person says their part, and suddenly Adrien’s complaints sound so stupid he wants to crawl in a hole and hide. There’s a dizzying one-eighty and Adrien’s suddenly the one in the wrong, and the other person’s upset at him, and now he’s got to apologize before he makes it worse than he already has.

And granted, most of those other people are just Father (or Father’s tinny voice through the phone), but he’s already enough to beat the lesson in.

Metaphorically, of course. Always — always metaphorically. Adrien’s never doubted otherwise.

“Maybe I’m just that bad at arguing,” he mutters, swiping darkly at his phone screen.

“I dunno,” Nino says, his voice consoling. “I mean, you were pretty good at it when you argued me into watching that one anime the other night.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t upset with you about that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nino winks at him. “Unless your voice going all high-pitched about why Sailor Moon is the peak of animation is your default setting.”

“I wasn’t upset with you, though,” Adrien shakes his head, cutting him off. “I’m never upset with you.”

And he isn’t, really. Not even when Nino tells him, in an admittedly roundabout way, that he’s annoying and irritating and has loose and shady moral commitment to love and all its forms (or something like that).

He means, it stings, but only in the way Felix’s little rubber band snaps do. Not enough to justify picking an argument with Nino. Not to justify upsetting him, and possibly losing the one friend who’s stuck by him through the worst and actually shares stuff with him these days.

Adrien bites down on the inside of his cheek. If he’s not careful with the way his train of thought’s been steering itself lately, he’s going to accidentally show Ladybug how upset he is, and that’s—

Well, the fallout of that will hurt a lot worse than a little elastic band snap.

A lot worse than it already does, so. Back in your corner, resentful thoughts.

“Uh-huh.” There’s a quiet edge of suspicion in Nino’s voice, and Adrien stiffens, suddenly feeling horribly seen. The look Nino’s pinned on him doesn’t help at all, searching and curious and—

Concerned? Upset? Angry?

Adrien doesn’t know. He thinks it’s concern, but he’s also been thinking Ladybug’s been amused with him when she’s apparently just been annoyed, so who knows, really—

Shut up, Adrien tells his subconscious furiously. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“It’s okay, if you are,” Nino says hesitantly, perhaps having picked up on whatever storm of emotions are slipping through Adrien’s schooled expression. “Upset, I mean. At your old man or me. It’s better to talk to people upfront, y’know? Otherwise…”

Nino’s expression twists in guilt, and Adrien’s lungs feel a little like they’re shriveling up and dying. Or maybe that’s just his chest on the whole, collapsing in on itself and taking Adrien’s ability to breath right with it.

He isn’t upset. He’s not. He doesn’t need to talk to anyone upfront about it, because there’s nothing to talk about in the first place. He’s not going to be overly dramatic about this too, he’s not. He’s just— it’s just—

Is it personal? Was it something he did, that made Ladybug trust everyone else but him? Did he slip up at some point and he just — he can’t remember? She’d told him, she’d promised they were fine after New York, but maybe she’d changed her mind without telling him and decided he needed to figure out on his own where he messed up if he was ever going to be worthy of her trust agai—

“I’ll be — I’ve gotta — restroom,” Adrien stammers, shooting up from his seat and all but sprinting for the doors.

“Wait, Adrien—!”

Nino’s panicked call is lost as Adrien flies down the hall, slipping down the stairs to the bathrooms on the first floor where he’s less likely to be found. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry, or anything so humiliating, but there’s an awful crushing sensation in his chest that makes him think he might do something he’ll regret. Or say something, any of the raging thoughts that bang off the insides of his skull with hurt. Something he won’t be able to take back.

Adrien wavers, planting both hands on the edge of the sink and staring at the white porcelain. His breathing sounds odd in the echo of the bathroom, wavering and off-beat. His vision swims traitorously, so he glares up at the mirror instead, only to falter as he catches sight of his reflection.

He looks…not great. Pale skin and bloodshot eyes in the way that’s likely to make Nathalie call a doctor on him. Which would be just fantastically ironic, considering she’s the one who needs a doctor, even if she’s never going to admit it and keep lying to him. Just like Ladybug, all careful smiles and words chosen with forced, casual caution, staring at him with eyes that are a million other places except actually seeing him.

Stop, he tells himself furiously, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop. Ladybug is not Father. Ladybug is Ladybug, his best friend and partner and he trusts her, he trusts her to have her reasons for not telling him. He has to trust her. He does trust her, he—

A sharp cracking sound tears Adrien from his thoughts, and he snaps his head up to find seven of his own disjointed faces staring back at him. He blinks, and suddenly the faces are clinking to the floor, broken fragments of the mirror scattering around his shoes.

His first thought, apart from a bizarre sense of not being entirely in his body, is a well-timed curse word.

Instead, what he gets out is, “Seven years bad luck,” muttered, almost absently, beneath his breath.

Typical. He wonders if moonlighting as a black cat-themed superhero that leans heavily into exaggerated acrobatics counts as crossing one. Like he needs more bad luck, right now.

What he actually needs, is…

Is…

He needs an escape.

From everything, it feels like, but for now, Adrien will settle for an escape from the school bathroom with all the mirrors that just broke.

…somehow.

————

For all that he throws fits of drama about it, the thing is, Adrien has escaped.

He’s made it out of the house, to school. He’s learned physics and grammar and math that Nathalie taught him six months ago, and he’s learned how to play hangman and cut class and tell your friend’s fortune with folded paper. He’s made friends, real friends, and he’s learned how to muffle loud giggles on the phone at night and what kinds of snack food Nino likes and doesn’t like. He’s learned how to pick up on a whole slew of emotions other than disappointment and apathy and mildly reserved approval, and he’s learned how to tell when other people are hurting.

(He’s learned how to tell how he’s hurting, but he’s unlearned that one faster.)

He’s learned the words it takes to voice that Father isn’t always right, learned how to curl his fingers tight enough into his palms that they don’t shake so much anymore, and he’s learned how to stretch like a rubber band against people’s anger, bending without breaking.

(He’s also learned about the perks of night vision and bone density and six different ways to trip someone up with the leather belt you’ve got tied around your waist like a tail, but he can’t credit school for those.)

And he thinks — he thinks he’s come so far, he’s learned so much, he’s so much stronger now—

Then his father’s eyes soften just enough to resemble the eyes of the man who held him close and told him how much he loved him, loves him, who stayed up all night reading Adrien’s favorite book to him and whose lap was the safest, warmest place in the world, and Adrien—

Hates himself. Hates himself as he snaps right back into place, right back into the Adrien who crumbles at Father’s slightest snap of tone. Hates himself so much it stings.

Because it’s so much easier to do that, than it is to hate his father.

————

Adrien doesn’t particularly want to go to the photoshoot after school, especially not now that mirrors are literally breaking at the sight of his face, but — and here’s the fits of drama again — like everything else Father’s deigned to want, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Technically, though, Adrien fantasizes as he fixes his eyes upward so the makeup artist can do her best to hide the darkening circles beneath them (“—really, dear, do you sleep at all these days—”), he could give himself a choice. He could make it fun, too, striking the perfect pose before transforming into Chat Noir right smack in front of the entire studio crew, and then Father would have something truly inspired to review that evening. A perfect snapshot of Adrien cataclysm-ing his merry way out of the studio and out into the gloriously free outside, that’s what.

Except then Adrien would have way too many choices to make, and even less all at once. The identity thing, being one. How to avoid Ladybug murdering him and dancing atop his grave, for another. Not that he thinks Ladybug is capable of murdering anyone, of course—

(—no, that’s solely reserved for him and his powers alone—)

—but he can imagine she’d be angry, were he to stage a reveal that way.

Were he to stage a reveal at all, Adrien thinks sourly, blinking until the stiff feeling of the makeup beneath his eyes fades. His makeup artist’s had to use the thick kind today, the extra-strength stuff that’s going to take forever to wash off. He stifles the urge to swipe at it, trying to relax into the feeling instead. Makeup is familiar, consistent. Sure, it’s technically another lie, but it’s one Adrien’s at least aware of. Makeup, he can see through. He can put it on and take it off himself, exercising some tiny semblance of control over what’s being hidden from the world.

Everything else, though…

“Carefree, my boy, carefree,” Vincent implores, his eyebrows furrowing as Adrien snaps himself back to the present. “You look as if you’re being drowned in mud, not soaring above the clouds.”

Adrien’s cheeks puff up as he blows his breath out, short and frustrated. At least Vincent is every bit as prone to fits of drama as he is, he reminds himself. It’s better to be stuck with someone passionate than someone as open as a brick wall, even if it is just Vincent antagonizing him with a camera again.

“Sorry,” he offers, giving him a weak grin. “I’ll get it this time, promise.”

Vincent doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he rambles about lighting and angles instead of scolding Adrien, which he can’t help but be grateful for. It allows Adrien a moment to let the smile drop, staring at the ground instead of the brightening lights around him.

He toes sullenly at the smooth linoleum of the floor, the solid black of Father’s logo glaring back at him from the side of his sneaker. Maybe he should just get more sleep. Maybe all the ugly tangled emotions in his chest are just residual buildup from being overtired, that’s all. Ladybug mentioned the stress getting to her a little while back, her own eyes bloodshot and exhausted. Adrien’s brilliant solution had been to take her to the movies, which had gone just as brilliantly as every other time he’s tried something like that, which is not very well at all. He’d been worried about her, though, even before she’d thrown him from a roof on accident. Ladybug carries so much on her shoulders, and strong as they are, Adrien knows what it’s like to be strung so tightly that even the slightest extra weight feels like it’ll snap you. He sees the same weight in his own eyes, now, even blinded by the studio lights.

His stomach twists. Ladybug’s eyes aren’t half as bloodshot lately. There’s an easiness to her that wasn’t there before, a lightening of tension, and yes, Adrien’s happy she’s feeling better, he’s nothing but glad that she isn’t so exhausted and worn, but…

But she’d trusted him before, even when she was strung her tightest. And now that there’s relief in her eyes, now that he’s taking a backseat and Ladybug adds more allies to their roster by the day, allies that she knows but he doesn't, allies that Alya and Nino probably know too, just like everything else, now that—

Was he the problem? Was it his fault, that Ladybug’s eyes turned shadowed and her movements wavered? He’s tried, he’s tried to be a rock for her, to be something constant and consistent as Adrien himself wants, but the horrible feeling that he’s not enough is now warring with the awful feeling that he’s the problem in the first place, because — why else? Why else would she shut him out like this? Why else would she decide he’s untrustworthy, after all this time, why—

The lights against his vision suddenly flare painfully bright, so bright Adrien’s forced to stagger back.

Vincent jolts away with a cry, waving his hand frantically as the camera sparks and sputters. Echoed cries of surprise ring throughout the studio as the overhead lights flicker wildly, turning the studio into a frightening mockery of a particularly bad nightclub.

Adrien stumbles again, alarm coursing through his veins like a cold burst of water, and he darts for the intern nearby, who’s fallen over in her scramble to back away from the strobing lights. She’s just taken his hand when the lights go dark, plunging the studio into blackness. Before anyone can react beyond a frightened shriek, the lights snap back on, bright and steady as if nothing’s happened.

Adrien slowly pulls the intern to her feet, staring at the blazing lights as his vision swims, blinking against the sudden onslaught of dark spots in his eyes.

“Is it an akuma?” the intern asks, her eyes wild with fear. “Should we — should we evacuate?”

Adrenaline shoots through Adrien’s veins, his head whipping back and forth as he searches for a spark of purple, for the familiar edge of butterfly’s wings. But there’s nothing out of place, save the sputtering camera Vincent’s fretting over. There’s no sign of garish transformation, no following explosions, no loudly proclaimed demands for miraculous. In fact, if Adrien hadn’t seen it himself, it would appear as if nothing’s ever happened at all.

“It could’ve been the power lines,” someone suggests. “This place is pretty old, you know.”

“With Agreste’s standards?” someone else mutters. “I doubt it.”

“The camera is broken. Unsalvageable,” Vincent announces over the outbreak of murmurs. To his credit, he barely sounds shaken. “It must have been a power failure, or a blown fuse, I suppose. Nothing we can help.”

Vincent’s word is all the rest of the crew needs, and before Adrien can clamber up to inspect the lights himself, he’s being ushered from the studio, another intern furiously muttering about how she refuses to be fired for losing a model to “subpar building inspections” or something along those lines.

Adrien, who is already anticipating Father’s reaction himself, can’t blame her for bailing the moment he’s in the Gorilla’s hands.

————

Adrien is six years and three months old when his father finally finishes reading Le Petite Prince to him, and he comes the closest he ever has to throwing a fit at the ending.

He doesn’t actually throw a fit, of course, because then his father might not read to him ever again. That they finished this book together is already more precious as anything Adrien’s ever owned, and he won’t ruin that with his dramatics.

“Not all stories have the happy endings you want, Adrien,” his father tells him. Adrien feels his arms tighten around his shoulders, where he sits snugly in his father’s lap. “Sometimes you must make the most of what you have.”

Even at a young age, Adrien knows that he has quite a lot. The knowledge only grows as he does, just how much he has from his last name alone. His room alone could rival some people’s homes, Adrien has no right to want for anything.

And yet.

Sometimes, Adrien thinks back to the deep timbre of his father’s voice as he reads about yellow snakes and desert flowers and feels a stinging sense of loss so sharply it takes his breath away.

Other times, though, Adrien thinks about his father choosing to read a story about a boy who could only return home by letting a snake poison him, and wonders what that says about their relationship.

It’s not even Father’s icy tone that hurts anymore, really, Adrien thinks, as he picks at his dinner. Not that he’s likely to hear that tone tonight. Father’s locked himself firmly in his office again, and even Nathalie is nowhere to be seen. It’s quiet enough that Adrien’s gotten away with heating up the cheapest dinner they have in the house, and scouring enough cheese for Plagg that he won’t be complaining for a month.

Well, a day, maybe. Plagg’s a special kind of greedy.

But it’s painstakingly clear that Adrien will be dining alone, tonight. There hasn’t even been a single message fro Nathalie, informing him of all the lessons he’s been falling short in lately. Adrien twists his fork in his hand, setting it down with a weary sigh as dark spots flicker before his eyes again.

At least there won’t be anyone to lecture him, he tells himself, tapping absently on the table. The smooth wood looks immaculate beneath his fingers, the edge of his pinky still a bruised purple from the other evening, when Adrien misjudged the distance from the rooftop to his own window.

Father won’t be able to lecture him about that, either, so it’s a good thing, really. It’s a good thing, that no one will be saying anything to him about the studio mishap earlier, or the darker than usual circles beneath his eyes, or he way he’s been showing up late more often than not to everything. Not about his slipping grades, or the way he keeps forgetting to hide his glare when photoshoots run longer than they’re supposed to.

It’s a good thing, Adrien tells himself, as his fingers clench around the table’s edge. It’s a good thing that he’s alone tonight. Being alone and unseen is much better than the alternative. It’s a good thing, that he can stew in whatever ugly emotions keep threatening to rise to the surface all by himself, where he won’t risk hurting anyone else with them. He can’t mess anything up if no one’s there to see it, so really, it’s a good thing, it’s—

It hits him, all-encompassing and overwhelming all at once.

Unwanted, thick and horrible and choking, the sensation of being traded out and traded off and stepped over, left behind and left out and laughed at in vicious whispers, closed doors and closed expressions and locking him out, like bars sliding down from the ceiling and cutting him off, trapped in place like an animal in the zoo, entertaining for a heartbeat than easily moved past for something better, unwanted and untrusted and alone, alone, alone again—

Adrien buckles and something howls in his ears, his hands burning as his fingers crunch through wood and his vision whites out.

For a heartbeat, Adrien isn’t Adrien — he’s the swelling of flames as fire catches light, he’s the pull of the undertow as it rips across the shore, he’s the blazing burst of lightning against metal, he’s on the edge of a cliff and stepping off—

And then he’s Adrien again, small and shaking and breathing in large, heaving gasps, trying desperately not to throw up all over the table.

“—drien, kid, Adrien, please!”

Adrien tears his hands from the table as if it’s shocked him. Black flecks drift from his fingers as they tremble, and Plagg splits into three as he flits in front of him, six pairs of green eyes staring at him in blazing concern.

“Plagg?” He barely recognizes his own voice, and his throat feels like sandpaper.

“Breathe,” Plagg orders as his image solidifies back to one, more serious than Adrien can remember him sounding. “You gotta breathe, Adrien.”

He does, in stuttering, shaky gasps, because Adrien will do anything Plagg asks him to. He’ll light himself on fire if he wanted, because Plagg is all he’s got.

Plagg is here, and that means more to Adrien than anything else could.

“Breathing,” he finally croaks out. “I’m — breathing, see? S’all good.”

It is most certainly not all good, because Adrien still feels like he got thrown off a building and into a blender, but Plagg almost looks frightened, looking from Adrien to the table to Adrien again, and—

Adrien freezes. The table. The stupidly, enormous, ridiculously expensive, lonely table his family’s supposed to use. The table he definitely, most certainly felt crunch under his hands.

Adrien follows Plagg’s gaze downwards, and suddenly feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Ice coats the inside of his chest, cold and creeping. The sidewalk. The mirrors, the studio camera, and now this.

“Adrien.” Plagg sounds so very serious.

He could explain most of it away. It’d be — it would be easy.

But this?

Adrien stares at the half-decayed table, ashes still flaking from the sides in a way that’s horribly distinctive of his cataclysm. A spiderwebbed path of smoldering destruction, all tracing back to where his fingers had been white-knuckled at the table’s edge.

Something snaps in the chandelier above him, cracking once and fizzling off into sparks.

It feels like something’s snapped in Adrien’s head. Maybe he’s lost it. Maybe he’s finally gone off the edge, and that — that can be his excuse, when Father asks him what, exactly, he did to the table. He can tell Father they’ve both lost it, they’ve both gone mad, and wouldn’t mom think this was all so funny—

A sound like a sob rips itself from his chest, before Adrien can strangle it into submission. He can’t lose it now. He can’t break down, he has to — he has to come up with a way to explain this, he has to find an escape, or Father’s going to be so angry, and so cold, and…and…

Adrien goes still. Like ice, numb and calming, he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about excuses. He doesn’t have to worry about any of that at all. No one’s coming. Not to check on him. The silence of the house is overpowering, the tiny patter of the vaporized table bits as they land on the floor almost thunderous.

“Adrien,” Plagg repeats, softer this time. “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, he lifts his head, meeting Plagg’s bright green eyes with his own. Something in Plagg’s expression goes tight, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes before he schools them back into careful calm.

“Oh, kid.” Plagg’s voice is gentle. It still sounds like a lament.

Adrien tears his gaze away, swallowing. His fingers, still shaking, curl into unsteady fists. They feel odd, almost scalded. Adrien ignores it.

He can hide the table, he tells himself. He can fix the chandelier. No one will notice. He can hide this.

He’s Adrien Agreste.

He can deal with a couple of cracks in his facade.

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #nino's here as well #he's just not clogging up the fic with his internalizing like adrien is #ml season 4 spoilers #rocketear spoilers #i just have a lot of thoughts about the powers of destruction #and what that could mean potentially #if you weren't cowards mr astruc

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zv5x · 3 years

Text

Hey guys! An anon requested some Yandere ABC'S with Sen, but I had to reupload cause the formatting was wrong!!! I hope it works this time, and I hope you find it anon! Let me know if you did!

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Original text ...

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Hey Anon! Don't worry, requests are open permanently! So feel free to request as much as you want! I'm so glad you enjoy my writings, that makes me feel so happy! I hope you enjoy the ABC's prompt and I hope I did a good job! (*´ω｀*) Stay safe and take care of yourself, you're valid and loved! ( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get? - Sen is a major giftgiver. So, expect him to really paint his love for you with lavish spending. Also, along with that, he's a hopeless romantic. So be sure to expect love letters and love notes to be littered around your apartment (whether or not he had permission to be where he placed them...that's up for debate). You met Senpai when you stumbled across his game, and were there to play it before you discovered a way to get him out. So, he was just as affectionate as your average visual novel character. Meaning, he's basically infinitely affectionate. He's very gentlemenly as well: kissing the top of your hand and brushing his lips against the tips of your fingers, helping you get ready each morning (he has to, considering you're literally restrained and rendered unable to do so), and other things. Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling? - I always imagined Sen to be more of a yandere "stereotype" considering his source (a cheesy Japanese romance game with pretty pastel colors and overly sweet and cheesy dialogue). So, Senpai would in that case be willing to make his murders messy. Their lives don't matter to Senpai, and he'll gladly paint a pretty picture of romance with their blood. He'd do anything to emphasize the fact that you belong to him and him alone. Not to those filthy, impure worms. Cruelty: How would they treat their darling when they're abducted? Would they mock them? - Senpai has a bit of an ego problem. So, if he feels it necessary, he'll gladly make you feel inferior to him. "Out of the hundreds of people in the school, you're the one that I long for so strongly. Shouldn't you be greatful for that? I'm sure there's people willing to eat themselves alive just to be in your place." Among other similar statements. Senpai isn't physically cruel unless giving out punishments for "bad behavior", so that's something to be greatful about I suppose. Even with the taunts and reprimands he speaks to you, he doesn't really mean them. Especially the ones about you being inferior in any regard. You're the definition of perfection in his eyes, to the extent he doesn't even really see himself being worthy of your love. But, nobody else is either. While he's not 100% worthy of an angel like you being by his side, he's more worthy than the people that surround the two of you. Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will? - Just like Spirit, the only other things he'd do against your will is take away your rights to freedom, family, friends, along with some other similar things. He doesn't want to traumatize you, and as much as his actions contradict the idea that he's far from a monster, he's truly not. He just wants what's best for your love. Is that really something that's worthy of him being called a monster? Senpai doesn't think so, not one bit. Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? - All of it. His heart is an open book. Senpai wants to woo you, he wants you to know how adored you truly are. He wants you to know how much space you take up in his heart, and he'll do anything to show that to you. Whether it be by taking you out to a nice dinner after you've been on your best behavior for a while, or by murdering past enemies or foes, Sen will do virtually anything Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back? - Completely and utterly heartbroken. How could you, (Y/N)? Here he is, your precious and beloved Senpai, just wanting to take care of you, and this is the thanks he get's? Senpai's little heart will be absolutely crushed, and he'll be sure

to let you know that, even while he's angerly punishing you. Being the main love interest is literally in his code, basically the A.I. equivalent to DNA. He's not used to not winning a person's heart the minute he expresses interest, especially the heart of someone he's putting all his effort into romantically seducing. Senpai will go ballistic after such a rejection, throwing the closest thing to a toddler's temper tantrum that you'll be able to see in an almost full grown adult. Screaming, stomping, crying tears of pure rage, Senpai will display all of it right for you to witness in absolute fear and horror. Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape? - Is this a game to Senpai? Well, yeah. But only considering he's literally a game character himself. He still sees this as the silly dating mechanics from his own game. Even if this is real life, and even if this is completely against your will. He's not used to anything else, so he'll continue living his life and gaining your love the way he's been built to. Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them? - You're not really in the position to cheat on him considering he's holding you in complete isolation, but if you were to cheat on him? Whoo boy. Sen would react in a similar way to Spirit would, only 100x worse. The psychotic laugh yanderes are so infamous for, the brutality, the murder, and then the confrontation of you. A cheater, a liar, a betrayer. You'll pay for what you've done to Senpai, you won't get away with thinking you could pull him around like a toy. He loves you, but now he sees no other option, you must die for what you've done to him. It won't be quick either. No, you're going to feel exactly what you made him feel the moment he found you cheating on him. It's only fair, after all. An eye for an eye. But don't worry, your body will be in good hands! Senpai will still take care of you, and he forgives you for what you've done! Now the two of you can be happy together once again! No more distractions this time! Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling? - The usual...marriage, honeymoon, perhaps some kids or pets (but only if you want them, of course!). Senpai is really up to any kind of future, as long as it's with you, his beloved Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope? - Senpai is EXTREMELY jealous. He's suspicious of basically everyone you come into contact with, and you're always having to deal with him wrapping his arms around you from behind and gently laying down some boundaries for whoever you're just trying to talk to. Expect a few statements like/similar to, "Hey, worm! They're mine!", considering Sen is always trying to show people just how much you belong to him Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling? - Like some kind of flawless prince, but you know damn well that it's just a facade. He tries very hard to keep his yan tendencies hidden from you, but his emotional instability makes him fail miserably at that. But, that doesn't take away from the fact that he's *usually* acting very cool and charismatic Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling? - The usual things you'd see from a hopeless romantic...love letters, cards, poems, hand kisses, dinner dates, and everything else lovey dovey that people do to show a certain person how much they love them. Being a dating game character, Senpai is VERY good at courting anyone he seems romantically compatible Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else? - His true colors are different from the way he tries to appear, but they come out so much that the people closest to him (specifically meaning you, and only you, as all of his other friends are just a.i. in the game that he once took residence in)) consider it apart of his actual personality Naughty: How would they punish their darling? - Probably just by breaking things around the two of them as he screams at them

for whatever they did to anger him. Senpai is very childish, especially when he's rejected, but he's still able to be calmed. You just need to know exactly what to say and when to say it. Which...is shockingly hard, considering how unpredictable Senpai can be Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? - Just like Spirit, he won't really take away any. But, he'll take away all of it if he feels as if he has to Patience: How patient are they with their darling? - Senpai's patience is quite literally in the lowest of negative numbers, so tread lightly, (Y/N). The slightest and smallest things can set Senpai into hour long rages Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on? - No. Not at all. Senpai would be absolutely devastated. He wouldn't be able to move on, you were his absolute everything. He can't imagine living a life without you, and he won't. Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go? - Regret? No! Absolutely not! Why should Senpai feel any regret? For loving his darling angel? No. That's nothing but foolish. There is no room for regret or shame in Senpai's heart, only love for you Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)? - Rejection is against Senpai's code. You weren't supposed to not want him romantically. Because of this, Senpai quite literally doesn't know how to react. So, he acts...insane? Obsessed? Call it what you want, but make sure its definition doesn't neglect his love for you. Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves? - Senpai would probably just get angrier. Why are you so upset?! Just love him, for fucks sake!! He just wants to take care of you, why won't you just let him? Stop being so difficult, let him take over, and things will be so much better for you! Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere? - Not really. Senpai is pretty much a walking stereotype, with a few small changes here and there. Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape? - His lovesickness, probably. Escaping Senpai would be hard to say the least, but not impossible. Just do the usual, try and act like a sufferer of Stockholm Syndrome and maybe you'll have a good chance at getting away from him Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling? - Without hesitation. If he needs to do it to get his point across, Sen would do it without hesitation. It's all for you, that fact alone removes any chance of hesitation or remorse Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over? - Senpai practically treats you like some overglorified love deity, the definition of a perfect partner. Perfect for him, at least. His entire heart is like an open book, but one that only you can read clearly. It's all for you, after all. Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? - He's good up until he witnesses even the slightest sign of distance or rejection, then he snaps Zenith: Would they ever break their darling? - Like hurting you, he'd do it without any hesitation. It means nothing to him, unlike you. You mean everything, and he'd do everything and anything for you. This is basically nothing to him. He loves you, after all! More than anything else in his world.

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phis-corner · 3 years

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I recently read your platonic brucinette post, it was amazing, i couldn't stop laughing. What if she invites herself over to the Manor or something and the boys have no idea who she is (cause I feel like he wouldn't mention her cause she would probably ruin his reputation even more since his kids would probably spread the stories to their own friends) but I feel like maybe Tim already know her since he was in Paris looking for Bruce (when he got "killed" by Darkseid), he would probably see her as a mom or fun aunt that he could vent to

Ask and you shall recieve! again, any grammar mistakes are because I did not bother proofreading. whoops.

Masterlist ◈ Original

Dick Grayson had seen a lot of unexpected things throughout his lifetime, but he really did not expect to come downstairs for a nice bowl of cereal for breakfast and find a woman who looked eerily like the late Martha Wayne sitting at the table and eating his Bat Puffs.

Wait.

“Those are my Bat Puffs!” Dick shrieks, because he has priorities. That’s the last of his cereal, okay? And it’s going to be two days before Alfred goes on his next grocery run and he’s really bad at shopping for food on his own. Sue him.

Not-Or-Maybe-Possibly-If-You-Believe-Conspiracy-Theories-Martha-Wayne simply laughs, and easily dances out of the way of his grab for the bowl, moving out of his reach with an elegance and grace that can only mean she spends part of her day dressed in a different costume. Whether or not she was a good guy still remained to be seen, considering she had somehow broken into the Manor without setting a single alarm off and was currently eating the last of his Bat Puffs.

A truly despicable act, indeed.

“Grayson?” Damian chooses that exact moment to come down the stairs. “I heard you scream. What’s-” He snarls the moment he catches sight of Not-Martha-Wayne, pulling out a knife from somewhere in the folds of his pajamas and hurling it at her head with impressive speed and accuracy.

Not-Martha-Wayne simply ducks, letting the knife thud into the wall behind her, making Dick wince. Alfred was not going to be happy.

“Identify yourself, woman!” Damian screeches, pulling out another knife. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”

Not-Martha-Wayne tilts her head, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “Really? I’m not even allowed to eat cereal in my own home now?”

Dick is slowly growing more and more convinced that Not-Martha-Wayne is actually Zombie-Martha-Wayne.

Damian freezes, eyeing her suspiciously. “Your home?”

“Wh’s goin’ on?” Tim slurs, stumbling down the stairs. “Why ‘re you all screamin’?”

Maybe-Zombie-Martha-Wayne brightens when she sees Tim. “Timber! How’s it going?”

Tim rubs his eyes, once, twice, and then his face splits into a grin when he finally registers Maybe-Zombie-Martha-Wayne’s presence. “Marinette! It’s so good to see you!”

And okay, what.

Tim hurries down the stairs (meaning only marginally faster than before, he hasn’t had his morning coffee yet,) and ignores the coffee machine in favor of hugging Possibly-Undead-Martha-Wayne, who laughs and puts down the bowl of Bat Puffs in favor of hugging him back. Dick takes the opportunity to snatch the bowl away from her, mourning the fact that there’s only a bit of milk left at the bottom of the bowl.

“Good to see you too, Tim,” Not-Martha-Wayne, whose name is apparently Marinette (why does that sound familiar?) ruffles Tim’s hair. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Tim,” Dick says, at the same time Damian demands “Drake.”

“How do you know this woman?” They say at the same time (Dick stubbornly ignores that Damian replaced ‘woman’ with ‘harlot’).

“You mean you don’t?” Tim asks, frowning. “She’s-”

“Marinette,” Bruce cuts Tim off, having appeared at the foot of the stairs in his usual dramatic fashion.

Not-Martha-Wayne-But-Still-Really-Looks-Like-Her-Whose-Name-Is-Apparently-Marinette beams and waves cheerfully at Bruce, who looks done with life. “Hey, little brother! I see you haven’t gotten tired of dressing up as a giant bat to beat people up yet!”

Well, that was a lot to unpack. Dick decided he’d start with the easiest thing.

“Little brother?” He looks from Marinette to Bruce, Bruce to Marinette, noting the resemblance in both of them to Thomas and Martha Wayne. “You mean- she’s your older sister?” Dick shrieks, turning to Bruce. “Why have we never heard about her?”

“Really, Bruce?” Marinette gasps, mockingly placing a hand over her heart. “I’m devastated. How could you, after everything we’ve been through, not even tell your hundred thousand children that I even exist?”

Bruce doesn’t reply, instead letting out one long sigh through his nose. Huh. Sixteen whole seconds. Impressive.

“Just kidding,” Marinette grins once Bruce has finally stopped sighing. “He’s never told you because I travel the world a lot, my job is super dangerous, and because I’d expose all his deepest, darkest secrets.”

“Like his greatest fears?” Damian asks. Cass, who had silently entered the kitchen at some point or another, stood behind him, ready just in case he pulled out another knife.

Marinette tilts her head. “What? No!” Like how he wiped off one of the eyebrows on Sylvia McCartney’s face when he was four-”

She doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Bruce has made a mad dash across the kitchen, evidently aiming to get her to stay quiet. Marinette dances out of his hold with a giggle and continues speaking even as Bruce chases her all around the kitchen.

“-anyway, he declared that ‘she had something on her face’, wiped off one of her drawn-on eyebrows-” She ducks underneath a plate, which Cass deftly catches before it hits the wall. “-and then went ‘There. I got it for you!’”

A shoe flies at her head. Marinette bats it away with one hand.

Dick tries valiantly to stifle his snickers, but judging by the evil eye Bruce is giving him, it’s not quite working.

“And there was that time we were at that four-star restaurant in Star City and he ate too much and-” Marinette raises an eyebrow as she catches a toaster in her hands. “Really now, Bruce? A toaster? You know it’ll take more than that to stop me. So he ate too much and got a stomach ache, then started holding his torso and very loudly declaring that he was starting his period.”

Dick doesn’t even bother holding in the laughter this time, and neither do any of his siblings. If only Jason was here to see this, but alas, he was at his own apartment and had no clue that this was going on. Neither did Steph, for that matter, and Duke was already out on patrol since he was somehow a morning person. What a travesty.

“And then there was that time when-” Marinette is cut off by another one of Bruce’s long, very drawn-out sighs.

“Look, Mari, I think they get the point,” He groans (well - as close to groaning as the Batman ever got), pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can stop now.”

“Oh, you’re just annoyed that you couldn’t stop me,” Marinette retorts with yet another smile, and Dick is once again struck by how similar she looks to the lady in the portrait that hangs over the fireplace in the largest of the Manor’s three living rooms. “I suppose you’re right, however. Despite the abundance of embarrassing stories, they do run out at some point, and I’d prefer not to use them all up in one go, ya know? I have to be the cool aunt. Kate can keep wine aunt, but I’m the cool one now.”

“I think Miss Katherine might disagree with that,” Alfred says mildly. “However, I do believe you can win the children over if you tell them about the time your father brought Master Bruce to his board meeting.”

The look of utter betrayal Bruce gives Alfred makes them crack up all over again.

--o0o--

“Man, I am so glad you got it all on camera,” Duke grins, placing two bowls of popcorn on the coffee table before flopping back down onto the couch. “This is going to be great.”

Tim waves a hand dismissively. “I just hacked the cameras in the Manor. Bruce’s paranoia backfired this time.”

Steph cheers and immediately makes a grab for the popcorn as Cass hits the play button on the remote, and Dick can’t help but crack a smile at his own face when he sees the last of his cereal being eaten.

“Richard, I find it concerning that your first thought was of your cereal and not the intruder,” Damian observes.

Dick ruffles his hair, drawing out a squawk of protest. “Well, what can I say? I really like Bat Puffs.”

The Wayne siblings settle down for a movie night that is definitely going to be filled with lots of laughter.

permanent tags

@wannajointhecrabcult @miraculous-simmer7 @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @fantasyislive @chocolateherringtacofan @junarvion @susiej1118 @aestheticnpoetic @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladybug-182 @itsmeevie01 @g-arya @souleateralicestein @nightstarblue @i-is-mysterious @moonystars14 @vixen-uchiha @flapdoodle-noodle @labschaos @nathleigh @jalaluvsu @kaithehero @iamablinkmarvelarmy @luveverything12 @technicallyburninggarden

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@momothefemur @indecisive-mess-named-me @laurcad123 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @sassakitty @fusser90

#maribat #my writing #asks #platonic brucinette

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years

Text

Here’s chapter ten! I do believe this is the first chapter with absolutely no dialogue! I hope you enjoy it regardless!

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Ten: Soft Shadows

Redemption is a hard process. Yet the cycles seem to make it easy for one particular demon.

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Redemption was a tricky thing. It required so many different events to happen in a certain order that it rarely occurred.

The first step was to commit some form of wrongdoing.

This was unfortunately the easiest part to do and most people never moved on to the next.

The second step was to realize and acknowledge your actions as wrong or harmful.

Many had justified their own actions over the course of existence and never saw themselves as doing wrong. Worse, many knew their behavior to be cruel and simply did not care or relished the feelings of power it gave them.

The final step was perhaps the most difficult to achieve.

One had to feel genuine remorse for their actions and wish to change.

Very few actually made it this far in the process as it usually required a catalyst of some sort. A personal revelation after going too far or someone laying your actions out clinically so you couldn’t justify them. Even a single act of unconditional kindness and trust could make someone wish to change.

Then came the truly hard part: actively changing your actions.

The path to redemption was not a short one. It took a lifetime of pursuit and dedicated work to not slip into the temptation of reverting back to who you were before.

Closing yourself off and pretending you didn’t care was easy, after all. What was difficult was being honest with yourself and allowing yourself to feel.

It helped if you had people around you to offer support and love. If it was from the same people who you had harmed originally, all the better.

But earning forgiveness wasn’t the goal of redemption. Some would refuse to give it, and you would have to live with that as it was their right to do so. It may hurt, but you had hurt them first and have no right to demand it even if you had changed.

Being redeemed wasn’t for the benefit of one’s victims. The hope was that you could grow into being a better person. It was for your own personal peace of mind. Whether others choose to accept that you’ve changed was not up to you, but you must continue onward regardless if you were to ever live with yourself.

Tang was intimately familiar with this process. The amount of cycles where he had been some sort of villain was not small.

The first three steps came easy to him. Feeling remorse for his wrongdoings and wishing to change were simple for one stuck jumping through time.

He could even spot a suitable catalyst for his potential ‘redemption’ fairly quickly. MK’s kindness and belief of the good in most people had certainly been useful on many occasions.

Having the whole process down to a science himself, Tang was even able to pull others into changing their ways sometimes. The Demon Bull family were commonly caught in his actions whenever he was a part of it.

(Having Red Son as a younger sibling had been interesting.)

What was bemusing to the scholar was that throughout the cycles there was one person who would constantly be redeemed, even without his meddling.

The Six Eared Macaque was an interesting puzzle.

He seemed to fit into the group that knew their actions were harmful, but did not care. Yet time and time again, he would become one of their allies.

Tang hadn’t known much about the demon early on in the cycles, but the knowledge about him came inevitably.

Macaque had been a “beloved friend” of Sun Wukong in the past. At some point, they had a falling out, Macaque seeing it as being left behind by Wukong.

The scholar had actually experienced part of that tension back in that cycle with the time traveling cactus.

So it seemed feelings of betrayal, jealousy, and abandonment were Macaque’s main motivations.

That last one was eerily similar to MK’s insecurities.

Macaque was very much like both Wukong and MK when Tang stopped to think about it. All three had repressed emotional trauma and coped with them in wildly unhealthy ways. Usually by pretending they weren’t there.

Macaque channeled those repressed emotions into schemes of revenge. He used lies and illusions to get what he wanted. He was condescending and sarcastic to his enemies, seemingly cruel and uncaring.

And it was all a facade.

At least, most of the time. There were a few cycles where Macaque was genuinely a despicable person who showed no remorse.

As much as he tried to hide it, Macaque was actually a very emotional being. It was quite easy for him to get attached to one or more of their group and slowly his cruel streak would fade.

Macaque’s catalyst for change was usually a person. It differed from cycle to cycle, but someone would show him some kindness or trust and before Tang knew it they would have another sarcastic immortal monkey as a part of the team.

MK was obviously the most common person to get the demon to change. Macaque was not lying when he called him a good kid. Having four father figures in those cycles seemed to be good for MK.

Wukong, while usually not the initial catalyst, tended to play a big part in Macaque’s redemption. Being old friends, they knew each other extremely well. While that tended to lead to a lot of arguments, it also led to them picking up where they had left off their previous relationship.

It didn’t really bother Tang that said relationships were often romantic in nature. Watching the two monkeys cuddle when they thought no one was looking was just too cute.

Mei was an interesting choice for Macaque to become attached to. He often ended up becoming her mentor, teaching her how to properly wield the Dragon Blade. Both of their sarcastic natures worked surprisingly well together.

The biggest surprise had been Pigsy.

That cycle, Macaque was basically under house arrest as ordered by Heaven. Pigsy, not wanting the manipulative demon to be anywhere near MK, forced him to stay at their apartment. It was some time later when Tang had woken late in the night to some loud noises and had left his room to complain.

Only to find Macaque pressing a kiss to Pigsy’s cheek before fleeing his room, pursued by a flustered and angry pig demon soon after.

It was strange, but Pigsy’s gruff and silent compassion meshed really well with Macaque’s easy going and nonchalant attitude. The scholar found their affection towards each other endearing.

Tang supposed it was only a matter of time before he himself acted as Macaque’s catalyst.

The cycle had started early, about a year before the original events. While working at the library, Tang had been approached by what he immediately recognized as Macaque in his human disguise. He had requested help on learning more about The Journey to the West for a school assignment. Tang, deciding to play along, offered himself up as an expert on the story and they began meeting weekly to go over it.

Macaque truly did not know the full events of the Journey in this cycle and seemed upset at several points, such as learning about the fillet used to inflict pain on Wukong. Over time, the pair began to meet up more often and discuss things other than the famous book.

He really should have expected falling in love.

Macaque was still sarcastic as ever, but never malicious. He made jokes and comparisons that had Tang’s side aching from how hard he laughed. He was quick to pick up Tang’s quirks and preferences, surprising him with his favorite foods or a nice new set of bookmarks.

He was still Macaque, but this softer side of him made Tang’s chest flutter.

As he lay in bed with his partner, (who had still yet to reveal himself to Tang, but he was patient), Tang couldn’t help but feel a new place in his heart open up for the shadow demon. He had already been considering adding Macaque into his family due to the many times he had joined them, and this just solidified that decision.

Oh Tang knew the cycles where he never changed would be painful. Watching as someone he loved went down a path of self destruction wasn’t easy. But he held onto the knowledge that there would always be the cycles where Macaque did become a part of their family.

As long as the possibility existed, there was hope that the same could happen in his own timeline.

If he ever got back that is.

Tang shoved that increasingly reoccurring thought away and closed his eyes, letting the soothing sounds of Macaque’s breathing lull him to sleep.

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A NEW CHALLENGER APPROACHES!

Macaque is the fandom’s darling bad boy, so of course I had to have a chapter discussing his many, MANY redemption’s over the many fics and AU’s.

In particular, (Teach Me to Be) Tougher Than Leather, Softer Than Silk by *checks notes* HOLY SHIT! I had no idea this was by @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off until just now! *ahem* Anyway it is an AMAZING fic with a practically never used pair and I highly recommend it.

Tang seems to have a type doesn’t he? Demons that seem emotionally distant, but are big softies at heart. It’s probably the purring that gets him. ;P Also does Tang/Macaque have a ship name? If not I'm dubbing it InkyPages.

Don’t worry Tang! I’m sure those intrusive thoughts will go away all on their own.

Important notice! I’m probably going to be putting this fic on the back burner for a bit because I really want to write about the cycle mentioned here. Not as part of Scattered Cicadas, but as its own thing. So keep an eye out for that!

Until next time!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Tang #Tang Monkie Kid #Macaque #Six Eared Macaque #ninja-knox-ur-sox-off #(Teach Me to Be) Tougher Than Leather Softer Than Silk #MK #Mei #Pigsy #Sun Wukong #squidinknoodleshipping #Tang/Macaque #what IS their ship name anyway?#InkyPages #InkyPagesShipping #LEGO Monkie Kid

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Afternoon tea

Summary: Before his first class as a professor, Minerva McGonagall invites Remus Lupin for tea - and a talk of old friends .

Note: This was inspired by @constancezin amazing artword and fic for Remus's birthday. Check her art - and thank you so much for sharing your talent with us, Zin!

Read on AO3 or below:

Remus checked the note for the fifth time that afternoon, though he knew it by heart now. It was a short note after all.

Remus,

When you feel better, come see me in my office for tea.

Minerva.

The note seemed to transport him to another time - a better time, many years ago. It was an illusion, of course. Back then, Professor McGonagall addressed him as Mr. Lupin and she would never sign any note for him with her first name. And though she was the Head of his House, they were never particularly close - she would deny it, but Minnie McGonagall had always favoured James and…

No, not Minnie. That was a nickname that he had crafted, and Remus refused to think about him, despite the fact that his face was in every newspaper these days.

He felt that sharp longing pain in his chest and wondered if he dared to skip the tea altogether. But he couldn’t, and not only because Remus didn’t have a good reason to justify his absence - there was still on him that respect for Professor McGonagall, as if he was still the fifteen-year-old prefect who couldn’t control his friends and accepted her reprimand in their names.

The halls were empty, for which Remus was grateful. Though the transformation had not been as bad as before, he knew his face was tired and pale; he didn’t want to look too frail even before his first class. It was bad enough he had missed the first week of classes because of the full moon.

He knocked on McGonagall’s office and the door opened. She was sitting on her desk, finishing some paperwork, and Remus smiled to himself; the first week of classes had barely finished and Professor McGonagall had already given homework.

‘Hello, Remus’, she greeted, indicating the chair in front of her desk. ‘I’m glad you came. Just one minute, please, I am finishing these grades’.

‘Hello, Professor McGonagall’, he greeted back, feeling awkward. Somehow sitting in that chair in front of her made him feel young again, instead of the professor he was now.

Well, he had the title, but he hadn’t even given his first class yet.

She paused her work to look at him; there was a familiar stern look on her face as she watched him from over her glasses.

‘We are colleagues now, Remus. I think you should call me Minerva’.

‘Okay, Mi… Minerva’.

It felt weird, especially because she didn’t look any more kind than she was during the years she had been his professor, but she didn’t comment on the way he had stumbled upon her name. Perhaps she was used to that awkwardness; most of the other professors had been her students too.

‘All done now’, Professor - Minerva said at least, laying down her quill. ‘I am sorry to make you wait, these are the essays for my Advanced Transfiguration Class’.

Remus nodded, in silence. James and… well, James had been in that class. He truly loved Transfiguration; it was easy for him like all classes seemed to be, but it was one that he dedicated more of his time, even doing extra work.

No wonder Minerva had adored him. No wonder they had managed to turn into animagus so early… But that was too painful to think about.

‘No problem’, he said easily, ignoring his remembrances and his guilt as always. ‘I guess I will be the one grading homework next week’.

‘When they offer you the job, they never mention how much of your time you will spend on homework’, she said, and before Remus could understand if she was joking with him - James wouldn’t believe it -, she raised. ‘Tea?’

Remus nodded, watching as Minerva prepared the tea for them both. She could do it by magic, he knew, but like him, she preferred to prepare it the old Muggle way; Remus enjoyed waiting for the water to boil - it was good for some reflection.

He wondered what Minerva McGonagall would reflect upon.

‘I was surprised by your invitation’. he admitted when she offered him a cup of tea.

‘I thought we could talk. I know how these last days were… arduous for you’.

Remus blinked, suppressing a grimace. Compared to the last years - losing his friends, living alone, then the news of his escape - transforming into a werewolf was easy.

‘It was not fun’, he said instead, keeping his voice amicably, ‘but Snape’s potion actually helped me’.

He couldn’t help but let a little of his surprise slip in his voice. Remus had had his doubts if Severus Snape would really prepare correctly the Wolfsbane Potion for him - he had once tried very hard to expose Remus’ secret to everyone after all - but it had worked as promised.

Perhaps Minerva could hear clearly his uncertainty, because he swore she was smirking as she sipped her tea.

‘I believe you should call him Severus now’, she noted.

Remus doubted Snape would be glad of this acknowledgement that they were colleagues now but he didn’t say anything. He thought of being on a first-name basis with Severus Snape - James would never forgive him for it. Those two had always hated each other…

‘I hope it doesn’t bother you’, Minerva added, a note of disapproval on her voice that made her sound more like the professor he had years ago. ‘You are all grown men now’.

‘No, of course not’, he said hastily. ‘I never had a particular grudge against Sna… Severus. And I am grateful for the help he is providing. I couldn’t be teaching without that potion’.

‘Good’, she took another sip, seeming to wonder if she should say more. ‘It seems some grudges run in the family, though’.

‘What -’, he blinked, an amused and unstoppable smile coming to his face. ‘Harry doesn’t like him too?’

She looked away, pretending to be busy opening a box of biscuits and offering him one.

‘Severus is a difficult professor, many don’t like him’, she said casually. ‘I believe the Longbottom boy is more afraid of him than of me’.

‘Longbottom… Alice and Frank’s son?’

Minerva nodded, exchanging a painful look at him. Remus remembered how bright Frank and Alice had been, how powerful they were together; and then the news of what happened to them. Sometimes Remus wondered how it would have been if his friends had fallen into that barely alive state; he couldn’t imagine looking in James’ hazel eyes and not seeing anything back.

Perhaps dying was less painful.

‘He is shy. A little bit lost. Sometimes…’, she paused, seeming more unsure than Remus had ever seen her. ‘Sometimes he reminds me of Peter’.

Remus didn’t need to ask what Peter she was talking about. He moved in the chair, feeling suddenly uncomfortable as always happened when someone mentioned his late friends.

‘Perhaps he just needs some guidance’, he said, in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. ‘More encouragement’.

They weren’t very good to Peter in that sense, Remus knew now, but he could try with Longbottom. It was never too late.

Minerva sighed.

‘It would do him some good’, she agreed, thoughtful.

Remus accepted another biscuit she was offering. Minerva still seemed a little lost in her thoughts, and Remus took a longer time than he needed to finish his biscuit until he gathered the courage he needed to ask her what he really wanted to know.

The question he had been avoiding for years.

‘Minerva? How - how is Harry?’

She watched him, raising her eyebrows, and Remus wondered if she would make it easy for him. She didn’t.

‘He is good in classes. Talented, medium grades, reasonably well-behaved. I think he could be better but he seems to dislike standing out actually’.

‘No, I meant…’, he took a deep breath. ‘How is he, Minerva?’

There was a wistful smile on the corner of her lips.

‘He is good’, she said softly. ‘You will find him always with his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They are always together, thick as thieves. Loyal to each other to their heart’.

Like James was to you and his Marauder group, he could hear in her voice. Like you were to each other until mistrust and betrayal separated you forever.

‘He is kind, modest actually. A bit naive too. And he seems to have a certain… disregard for rules and a knack for finding himself in trouble’. She paused and Remus knew he was remembering the hundreds of detentions that James had got himself into. He never complained, insisting he was proud of each one. I had a good reason, Professor, James would say, though most of the time was just for the fun of it. James loved to laugh and he loved making others laugh. ‘But his troubles are actually… motivated’.

That is less like James, Remus thought. James enjoyed breaking rules for the pleasure of it.

‘I don’t know if Albus told you about his previous years’.

‘He mentioned’, Remus said curtly, thinking of the stories he heard about Harry and his two encounters with Voldemort. He was too young for such misfortunes.

At least James and Lily were of age before they were facing Voldemort; but then again, Harry had been targeted since he was born. He was no stranger to danger - and now more than ever, if he was really after him…

If he had once betrayed James, who had loved him as a brother, he would surely not care at all for the boy who was his godson...

‘Harry may feel a need to be a hero’, Minerva continued, oblivious to his thoughts. ‘With his background… but he is a good kid’. She paused, sipping her tea before adding, in a voice that Remus thought sounded too heavy: ‘James and Lily… would be proud of him’.

Remus didn’t doubt that for a second. He remembered how James’ eyes would shine madly whenever he would talk about his child and how he seemed happy beyond words when Harry was born; and Lily, beautiful compassionate Lily, would look at Harry with nothing but love in her eyes. James and Lily had cherished their son every day of their lives.

They should have had more time with Harry. Twelve years and Remus still didn’t understand the unfairness of it all - if he could trade places with them he would in a second.

He remembered waking up at the Hogwarts Express and forcing himself to look at Harry, really look at him, instead of at the ghosts he invoked. The boy seemed fine, but he lacked that air that James had, the one that spoke of being loved and well-cared. Harry deserved to have his parents and to have met them.

‘He looks so much like James’, he whispered. ‘But it’s Lily’s eyes staring back at me’.

‘He reminds me of James a lot’, she agreed, a touch of sadness on her voice. Then she forced a smile. ‘Wait until you see him fly. He has his father’s talent’.

‘Chaser?’

‘Seeker. Never lost a game - and last year there was a rogue bludger chasing him around the field’.

‘James would be sad his son isn’t a Chaser’, Remus joked, though he knew he was lying. James would love Harry no matter what.

‘He has been a Seeker since his First Year’, she noted, again with that hidden smirk on her lips. ‘Not even James got his position so early.

‘He would be jealous’, Remus teased again, thinking that above all James would be proud.

My son, Remus, look at him! Seeker on his First Year! Lily - we have to send him the best broom in the world.

He sighed, exchanging another smile with Minerva, one that spoke of lost friends and lost opportunities. Remus supposed it was hard for her too - she had seen James growing up, from that uncorrectable prankster to a nice young man whose heart was in the right place and then to a warrior that died too early.

And she had seen James’ friends losing their ways too.

‘Don’t favour him’, she added, sounding a bit stern again. Remus blinked.

‘I won’t. I know I am his professor only - I won’t get too involved’.

Remus knew he already was, but he could be impartial. More than he was when he was a prefect, anyway.

‘I am glad you are teaching here, Remus’, Minerva said, her voice softer now. ‘Especially… this year’.

Remus didn’t need to ask what she was talking about. It was not coincidence that Dumbledore had gone for him, neither was that he had accepted to leave his isolation.

If he was really after Harry… after everything he had already done…

But this wasn’t a subject that Remus ever discussed with anyone.

He could deal with the grief over losing James and Lily and Peter, he could deal with the loneliness of the last twelve years.

But he couldn’t deal with his betrayal and above all with the question that always haunted him.

Why?

He finished his tea.

‘I should be going, Minerva’, he said, trying to sound pleasant. ‘I still need to finish setting things for my first class tomorrow. Fourth Year. Thank you for the tea’.

She raised one eyebrow, not much convinced, but all Minerva said was: ‘Of course. I wish you good luck’.

‘Thank you, Minerva’.

‘Anytime you need, Remus, my office is open’.

He nodded, though his smile was more restrained now. It was not her fault, but he knew that she wanted answers too, and he couldn’t help her with that. It scared Remus to think that no one would ever understand what had really happened.

He remembered a barking laugh, an aristocratic elegance and a smile that drew people to him. Not of it was revealed in the picture that was exhibited daily in the newspapers. Remus would sometimes look at that photo for long minutes, his heart racing in his chest, each beating sending a familiar pain to his body.

Why, Sirius?, he would ask. There was never any answer.

Remus raised, nodding his head in salute one more time. He was closing the door when Minerva called him again.

‘Remus - James would be happy for you too’.

He closed his eyes for a second; it was easy to imagine the face of James Potter - frozen forever with twenty-years-old -, grinning down at him with the easiest smile Remus had ever seen on anyone’s face, nodding at him in approval. Professor Lupin, huh?, he would say with equal notes of pride and teasing in his voice, always told you could be anything you want, Moony.

‘He would’, he agreed, sighing, and closed the door behind him.

____________

Updated to add: If you enjoyed, read Padfoot & Minnie, about Minerva meeting Sirius after knowing he is innocent.

#missing moments #HP Fanfiction #Remus Lupin #Minerva McGonagall #friendship #marauders fanfiction #t: fanfiction

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hailing-stars · 3 years

Text

@febuwhump day 27 “I wish I never gave you a chance.”

sneaky computer guts

summary

It isn’t until Peter is out of the garage that he hears footsteps following him. Tony calls out for him, but Peter barely hears it. All he can register is the rage pounding in his ears.

He’s got the hammer raised over his shoulder, and he’s about to bring it down on his laptop when Tony’s hand catches his arm.

“Kid,” says Tony. “We’ve been through this. We don’t execute technology outside of the garage.”

Tony snatches the hammer away from him, and Peter drops his shoulders.

“You don’t understand, Tony,” says Peter. He’s unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “That computer deleted my paper.”

“Deleted? Or just crashed?”

Peter loses all progress on a term paper due to his computer crashing, and Tony helps him recover, in more ways than one.

“I wish I’d never given you a chance.”

Peter stares at the blank screen on his laptop, and feels like crying. Hours of work. Gone just like that. His paper’s due on Monday, and now, he has nothing but a useless pile of scrap tech parts and a primal rage mixed with grief brewing deep in his chest.

This act of betrayal from his trusty laptop is the last straw.

He stands from the dining room table, where he’d worked through the night to bang out the last half of his paper, and marches towards the garage. Tony looks up from his project when Peter enters his space. He raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything or even try to stop him when he grabs a hammer and promptly leaves.

It isn’t until Peter is out of the garage that he hears footsteps following him. Tony calls out for him, but Peter barely hears it. All he can register is the rage pounding in his ears.

He’s got the hammer raised over his shoulder, and he’s about to bring it down on his laptop when Tony’s hand catches his arm.

“Kid,” says Tony. “We’ve been through this. We don’t execute technology outside of the garage.”

Tony snatches the hammer away from him, and Peter drops his shoulders.

“You don’t understand, Tony,” says Peter. He’s unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “That computer deleted my paper.”

“Deleted? Or just crashed?”

“Sort of the same thing.”

“Uh, no, it isn’t,” says Tony. “If it’s just crashed auto-save probably saved your paper.”

“Yeah, well, I had auto-save turned off.” He hates admitting it, hates even just standing there, talking with Tony about the loss of his term paper and probably the loss of his good GPA.

“Peter, why?”

“Because it slows my computer down.”

“If auto-save slows your computer down, you needed a new one like months ago,” says Tony. He walks closer to the table, and puts his hand on the screen. By the look on Tony’s face, Peter can tell he’s judging the way his laptop needs Duct tape to hold it together. “Yep. You’re way past due.”

“But I like this one.”

“Peter,” says Tony. “You almost damaged my dining room table trying to destroy it.”

“I was blinded by rage. I see clearly now.”

“Yeah, you’re getting a new one.”

“I’m gonna tell May you’re trying to buy me ridiculous gadgets again.”

Tony has a long history of trying to upgrade Peter’s tech game. Not just Peter’s, either. After the incident where May came home from work and was greeted by the security AI Tony had installed while they were both away, he’s banned from the act of buying or upgrading anything tech related without May’s permission.

“This has been cleared with May for weeks now,” says Tony. “It was actually her idea. Something about her being able to hear that thing running from her bedroom.”

“Great,” says Peter. “Wish you two could’ve conspired against me and acted before I lost my paper.”

“Yeah it’s too bad there’s not a literal tech genius around to help you out.”

“I know,” says Peter, miserably. “Ned and his family are on vacation.”

Tony lightly taps him with the hammer.

“Why? Is there someone else?”

“I hate children,” says Tony.

He grabs Peter’s broken machine from the table, and together they go into the garage to attempt to recover Peter’s grade.

Tony connects the laptop to wires and more wires. He pokes around the computer’s guts with a screwdriver, and watches a giant monitor he’s got some of the wires plugged into.

Peter spins himself around in the wheely chair until his stomach revolts. He stops the chair by putting his foot firmly on the ground, and watches as the room continues to spin on. It’s trippy, so Peter starts spinning himself again, faster this time, and ignoring protests from his stomach.

“For the love god,” grumbles Tony.

His blurred figure gets closer, and suddenly Peter’s chair stops spinning. It takes him a few seconds to realize it’s because Tony has both his hands locked on the armrests, bringing the chair to a stop and putting an end to Peter’s ride.

“When you inevitably injure yourself, I’m not feeling sorry for you.” Tony lets go of the chair, and walks back to where he’s working on recovering Peter’s lost paper.

“Whooaaa,” says Peter, as the colors in the garage blur and spin. Everything stills, and all he has left is a nauseous feeling in his stomach. “We should have a wheely chair race.”

“That sounds like the worst idea,” says Tony, immediately, not even considering.

“Could be fun.”

“Why do I get the feeling the every single one of your dumb injuries starts with you saying exactly that?”

“Maybe experience?” asks Peter.

Tony chuckles, and looks up from the computer guts. Peter follows his gaze to the large monitor. A rush of relief washes over him at the sight of his paper.

“Tony,” says Peter, near tears again. The day has been a wild ride. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he says. “I’ll just transfer the file to a flash drive, and you can load it on your new computer.”

“We could just fix up this one.”

Tony gives him a look. “You have a strange attachment to your electronics.”

“Me?” asks Peter. He beckons towards Dum-E.

“That’s completely different,” says Tony. “Dum-E is part of the family. What’s your excuse?”

“Ben bought that computer for me.”

The words slip out before Peter even recognizes it’s the buried truth behind why his laptop crashing threw him into such a state of rage and grief. He feels like crying again, but doesn’t want to make Tony feel awkward, so he keeps talking, in some vain attempt to keep the truth at bay.

“He couldn’t really afford it, you know?” says Peter. “But they were required for incoming freshmen at Midtown, and he really wanted me to go there. He got… so excited when I was accepted, so he got a second job and a credit card… to make sure I could go.”

“He was a good man.”

“Yeah,” says Peter, and that time, he can’t stop the tears.

He turns away from Tony, or tries too. He doesn’t get very far, because Tony pulls him into a hug, and before he knows it, he’s crying into the man’s chest.

“I just really miss him.”

Tony squeezes his arms, and pulls him closer. “I know, kid. He really loved you. It’s clear in everything you do.”

They stand there like that for a while, until Peter stops crying, and he backs out of Tony’s hug.

“He’d be really proud, Pete,” says Tony. His eyes flicker back over to the computer guts. “Maybe we could, uh, try and save the -”

“-No, it’s okay, Tony,” says Peter. He sniffles, and clears his throat. “Probably time to get another one.”

“Okay,” says Tony, his voice softer than before. “Okay, I’ll call the office. Have them send a StarkTop over.”

Peter nods, takes one last look at his old computer, then leaves the garage with Tony.

It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning, next barely the next day, when Peter adds the finishing touches to his paper and carefully closes the screen to his new computer.

He sits in Pepper’s home office, and leans back in the chair, a strange peace and reassurance settling over him.

Today might have been a truly awful day, if he hadn’t had Tony helping him with his paper, and May texting with him after his breakdown, and Pepper offering her the use of her office, so he could concentrate on his paper.

“It’s soundproof,” she had told him. “Otherwise I’d never get anything done in this place.”

Her office is extraordinarily quiet. A center of refuge in the middle of the chaos that is the Stark lake house. It’s so quiet he doesn’t hear footsteps or heartbeats, doesn’t predict the door creaking open until it does.

Tony steps inside. “Hey, kid, how’s the paper?”

“Finished.” Peter grins, happy to have that over and done with.

“Good,” says Tony. He walks across the room, and hands Peter a badly wrapped present. “Made something for you.”

Peter hesitantly accepts the gift, and unwraps it, while Tony shuffles around nervously. Under all the paper is a weird looking picture frame. It’s gears and wires and computer chips.

Inside the frame is a picture of Peter, May, and Ben smiling, on the beach at Coney Island. Peter still remembers that day. Just flashes and unconnected bits. Mostly, he remembers the way Ben laughed, loud and booming and free. It’s a memory that brings a smile to Peter’s face as his fingers glaze the glass covering the photo.

“Do you like it?” asks Tony. “The frame is -”

“-my old laptop?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it’d be okay,” says Tony. “But I figured it was better than just tossing it.”

Peter stands from Pepper’s desk chair and hugs Tony, keeping the picture and frame locked tight in his grip. “It’s perfect, Tony. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, kid.”

Peter lets go of him. “Uh, I’m sorry I lost it on you today. I felt fine before, but then suddenly I just wasn’t.”

“Grief is sneaky,” says Tony. “No apology necessary. I’m man enough to handle a few tears. It’s human.”

“Yeah,” says Peter, with a nod. “Guess so.”

“Come on,” says Tony, swinging an arm around him, and leading him out of Pepper’s sanctuary away from chaos. “Let’s celebrate you defeating the term paper.”

“Can we celebrate by you giving me a proofread?”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You’re an old man.”

Tony ruffles his hair, and Peter grins.

It had been a wildly emotional ride of a day. But now it’s over. He’d made it through, thanks to a little help from his family.

#febuwhumpday27 #grief #irondad #irondad fic #my fic #Peter Parker needs a hug

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amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Text

This is Version 1! V.2 will be posted soon!

Prompt from @were-writes !

The hero clutched their sidekick to them. They had been taken three days ago; no ransom note had been delivered. The chances of getting a normal kid back were next to none. The chances of getting their sidekick back should have been none. Yet here they were, seemingly unharmed.

“Are you okay? Did Tyson hurt you?”

“No. He didn’t hurt me.” The sidekick shrugged out of the hero’s arms. “I’m not going to work with you anymore.”

Seth was taken back. His arms remained awkwardly at his sides. "Did you just say-"

"Yeah, I did."

There was no betrayal in Hannah's words. Well, it was wholly betrayal, but there was no falsity in her voice. No blinking eyes or twitching fingers to tell Seth she was lying. Hannah was calm and true.

"If- if it's too much, I can assign you some of the less dangerous jobs. You're good with technology so-"

"No." Hannah turned her back to Seth, tucking her hair behind her ear on instinct, but quickly spun back around. She shook her head, moving a hand to her hair and flipping it. "I'm done. And you're not going to change my mind."

Seth took a step forward, causing the sidekick to swallow. "Hannah, was that-"

"Stay back!" Now her hand shook as she held it out. To anyone nearby, it would have looked like Hannah was terrified of Seth. To Seth, too, it seemed like she was, but he could have sworn- "Seth Bowers, you are not safe to be around. Even behind a screen, I will always be in danger, and you know that."

The hero shook his head. He didn't understand. Hannah had always persisted that she helped. Seth didn't force her into it. In fact, he always tried to persuade her to leave the team. Instead, she practically introduced herself to the public. She wanted to be a hero. What was this about? He took a step towards Hannah, despite her hand being held up. He trusted she wouldn't hurt him.

"Please, Seth-" She drew her hand back slightly, just to push out again. A warning. Still, Seth didn't believe it. It wouldn't have mattered much anyways. She was a regular kid, and he was a kid with superpowers. He was naturally stronger- not because he was a guy, but because of having those abilities.

"Don't. Don't get closer."

Did she just flinch? He stopped, just in case it truly was him that she was afraid of. "Hannah, what happened while you were gone? You said Tyson didn't hurt you, but...did he threaten you?"

She swallowed.

Yes. Yes, he threatened her.

"What did he tell you he'd do?"

She didn't react, only stared off somewhere into space. Seth stepped closer, snapping her out of her faded attention. "No, stop. Don't get near me."

"Hannah," he said softly, "whatever he told you, you're here with me, okay? Nothing bad is going to happen while you're with me."

She ignored his affirmations, instead focusing on just the first half. "I never said he threatened me. I never said anything about him. I never said anything- This is about you, Seth. This is about you putting me in danger. And- and about you not caring and- and I have to leave. I need to leave now."

Seth lunged, knocking Hannah's outstretched arm aside, and then grasping her wrists as she was caught off guard. Bringing her wrists together in one hand, he reached towards his sidekick- his girlfriend's- cheek, the one closest to the side of her head where she flipped her hair before. His fingers skimmed her ear, and there he found it.

"Don't!" She turned her head away. "Seth, don't. Seth, get away. Get away from me!"

"You have an earpiece. He's listening." Seth didn't mean to say it out loud, but it wouldn't have mattered anyways. Tyson, if he really was listening- why wouldn't he be if Hannah obviously had a piece in- would have already figured out that the hero was catching on.

A sob rocked Hannah's chest. She didn't bother trying to yank her wrists free anymore. She fell into Seth's chest, and he let go, hugging her close. "You're staying with me, okay? You're staying with me so that I can keep you safe. I'm not afraid of him." He pushed her away slightly, sliding his hand beneath the curtain of Hannah's hair again.

"No, Seth-" but he kept going, pulled the earpiece out before sliding it into his own ear. "Seth, he'll kill you," she whispered, rushed.

"Tyson?"

CsssShhhh.

"Tyson!"

Shhhhhhhhhhhh.

"I know you're there. Answer me."

Kch-fwoop. "She did a poor job breaking up with you, didn't she?"

Seth bit his tongue. "What do you want? Why'd you take her, and why did you send her back?"

"Are you saying you don't want her back? Maybe I was right to make her break up with you- or try at least." Seth could hear the smile playing with Tyson's voice. Tyson found this to be amusing. "I'd be happy to take her again. Sweet girl. Very flirtatious. Did you know she buttoned my shirt for me?" A pause. He was waiting for a reaction, but he wouldn't get one. "I had to threaten her life first, which she unfortunately didn't care about, and then I threatened yours. Turns out the precious superhero of the city is her weakness."

"Get on with it. I don't care for your stories."

Hannah waited, biting her nails. She wanted to take the piece back and tell Tyson that she would return. She would return if he promised to leave Seth alone. But she was with Seth now, and she knew he would never let her voluntarily walk to their enemy.

"Don't rush me, or I might take her again. You might not like to listen, but I like to tell." A breath. "I threatened you and suddenly-" Tyson laughed- "she was willing to do absolutely anything. Now, she already told you I didn't hurt her, and she wasn't lying, but...well, let's just say she isn't exactly seen as a hero's sidekick on my side of town anymore."

Seth turned to his girlfriend. She couldn't hear what was being said so it's not like her face would tell Seth anything. It did change, however, as he asked Tyson, "What did you make her do?"

Hannah's sucked in a breath and snapped her attention to the ground. She couldn't meet Seth's eyes.

Not wanting to make her feel ashamed for whatever he was about to learn, he looked away.

"Our sweet Hannah grew an appreciation for art. She practiced with the colour red, mostly." A satisfied sigh and a buzzing in the background. It caused a high ringing to start in Seth's ears. He pulled the earpiece away with a disgruntled sound and plugged his ears, hoping for the shrieking to stop. Seth couldn't even think about what Tyson said about Hannah.

When the ringing faded, he put the earpiece back in. "Is that the end of your story? Are you going to leave us alo-"

"Let me say goodbye to him. Tyson, please."

Seth spun on a heel. Hannah was gone. She wasn't there behind him. And that was her voice in his head. No. No, no, no. He took off, earpiece still in ear, towards the door that would lead downstairs. How hadn't he heard the door when she left! That door wasn't even quiet the day it was installed.

The ringing, Seth realized. She ran while he was distracted.

"No! Just let me talk to him!"

Tyson's voice answered Hannah's. "You failed. Consider this punishment. Goodbye, Seth Bowers."

As the hero ran downstairs, his hearing turned to static and the ringing commenced again. Seth's legs gave out and shortly after, he was tumbling down the stairs. Even sooner, his head bounced off of the railing, leaving him unconscious, with only Hannah on his mind beforehand.

Tyson was always going to take Hannah back, but why was she sacrificing herself for Seth? She had to know he could handle Tyson on his own. Unless she knew something that Seth didn't. She'd been to Tyson's base after all. She knew it better than anyone. Or was it something else...Tyson demonstrated his powers to her, and she knew Seth couldn't beat it. Giving herself to the villain was the only way to save the hero. It must have been, for what other explanation was there?

#prompt fill #hero x villain #hero x villain story #sabotage #undercover #forced to whump #torture

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addicted2escapism · 4 years

Text

Make it Double | JJ Maybank

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: You’re a Kook, who was introduced to JJ by Sarah, and you’re so similar to each other it’s like having two JJ’s around. The Pogues are slowly going insane from your antics.

Warnings: none

Distancing yourself from the Kooks to hang out with the Pogues was probably the best decision of your life. You were so fed up with the stuck up rich kids from your side of the island that meeting new people was like finding gold at the end of a rainbow. Or at the bottom of the ocean. You had always been a bit of an outcast amongst Kooks, only truly getting along with Sarah and managing to maintain civility between everyone else. You just weren’t good at acting prim and proper. Being with the Pogues allowed you to let loose.

They were hesitant to open up to you at first, which was understandable considering all the shit Topper and the other boys continuously put them through. Eventually, though, they came to realize that you were not a spoiled brat who couldn’t get their hands dirty.

The first time they realized this, you were drunk, so it kind of didn’t count. There was a party at The Boneyard, but instead of assuming your usual spot with the Kooks, you were dancing with Sarah and the Pogues. JJ was making sure that your red solo cup stayed full, until he grew a conscious and decided that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to give you alcohol poisoning. So you were throughly drunk, even when the party was beginning to wind down. The Tourons were getting called back to their hotels and the Kooks wanted to hold an after party in the comfort of their three story homes.

Since the Pogues had hosted, it was also their job to clean up, but you were not having it. You wanted the party to go on forever! JJ was closest to you, so you snag him by the arm and dance backwards towards the water. He smirks, letting you pull him away, dancing slightly to your imaginary music.

“JJ!” You begin, and then pause to let out a burp. “Let’s swim!”

JJ’s smirk transforms into a full-fledged grin as you turn around and start running (stumbling) towards the water.

“Little Kook wants to swim in the freezing cold water with all her clothes on?” He questions, but moves his feet to match your speed. “If you say so!”

“No! JJ!” A voice calls out from farther up the beach, which you recognize as Sarah. Her warning is too late, though, because you splash into the water, with JJ right on your heels. You didn’t seem to care that your clothes were going to be absolutely soaked, traveling deeper and deeper into the water until you actually had to swim to keep your head above the surface.

“JJ, she’s drunk! Come back!” Another voice yells, your hazy mind is slowly able to decipher that it’s Kiara. You call her name, your hand shooting out of the water to wave at her, but you couldn’t wave and swim at the same time. The lack of control over your body movements plunges you under the water, but a firm hand grabs your arm and instantly hauls you back up. When you surface, all the Pogues are yelling things like “Jesus, JJ!”, and “come back, now!”.

“She’s fine, I’m holding her up!” JJ hauls you back to shore, making a show of his hand holding onto your arm. You laugh and agree with him, too drunk to fully comprehend why everyone was so concerned.

—

The second time, you were fully sober and could actually attest to your actions.

“Are you sure that she’s gonna be cool with fishing in the marsh?” Pope questions, looking to Sarah for an answer. Everyone was loading up John B’s boat with enough supplies for a full day out on the water. You had texted Sarah earlier that day wanted to hang out, but she had already made plans with the Pogues, so naturally she asked if you could come along.

“Yes, Pope, I am totally confident in that fact that she can handle being on a boat.” Sarah deadpans, staring at him disapprovingly. She understood why the group was reserved towards you, because from the outside you came off as ever Kookier than her. You came from a large family, a descendant of old money, meaning generations have gone by without anyone having to work a single day in their life. You never liked to talk about it, but you were much richer than her. It seemed like after years and years, you were the first one to break the mold of your family and actually care about something other than wealth and reputation. Unfortunately for you, your family’s reputation had tainted yours from the moment you were born.

“We know, we’ve seen her on very expensive boats.” JJ snorts, digging through the cooler of beer that Kiara had brought.

“Then what’s the big deal?” Sarah argues, looking to John B for backup. “You guys accepted me! She’s not really any different.”

“No offense, Sarah, but her house could put yours to shame.” John B adds, extremely unhelpfully.

“You know what? I’m going to invite her, and you can see for yourselves that you’re all being ridiculous.”

After about a half hour of being in the marsh, the Pogues realized that they were being ridiculous. You weren’t grossed out every time John B dumped a net full of fish straight onto the boat, in fact, you were actively helping. Kiara and Pope had taken to reading and listening to music, sprawled out on the back half of the boat, away from where JJ was trying to chase you and Sarah with live fish.

“JJ! Stop! Ew!” Sarah squealed, attempting to use John B as a shield. To her dismay, he reached down and picked up a fish as well, turning on her with a mischievous grin. “No, not you too!”

She called your name for help, but you were too busy being cornered by JJ. You didn’t know what he planned to do to you if he actually caught you, but you weren’t too keen on finding out. So you dart to the left and scoop up a fish of your own, trying not to shiver from the slimy texture of it between your fingers. JJ looks at you in surprise as you discreetly tilt your head towards Sarah, who had resorted to running to Kiara for help. JJ nodded, understanding what you had in mind, and turned towards Sarah as well. With his attention drawn away from you, you released your fish back into the water, feeling a bit bad for keeping the whole net just laying on the deck for so long.

Sarah screams out something about being betrayed, noticing that JJ had let you go, and that you were doing nothing to help. Fortunately for her, you weren’t planning on a single betrayal, but a double. You run across the boat, the fast movement making JJ and John B turn towards you. Sarah takes the opportunity to grab John B and push him off the boat, who latches onto her and drags her into the water with him. When you head for JJ, he already knows what you have in mind, so he captures you in his arms before you can push him and jumps off. When you surface, you can see Pope and Kiara looking at the four of you judgmentally. You laugh them off and start sparring JJ in the water.

—

If you were a bit of a Kook outcast in the beginning, you were completely ostracized now after choosing Pogues over Kooks for months. Even your family started to notice that you would go out with friends and come home “looking like you were from The Cut”, which, to be fair, was exactly where you had been. But you didn’t like their tone, and spent less and less time going to Kook functions. Pogue life had made you a complete wild card.

You couldn’t hide the fact that you were a Kook, though, but you weren’t trying to. It was quite obvious because of your clothes, your phone, and the car that you drove. You simply liked to think about the resources you had access to as a way to help the Pogues if need be.

Once the Pogues looked past your rich-kid exterior, they realized that you were very much like them. And then a certain Pogue started to like you. As in, like you. It was JJ, of course. You both found it easy to be around each other, and more often than not whenever one of you did something a little questionable, it was because the other was spurring them on. When you and JJ were together, you were an unstoppable force that the Pogues struggled to control.

“Guys, please, don’t break anything.” John B sighs, watching you and JJ play fight while he stood in the kitchen, making a peanut butter sandwich.

“We won’t!” You assured him, not wanting to disrespect his house or anything in it. You blocked a “punch” from JJ and swiftly ducked under his arm, laying a “punch” of your own into his abdomen. He gasped and stumbled backwards in fake pain, and you took the opportunity to kick him in the leg. JJ’s leg fights with yours, swiping you off balance. You yelp, realizing that you’re actually going to fall, but JJ reaches out and catches your arm just in time. You open your mouth to thank him, but the only thing that comes out is another yelp when he picks you up and slams you onto the couch.

There’s a loud crack, and suddenly the couch drops out from underneath you, dipping at an unnatural angle.

“Dude!” John B cries out, taking his mediocre sandwich and running over to you. You climb off the couch to assess the damage yourself.

“JJ, why’d you throw me like that!” You accuse, shoving him to the side. He fights you off and annoyingly bats you on the arm.

“I didn’t think you’d break it! How heavy are you?” He retorts, dropping to the ground to look underneath the broken sofa.

“Sorry, John B.” You sigh, squeezing his shoulder. You also take the chance to kick JJ again while he’s down.

—

Kiara’s dad had offered everyone the leftover food from The Wreck, so that’s where you all went to feast for dinner. You’d offered to take them out somewhere for fun, but they all felt strangely about accepting things like that from you. It made sense, but you wished that they wouldn’t view it as a handout. Everyone sat in silence, enjoying their food and each other’s company. The silence was broken when a French fry hit you on the cheek.

“JJ.” You start, not even bothering to look up from your food to see if he really was the culprit. “We’re in a restaurant.”

Quite the hypocrite, you pick up the fry that hit you and throw it back. It hits him right in the forehead.

“Guys, please, don’t start.” Kiara warns, mostly pleading with you since JJ was a complete lost cause. You nod, your days of etiquette training in the Kook academy wasn’t for nothing, and fixed JJ with a glare. He got the message and returned to eating his food, leg pressed snugly against yours.

“You two are going to get us in serious trouble one day.” Pope states, shaking his head as he munches on a carrot stick.

“Hey, at least she has a good effect on JJ. Look at him, he’s quiet as a mouse.” Sarah teases. You snort and JJ rolls his eyes. Both of you have heard this conversation before.

“In my defense, she instigates!” JJ throws you under the bus and you gasp incredulously.

“Me?” You object, ready to argue about who’s the real troublemaker in the relationship. All of the Pogues groan and complain, but the fondness in their eyes show that they’re happy to have you.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #my writing #gem writes

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unlocktxt · 4 years

Text

more than just a memory | c.s.b

Choi Soobin

❦ genre: angst, fluff, ghost soobin!au, soobin x reader

❦ description: moving into your new house, you expected to be met with peace and quiet, but everything doesn’t seem to go according to plan when your met with a tall lonely ghost named soobin.

❦ word count: 5.6k

❦ warning‼️: this includes/mentions death, loss, heartbreak, afterlife, and swearing

The burning sun could be felt on your skin, tanning it as you ran down the never ending street. You checked your digital watch to see that you were now five minutes late to your moving in get together. Your absence would be evident to your close family and friends. The thought of your parents nagging about your tardiness only motivated you to move faster. You were running so fast that you just barely managed to dodge an old woman and her barking chihuahua. “Watch where you’re going before you kill someone’s dog!” You didn’t have to look at her to know that she was pointing her angry accusing finger at you. “Sorry miss!” You quickly turned the corner, finally on your street. You were relieved to know that the old woman wasn’t your neighbor. With the house in your sights you ran even faster, those years spent in track finally paying off. Practically feeling like a cheetah, it was hard for you to stop yourself as you approached the house. Trying to slow down was a useless attempt as you tripped. The stupid rock causing you to fly forward, foot hurting like a bitch. Your reflexes didn’t seem to be enough, but they still managed to get you to crash into the parked car, rather than the pavement. As if things couldn’t get any worse, the car alarm started blaring. At that moment, you were willing to dismantle that moving money eater. The car alarm suddenly stopped, causing you to face the small group of people on the porch. Well shit. Waving with a big smile on your face, you fought the urge to laugh at yourself and feigned innocent. This clearly didn’t work because when you made eye contact with your parents, you could practically feel the disappointment. Good thing you have your own house now.

You made your way over to your favorite people, still out of breath from running. “Hi guys! So sorry I’m late. I uh... I had to go help this elderly woman catch her chihuahua that got loose.” You decided against telling them that you managed to get lost walking around the many, many blocks. Nodding your head in satisfaction, you thanked the old woman and her dog for saving you from the wrath of your parents. The only person who didn’t seem to fall for this was your friend, Taehyun, who shook his head in disapproval, although you knew he found it funny. “Let’s get this party started!” You ushered everyone inside as you made your way over to Taehyun and Beomgyu. “Okay so what the hell were you actually doing?” Taehyun raised an eyebrow at you, basically staring you down. You let out a sigh, knowing they would make fun of you. “I went out for a walk because I got spooked... and then I got lost.” Beomgyu immediately started laughing. “You- You got lost in your own neighborhood!” He couldn’t help his laughter, you were just too oblivious of your surroundings. Taehyun, who actually listened carefully, had more questions. “So why did you get scared in the first place?” Taehyun seemed interested in what you had to say, giving you the confidence you needed. “Well... the house is always kind of cold you know... and they say it could be because it’s haunted. I didn’t really mind it, but I swear I saw a reflection in the mirror.” You shivered just thinking about it. This caused Beomgyu to look around with wide eyes. “No way... your house is haunted!” Beomgyu shouted, causing Taehyun to put his hand over the loud man’s mouth. “She probably just isn’t used to being home alone, so she got paranoid.” Taehyun shrugged. To be fair... it does sound more reasonable, however, you could’ve sworn you saw a tall figure staring at you. Then again it only lasted for a split second. “Your parents brought cake, come on.” Taehyun got us back on track, but not before Beomgyu mouthed we should totally go ghost hunting. Ignoring the heavy feeling on your chest, you followed after them. What couldn’t be seen, was how Soobin lit up. So she did see me, he thought. After months of having an empty feeling, he finally felt something. Hope. He now made it his mission to get your oblivious self to notice him.

“I can’t believe our child is all grown up now.” Your mom’s eyes glossed over as she looked at you. “Mom don’t cry,” you chuckled at her pouty face, “you’re acting like I’m never going to visit you.” Shaking your head, you realized that you were going to be all alone in this house. Like a slap to the face, the thought of having to be completely independent hit you. The sudden realization scared you, but you knew it was about time to grow up. “I think that you’re still our little one, after all I’ll just be glad you don’t burn the house down.” Your dad’s joke had everyone laughing, they all knew how much he wanted to see you everyday. The memories of your childhood seemed to flash through your mind - the time your dad would always set you on the tree until you were able to climb up it just like him- or the time your mom chased you around the yard, trying to tickle your small self. These are the memories you would cling onto for the rest of your life. “I’m not that bad of a cook!” Sure you had caught noodles on fire, but that was like three years ago. You’ve improved since then, or so you thought. “There’s a reason no one asks you to cook.” Your mom admitted, to which you puffed your cheeks. You were being called out and your friends just nodded in agreement. The ultimate betrayal. “Then it’s a good thing I had you to take care of me. I probably picked up a few of your tricks.” Key word probably.

Your parents weren’t going to stay long, that way you and your friends could have some fun. Just when you turned to walk your parents to the door, the plastic cup moved an inch. Soobin, who had moved it, quickly turned to look at you with a big, proud smile. “I just did that!” He was excited about his achievement that took ten minutes to pull off, but as he looked at your back facing him, his face fell. “You have got to be kidding me.” The poor invisible Soobin really wanted to take out his frustration, but as his fist went to collide with the wooden table, it went straight through. An exasperating sigh came from Soobin as he moved onto plan b. Having not seen this, you waved your parents goodbye, slowly closing the door before turning to your two friends. “I call the dog!” Beomgyu ran to the monopoly board that Taehyun set up, diving for the little piece. You happily scurried over to your friends as you grabbed the shoe before Taehyun could. “Oh I’m definitely going to make you go bankrupt for that one.” Taehyun grabbed the car, sending glares. From past experiences, the three of you decided to put away the hammers and any potential weapon. Rolling the dice to see who’s first, you punched the air as you rolled a 6, higher than the two of them combined. As you did so you could’ve sworn your hand brushed against something cold, but maybe it was just the air conditioning. Soobin, sitting directly beside you, jumped as a result of your fist going straight through him. Was monopoly really this exciting, Soobin wondered, now wanting to play along. The three of you, not noticing the ghost boy, started the game with you rolling the dice. Your game face was now on. You decided to buy the first property you landed on. Taehyun went next, landing on the same color, his face told you that he wasn’t planning on letting you go that easily. “Don’t you dare buy that property!” You wanted all of the greens, but Taehyun wasn’t letting you have that chance as he bought the property. “Fine then... I’ll just make you go bankrupt.” You were now going to make them pay.

When the game ended you felt defeated. The look on Taehyuns face scared you. He truly was the monopoly master. “I can’t believe you took all of my money.” Beomgyu whined. It was now eleven at night, the game had lasted a while. “We should probably get going.” Taehyun said as he grabbed his stuff, taking a slice of cake with him. “Okay be safe on the way home.” You walked them to the door, waving their car goodbye.

Sighing, you couldn’t help but notice how chilly it was in the house. “Does the thermostat even work?” After messing with it a bit, you decided to just get a blanket, however, as you leaned over to grab one you met eyes with a man who looked similar to a bunny. “Get out before I call the cops!” You turned around quickly as you ran to the kitchen, grabbing a knife. You could tell he was caught off guard as his eyes seemed to enlarge. He definitely wasn’t very good at whatever he’s doing. As you turned on your phone, he seemed to get the gist. He came running at you, panicking. You were terrified and did the first thing you could think of- stab him. Your hands shook as your eyes trembled, you didn’t know what to do, but you did know you were terrified. Your hand and knife just went straight through him. Now that Soobin knew you could see him, he put all his energy into taking your phone. You were stuck in shock at what was happening. When you finally gained enough sense to move, you backed up. “P-please don’t kill me!” You were helpless against an invincible man.

Soobin knew he shouldn’t scare you, but he wanted to have some fun before reassuring you, after all... he used to joke about haunting people. He slowly approached your cowering figure, trapping you against the wall with his body. His arms were placed beside your head and he stared, you didn’t have anywhere to go. This is when you got this brilliant idea, if the knife could go straight through him maybe you could too! His face was a little too close for comfort, so you quickly tried to catch him off guard and lean forward, however, when you expected your face to fall right through him, you ended up meeting with something hard. Not only did this shock you, but also Soobin. He did not expect you to lean in and kiss him... the warmth of your lips sparking a fire within him. You were now highly embarrassed on top of fearing for your life. “I... I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! You know I just thought that I would go right through you... but that didn’t work. Please don’t kill me... just tell me what you want!” You rambled trying to get him to spare your life. Soobin had just gotten over the shock, now enjoying your flustered state. He smirked as he leaned closer, “Maybe another kiss.” That surely was not what you expected. Is that really what he wanted... or was it a trick? The tall black haired boy started laughing as he backed away from you. You were confused, but relieved as you finally let out the breath you were holding.

“I actually want you to help me see my friends and family. You see... you’ve probably already guessed, but I’m a ghost and I’d like to say goodbye to them one last time.” His whole demeanor had changed and you were now looking at a very cute guy. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “My names Soobin. I actually used to live here or well... still kind of do. Surprise you have a dead roommate because I can’t seem to leave the house.” This was not normal... at all. When you decided to live here, you didn’t think it was haunted. “May I ask when you died?” You couldn’t help yourself, you were curious. Besides if you were going to help him then you’d need to know if these people were still alive. The humor he had before seemed to be a mask because once you asked this he had a distant look on his face. “If I remember correctly it was three months ago.” Something seemed to hit you, now looking at him you felt pity towards the ghost. You don’t know if you would’ve had a different reaction had he said something else, but you were now fighting the urge to cry due to his tragic situation. He was alone for three months, knowing that his loved ones were in pain missing him. The lump in your throat formed, “why don’t we sit down?” You grabbed his hand, almost retracting yours from the ice cold feeling. When you looked up at him, your eyes seemed like a mirror, reflecting the light as a burning feeling reached your nose. Don’t cry, you reminded yourself. Soobin, who had longed for the warm feeling, unconsciously tightened his grip on your hand as he moved closer. Noticing this warmed your heart, it relieved you that he seemed to enjoy your contrasting temperature. You wanted to give him the warmth he needed, so you placed another hand on his. The two of you smiled at each other before heading to the living room. His smile contained so much kindness, you wish you knew him before he had passed away.

Soobin had talked on and on about his plan to get his friends and parents here. You could tell he was excited and thought a lot about how to this this, however, it didn’t seem that he thought of the consequences. It was a wholesome plan, but you just didn’t think it would work out. Although his plan wasn’t all that great, you knew that the reason he couldn’t find peace was because he didn’t get to say goodbye. You had to compromise. “Soobin,” you took a deep breath before looking him in the eyes, “I don’t think telling your loved ones that you’re a ghost is a good idea.” You were met with Soobin’s confusion. “Well they obviously won’t believe you at first, but that’s where I come-”

“No Soobin... I don’t think they should know that you’re still somewhat on this earth.” The hurt on his face tore you to shreds, he felt betrayed. “And why not? I thought you were going to help me.” Soobin released his grip on your hands, confusion turning into anger. His narrowed eyes were locked on you. “I still want to help you Soobin... it’s just... they have been adjusting to your death for three months. In other words, they are three months into grieving.” You hoped he would understand as you reached for his hand. Soobin’s pale face tensed up as he pulled his hand further away. “As if you would know. My parents need to know that I’m okay! You don’t know what it’s like, so keep your shitty opinion to yourself. If you won’t help me then I’ll figure out another way.” Venom was laced in his voice and you noticed he seemed to be going in and out of transparency. You stayed calm, “I could never know what you’re going through, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. We can think of another way. By telling them you’re a ghost, you’d be giving them hope to be with you again. They’d have to lose you all over again, who knows what could happen to you as a ghost. I’m sure it would hurt them to know that this whole time you were alone and not in a better place.” You hadn’t looked away from Soobin, so you were able to see his expression change. His furrowed brows seemed to drop as he looked at the ground, clearly upset. He looked lost, his hope of saying goodbye being stripped from him. You felt guilty that you were the one to make him like this, but it was the right thing to do. Or were you just telling yourself that?

“What am I supposed to do now?” Soobin felt defeated, he was stuck in a place he didn’t belong. You slowly leaned into Soobin, looking for any sign of disapproval, and hugged him. The warmth that enveloped Soobin like a blanket was still able to give him comfort. “You could always write a letter and pretend you wrote it before you died.” You talked softly, scared that any harsher of a tone would break him even more. Soobin escaped from your hug with newly found hope, his red puffy eyes looking at your pity filled ones. “That’s a brilliant idea!” Soobin was sad that he wouldn’t get to have a conversation, but at least this would cause less pain. Looking at his excited self made you wish you thought of this plan sooner. You had just met this man, but you were completely willing to make him happy. You assumed it was just the fact that you’d want the same done for you. “Well let’s get some rest and then we can start on that tomorrow.” Soobin nodded, he didn’t need any sleep, but knew that it was important for you. You still managed to get the couch comfortable for him, even putting a heavy blanket over him just in case it would work. Although Soobin knew blankets would do nothing to ease the cold feeling, he felt warm on the inside as you tried to take care of him.

When you fell asleep Soobin hesistantly walked through the wall and into your room. His eyes softened as he looked at your relaxed form. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared. Scared that if he didn’t stay beside you, he would be forgotten. Which led him to sitting beside your bed, holding your hand for the warmth.

You could smell something delicious, making your mouth water as you woke up. With eyes halfway open, you made your way to the smell that was coming from the kitchen. “Oh you’re awake!” Soobin turned towards you, hearing your dragging steps. Seeing him like this made you feel like you lived with him for a while. You’re once tired eyes opened wide as you realized he was cooking. “You cook?” You asked as you walked over to him. “I cooked here and there when I was alive. I heard that you’re not a really good cook and thought that I could pay you back for your help.” Soobin’s small smile and words left your cheeks tinted red. “You didn’t have to do this.” You couldn’t help your watery mouth when you looked at the fresh pancakes. When Soobin looked at you he was overjoyed seeing your shining eyes looking at the pancakes. “Yeah I know, but I wanted to. Besides I thought you’d be hungry.” He slid the last pancake onto the plate as he brought it to the table. “I’m not that hungry...” You tried to play it off, but the rumble coming from your stomach betrayed you. Soobin chuckeled, “eat up. I can’t really eat.” You we’re stuck looking at Soobin. You didn’t even think about it... he couldn’t really enjoy pancakes anymore. Shaking away this thought, you spread the syrup and grabbed the fork in excitement. As you went to dig in, you saw Soobin staring at you with a smile on his face, causing you to slow down.

“So when do you want to start writing?” You swallowed a big piece of the pancake as you waiting for an answer. “I’ve actually started already. The problem is that I keep throwing them away because I don’t know what to say.” Soobin sighed, resting his chin on his palm. “Why don’t you try writing from the heart?” The words flowed out of your mouth, too busy focusing on your almost finished pancakes. Soobin looked at you, clearly unimpressed. “Why didn’t I think of that? Oh wait... I did.” You laughed a bit at his sarcastic tone, now putting up the dirty plate. Soobin came up behind you, grabbing your arm and swinging it. “I need help.” He pouted. “Well... have you tried starting with the memories you’ve shared? That way you can work your way up and really know what it is you want to say.” You used to write a lot of letters for your friends and this had always helped you.

Soobin nodded, heading over to the small table where tons of paper were sprawled about. By the time you got over there Soobin had already picked up the pen and started writing. Being the nosy person you are, you read over his shoulder, giggling at the cute memories he wrote down.

“No way... did you really set your couch on fire and try to hide it?” You were hunched over trying to catch your breath as you visualized a tiny Soobin sitting on the burnt fabric, never getting up in attempt to hide it. Soobin, watching your fit of laughter, smiles fondly. Your laughter was beautiful and he never wanted to let it go. “Says the one who nearly burnt her house down trying to cook.” Soobin added in, causing your laughter to come to a halt. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.” You cursed your dad in your head.

You started to learn a lot about Soobin from reading about his life, to talking with each other. The longer Soobin was around, the more your head was filled with thoughts of him, but you blamed it on the fact that he was in the same room as you. “Ugh... I finally finished and need a break.” Without thinking about it, Soobin grabbed your hands and placed them on his chest. He couldn’t help but long for your warm touch. you were now pressed up against the chair and his back, leaving your face awfully close to his. The close proximity made your face heat up and when Soobin turned to look at you, you panicked. Coughing you withdrew your hands and backed up a bit. “Then let’s talk.” You pulled a chair next to Soobin and sat down. Soobin knew that he flustered you and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. He knew he was being selfish, but the feeling of his fake heart beating told him that he was starting to see you as more than the living girl willing to help him. You on the other hand, wouldn’t allow yourself to admit the reason behind your not so subtle glances at him that made your heart flutter. When you looked at him now he seemed different. He seemed... happy. Looking at him like this, you could easily mistake him for an everyday attractive boy. Couldn’t the two of you just stick together? The selfish thought of yours shocked you. If you did that then you’d be forcing him to live without his friends and family. Couldn’t you be enough? You quickly disregarded these thoughts, Soobin needed to find peace and you were not going to be the one to stop him.

You didn’t notice your eyes getting watery until a single tear streamed down your cheek. Soobin managed to see this. “Maybe we should talk about this whole thing.” He suggested, leading you to the couch as you quickly wiped the tear away. He ended up laying his head on his thighs as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Okay... what about it?” You asked with a heavy heart. “I know you’ve been wondering what I think about this whole situation.” You nodded your head, admitting to your prying mind. “I’m a little scared.” You could see where this was going, the look on his face showing concern as his eyes darted around. “I can’t help but wonder what comes next.” He took a deep breath in. “What if I get stuck here or if wherever I’m going isn’t as nice as it seems?” After telling this to you, Soobin felt the weight lift off of his shoulders, but you were stuck thinking about how he was going to go into the unknown. “Well... I don’t know. It depends what you believe, but what I do know is that you won’t have to feel out of place anymore. You’ll probably be comforted by the big bright light.” You yourself didn’t know what you believed, but Soobin’s glow was enough to reassure you he’d be alright.

There was a soothing silence before Soobin spoke up once more. “I don’t want to be just another memory that gets forgotten.” Soobin was now looking at your eyes that were focusing on his hair. “You would never be just a memory, nor would you be forgotten. You lived Soobin and in everyone’s hearts you will stay alive.” His hands grabbed yours, placing them where his heart should be. This caused you to look into his ocean blue eyes. The eyes that once lacked life were filled with emotions, causing a fire to ignite within you. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore, you were falling for him. A forbidden relationship that should never exist. Maybe you didn’t want to admit this to yourself because you knew it would end in heartbreak, but you couldn’t seem to lie to yourself anymore. “Thank you.” Soobin wanted so badly to confess to you, but he was dead. He wanted to stay for you, but he knew it would only hold you back, so he kept his feelings to himself. He could tell you were being distant, so he made sure to continue. “You know... when I first saw you I knew there was something different about you, so I kept trying to get your attention.” Soobin wore a smile now, and you noticed that he was slightly glowing. He was ready to accept death completely and you had to live with that. “Well I’m glad I was finally able to meet you.” You successfully hid your sadness behind a smile. In order to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t, he decided to get the show on the road. “I guess you should head to Yeonjun’s house now.” Soobin hesitantly mentioned. The two of you looked at eachother in silence, both having so much to say, but keeping it all in. “Yeah... I guess so. Bye Soobin... I’m glad I could help you.” You quickly grabbed the envelopes as you left in a heartbeat.

When you arrived at Yeonjun’s house, you didn’t think you would be this nervous. Hesistantly knocking on the door, you were trying to shake your nerves away. Maybe you should’ve mailed them. Your breath hitched while watching the wooden door open. The man who had opened it was young, blonde, and very handsome. “Hi, I’m looking for someone named Yeonjun. I found this letter left behind from the house I just moved into. Your address was on it.” The exact words that you rehearsed on your way here were hard to get out. “Okay well... I’m Yeonjun.” He looked at you weirdly, probably ready to call the cops if anything went south. “It says it’s from Soobin.” With that one name Yeonjun’s happy exterior seemed to deflate. “Oh... thank you.” His shaky voice broke your heart, you knew they’ve been best friends for the longest. “I hate to ask this... but there’s also one for someone named Hueningkai.” The boy infront of you clearly was having a hard time dealing with Soobin’s death. “He’s actually here right now. I’ll take it to him.” You handed him the other letter, reluctant to leave. “You know, you look like his type.” You looked up at the blond best friend with a raised eyebrow. “Who?”

“Soobin.” His answer left a bitter sweet feeling in you as you just smiled and nodded before walking away. You were close to tears, but wanted to be strong for Soobin. Seeing his parents could potentially break your heart even more, but you knew it was for the best. You used everything you could to distract yourself from the sad thought, now choosing to look at the different colors of the pavement. You must’ve been so distracted that you managed to forget about the world around you, that was until the unfamiliar door opened. You were now looking at a man that resembled Soobin in many ways, just older. It was obvious this was his dad. His sunken eyes were a little too noticeable and you were correct, your heart was breaking piece by piece. It was almost like you were reliving the life that was lost. Just seeing the people he wrote about left images of what the memories looked like to you. Why did the world have to take away this young twenty-two year old? Holding back the tears, you once again said what was rehearsed, like a broken record. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but these two notes were left behind from where I just moved. They had your address on them and it’s from someone named Soobin.” His already sad eyes seemed to fall deeper in the darkness as he shakily took the letters, with a faint thank you. Before he could close the door you couldn’t help yourself and went off script. “Your son must really love you. I bet he’d want you to live a nice, long, and happy life.” You could tell he considered your words, finally walking into the house with his shoulders raised. The moment the door shut was when you realized that Soobin should’ve found peace by now. Instead of crying, you decided to hold it all in.

You didn’t realize how lonely you could feel until you opened the door. You kept reminding yourself that he had found peace, but you just felt numb. that was until you saw the tall black haired ghost looking at you with a frown. You wish your heart didn’t flip when you saw him. You wish that you didn’t hope to see him one last time. Although you wanted to be happy for this moment with him, you panicked. “What are you doing here? You should’ve found peace!” Did something go wrong? “Y/N... the reason I can’t move on yet is... is because of you.” You didn’t know how to react. His words sent a surge of emotions through you, causing you to lash out. “Soobin you can’t stay here! There’s nothing keeping you here! I’m okay with you leaving!” The lies left your mouth, anything to have him move on. Soobin didn’t say anything as he walked over to you, strongly pulling you against him. His hand pushed your head against his chest as he rubbed your back. “Please...” the anger left your body as you struggled to keep your tears back. “I couldn’t leave yet because it didn’t feel right. I never gave you a proper goodbye. Now... it’s okay to cry, I’ll miss you too.” He seemed to hug you tighter, his words relieving you. “Why did you have to die?” Tears ran down your cheeks as you started to shake from your choked sobs. “I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t keep you here.” Soobin’s shirt was getting drenched as you continued to cry into it.

He pushed you back a little so he could look into your eyes. “I like you Y/N and I’m sorry that we had to meet like this.” His eyes were red and puffy, but you didn’t have time to say anything before he leaned in, placing his cold, soft lips against yours. The kiss was passionate, the two of you never wanting to let go of this moment. You grew to enjoy his cold comforting touch, but it was slowly disappearing. When your lips left eachother Soobin made sure to put his hand over your eyes. “Please... just keep your eyes closed.” You listened to his last wish, shaking as you choked out a goodbye. The little trace of cold was replaced by warmth, causing you to fall to your knees as your eyes opened. You were met with an empty living room. For once, the house felt warm, but this could never make up for the internal warmth that had been stripped from you.

The next day was hard. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion and you seemed to zone out the whole day. People continued on with their lives as if nothing happened, but you knew and that was enough. You were able to say goodbye and you were grateful for that. When you got home and tossed your keys on the dresser, you became aware of the white envelope with Soobin’s handwriting. You were delicate with the envelope, not wanting to rip it. This letter was to you, the last thing you had of Soobin.

Dear Y/N,

You told me to write about my memories and work my way up. Sadly, we didn’t have much time together, however, every moment spent with you meant a lot to me. The days can get hard, but life is worth living. Even when everything seems to be going wrong, there is always something good right around the corner. Anyways, I’m sorry for scaring you that night, although I wish I could’ve messed with you some more before I leave...or left. I’ve never met someone who has made me feel the way you do. If you’re willing, I’d like to meet you in another life. Our time together was too short. I want to thank you as well. Thank you for helping me move on and for finally being able to save me from the cold. Please don’t cling onto me, I’d like you to move on as well. Let’s both be happy. Thank you for keeping me alive in your heart.

Love, your ghost boy Soobinie

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mchalowitz · 4 years

Text

the woman is the king, part two

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part of this story! writing again has been so great and i’m excited for everyone to read where it goes from here!

part 1: melissa

part 2: dana

———

The exam room is harshly lit, brutally overclean. When the doctor gives the diagnosis, it knocks the breath out of her, and she has the audacity to declare her gratitude. How could she.

The fragility of her age comes to mind on the drive home; her eyes prickle watching her copy of her oncology referral slide across the dashboard.

Dana is only thirty-three. Melissa was only thirty-three. She ponders her mother, Maggie, at thirty-three. Her destiny already decided; along for the military ride. She was carrying the fifth Scully child that year. Their matrarical line is cursed by the thirty-third year.

She simmers with the news for a few days; plotting methods of delivering impending doom. Mulder, the usual harbinger of bad news, is the one she tells first, and she believes using a clinician’s touch might soothe her.

The pronoun that binds them, the “we” travels from his vocal cords to their air between them. When he pauses, she can fill in the blanks of how he wants the sentence to end. We can do something about this or we can fix this. The problem is, there isn’t anything to be done.

Inside her head is a glass and cancer is the water from a faucet turned all the way on. They are merely waiting for the overflow.

Tara is pregnant; she is having a boy. Her brother’s wife is thirty-three. It must be so nice, to be dubbed a Scully, and yet remain so blessed at this foredoomed age.

An appointment to be pumped with poison and Tara’s baby shower fall in the same week. What a scheduling nightmare, she jokes, when she declines the invitation with warm regards. Bill does not laugh and he buys their mother a plane ticket.

The total lack of skeletal structure takes her over, has her melted into the couch. Scully finds the initial nausea passes quickly this time. It is the wave of self-consciousness from Mulder bearing witness to this betrayal of her body that lingers.

“It must be kind of exciting,” Mulder comments. She is watching him wipe down the counter and she doesn’t remember a single time she has seen him willingly clean anything. He is not half-assing any of the responsibilities bestowed upon him by the Mrs. Scully.

“It might be more exciting if it were someone else,” Scully responds, forgoing her usual diplomatic response on the subject.

Mulder pauses, focuses in on her eyes, and in unsaid words, he nods in agreement. He throws the wet rag into the sink with a stomach-churning squelch and falls beside her on the couch.

“You know,” she adds, “Melissa always said she wasn’t going to have kids until she was forty.”

Melissa would goad her into increasingly ridiculous futures; nothing is more ridiculous than futures that will never exist. Neither of them could have predicted such an outcome.

When they were young, one Scully sister was rarely found without the other. It was only the intricacies of adult life that would split them apart. Melissa yearned for adventure; to shed ideals and expectations from their youth in far off places. Their parents envisioned a certain fate for their children, and Dana followed it, until she didn’t.

As she conjures up those conversations about where their lives would go, she realizes she cannot even remember her voice. It rolls over her like a wave, the awareness of fading memories, and it cracks her guise held barely together.

Her glassy eyes brim and she finally crumbles, feeling wholly pathetic. She lacks her usual resiliency that he is accustomed to seeing from her as she weeps, “My sister is gone and I have cancer, Mulder.”

“I know,” he says.

“I’ll miss everything,” she whimpers. The weight of mortality hits her; the decades worth of wasted holidays and the lost memory of her nephew’s birth. Scully will never stand in resolution with her partner after their tireless work for the truth. The loss of an uncomplicated life feels enormous.

She laments what she was never sure of even desiring; the two-story in the suburbs, the babies of her own, the one true love...

“Let’s get married.”

His offer hangs in the air. Scully cries a bout of nausea and bolts for the bathroom. When she emerges, Mulder is there to tuck her into bed.

The sun sets and it rises again on a new day. She comes out of the bedroom apprehensively. Finding Mulder on one knee in her hallway isn’t an idea she can rule out completely. It wouldn’t even come close to the craziest thing she has seen him do.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Mulder rubs circles into his forehead with his cell phone pressed to his ear. She gets close enough to vaguely hear the caller on the other end, listen to the outrage behind, “I couldn’t even put the kettle on without her standing right behind me. In my own home, Fox,” and making it seem as though this is the only issue in the world that matters. And Scully kind of wishes that was true.

“That’s her job, Mom,” he replies. The tone of his voice almost makes her laugh. A polite but clear get me out of here she knows well that comes out during conversations with authority figures, midwestern cops, and not unsurprisingly, mothers.

Their eyes meet, he looks at her as though she is his unsurpassable savior. He begs off the phone, making the usual adult child promises, and sets his cell phone down on the table.

Scully commends Mulder for trying to be more involved with his family since his mother’s stroke. But what a fate he has, caring for the medically and emotionally broken women in his life. He gives her a tight lipped smile and she asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Jury’s still out,” he declares with a shrug. He stands and starts walking toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water, toast, a ring?”

A certainly interesting turn of events for them, a question that could develop into an actual conversation about the night before.

“Mulder.”

“We could get married, Scully.”

“This is so like you, Mulder. This is your stream of consciousness decision making,” she counters. Scully flattens her hands on the table, takes a breath, and attempts to change her tone to sound a little more kind. “I know the idea that I’m dying is bleak. But there are implications to getting married. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Scanning Mulder’s eyes, Scully can see he understands what she means by implications. “Don’t think about that,” he tells her finally, “If you really believe this is the end, what do you still want to experience?”

Scully’s eyes flash away, toward the door. Four years ago, she stood in that spot, and assured her sister unequivocally of her absolute disinterest in dating her new partner. Even if he were just a guy.

Selfishness has often forced a wedge between them; a precursor to many experiences they would have as partners. His brilliance and humanity drew her in then, not unlike the way it does now. When the question was posed--just any guy--their debates were thrilling, a little flirtatious even, and now they can absolutely infuriate her, but she respects his ideals, and she knows that sentiment is reciprocated.

On occasion, Scully is even a little selfish, and allows herself to appreciate just a guy with a little flop of hair that falls onto his forehead, and with the most charming smile.

Whether it be guilt or admiration, Mulder wants her to experience everything before it gets taken away. She can admire the altruism.

Mulder doesn’t ask again, he only suggests. And she accepts.

The commencement of their marriage is without fanfare in a government building on a Friday afternoon with grocery store flowers and a safe kiss on the cheek to clinch the deal. There are no rings but he holds her left hand as they bound down the courthouse steps. During their late lunch at a local diner, the waitress notices their attire, and offers them a free slice of pie, any flavor they want, because it is a special occasion.

A few paces ahead of her on the way to the car, Mulder opens her door. “Your getaway car, my bride,” he teases. The smile on her lips quickly fades. His jovial face morphs to confusion.

But it’s the drip. Blood splatters on the clean, clear plastic protecting their chocolate cream. She tries to maneuver for her purse but he quickly procures tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket.

He squats next to the passenger side of the car and holds tissues to the nose of his bride.

Something is weirdly, intangibly incorrect.

It starts with weekend plans. Mulder is already well aware of her singular escape, her monograph for the Penology Review, with its looming deadline coming up.

He normally makes comments about her unwavering professionalism. It is a mutual agreement to keep their marriage to themselves. The federal government has no investment in the inner workings of their lives; they are legally married and they both know that could easily mean reassignment for both of them. It doesn’t stop him from sneaking in a few witticisms for his own amusement.

Mulder knocks. That’s weird.

The wine is truly suspicious. Except for the occasional beer, Mulder was never much for alcohol to begin with, but what is especially bizarre is the sudden lack of concern over her doctor’s recommended meal plan. He had been following it down to the last letter, and while a glass of wine is not exactly forbidden, it is not the first item on their shopping list.

“We never really talk much, do we?”

Admittedly, the shared looks and delicate touches of silent communication is where they excel, but the question is still somewhat puzzling. Since beginning a routine of casual marital cohabitation, she believes they talk quite a bit. The minutiae of everyday life is often a topic of conversation in ways it never has been.

Scully still plays along by agreeing that, no, they don’t talk. She sips wine and tells him true-ish stories of Marcus, the prom date of a Scully, but not herself, and the infamous pumper truck scandal involving her brother Charlie.

Romantic intimacy has not exactly been a component of their marriage and she has found that cancer does not make one feel like the most desirable of specimens. He has never expressed anything to make her believe he feels anything for her beyond friendship, despite the deep affection they share.

He leans in now; his eyes closed and head cocked. Kissing him isn’t a repulsive idea, but it just seems off, because Mulder is acting so strangely out of character.

Scully scrambles off the couch to get away from the man that is so clearly not her partner. Absolutely horrified, she stares at Mulder, and has no reservations when he steps forward to cuff the pathetic and vile man that invades her living room.

Many lines have still not been crossed and she doesn’t think they ever will be. The cancer is still aggressively present with the treatments doing very little.

Scully prepares herself for the eventuality of hospitalization, potentially for good, and it is very tempting to keep that from Mulder, to allow them to remain in their bubble, but she knows that isn’t fair.

Her car idles on the street outside Harold Spuller’s care home and three soft raps sound on her driver’s side window. She sucks in air deeply and wipes the tears from her cheeks before rolling down the window.

“I didn’t mean for things to get so heated back there.”

“Me neither,” she agrees. When her eyes flash up to his, so guilty and fond, her words fall out in a tumble, unable to prolong this evasion of the truth any longer. “I don’t know why I lied to you. I’m not fine. My treatments aren’t working and my doctors don’t think another round will change that.”

“I’m in this with you, Scully.”

“I know you are,” she affirms. She ducks her head down toward the steering wheel, like a little girl caught eating dessert before dinner. “I’m tired, Mulder.”

“I’ll follow you.”

His headlights shine in her rearview mirror, trailing behind all the way back to where they began this night in Georgetown. Arriving in the apartment, she shuts the door behind them, and informs him, “I’m going to take a shower,” and he nods, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder. He loosens his tie and starts meandering toward the bedroom.

The phantom ghost of his touch remains on her shoulder and it reminds her of his romantic soul that she is only now been introduced to. Mulder is more emotionally open and affection than she is. He treats her like a wife. They are married, after all.

Their marital bliss is of their own design; enjoyably innocent with its lack of certain intimate elements left largely undiscussed. However, there is delight to be found in mere shared company. With a no-work policy now enacted in her home, the opportunity to see funnier, more relaxed, and domestic sides of each other often makes it feel as though their marriage could be real.

An unspoken agreement to live this arrangement without rules creates something representative of authentic matrimony. Ignoring the initial awkwardness when sharing a bed leads to the normalization of pressing into his warm side each night; falling asleep faster and deeper. Leisurely playing with his hair while reading on the couch one evening introduced a few form of relaxation they both enjoy. He even calls her “honey” occasionally, and she must admit, it makes her feel pleasantly warm to hear it.

It wasn’t right to keep him out of the loop.

Sitting on the tile shower floor, Scully washes the last six hours from her skin. In an attempt to prove to herself, to everyone, that she can still do this, she pushes herself too far. The best decision for the case was to take down the nurse. For her fragile body, not as much.

A small box sits on top of her towel. She picks it up, weighing it gently in her palm.

Mulder already lies innocently under the covers and appears deeply enthralled in his nighttime reading. He looks very youthful and sweet in his wire-framed glasses and his large feet poking out at the end of the bed. She presents the box in question and inquires, “Mulder, what’s this?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs. He glances up briefly, taking off his glasses. “Oh. Wedding present.”

Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, she sits down on top of the comforter, and cautiously opens the box. Her eyes fall on a gorgeously dainty bracelet with a small diamond affixed to a silver chain.

“I don’t know what to say,” Scully finally admits. Mulder smiles, wordlessly leaning forward to close the distance between them. His kiss finally comes with soft lips and firm resolve.

A keen ear kept on the exchange occurring in the hallway, Scully hears the malice in “let her die with dignity,” the intense intent to guilt. Since childhood, Bill has been masterful at identifying a scapegoat.

Appearing at her bedside, Scully takes her brother’s hand. It has been quite some time since they were together in person and she is aware she should focus on the grand gesture of his presence. But they have always sparred on injustice and she just witnessed him as the purveyor.

“I don’t want you to talk to him like that,” she tells him.

It takes almost nothing to generate a quarrel between the two of them. “You keep defending him, Dana, and I don’t see what there is about him to protect,” Bill argues. “You wouldn’t even be in this situation if...”

“Fox has been very helpful,” Maggie interrupts. Their mother is well versed in deescalating the disputes of Dana and Bill; the oil and water of the Scully children. “Bill, sit down and be civil.”

Where Mulder pushes, Bill pulls, and Dana is left somewhere in the middle. Something akin to a jealous feud brews between the two men in her life; each vying for the role of ultimate fixer. It is only when Mulder orchestrates the impossible that her brother cannot deny the miracle.

Most conversations were plans for a comfortable end or perhaps a prolonged, managed experience. The concept of remission, a life without the dark cloud of cancer, was a possibility never even considered.

The day of her discharge finally arrives after a final weeklong observation of her progress, and Mulder, as a now regular fixture of the post-critical care ward, shows up to her room early as usual. He drops a bag on her empty hospital bed. “I brought you some clothes from your apartment,” Mulder informs her. “Unfortunately I couldn’t find anything as uniquely versatile as the hospital gown.”

“I appreciate the effort,” she smiles, ripping open the plastic bag.

Scully can feel an awkwardness emanating from him with three feet between them. She is taking stock of the items he provided when he finally speaks, “Listen, I can be out--”

With a week to discuss the topic, neither of them were brave enough to allow it. The last thing Scully wants Mulder to believe is she married him to take advantage of a kindness he extended to her. It was done with such a different outcome in mind; a selfless act with an outcome to be bathed in heartache.

Now, there is no plan on how to approach where things will go from here. Scully didn’t ever think she would be in a position to have to consider it.

At the very least, they deserve time to enjoy a lack of this particular impending doom.

“Should we get dinner tonight?”

If there is anything they deserve more of, it is time.

It is health.

It is stability.

#x files #xf fic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr

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stabbysideblog · 3 years

Note

I hate it how no one ever listen to Tommy. Even when he says "Wilbur was not so poggers" the others laugh, they think that Tommy is joking, they think that he's just being his usual self, but Tommy is serious.

When he asked Tubbo if he knew what Dream did to him in exile no one thought about asking what he meant.

When he said that Dream is not who he seems to be, no one listened to him.

Even when he swore that he didn't blow up the community house no one believed him.

And when he said that about Wilbur? He was dead serious. Tommy wants back the Wilbur that made L'Manberg, the Wilbur that was his big brother, but he's afraid that he will have back the Wilbur that destroyed L'Manberg instead, the Wilbur who was slowly losing his mind, the Wilbur that manipulated him and hurt him, not physically but mentally.

Tommy is afraid that Wilbur will agree with Phil and Techno and leave him alone, he's afraid Wilbur will abandon him like everyone else seems to do as of late.

Tommy is so fucking afraid because at least Ghostbur passes time with him, and Tommy wants his big brother back but at the same time he doesn't really want it because he doesn't know if the real Wilbur will come back or the insane one instead.

Tommy is afraid and no one is doing something for him, no one is there to tell him "It's alright, I've got you, I'll never leave you alone."

Ranboo said to Tommy, before his exile, that no matter what will happen he will be there for him, he told him this when Tommy dared to open up to him and reveal him that he still dreamed of Wilbur saying "Let's be the bad guys", but now Ranboo is with Techno and Phil.

Tommy tried to trust Techno, but now Techno joined forces with Dream, Tommy's abuser, and Techno knows that Dream fucked Tommy up.

There's Tubbo but Tubbo just wants to live a peaceful life, he doesn't care about the discs as much as Tommy does and he's not the figure Tommy needs in his life to heal, because Tubbo is fucked up just like Tommy is.

And it makes me so fucking angry because no one is trying to understand Tommy. I mean, I understand that everyone has their own trauma but between Dream stealing his discs, Eret's betrayal, Schlatt's exile, Wilbur's manipulation, L'Manberg blowing up, Tubbo's exile, Dream manipulation, Techno not trying to see his poing and only thinking about destroying L'Manberg, lying to him and hiding his true intention until almost the end, L'Manberg blowing up again... He's the one who took the most shit out of everyone.

It just... Makes me so angry. Tommy deserves way more than this.

Yea, tommy’s been through hell. The only thing I really disagree with you anon was the community house. Remember Tommy has a knack for messing stuff up. He destroyed george’s house, as far as they know Tommy blew up other stuff on the server (that time with puffy and Dream), when he was literally exile he came back to dig a pit to bedrock, he steals from peoples houses. So to them Tommy blowing up the community house was just the natural progress. Most of the people in the server though him being exiled was just him being away. Then he comes back with techno, y’know? the guy who blew up and withered l’manburg the first time? tortured and killed someone. What’d stop him from what they can only assume to be blind anger blowing up the community house?

Also Tommy when he talks he never fully says what I means. He never truly elaborates. He is often joking and acting like he owns the world, in the other characters eyes. To them he was joking. Maybe it was a bit serious with him saying that alivebur was not so poggers but he must see this as a funny haha right? We all know that alivebur was a bit off the rails Tommy’s just saying it in a silly way!

Tommy has been through so much. Everyone on the server has been through so much. I will say this anon, and I mean it with no anger, hatred, no negativity. You seem to want everyone to understand fully Tommy’s view, please consider that other characters have views that Tommy refuses to see through also. They’re humans and you don’t ask your manager at work about everything that’s happened to them to figure out why they’re yelling at you. You just see that they’re yelling at you and make assumptions. Maybe they’ve mentioned in the past that their family wasn’t the best. You don’t dig into that and that doesn’t make you feel any better about being yelled at.

When Tommy does try to communicate I wish more people would listen. I wish tommy would open up and explain. I wish people would ask more questions. I wish techno was more compassionate and didn’t just see people as means to ends, siding with whoever can help him get to his goals the quickest. Ranboo has his reasons for joining Techno. I do wish he’d reach out to Tommy more tho. I wish the kid had someone, anyone that was consistent and there and strong for him.

#just askin #When I talk about characters I never mean it like #ugh x character is bad #I am always always always just looking deeper into and examining their character #no hate no negativity #tommyinnit #Anonymous

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colorfullfalls · 4 years

Text

Saddle up

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being an old member of Agent Coulson’s team meant that you knew all too well about the wanted man, Grant Ward. Ward thinks you are the link to reaching Daisy, and he takes you as a hostage. He completely missed out on the information concerning a certain Winter Soldier that is very much in love with you. Bucky will find you.

Coulson’ s team saved you and your best friend, Skye. Two girls that stuck together after they were too old to be in fostercare anymore. Coulson found you guys and gave you a home. A purpose. An actual life. S.H.I.E.L.D came with it’s ups and downs, the first world shattering event for you was the betrayal of Grant Ward.

He infiltrated the team so easily. He was a protective team mate, or so you thought. He truly made you feel like you were family. You foolishly grew to love him, just as you did with the other members. Finding out that he was HYDRA was one of the worst days of your life. Skye crying frantically was in imagine forever burned within your memory.

At the time she weak and unable to do much to fight him. Skye went through terrigenesis, found her true identity-now going by her birth name of Daisy Johnson- and became the strongest hero you knew. Quake was now a well known hero that even saved the Avenger’s ass more than once.

The team working with the Avengers caused your connection with Bucky Barnes to bloom. He was enamored with your intelligence and humility. You were refreshing compared to the intense heroes he was always surrounded with. Sooner than anyone expected, you two were in a fully committed relationship. At first your team was weary of him, him being the most terrifying assassin. But once they saw him look at you, there was no doubt that he was smitten.

Bucky and you went off the grid for a bit of a vacation. The team had been so busy lately that he only really saw you at night or if he visited the lab. He complained about it to Coulson and sure enough you had a week off. Bucky was stoked about getting you to himself.

A cabin in the middle of nowhere sat close to a small lake. A red canoe rested against the worn dock, the stain chipping terribly. You smiled at the sight of Bucky starting a fire- upon your request. Smores sounded irresistible and since you were irresistible to him, he made quick work to create roaring flames.

“Buck. I think we forgot the chocolate.” You sadly pointed out. He walked over and gently grabbed the bag from you to search. No luck, he gave you a sympathetic smile that shifted into a real smile when he saw your pout.

“Seems so. Dammit, the fire is going too.”

Flames licked the wood, enveloping it to create a barrier of heat. From where you were standing you could feel the heat radiating, or maybe that feeling was because Bucky was standing so close to you, his flesh arm brushing against yours.

“No biggie. I’ll go get some and you keep that fire going, mister.” You said, grabbing your bag and keys.

His metal hand grabbed your waist, pulling you close to press a chaste kiss to your lips. His forehead rested against yours for a second before he pulled away and kissed above your left eyebrow. Butterflies swam in your stomach at how absolutely gentle he was. The badass winter soldier was the softest teddy bear around you. It was almost hard to believe that he could kill a man with a knife in one hundred different ways.

“Be safe.” He mumbled against your skin.

You scoffed, pushing away, “Buck, I don’t need to be. Look how swole I got!” You flexed your arms and pointed at the small amount of muscle you gained from Bucky dragging you to the gym three times a week.

A ripple of laughter barked from him as he grabbed a large piece of wood and set it on the fire. His blue eyes shimmered from the flames.

“Okay, tough guy- seriously though. Be cautious. You never know what the world will throw your way.” He warned.

He was right. Being in S.H.I.E.L.D. proved that danger was around every corner. Nightmares of little kids were very much real and a lot of horror manifested in the world. You tried your best to fight evil with science but when it came to physically warding it off, you were sort of lost.

Bucky worried about your safety at all times. Being a scientist with the expertise of human anatomy meant that HYDRA would be interested. The current goal was to create super soldiers from scratch and he had a feeling that they knew about your set of skills. He would not let you get caught by them. His eyes conveyed how intense he was about you returning unharmed.

“Aye aye Sergeant Barnes. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Chocolate secured, you walked around the end of the store to purchase it. In the corner of your eye you saw someone behind you in the distance but when you turned no one was there. This occurred a few times before you got out of the store. Starting to grow paranoid you briskly walked to your car.

As you were about to open the door you were pushed harshly so that your face smacked off the car. Your arms were quickly restrained and a hand snuck around to clamp your mouth shut. Your heart beat out of your chest as you realized what was going on. You were caught by HYDRA and you were going to die or be used as bait to lure in Bucky.

“Don’t scream and I’ll take my hand away.”

Blood drained out of your face as you recognized the voice. Fucking Grand Ward found you.

You tried to scream but Ward managed to haul your body effortlessly onto the backseat of his car without anyone noticing. Your muffled cries for help angered him as he tied your hands and feet together with rope. He slammed the door shut and climbed into the driver seat. You regretted asking Bucky to make a fire now. You could’ve made out in the nice cabin instead but you buttered him up to make a fire. You decided that the chocolate wasn’t worth it and that s’mores weren’t that great.

Your eyes watched out the window as he drove, trying to memorize the area you could see from laying down so that if you possibly escaped you would have an idea where to go. Ward was sort of dumb for not blind folding you, you thought as he pulled into long lane that held a large house.

He got out of the car and man handled you inside. You grew nervous as you saw about twenty hydra agents spread through out the house. He kicked open the basement door and sat you down at a table. The stone walls covered with cobwebs made you shiver. Clearly this wasn’t as welcoming as the cute cabin you should’ve already been back to.

“You’re a dick.” You threw out.

He rolled his eyes, “You’re insufferable.”

You guffawed loudly as your hands fought to get out of the rope, “You’re a killer! How did you even find me?”

He grabbed a nearby chair and sat in it nonchalantly as if he hadn’t kidnapped a rival agent, “I didn’t plan to, I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Better take an opportunity when it presents itself.”

His stupid smug voice made your insides burn with hate. A knife wedged between his eyes danced around your mind. Oh boy did you wish that you had Daisy’s powers in that moment. You would quake him until his insides turned to jelly.

“No, I think you’re a stalker.”

He clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “I don’t care what you think, I care about what you know. Where is Daisy?”

Laughter bubbled in your throat, ripping out in a furious wave of sound. You carried on until tears were running down your face. Granted, your situation was not funny but you were nervous and him thinking Daisy wouldn’t kill him really humored you.

“Stop laughing and tell me.” He gritted out.

“Grant Ward, you’re a demon on this earth, but never before did I think you were this dumb! I mean come on man, as if Daisy wouldn’t end your life the second she saw you? Lincoln died to kill you and Hive, but you somehow lived and made your way back here- surviving like a parasite. She will never forgive you, especially not after that.”

He punched you as soon as you finished your words, landing a blow to mostly your nose and mouth. You blinked in surprise as he drew his fist back. Grant grimaced as he noticed your busted lip. Once again his anger got ahold of him. Daisy hating him exposed his true monster because he loved her. As fucked up as it was he was still in love with her even though she rather him be dead. And the truth of that hurt. Daisy would really hate him for harming you.

“I didn’t-“

“Fuck you.” You spat, glaring at him with pure resentment, “It is not my fault that you messed up your life so bad, not my fault you ruined your friendships. For god sake, you plunged Fitzsimmons into the depths of the ocean without batting an eye. Our forgiveness is not in your future.”

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”

Your tongue swiped against your bottom lip that had a small amount of blood on it. Metallic tasting liquid invaded your taste buds, making you wince.

“You’re asking for hers. Tough luck, killer, you won’t get it!”

He slammed his fist against the table causing your body to flinch at the bang. Your face pulsed in pain remember the punch delivered moments ago. You were trying to be strong but you were scared. Grant Ward was a murderer and he had you locked up in a basement in the middle of nowhere. You were extremely helpless and vulnerable in your chair due to being tied up. You wished more than anything for Bucky to kick that door down and save you.

Bucky waited thirty minutes before jumping in his vehicle and making a beeline for the store you two had visited earlier. Getting chocolate would not take that long and his gut knew something was wrong. He pulled in and saw your car in the lot. He lunged out of his and ran over to yours. His blue eyes became darker as he noticed two hand marks and a smudged face mark that wasn’t there before you left. Someone harmed you.

Bucky looked around the lot for any suspicious vehicles but nothing looked out of the ordinary. His heart was hammering furiously in his chest at the idea of someone daring to lay their filthy hands on you. Bucky punched the pole beside him, denting it considerably.

“Fuck!”

Grant Ward stared at you as you attempted for the tenth time to get the ropes off of you. You didn’t even have a plan for if you got them off, but that was the first step. He rolled his eyes at your actions.

“Will it take torture for you to speak up? Hmm? Maybe a knife in your thigh? Another punch? I am tired of playing nice here.”

You ignored his words, only trying to loosen the ties around you even more. Bucky would’ve already been out of this chair and had killed Ward if he had been where you were. Unfortunately, you were not a trained assassin and you were very worried how this day would end. Bucky had to have known you were taken and you knew he was looking for you. And when he found Ward, all hell would break loose.

“You’re not going to get those off. Stop fussing, you’re annoying me.”

“I don’t care what annoys you,” you seethed, “Let me go! I’m not telling you anything about Daisy so keeping me is useless. It’s signing your death warrant, really.”

He hummed in a condensing manner, “My death warrant? I’m alive for a reason, princess. I’m better at killing than my opponents.”

The condescending pet name irritated you to no end. Princess was a generalization of a snobby girl who got whatever she wanted. You were a educated woman who knew worlds more intellectual information than the man in front of you.

You dryly laughed, “Not more skilled than the Winter Soldier and when he gets here, you better saddle up because he will beat the ever loving shit out of you.”

Ward nodded in amusement, “S.H.I.E.L.D keeps a tight rope on him- I’m sure. Coulson doesn’t have the authority to send him out. Daisy is the rescue team and we both know that.”

You felt paranoid that he knew so much about your team, that he knew Daisy was the key factor in saving you guys and the world again and again. Had he been keeping tabs on her? It made your skin crawl to think that he watched her every move. What all did he know? Apparently not enough to know that you were the Winter Soldier’s darling. Grant Ward was doomed the second Bucky walked in the door, you decided.

Ward was one of the best agents after Natasha and he skillfully took down so many people. But Bucky was so far above him. Not only in combat skills but your boyfriend was a freaking super solider that had serum that granted him strength and reflexes no one could fathom.

“You idiot, I’m his girlfriend!”

Ward shifted in his seat at your reveal. He studied your face to see if you were bluffing or not. By the look on his face a few moments later he could tell that he realized it was true. He clenched his eyes shut in frustration.

“You were here with him, weren’t you?” He asked.

You grinned cheekily, “Bullseye!”

Bucky paced back and forth in front of your car before a black SUV pulled in front of him. Out jumped Daisy Johnson, fully suited up. She hugged him quickly before pulling away.

“She came here to get chocolate and she never came back! I didn’t know what else to do.” He rambled.

She calmly grabbed his arm for him to look at her, “We got intell on a house close to here that HYDRA agents are hiding at. Word has it that Grant Ward is there too.”

Bucky squinted his eyes, “Grant Ward? I thought he died?”

“Apparently not. That parasite just can’t stay dead. She’s there, I know it.”

Bucky grit his teeth. HYDRA would crumble to the ground if one hair on your head was damaged. He promised himself to kill each and every one of those bastards that dared to take his girl. Bucky knew of Grant Ward and the emotional toll that the man’s betrayal had on you.

His first clenched as the metal whirled in his arm. Anger engulfed him to the point that he punched the same pole again. The large pole crashed to the ground, catching attention of the fellow shoppers around them. People ignored it because they weren’t about to get in the way of an angry man strong enough to do something like that.

Daisy looked at the pole before looking back at Bucky, “I’m sure they can deal with that. We gotta go.”

Ward disappeared upstairs leaving you to patiently wait until Bucky arrived. A part of you was worried for him. There were twenty agents here plus a maniac killer who May even used to struggle to defeat. Sure, he was the Winter Soldier but that didn’t mean he wasn’t human. A shot to the wrong place and he could be dead within seconds.

You also had a feeling that they would try to summon the Soldat and then everyone here would be screwed.

A man slipped quietly through the door and your breath caught in your throat. He had a sinister smile as he crossed the room to duck down in front of you.

One time Bucky explained that HYDRA agents weren’t that well trained if they were basic agents. The organization spent most of its dedication to training about ten top skilled people to get the job done. The man in front of you probably wasn’t one of the top ten, but he still posed a threat.

“You’re prettier than we assumed. When Ward told us that the Winter Soldier would be here any second to rescue you, we assumed he was pussy wipped.” He grabbed a knife off the table and twirled it between his fingers.

“Charming” you sarcastically noted.

“But looking at you now, I get it.”

You shifted yourself to lean away from him, “Get what?”

His hand roughly grabbed your jaw and turned your head to look at him. His green eyes were not kind like Bucky’s blue eyes. Your boyfriends gorgeous blue eyes could stop a war before it even started. Those blue eyes were home.

“You’re ethereal, babe.”

A loud shot rang in your ears as blood sprayed your face. You let out a blood curdling scream as his body fell on you. Grant Ward stalked over as he put his gun back in his holster. He shoved the body off as if it was a dead pesky fly.

Your adrenaline was going through the roof as you realized that a man was shot and killed on top of you. His warm blood clung to the soft skin, tainting it in the most sinful way. Tears welled up as you looked at the murder in front of you.

How could someone be so utterly cruel? So vile that the devil himself would turn away at his acts. Bruised heart not caring about the lives of other human beings. His face showed no remorse. It never did unless Daisy was involved.

“What the hell.” You whispered, gazing at him.

“Today isn’t the day to test the winter soldiers rage when he finds out one of my agents sexually assaulted you. Because that’s what he was going to do.”

Vomit crawled up the back of your throat at the idea of the man touching you like that. You shoved it back down with a gulp. Bucky hurry up, you internally pleaded. Wrapped in his thick arms always made you feel safe and right now that’s all you wanted.

Lights in the room shook, an earthquake force ripping through the room. Ward’s eyes got wide as he realized your rescue team was here. Not only did Bucky find you, but so did Daisy.

He grabbed your body and pulled your back to his chest, barrel of his gun kissing your temple wickedly. Screams and cries sounded off like a war zone. And a war zone it was. Bucky would kill everyone here, even if Daisy didnt approve of it. He didn’t care to hold back his impending wrath.

Daisy quakes three agents back so that they slammed against the wall, knocked unconscious. She was really trying to deter Bucky from killing them all but he knew how protective he could get. And how revenge was wrapping itself around his very bones.

“I didn’t want to kill you but it looks like you’re my bargaining chip, y/n.”

You whimpered at the implication of him using your body to get Daisy and Bucky not to kill him. You heard heavy footsteps clambering down the stairs and you held your breath.

Mistaking the power of Daisy Johnson was the dumbest thing Ward could have done. She quaked the door until it flew against the wall, broken off of its hinges. Bucky raced into the room, large gun sweeping the room to look for you. You had to be here. He heard a whimper and his eyes set on the nightmare before him.

You, pressed up against Grant Ward with a fucking barrel to your head. Crippling fear took over for a second. You were so vulnerable unlike him and that shot would surely kill you. His darling’a life was threatened and that alert his senses into kill mode.

Daisy held her hand out for Bucky to stop as she slowly walked closer to you two.

“Let her go, you sick son a bitch. You wanted me and here I am.” Venom seeped out of her voice.

Ward glanced at the super soldier who would gut him as soon as he let you go. He regretted his decision to take you. He was going to die today. “I didn’t want it to go like this.” He pulled your closer, the metal of the gun digging painfully into your skin.

Your eyes connected with Bucky’s and you conveyed all of your love for him in one look. Relief washed through your veins like a river being undammed just by knowing he was in the same room as you. No one could protect you like he could, love you like he could. He was it for you and you wanted to be in his arms instead of where you were.

Bucky slowly grabbed his beloved knife, twirling it in between his metal fingers. Ward was too distracted by Daisy to notice his movements. The knife launched out of Bucky’s hands and right into the hand that Ward was holding the stupid fucking gun with.

Ward yelped and let go enough that you ran out of his arms and behind Daisy. Bucky made sure you were safe before charging. His body threw Ward’s to the ground, going in to land a punch. Ward dodged his attempt and rolled to the side, pulling the knife out of his hand.

Ward thrust the knife towards Bucky’s body but Bucky grabbed his wrist and twisted hard, breaking it. Ward grunted out in pain. Bucky grabbed the knife and stabbed his opponent in the side. Flashes of you with a gun to your head spurred him on to stab him again and again and again.

Ward was gasping for breath when Bucky heard a gun shot. You touched your shoulder, wincing in pain as a straggling agent shot again, this time the bullet embedding itself in your leg. You gasped as you hunched down to hold your leg in pain.

Daisy quaked the agent and he fell unconscious.

Bucky left his knife in Ward’s dead body as he crossed the ground and had you in his arms within seconds. His lips attached itself to your temple, holding you impossibly close to him. Ignoring the pain was easy when such a handsome man was grasping onto you like his life depended on it.

“You’re safe now. We gotta get you outta here doll.” He murmured against your skin as he hoisted you up in his arms.

“Simmons is waiting for us at the compound. She can take care of her.” Daisy spoke, bending down to grab the knife out of Ward’s body. She shook her head before leading the way out of the building.

Bodies littered the floor, deep red stains soaking into the carpet. Necks were broken, arms dislocated, faces bloody. Your hand ghosted you’re cheek, knowing that blood of a man laid on you. Saying you weren’t a bit traumatized would be a lie. Especially when you looked at the dead agents sprawled out in different areas of the house.

Bucky gripped you close to his body on the car ride back to the cabin. Daisy drove silently, well aware that you needed a moment. His nose nuzzled into your neck, scenting you like a damn wolf. You were irrecoverably his and he would never let anything bad happen to you again. He had to calm his mind down because all he could see was you with that gun to your head. A weapon that could’ve easily ended your life and his in return.

Fitzsimmons greeted you with warm smiles containing roof level high amounts of love. They were so relived to see you in one piece. The couple knew all too well of how brutal Grant Ward could be. Bucky stood close by as Simmons withdrew the bullets. You clenched your teeth in pain as they were pulled out. Bucky’s hand reached out and intertwined your fingers and she stitched you up. Daisy walked in to see how you were doing. The bus kids were once again untied, plus Bucky Barnes.

“So he’s dead this time? Like really dead? Dead dead..” Fitz asked.

“As hard as it is to believe, yes.” Daisy retorted, handing Fitz a pop as she sat down by him on the stool, “That sicko is gone for good. Bucky stabbed him too many times to count.”

Bucky blushed slightly, shifting his hand slightly against yours as all of your team mates looked at him like the hero he was.

“Thank heavens,” Simmons mumbled, working her nimble fingers diligently against your warm skin. You felt Bucky’s hand squeeze a bit for reassurance. You smiled gratefully up at him.

“Y/n isn’t this your first time getting shot?” Fitz asked, slurping his drink.

“Uh huh, doesn’t feel too great.” Your leg was throbbing by the time Simmons got to work on it. Your pants had to be cut off and you gave a very solemn look at the discarded material lying on the floor. You liked those pants...

“You’ll get used to it.”

You choked out a laugh at the harsh glare Bucky was giving Fitz. You rubbed your thumb against the flesh of his hand to calm him down. Bucky didn’t think you getting harmed was something to joke about. You were uneffected by the jesting, it was how your team worked to deal with all of the tragedy. Bucky was Bucky and he would always be over sensitive about how people spoke to you.

“Ahh, I don’t think so. I’ve been shot many times and it hurts all the same. Ian shooting me in the stomach was the worst.” Daisy added to the conversation.

You shivered as you recalled the time where your best friend was on the brink of death, her body laying limp as Simmons worked over her frail body. You blinked away the memory, focusing on Bucky’s metal hand moving to rest comfortably on your thigh as Simmons finished up your leg.

“That was a bloody horrible time.” Gemma snorted, “Not as horrible as when Fitz unleashed Aida on us all.”

Fitz opened his mouth to protest, “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry about that!”

“Probably for life, you’ll get used to it.” Bucky retorted, “As much as we would love to stay and chat, I think y/n should get some rest. Thank you for the help, Gemma.”

Simmons smiled, “Of course. Anything for her.”

He led you into your shared bathroom and cleaned the blood off of your face, taking the burden of the pain with him, helping you deal with it. You silently watched him as he wrung out the washcloth. You were so enamored that such a strong man was so soft when it came to you. God, you adored him.

Bucky helped you change into clothes that weren’t bloody. Unsurprisingly, he chose to put his red Henley on you. A shirt that you loved seeing on him as much as he loved you in it. The soft cotton swallowed you, encapsulating you in his cologne left over on it. You two crawled under the comforter, his arms holding you to his chest as he laid on his side with you facing him. You were just so pretty, he decided as he bent down to stuff his face in the crook of your neck.

“Comfy?” His deep voice rumbled against the skin of your throat as he peppered a few kisses there, centering himself.

“Around you? Always.” You whispered, his kisses growing wet as he slot his lips lovingly against your skin. You shifted, moving so that his thick thigh was trapped between yours. He hummed in appreciation as he pulled you closer, his hands roaming your body. His metal arm rested on your behind as he ground himself into you, moaning at the feeling. His flesh hand glided across your hip and moved down.

You hissed in pain when his hand pressed down near the bullet wound.

He quickly pulled away, “Shit! Sorry, sorry I wasn’t even thinking about your leg, doll.”

You huffed out a “it’s fine” before moving to just cuddle him, “I think we both got caught up in the moment.”

He gently ran his flesh hand through your hair, “I guess so. I’m just thankful that you’re safe in my arms. Seeing him- with that.... to your.. it broke my heart.”

You situated yourself so that your eyes were level with his, the beautiful blue was swarming with sadness. You smiled sympathetically.

“You saved me, Buck. You took away my biggest nightmare.” You whispered, “you should’ve seen the look on his face when I told him I was your girlfriend.”

The idea of Grant Ward knowing that death was on its way had Bucky feeling like a winner. Ward terrorized your thoughts and knowing he put an end to your fear made him feel high on life. Protecting you was in his nature, and getting rid of Ward was like winning the lottery. Your mind at ease made your boyfriend happy. The idea of you knowing that he will always be there for you made his heart soar. God he wanted you forever.

He grinned, “Bastard had it coming, had the right to be be fucking scared- daring to take away my girl from me.”

His lips pecked yours a few times before his cheek rested comfortably against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, finally feeling peaceful enough to fall asleep. Peace was always easy to find around him.

Around your Bucky.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #agents of shield imagine #daisy johnson

71 notes · View notes

jokerfan99 · 4 years

Photo

My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villainesses by DarkChild316

Evil has never looked this good! Hello everyone and welcome to my list of my FAVORITE, not the best, but my favorite anime villainesses of all-time. So, I've had the luxury of watching and revisiting a lot of anime recently with everything that's been going on, and there’s been quite a few villainous ladies that have caught my eye, so I figured I should give it a go and do a list of My Favorite Anime Villainesses. So, with that said, here's my list:

#10. Diva (Blood+): This was one of the first anime I remember watching as a young kid, and this lovely lady easily caught my eye more than anyone else in the entire show. I can honestly say that I felt that Diva was more relatable than her sister Saya was (my opinion people, just saying) mostly due to her backstory and how she was kept locked away for most of her life while Saya was treated like a princess. I will admit that her rape and murder of Riku was shocking and it did piss me off a bit, but she ultimately won me over again with her treatment of her unborn children at the end when I got to see the caring side of her that I hadn't seen from her towards anyone else, including her own Chevaliers. Ultimately, Diva is one of my favorite tragic villains of all-time.

#9. Mugino Shizuri (A Certain Magical Index): Don't let the beautiful supermodel looks and gorgeous frame of this buxom beauty fool you. Mugino Shizuri is a woman who's looks are only matched by her ability to physically melt people's heads off. Add to that the fact that she's a total basket case who slowly devolved into a cold-blooded murderer who was willing to kill her own ITEM teammates for even the slightest betrayal, and you my friend have a recipe for a..."beautiful disaster" (that is an excellent pun, sit down somewhere!)

#8. Annie Leonhardt (Attack on Titan): Attack on Titan is a show I've recently started getting into and it's cast of characters really capture my imagination. One of the characters that really stands out to me is Annie, not just because she uses one of my favorite fighting styles in Muay Thai kickboxing (which she uses to devastating effect), but also in her introverted and isolated personality which serves as almost a dark mirror of Mikasa Ackerman. In a world full of terrifying monsters in human form, Annie sticks out as the most unsettling because of how coldly apathetic she remains to her individual actions as a double agent sent to wipe out humanity, and one can never truly tell if she might shake your hand or snap your neck.

#7. Rize Kamishiro (Tokyo Ghoul): Poor Kaneki, it really looked like he'd found the girl of his dreams when he met Rize Kamishiro. She was stunningly beautiful, mature, well-read, and seemed to be genuinely interested in him. Alas, he was soon to learn the harsh reality behind this beautiful face, as she lured him in, only to literally take a bite out of his heart (or neck, depending on how you want to look at it). As it turned out, Kaneki's 'dream girl' is actually a nightmarish ghoul with a ravenous taste for human flesh, and poor Kaneki was on the menu. If not for some steel beams falling on top of her, there likely wouldn't have been anything left of the poor guy.

#6. Raynare (Highschool DXD): Now take everything I just described about Rize and add just a touch of sadism, and you get this fallen angel beauty. Honestly, that's how I've always viewed Raynare's character, as a far more sadistic version of Rize Kamishiro, and when you look at then two, it's not hard to see the similarities between the two: Both manipulated and betrayed the respective male leads of their respective anime by posing as sweet, gentle, kind and shy young women; both are incredibly sadistic, manipulative, and ruthless, and most of all, both continued to haunt Kanenki and Issei even after their deaths due to their betrayals. Although I'd say that Raynare is just a bit more psychotic and sadistic than Rize is, which puts her slightly higher on my list. Also, major bonus points for Rayare's light-based abilities that serve as a great foil to her sinister personality.

#5. Junko Enoshima (Danganronpa): OH I FUCKING LOVE THIS WOMAN! If ever there was a title for "craziest bitch on the block", Junko would take that title and then laugh about it in your face. What other woman would be crazy enough to set up a series of sadistic killing games that would make Jigsaw stand up in appreciation under the guise of a sadistic teddy bear, murder their own twin sister, and even axe off THEMSELVES when their plans go awry! Yeah, Junko is crazier than your average bird, but damn if that doesn't make her all the more appealing, doesn't hurt that she's hot as hell either!

#4. Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood): Well it's really all right there in her name isn't it! One of the Seven Homunculi, an artificially-created human being infused with a Philosopher's Stone, Lust encapsulates everything that is both alluring and dangerous about her given Sin. Her sensual voice, body, and nature can bring any man to their knees, traits she's more than willing to use to further Father and the Homunculus's goals. And when her target's usefulness is done, they usually find themselves on the receiving end of one of Lust's razor-sharp nails. Unfortunately for her, as hot as she may be, Roy Mustang's flames were even hotter!!!

#3. Cinder Fall (RWBY): When I first started watching RWBY, Cinder was one of the characters that caught my attention almost immediately. The way she played the role of being the ruthless master manipulator just enthralled me like I'd never seen before. I'd seen great manipulators in anime before, but Cinder had the feel of almost an expert chess player, manipulating the pieces around her, and always staying two steps ahead of everyone else in her attempts to checkmate the King. But wat truly sold me on Cinder as a detestable villain, was two incidents in particular, and I think every RWBY fan knows what I'm talking about: Her murder of Pyrrha Nikos, and her attempted murder of Weiss Schnee. Those two incidents to me added a touch of sadism to her character and put her over the top as a truly great villain in my eyes. Oh, and it also helps that she's a total pyromaniac with Fall Maiden powers that can roast you like a Thanksgiving turkey. Yeah, definitely NOT the kind of woman you want to get on her bad side.

#2. Medusa Gorgon (Soul Eater): Ah yes, Medusa! The only woman who could make Orochimaru lust for her (and I'll fight anyone who disagrees with that statement!) But in all seriousness, I can see why people often compare Medusa to Orochimaru as the similarities between the two are incredibly stunning: Both have an affinity for snakes; both are genius scientists with a total lack of care for human life; Both have shown an ability to jump from one body to another, like a snake shedding its skin; and both have shown the ability to manipulate almost anyone to their cause. What makes Medusa even more unique however is her treatment of her own child Crona, treating Crona as a mindless killer and never showing any real form of love or emotion towards her own child except when that child can help further her own twisted desires. Yeah, Medusa definitely won't be winning any "Parent of the Year" awards.

#1. Esdeath (Akame ga Kill): Admit it! You KNEW it was gonna be this woman didn't you, c'mon now! Anyone doing a list of their favorite anime villainesses that DOESN'T make Esdeath #1 is just wrong! She's got everything you could ever want from a great villainess: She's a total sadist with a Social Darwinist personality and a total lack of empathy for humankind. She's incredibly powerful with her mastery over ice thanks to her Teigu "Demon's Extract"; Plus she's a woman who lives for her love of conflict, and her love of Tatsumi (lucky bastard!) Add to that the fact that she registers a perfect 10 in sexiness, and you've got a recipe for my favorite female anime villain!

So that's my list, what did you guys think about it? Love it, hated it? Go on and tell me what you think and let me know who your favorite anime villains are. See you soon!

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/darkchild316

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aros001 · 3 years

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Going in blind: Watching season 2 for the first time. Random thoughts.

Huh. Only 7 episodes. Not complaining necessarily. For series with an ongoing plot I've definitely become more in favor with their seasons only having as many episodes as they need rather than them having to stretch themselves out to full up a certain number of episodes, which can lead to padding and just bad character moments.

Episode 1: Jeez. Catra visiting Shadow Weaver's cell just to rub her success in her face and verbally abuse her back for once. It's like a twisted version of Zuko and Ozai from ATLA. Catra's upbringing under her was abusive but this is far from a healthy way for her to deal with it. She's basically deliberately swimming in her resentment.

Episode 2: It's not that I'm rooting for her but by-golly was it fun to watch Catra act like just the absolute worst she could while she was Glimmer and Bow's captive.

I touched on this in season 1 but part of the drama of the heroes feeling guilt over leaving Entrapta behind is kind of lost on me a bit simply because it was her own fault it happened. She deliberately went back into the purge room because of her machine obsession, which then closed on her and erupted in flames. It was more than reasonable to assume she was dead and no one but her was to blame, so I'm not really able to be invested in their guilt over it.

That said, weirdly enough I do like that her "abandonment" doesn't seem to be even a blip on the radar for Entrapta herself. She hasn't joined the horde because she resents the heroes or felt left behind, she simply is so obsessed with machines and experimentation that she'll be on the side of whoever lets her do the most of that. Like, it's selfish and irresponsible but it's very in-character and I'd far rather have a traitor motivation be based in that over something stupid like a misunderstanding.

Episode 3: I love the mental image of Shadow Weaver thinking up princess-themed ghost stories to tell Adora as a child.

So, if the previous She-Ra Mara separated Eternia from the other realms/planets/whatever she did and that's what cut off the She-Ra line for 1000 years, I'm guessing Hordak may be from the time before that happened, thus his drive to create portals and calling Eternia a backwards world. Either he's naturally long-lived or his technology is extending his life.

Episode 4: You know, you could maybe argue it was vague enough that it could be taken other ways but I'm definitely getting some vibes here that Scorpia is crushing on Catra. She literally refers to the two of them as soulmates at one point. I know she says she's trying to be friends but this feels a level beyond that.

Fun little reference to the original She-Ra cartoon thrown in there (and maybe Cowboy Bebop...? James Bond...? What was Glimmer's art style supposed to be?). I like how it is more like just playful ribbing than anything outright dumping on the original. Again, I've never seen original She-Ra but whenever remakes/adaptations go out of their way to trash to the original I always kind of wonder why they bothered doing an adaptation if the original is just that bad? Also, I was having trouble sleeping so it was about 2am when I watched this episode and the very Eartha Kitt Catwoman Catra made it very difficult for me not to lose my **** and stay quiet. With how much of a contrast that version is from the one in this series, that was hilarious. Bonus note, it's a nice touch that Frosta's version of Catra is a pretty crasher in that sweet suit, since that's the only impression of Catra she's ever had.

Adora being a chosen one is definitely elevated up simply by how much the pressure of what she's supposed to be is getting to her. I'm likely going to keep making Avatar The Last Airbender comparisons throughout the series but that's partly because I went into this series figuring it'd be at least structured similar to ATLA (season 1 being more episodic and a little more kid-friendly as it builds up the world before getting more serious later). Adora and Aang are interesting to compare here. Aang's worries early on were less apparent because he was more in-denial/choosing not to think about his problems that much, which fit with his character as a free-spirited Air Nomad. While Adora is much more military-minded. She can't keep herself from thinking about her problems and trying to prepare for the worst-case scenario. And jeez, that idea of who/how Catra is in her mind. Not only beating her but making her watch as she takes everything she cares about away. Not Shadow Weaver, not Lord Hordak, but Catra. That whole Lion King Mufasa/Scar moment between them in episode 11 and their fight in the S1 finale really did a number on her mental image of her old friend. Not reasonably so.

Minor note: I'm sure I'm the only one who got this impression but by the look of it, the way the robot's eye moved, and the music, after getting the soda spilled on it that little spybot gained sentience for half a second and then immediately died. It was so darkly comedic I had to laugh.

Episode 5: So that red disc is basically She-Ra's Red Kryptonite, having an effect on the mind rather than the body. The drunk Adora joke doesn't really do it for me but it did get some nice interactions going between Scorpia and Sea Hawk, two characters I certainly wasn't expecting to bond. I did really like Catra's panic when berserker She-Ra nearly beheads her. The implication is that is Adora really wanted to kill her Catra would already probably be dead. It's a thing I like about powerhouse characters like Superman or Aang, who could just demolish everything around them and don't simply because they're a good person...which in turn makes them the scariest person on the planet when they're well and truly ticked off. I'm not going to lie, I do kind of want to see a She-Ra version of Aang when Appa was stolen or when Superman fought The Elite.

Also, Catra's line of "I have control over Adora. I'm not giving that up for anything.". There's a lot to read into there.

Episode 6: I guess my prediction was sort of right. Shadow Weaver became basically a magic parasite and while it did increase the power she's capable of the implication seems to be that she needs a constant fix of magic to keep herself going, thus her attachment to the Black Garnet.

Have we seen Micah before? Given how long ago the flashback seems set, the fact that Shadow Weaver didn't kill him and thus he probably becomes someone important later in life, I'm guessing he's Glimmer's dad and the queen's late husband, since I think he's the only important male character whose face we haven't seen yet. Also, he's voice by Ezra from Star Wars Rebels and that cracks me up for some reason. It's the exact same voice and a relatively similar character.

I compared Catra and Shadow Weaver with a kind of twisted version of Zuko and Ozai and that definitely still fits here. Both Catra and Zuko confront their parent and call them out for the inexcusable abuse they put them through but while that moment was the start of Zuko's upwards journey this and SW's betrayal seems like it's going to cause Catra to spiral even further. Makes sense why Adora leaving affected her so much. She's probably the only one Catra's ever had that she could consistently trust and rely on, even if she did somewhat resent her.

Not surprised Hordak is getting along with Entrapta. She's not socially aware enough to be scared or intimidated by him, so she'll speak frankly, and since all she wants to talk about is the machines, experiments, and how they could get them to work Hordak probably doesn't take much issue with that. She's producing results, which is what he cares about, thus also why Shadow Weaver and Catra started losing favor with him. I wonder if Catra is going through imposter syndrome? Shadow Weaver had that line that Entrapta earned her place next to Hordak and, if you think about it, Catra hasn't really "earned" anything. We saw that she didn't really take her training or studies that seriously, showing up late to combat practice and even getting partial credit for what Adora beat. She wasn't promoted to Force Captain because of her own abilities but because Adora had defected when she was supposed to get that title. She's come close to a few victories but never really had any except for Glimmer and Bow's kidnapping...whom she then basically let escape when she returned Adora's sword to her. She doesn't have the slightest clue how the horde's bureaucracy works when trying to get things done, like simply getting troops armor. Given how much better than her Adora always was and how little she herself has to her name, I wonder is subconsciously Catra believes she doesn't deserve her current position and thus why she's fretting so much over trying to prove herself.

Episode 7: Am I mistaken or did Bow's parents say that he's the youngest of TWELVE siblings? I was going to ask whether Bow was adopted or if his dad's used a surrogate or if maybe there's even just simply magic in She-Ra's world that allows two people of the same sex to have a child together but now I'm just focused on the 12 kids thing. I get nervous just imagining myself having more than one. You should see me when I'm with two cats. I have to pet both of them because I'd feel like I'd be making one feel left out and like the other is the favorite. I'm a mess with kids.

The dad with dreadlocks (Lance?), his design looked familiar to me and I finally realized it reminded me a of a fanart design for a human Grim from The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. Very different voices between those two characters though.

I wonder if there's any significance to the robot protecting the crystal having the same design as those in the artic in episode 5? Obviously both have the connection to the First Ones but the robot in the forest who was also protecting First Ones' tech had a more insect-like design over these more worm/Graboid ones.

I'm kind of curious what Hordak would have done if Catra had told the truth. Given his interactions with her and Shadow Weaver he doesn't seem like the time to tolerate failure but I suppose the implication here is that he at least would respect those who own up to their failures. Or I suppose more simply he was just testing to see if she would lie to him and since she did there's little merit in keeping her in a position of authority anymore where she could lie about important things again.

Season 2 verdict: Still enjoying it. Another person on this reddit recommended I view seasons 2 and 3 as one since they are basically just one season split in two. I was going to do that but this ended up longer than I thought I would, so I'll just do 2 and 3 separate to keep them semi-organized and easier to read.

I think overall Catra is my favorite character since she has the most interesting backstory, interactions, and just general path through the story out of everyone. She's like Pearl from Steven Universe or, well, Zuko. There's just so much baggage there that she's trying and kind of failing to deal with. I'm always invested in whatever's happening when she's onscreen. Hordak so far is a good big boss villain for Adora to face but Catra is a good archenemy for her.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/o027y3/going_in_blind_watching_season_2_for_the_first/

#she ra #she ra spop #random thoughts #reddit repost

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