#i KNOW fate makes it canon that during life she had long blonde hair

[cestacruz]

This is just for a very specific HC im having but regardless.

[dark-magical-ships]

1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 11, & 16 ~ rebeccaselfships

Hi @rebeccaselfships! :D Thanks so much for stopping by! ^.^

1: what are the basics of your self insert? name, date of birth, height, etc.?

Naomi Carter is about 5' 3'', and was born on February 9th (making her Aquarius) in the early 90s, in London. Note that the entire setting is updated to the 2020s in her universe, and she (along with the rest of the gang) is also an adult during the course of her version of the story. Most of the gang are out of college already—she's 28 at the beginning of the story, and around 31 at the end. Her natural hair color is reddish blond, and her eyes are pale green; she is Caucasian, of a moderate and curvy sort of build, and has freckles most everywhere. She speaks with a Estuary English accent, flavored a little more on the posh/RP side than the Cockney. Naomi moved to Domino City with her grandfather at the age of 15, following the sudden deaths of her parents. She is distantly related to Howard Carter—discoverer of Tutankhamun's tomb.

She is kindhearted but often impulsive, trusting and devoted to her friends but terrified of losing people, headstrong but prone to indecision. She's the type of person who genuinely enjoys working in customer service, and would have been perfectly content with a very ordinary life. Fate had other plans, though.

2: when in canon does your self insert come in? do you have a scene in mind for your entrance?

The very first two words of the fic that covers Naomi’s AU (aside from the summary) are her first and last name lol. XD The scene is basically just her prepping to go and meet her friends for a game night in her shop. :3

3: how do the other characters generally feel about your self insert?

Naomi’s got close ties of friendship with most of the cast, either from the beginning or by the end. She and Seto have a rivals-to-lovers/office romance sort of arc together, and she and Atem have an arguably very obviously queerplatonic relationship to anyone who knows the term by the time we reach the end of the story.

5: does your self insert have any special powers or abilities?

When it comes to magic/special powers, the only thing special about Naomi is that she was "chosen" by the Millennium Puzzle and wound up bound to/regularly possessed by a particular ancient Egyptian spirit. The Millennium Items themselves have been given much more strict rules about how they work for this AU, but the Puzzle specifically has the abilities to resist fire (and protect the bearer from fire) and to alter fate. Naomi gains these powers as long as she's bonded to the Puzzle, but once it's gone (or out of range), so are those powers. And then of course, there's the whole "getting possessed means gaining some magic shadow powers" thing, but those are Atem's powers, not hers—she can't use them if he's not present and ascendant.

8: what is your self insert’s orientation?

Naomi is ace like me, but she is not repulsed the way I am. I tend to find that aspect of my orientation to be kind of…. Idk. I don’t like it, and I don’t like the fact that if I wasn’t in love with Seto I’d probably be alone forever because of it. Naomi doesn’t have to suffer the same stupid, nonsensical restrictions, so I don’t inflict them upon her. She’s demiromantic as well, because in this house we like the split attraction model.

11: what kind of outfit(s) does your self insert wear?

Naomi starts out quite fond of a kind of boho aesthetic; lots of loose layers and flowing, brightly-colored soft fabrics. Cardigans, cable-knit sweaters, multilayer skirts, etc. However, as the spirit sharing her body develops more self-awareness and it becomes increasingly clear that he's a man, she starts to dress a bit more androgynously just... for his comfort, when he's in the driver's seat. More jeans and band tee shirts and hoodies; things like that. Naomi prefers to keep her hair down, so early on she doesn't carry hair ties; the spirit, however, hates hair in his face and is always tying it up with whatever he can find, so she starts to get into the habit of wearing a scrunchie on one wrist all the time for his use, etc. When the spirit eventually is no longer part of the picture, though, she goes back to her preferred style gradually.

16: freebie! name a fact about your self insert you want everyone to know.

In the fic, Naomi only replaces Yuugi entirely because I was having a hard time trying to find room to include him in the story. I wanted to have him be her little brother, as he basically is to me, but in the context of the story I couldn’t think of a way to make that work because Naomi is British and Yuugi is very much not. :P I tried to write him in as another friend, but he seemed to distract from the story; Naomi getting the puzzle and winding up in his role didn’t… fit right, from a fanfic perspective, while Yuugi was there to remind us all of who the original protagonist was. Even from a basic story perspective, his role felt sort of superfluous as he kept coming through as either a sort of reflection of Naomi herself or else just seemed to be “around” without really contributing much to the story. Therefore, he was written out completely. Honestly, I consider it something of a failing on my part as a writer, but I figure everyone starts somewhere, and I’ve never tried to write something on this scale before.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Choosing Destiny

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Summary: Pietro has never believed in fate or soulmates or destiny…well, until he meets you…

Note: I know it was recently confirmed in canon that Pietro and Wanda were 26 during Age of Ultron, but for my own purposes, I’m going to pretend they were only 23. WandaVision spoilers if you squint, but not really.

Warnings: Mentions of death (he doesn’t die tho)

Word Count: 3.5k

Reader is: Female

Pietro Maximoff didn’t believe in prophecy. He didn’t believe in soulmates, either, but that was another matter entirely. His entire life, he’d been making decisions. Important ones. And he wanted to believe that they mattered. That his choices determined his outcome. He didn’t want his hands to be tied when it came to matters like that, to his destiny or whatever.

And yet, at twenty years old, approximately three years before his life would change forever, the fair rolled into town. Wanda wanted to go. She always wanted to go. It helped take her mind off of everything. And besides, with the fair came the psychics that would set up their stands, charging a handful of coins for a reading on your future. Your destiny. Your soulmate.

Wanda was very into it, as he knew she would be, and so, reluctantly, he handed over the money and she sat down across from the psychic, who took Wanda’s hands, shivering slightly before she reached for her tarot cards and shuffled them. “I do see a soulmate in your future.” The psychic told her. “He’s tall. Heroic. I see a long cape billowing out behind him and there’s a…strong association with the color yellow. He’s very intelligent, wise. He’s quiet, but he has a lot to say. He will help you through difficult times.”

Wanda chatted with the psychic for a while longer before they finished her reading, and when she was done, she handed Wanda a small rose quartz stone, which she admired before tucking it into her pocket.

“Let’s go get something to eat.” Pietro nudged her onwards towards the food carts.

“Don’t you want a reading?” Wanda asked him.

He scoffed. “I don’t have a soulmate.”

“I beg to differ.” The psychic said softly, beckoning him closer. “Tell you what, this reading is on the house. Take a seat.”

Wanda pushed him closer to the chair and he rolled his eyes, but sat down anyway. His foot bounced up and down. He was antsy, always antsy. Impatient. And on top of it all, a skeptic.

The psychic reached for his hands and he gave them to her. As soon as she made contact with his skin, she gasped.

“Oh you have a soulmate alright. She’s incredibly powerful. I can feel her energy radiating just from your touch alone. You’re going to meet her soon. Not right away, but definitely in the next few years. I sense…some tension. Some resistance, but inevitably, things will work out.” She reached into a pouch hanging from the table and pulled out a butterfly charm. It was small and silver and made of metal and when she pressed it into his palm, it was cold to the touch. “You’ll know it’s her when you see a butterfly.”

Pietro was disbelieving, but he nodded, tucking the charm into his pocket.

“How about that, huh?” Wanda asked as they started walking away. “You have a soulmate after all.”

“We’ll see…” Pietro shook his head. “I still don’t buy it, though, for the record…”

“Sure.” Wanda smirked, unconvinced. She’d seen the look on her brother’s face she knew that look. And she knew that whether her brother liked it or not, he believed the slightest bit that there was someone out there made for him. She liked to believe it, too.

***

There were not many belongings Pietro had inside the walls of the Hydra facility he was transformed in. But one of them was the silver butterfly charm he had gotten at the fair that day. He always kept it with him, and he’d fought tooth and nail to be able to keep it when he’d gotten admitted.

When he was in his cell all alone, he’d take it out and look at it, study the intricate patterns on its wings, and then tuck it back into his pocket, his fingers fiddling with it.

He remembered the day when his transformation happened, although he didn’t like to think about it often. It stirred up weird emotions in the core of his being. Being…altered in a way like that. Changed into something he was never meant to be. Most of the moments from that day, his brain had tucked away, had hidden from him, but when he first stepped into the room with the stone, it had seemed to…come alive.

He watched with wide eyes as it released itself from the staff it had been held inside and floated in front of him. And in the glow of the stone, a figure manifested herself in front of him, a girl who was a bit shorter than him. She had giant butterfly-shaped wings spread out behind her and she landed in front of him, as real as he was. Vivid and beautiful. He stared at her for a long time, waiting for her to speak.

And she did.

“Pietro…” She’d spoken, her voice soft and sweet, but also…worried? He couldn’t tell. “I need you to be okay for me. Breathe, alright?”

“I…I don’t understand. What do you mean?” He asked, but she didn’t respond. It was like she was separated from him somehow, somewhere different in space and time although she was standing right there in front of him.

She reached forward and rested her hand against his cheek. “I’m here, now. Just breathe…”

And then everything went black.

When he came around, everything started…changing. For a few days, every step he took was at superspeed. He’d run into walls without really meaning to, rush forward feet at a time when he’d only meant to move a little. He was hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d always loved food, but now, he felt like he was starving all the time when he was eating more than he ever had. His enhanced body burned through it like it was nothing. His hair started to turn blonde and then white, leaving the top half of his head a silvery bleached color that rivaled the snow. He barely recognized himself in the mirror anymore. Barely recognized this person he’d become.

The choice he’d made, the choice he and Wanda had made together, had sent him on a different path, had altered his destiny. And he wondered if he’d ever pay the price for it.

***

The day came, as he knew it would. His home town in Sokovia was being hoisted into the air, higher and higher every minute. The air was thin and he had trouble catching his breath. He was used to running, now. It was part of him, his speed. It was a gift. A blessing. A “miracle” as the scientists at Hydra had said. He couldn’t help but believe them.

He heard something approaching the border of the city, something big, and when he ran to the edge to see what it was, he was surprised, but pleasantly so, to see a Helicarrier rising, a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo emblazoned on it. He looked around and spotted Captain Rogers standing nearby with the Black Widow, so he ran over.

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D.?” He asked.

“This is what S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to be.” Rogers nodded, looking on proudly.

Pietro considered it for a moment before replying with a smile, “this is not so bad…”

It was then that he spotted her flying across the gap. The girl with the butterfly wings. And he couldn’t stop staring, his blue eyes fixed on her for a long moment. She said something, but he didn’t hear her, so distracted by her presence. He knew it had to be her, the girl from his vision.

“What?” He asked, blinking a few times. She giggled and the other two Avengers standing beside them chuckled knowingly.

“I said, I’m (Y/N).” You offered your hand and Pietro shook it, squeezing it slightly as he did so, and hesitant to let go once he was finished. “Fury reached out to me. Figured you could use all the help you could get.”

“We’d definitely accept an extra set of hands.” Rogers nodded. “What are your powers.”

“Flight, energy manipulation, enhanced strength…” You listed off. “There are kind of a lot. I can do whatever you need me to do. Be wherever you need me to be.”

“Priorities right now are evacuating civilians and killing robots.” Natasha said.

“That, I can do.” You nodded. “And you’re…?”

“Pietro.” He offered, smiling softly as he did, an unfamiliar warmth tingling in his stomach.

“Pietro.” You repeated, trying the name out. Your pronunciation was a little off, but he couldn’t help but grin at the attempt. “Alright. Well, let’s go kill some robots then, Pietro.” You let your wings flutter, and when you did, your feet lifted from the ground.

He smirked, getting a bit competitive as soon as you’d challenged him. “You’re on. Try to keep up.”

As the two of you rushed off into the city, Steve and Natasha watched with knowing looks, taking another little moment.

“Twenty bucks they’re together by Friday.” Nat said. “Maybe sooner.”

Steve shook her hand. “You’re on.”

***

The battle went smoothly until it didn’t, and as soon as Pietro took fire, you felt the hit in the center of your being. It shook you to your core, and once you’d shot the quinjet that had hit him out of the sky with a powerful stream of pink energy, you landed beside him, his body still and his breathing weak, holes mangling his limbs and torso.

“Pietro…” You whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You summoned your energy to your palms, but it was…different than it usually was. Rather than its typical pink color, the energy you summoned was yellow. It was warm. But you trusted your power and you held the energy over him.

His breaths were shallow, strained. You watched as, very, very slowly, your energy pieced him back together, the holes in his body closing up, repairing as if by magic, as if he’d never been shot in the first place.

He struggled to try to say something, but you just cupped his cheek and shook your head. “I need you to be okay for me. Breathe, alright?”

“But—”

“I’m here, now. Just breathe…” You told him, still pushing energy into his chest, but more slowly, gradually. You felt his pulse and waited as his heartbeat returned to normal, his breathing forced, but becoming more natural as you knelt beside him. “Take a minute. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

He nodded, struggling to sit up, his arms and legs shaking really badly. At some point, you felt like your power hit a wall. There wasn’t anything more you could do for him. He was healed.

“Do you feel okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He nodded, staring at his hands for a long moment, looking at his fingers and moving them. “I’m…thanks to you, I am.”

“I think we’re gonna have to get out of here pretty soon. Can you stand?”

“I’ll try.” He decided.

You stood up first and offered your hands to him, pulling him upright with unexpected strength.

He’d definitely pulled something in his leg, and that became obvious as soon as he took a few steps.

“Do you want me to try to—" You started to ask, raising your hand, but he grabbed onto it, lowering it.

He shook his head. “You’ve done enough for me today. Thank you.”

You pulled his arm around your shoulders and supported his weight while he limped.

Captain Rogers walked over and looked at the two of you, paying special attention to Pietro.

“You alright, kid?”

“I am now.” He answered, nodding.

“Get back to the Helicarrier. Both of you. This’ll all be over soon.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded. The two of you walked most of the way back to the Helicarrier in silence, Pietro sneaking unbelieving looks at you every so often.

Meanwhile, Rogers walked up to Clint. “Did you see what happened?”

Clint nodded. “He almost died. But she…she just…healed him. Like magic…”

Steve considered it for a moment, nodding. He looked back and watched as you helped Pietro onto one of the boats, the two of you sitting together. And he decided in that moment that you might not make a bad addition to the team…

***

As soon as Wanda made it back to the Helicarrier, in the arms of the Vision, no less, she ran towards you and Pietro, disbelief on her face when she saw him. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged around her eyes from crying and she looked paler than he’d ever seen her before.

“Wanda,” He walked towards her, taking a painful step forward.

“You idiot!” She wailed, throwing herself into his arms. “I…I thought you were dead! I…I felt…”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He apologized, his voice soft. “She healed me. She…saved my life.”

“Who did?” Wanda asked and Pietro motioned to where you were sitting.

You stood up and prepared to introduce yourself, holding out your hand, but she engulfed you in her arms instead, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She cried into your shoulder. You held her a little tighter in an attempt to comfort her. “I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Don’t worry about it.” You told her quietly. “He’s safe. You both are.”

Wanda nodded and pulled away from you, looking up at her brother with teary eyes. He smiled down at her. And then his eyes settled on you and he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

Pietro Maximoff, at one time in his life, hadn’t believed in fate. But now, without a shadow of a doubt, he did.

***

“You want me to be a what?” You asked. You were sitting in the conference room that the Avengers, including their newest additions, had all crammed into in the remains of the Avengers Tower. They were scheduled to move soon, but before they relocated, Captain Rogers had gotten ahold of you through Nick Fury and called you there to “discuss an arrangement.”

“We want you to be an Avenger.” Clint Barton, the one you’d previously only known as ‘Hawkeye’ explained. “I saw you. You saved the kid’s life. We…we need that kind of power. All the help we can get.”

You looked at Pietro and his eyes were locked on yours, a serious look on his face.

“Look, I’m flattered. I am.” You forced yourself to focus away from the handsome speedster and on Stark instead. “But I’m just…I’m a college kid. I’m graduating in like a month. I have finals and…and I…I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

“You are. Cut out for it, I mean.” Natasha insisted. “We’re not going to force you, but…you’d be a great addition to the team.”

“Can I think about it?” You asked. “I just need to get through college. Get my degree, and then…then I can…maybe look into this hero stuff.”

“Take all the time you need. We’ll be here if and when you come around.” Captain Rogers said.

“Cool.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

You left the conference room and you thought you were alone, but as soon as you walked through them, someone else did too.

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” Your ears picked up the all-too familiar accent of one Mr. Pietro Maximoff.

You looked up at him and you hated it, but your heart raced just looking at him, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You couldn’t deny he was handsome. Incredibly so, in fact, but you couldn’t just give up four years of work for a man at the drop of a hat.

“Why do you want me here so bad?” You countered, raising an eyebrow.

He took a few steps closer to you, framing your cheek with his large, warm hand. “Do you believe in fate?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Kind of. Why?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t until I met you.” Pietro said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver butterfly charm, hanging from a thin silver chain. “A long time ago, a psychic told me I would know my soulmate when I saw a butterfly. And…the moment I saw your wings, I knew…”

He was quiet, shaking his head as he reached for your hand, setting the necklace in your palm. “You saved my life. The least I can do is returning the favor at some point.”

“Okay.” You said, closing your hand around the charm. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”

***

You went back to school. It was hard, but you focused on your studies and before you knew it, finals week rolled around. Your wings, for the most part, weren’t active. They only came out when you needed them, and therefore, you were able to blend in pretty seamlessly. No one looked at you differently, although, watching news coverage from the Battle of Sokovia, you’d hear your peers whisper rumors about the mysterious Butterfly Girl who had appeared and disappeared right after.

Tony Stark had been approached for a statement on who she was and where she’d come from and if she was a new member of the team, but he hadn’t commented, which you were grateful for.

Aside from that, everything was…well, as normal as it can be when you’re a superhuman, you supposed.

Your brain fried, your eyes burning, you looked up from your textbook only to spot Pietro standing in the doorway of the building. You stared at him for a long time, unsure if he was a hallucination or your eyes playing tricks on you after so many hours staring at your textbooks.

He jogged over as soon as he spotted you, a mischievous look on his face. It was weird, seeing him force himself to move at a normal pace. At a speed which had once been normal to him, but was now much, much slower than he was capable of moving.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, taking your headphones off and setting them on the table, looking up at him.

“I knew you must be getting close to the end of your semester. I…well, I wanted to know if you had made your decision yet. I’m…impatient.” He admitted, causing you to giggle softly. “And I figured…maybe buying you a coffee could help you make your decision a little faster?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” You laughed.

“Alright, perfect.” He grinned. “What do you want? I’ll go get it right now.”

You told him your usual order and he walked to the coffee shop tucked into the on-campus library, retrieving two drinks and bringing them back a few minutes later. You cleared out some of your stuff so he could sit across from you, and so, when you motioned him to the chair, he did.

“What are you studying?”

“Psychology.” You replied, wiping the sleep from your eyes. “God, what time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

“Great.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m not nearly done studying.” You raised your drink to your lips. “Thank you for the coffee, by the way.”

“Of course.” He grinned, resting one hand against his fist and reaching for your hand with the other, which you gave to him, allowing him to fiddle with your smaller fingers. He was a fiddler, you’d noticed. Always had to be moving, even if it was only a little bit. “So…?”

“So what?” You asked, amused at his antics.

“Are you going to come to the compound when you’re done?”

You were quiet for a long time, before you nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I…I think I am.”

Immediately, a smile overtook his handsome features and he gave your hand an excited squeeze. He leaned over the table and captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaving you stunned for a few seconds afterwards, staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized immediately. “I don’t know why I—”

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in, pressing your lips onto his again, in a kiss you’d been wanting to give him for over a month. He kissed back passionately, his lips soft and desperate, his scruff tickling you gently.

As soon as you pulled apart, he switched sides of the table, sitting next to you and cupping his hands around your cheeks. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and then another quick one to your lips, causing your heart to race and the butterflies in your stomach to dance around. And in that moment, you knew that whatever you believed about soulmates and fate and destiny…it all went out the window.

You knew whatever you did from here on out, whatever choices you made or paths you took, it would always lead you straight to Pietro Maximoff. And you couldn’t have been happier about that…

[dayseternal-blog]

OK OK OK, I know I sound kind of weird but, could you pleaseee recommend some of the kinkiest naruhina fanfics?😳

Thank you so much🤍🤍

OK OK OK, you know you came to the right place 😳

I don’t know what you mean exactly by kinky, but I was thinking...I’ll just sort this by kinks hahahahahahha

OMG

This is going to include some of the MOST KINKY Naruhina fics I’ve ever read, EVER.  SOOO majorly inappropriate.  Also this will have some of the ones I’ve recommended before, but I’ll put everything under the cut.

NaruHina Smut & Kink

um hmmmm

Everything that follows is Rated Explicit.  Some of these fics are meant to be read with HUMOR.  Please enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!

BDSM

“Echoes of Silence” by @ellaroundpanda - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata Hyuga was trapped. Her relationship with Toneri was leading to nowhere and she wanted to find a new Dom. Naruto Uzumaki seemed to be the answer to all her prayers, but her fiancé wouldn’t give up that easily…

“Professor Passion” by omegas - College AU, Dom!Hinata & Sub!Naruto One-shot. Naruto is a new university student with a crush on his professor; Hinata Hyuga. Shy first dates and kisses quickly turn into a relationship, and Naruto discovers his professor’s provocative secret – along with one of his own.

“Secrets of the Hidden Leaf” by Sessakag - Includes a ton of different kinks. Canon-Divergent. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. The author’s summary hints at NaruHinaSasu, but they never got that far in the story. Naruto and Hinata push the boundaries of propriety and decency in a budding relationship of profound love and wild, sexual exploration.

“Out with the Old” by agitosgirl - Includes cheating, Modern AU. Two-shot. Hinata’s been mistreated by her current Dom, Toneri. Thankfully, another Dom has had his eyes set on her for awhile now.

“dorks.” by EroPrincess - Canon-Compliant, Multi-chapter, Complete. Random sexual exploits featuring Konoha’s most innocent couple.

“I want you to cry” by Devahhole - Includes a ton of kinks and things like dub-con and graphic murder, Multi-chapter, RECENTLY COMPLETE!!! A sociopath blinded by revenge runs into his greatest opponent.

“Some Like it Rough” by Cheating Death - Modern AU, One-shot. Yet she couldn’t help the thoughts that had been racing through her mind lately. Thoughts of her fiance using less restraint than he usually did.

Clones

“Clone Present” by @carny-writings - Canon Compliant (lol), One-shot. So it’s Hinata’s birthday; does this mean a Naruto Shadow Clone Gangbang is in order for our best girl?

“Hinata’s Rose Lips” by Plump_Hinata - Includes extreme Bimbo!Hinata, Canon Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata are sent on a mission to find a mysterious flower. But they will get a big surprise when they find out that the "Rose Lips" flower has a special power. A power to turn young ladies into ultra-hot, super-busty, sexy bimbos, and Hinata will be its victim!

Stamina/Multiple Orgasms/Cum Inflation/Size Kink

“Honeymoon” by Prestige Frost - Canon-Divergent. One-shot. During their honeymoon, Hinata learned something new about her husband: he was an absolute stamina freak in the bedroom. How was the beach? Why, they never even left the room!

“Adventures of the Warlock’s Apprentice” by pizzansushi - Includes lactation and furry kink, Fantasy AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. One rainy night, a warlock, finds a stray cat in alley. He takes Hinata in and breaks her curse. Turns out, his smitten kitten is actually a young lady. Naruto the Warlock allows her to stay beside him as his apprentice, although her looks and wiles will likely be the death of him.

“Sweet Love Bakery” by pizzansushi - Includes lactation kink, Fantasy AU, One-shot (but supposed to be multi-chapter?). Tender and sweet. Love makes people feel full and satisfied. Naruto Uzumaki the Warlock and his wife Hinata Hyuga open a bakery tavern.

“The Pinocchio Effect” by Silent_Soul_Ken - Fantasy/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto goes to see a Fortune Teller for a view into his luck however after his insult he'll find that he has a big problem and it's just getting bigger and bigger…

“Lord Hokage” by EroPrincess - Canon Compliant, Series of One-shots. Naruto loves it when Hinata screams out "Lord Hokage" during their lovemaking.

“Engaged or whatever…” by Devahhole - Rated E, Multi-chapter, Complete.  Shenanigans, jealousy, and sex ensue when Naruto and Hinata decide to tie the knot.

Squirting

“Unless the World Were to End” by @bunny-hoodlum - Modern AU, One-shot.  Anonymous internet friends decide to meet up IRL and give each other their first times.

“I’m in Here” by @bunny-hoodlum - RTN!Hinata, Canon-Divergent. One-shot. Thanks to Hinata’s newly acquired boldness, she and Naruto begin to explore their boundaries with each other – partly for distraction, partly for fun – But is Hinata the same Hinata anymore or not?

Voyeurism

“Unseen Audience” by @vegebulsoup​ - Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. He wondered what she might think if she found out about his new hobby. Surely, she would be mortified, embarrassed, and/or thoroughly creeped out. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Caught in the Act” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern/College AU, One-shot. Hinata decides to watch one of the adult videos at her workplace, not knowing that someone is watching her…

“Let Me See You” by callmesenorita - Canon Compliant (lol), Two-shot. When Naruto wakes to an empty bed, he is surprised to discover his wife indulging in an old habit. He’s also seriously turned on.

“Money Shot” by callmesenorita - College AU. Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto can’t help noticing that his soft-spoken, new girlfriend bears similarities to PearlPrincess…but there’s no way Hinata, of all people, livestreams those kinds of videos, right?

Cheating

“A Maid’s Responsibility” by agitosgirl - Modern AU, One-shot. It had been a year since he and Sakura had been physical. Now he had Hinata, sweet, kind, caring Hinata.

“All Kinds of Wrong” by Kieren - Crime AU. One-shot. It was ironic how something so pure had sprung from such a sordid arrangement. They were perfect for each other. But they had met at the wrong time.

Drugged/Dub-Con/Non-Con

“Side Effects” by Cheating Death - Includes graphic non-con/dub-con, Modern AU. Multi-chapter, Complete.  Naruto and Hinata decide to participate in a high-paying clinical study, but the pay turns out to be too good to be true.

“Shinobi Passions” by HoneyWriter78 - Canon-Divergent AU. Multi-Chapter, Incomplete. When a mission takes a surprising turn for the worse, only Naruto can help her through the night…

“A Love Never Seen” by HoneyWriter78 - High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata Hyuga attend Konoha High she is part of the athletics group. She is friends with Ino and Shikamaru but is secretly in love with Shikamaru who is oblivious and loves someone else. She tried to fight her feelings not noticing that a certain senpai has had his eyes on her…

“Warped” by BountifullyBeautifullyBlessed - College AU. Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata can’t sleep and her roommate, Naruto, is more than willing to help her out.

“Heavy Sleeper” by InTheMist032000 - Canon-Divergent AU, Two-shot. Hinata has a peculiar way of sleeping, and a knack for sleeping through all kinds of things. Naruto is intrigued and makes it a game to see how far he can go before she wakes up.

Semi-Public/In Public

“The Lustful Maid” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata Hyuga wakes up in an unknown room on an unknown bed, after one of the most worst days of her life. Her only memory is knocking into a tall blonde handsome guy with her juice spilled over him! Was it a dream? I think not as now she has signed a contract to be his very own personal maid!

“The Superstar Falls in Love” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto Uzumaki is a superstar, he and his band Kyubi set off clubbing after their opening night in Konoha. There he meets a blue haired beauty that immediately captures his attention. Will this blonde superstar playboy finally fall in love?

“A Shirt, a Neckerchief and my Bag on my Shoulders” by @badluckbrebis​ - Summer Camp AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata is freezing cold as she washes up in a nearby stream despite the poor weather, until Naruto unexpectedly shows up to shelter her…

“Nighttime Workout” by Breezyanimetra - College AU, Two-shot. Shy Hinata doesn’t usually have the courage to speak with her long time crush Naruto. All she does is watch him workout wishing she can do more. A snow storm one fateful night changes that for her.

“21 Days” by @bunny-hoodlum - Includes dub-con, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Anonymous internet friends decide to meet up IRL and give each other their first times.

Pregnancy

“Vacation” by Prestige Frost - Includes foot fetish among other kinks, Canon Divergent AU, One-shot. Their honeymoon was just the beginning. For Naruto and Hinata Uzumaki, the love they shared only grew with each passing day.

“The Art of Seduction” by katraine - Canon Compliant (?), One-shot.  ...as only Uzumaki Hinata can do.

“October Tenth” by ShiroiNoKiba - Includes lactation kink and miscarriage scare, Canon-divergent. Two-shot.  Naruto’s pregnant wife surprises him at home for his birthday.

Dark!Naruto/Demon/Kyuubi

“Calming the Beast” by Goldfishlover73 - Includes cheating, Canon-Divergent. One-shot. Naruto can’t understand why his relationship with Sakura just isn’t working. Hinata has a solution.

“Honeymoon” by DemonOfTheFridge - Includes graphic rape/non-con, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto always left on a secret mission once a year for a whole month. A curious Hinata finally had enough and followed him to an underground house. A house she finds herself trapped in, with a dark Naruto. Curiosity Killed the Cat.

“Breeding Season” by BlackMajjicDuchess - Includes rape/non-con, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Completely out of pattern, Kyuubi leaks free and causes terrible destruction that Naruto cannot suppress. There is a solution, but it comes at a terrible price.

“In a Demon’s Possession” by HoneyWriter78 - Demons AU. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Pursued by the snake demon Orochimaru for their mysterious bloodline, Neji and Hinata accidentally trespass into Lord Kyuubi’s territory.

Furry/Mating/Alpha/Omega Dynamics

“A Wild Love” by agitosgirl - Fox!Naruto and Bunny!Hinata, Two-shot. They are a mix of humans and animal. They form communities and societies with their own species. Unfortunately, Hinata from the bunny section of the wood, finds herself in danger of being eaten.

“Love at First Sniff” by agitosgirl - Fox!Naruto and Mouse!Hinata, One-shot. Finding your one true love is the easiest thing that anyone can do. Hinata sets out to find the one male who will become the love of her life.

“Drainage City Tales” by Silent_Soul_Ken - Includes mutation/gender changes, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto is a young man working in Fume City's mining operation recently orphaned he struggles to survive and out of desperation eats some fish. Unusually large and bloated fish eating them will cause a change he never wanted but must now accept. But when Hinata a young noble girl who loves him, finds he's missing she'll do all she can to be with him.

“Naruto’s Mate” by funkychicken67 - Canon Divergent AU, Two-shot. Naruto receives a...gift from the nine tails. And Hinata gets in the way.

“When the Devil Picks Up a Stray” by callmesenorita - Rated E, A/B/O Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata, an Omega, questions buried feelings when she decides to help a childhood friend who has adopted a new persona under the name Menma. Although their attraction is instant he is no longer the Naruto she once knew, and soon enough Hinata is thrust into a dangerous yakuza conspiracy.

“A Fate Worse than Death” by Caelestia - A/B/O Canon-Divergent, One-shot.  Naruto, improperly socialized and traumatized as a child, rejects his inner Alpha, which has devastating consequences on his family and marriage.  “A Risky Bet” is its fluffier follow-up (One-shot).

I feeeeel like I might be forgetting some, but that’s a lot! :D  Happy fic reading!!!!

[batarangsoundsdumb]

guess fucking what? my inbox is so fucking full right now i'm unloading all of this shit in one post.

For the 11th gotham memes: gothamites react to bruce being jacked in a tiktok he made with kids, like super yoked, ripped as hell

fucking hilarious thanks. i think i did it in one meme post, but i genuinely don't remember which one

i dunno which of the batfam would do this but one time i was sleeping over at a friends house and ended up on the floor bc the bed was so very small and i just stayed there because the rug was soft

that's a drunk jason move i don't know what to tell you

tim and jason are "i listen to pop punk" solidarity. whenever jason highjacks the batmobile theyll go on long ass car rides blaring mcr and paramore and then never talk about it again

as they should!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tim: no jason it's my turn using the aux cord i gotta put on my jams jason: don't you dare put on weird shit tim: don't worry, you're gonna love this *plays fearless (taylor's version)

hear me out hear me out, red hood stans 🤝 nightwing stans t h i g h s

holy shit yes.

SNL au: Bruce breaks character when pretending to superman and says something like "I'm not superman! You've seen his gps!! It's from 2001!!!" @sabeanybabe

superman flies past the snl building the next day just to say 'actually it's from 2005, i'm not a heathen'

does your back hurt from carrying the batfam fandom

it hurts more from the exotic rock collection i keep in my backpack, but thanks for the concern.

I love your posts by why would you always leave the best parts in the tags?

as a treat for the people that check the tags ;) (and also because i'm committed to the short post aesthetic)

somehow your playlist was everything i never knew i needed. i mean it. this is my new favorite playlist.

and don't you dare get a new favourite playlist!

babe ur stoner tim playlist is exactly too perfect, earth is literally blessed by ur existence

babe thanks so much! i love my stoner tim playlist because it's just my usual playlist but people think it's an artistic choice that i put taylor swift and britney spears in there, when it's just what i unironically like listening to

JANDKSKDK BILLY RAY CYRUS ON THE STONER TIM PLAYLIST I LOVE IT IT

again it's not even an ironic choice, i know every single word and i genuinely like the song

The last chapter of Fundamentals of Casework has me crying at work. Thanks I love it @dudelookitsalesbian

oh babe, i'm sorry, but also, not sorry i love chapter 4 so much it's my lovechild with the 'mental illness' tag

soooo....stumbled on your tumblr by some stroke of fate??? read your DC fanfic first. which is PHENOMENAL btw. then found all the batmemes; the funniest thing EVER bc everyone forgets about regular old gothamites. kept scrolling and your blog pops up as recommended. clicked on the ao3 for shits and giggles and waddaya know?!?!? it's YOU!!! you're LEGEND!!!! ever seen that meme? it's a video of a cat that got into a baseball field and the two announcers get really invested in his escape attempt and start giving a play by play of the cat instead of the game. memeable moment: "GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!"

i seriously think about this ask every single day and it's so fucking funny to me that i've never seen the meme you're referencing, but i still find myself going 'GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!' whenever i see something funny. but wow i'm glad you liked this steaming pile of garbage

Fav dc character overall? And fav batfamily character?

don't ask me to pick between the loves of my life, but i can tell you i've cried about every single batfamily member and also wally west (my beloved)

What's your opinion on fans having a problem with batfam being "too big"? And some even claim that batfam is just "Bruce Alfred Dick Damian" and the rest of them are just "friends and allies" (source: reddit) Personally, I like batfam because of this reason but idk

stupid. a family can never be too big. i'm not that big a fan of like huge batfam stuff with everybody from every single universe, because as much as it's funny for bruce to have like 30 kids, it just feels a little too OOC for me.

This is the best tag I've seen involving the batfam, thanks for thinking of it

This is canon now @nctxrejects

lmao yeah i think at that point alfred has had to sit through like at least a dozen coming out talks and just has a pride flag collection in the attic that he pulls out whenever a kid comes out

idk why batfam hits different as compared to any other superhero family

bc it's found family and usually the other superhero families are almost all genetically related in one way or another

I don't know if you watch the umbrella academy but I saw your last post about batcest and saw the similarities. But the thing is (although I think it's weird) in TUA, they addressed it by saying "they were raised as weapons, not siblings" or something along those lines, which is simply not the case with batfam.

yeah i watched tua but i also thought it was ridiculous and they still treated each other as siblings so i didn't like the luthor/allison thing, and am glad they stopped doing that shit bc it fucking sucked.

Hot take: Batcest shippers are the same people who believe adopted siblings are not actual siblings

smoking hot take: batcest shippers are the people who watch 'my sister got stuck in the washing machine' porn

Duke was adopted by Bruce?

not technically no, but do i, tumblr user batarangsoundsdumb, look like i care?

True story but I had to change my freaking name because it used to be "Damien" and most people would go "OH LIKE DAMIAN WAYNE" like please I'm just tryna live

true story, but i don't actually think of damian when i hear the name damian, literally the first thing that pops up is damian darkh like bruh what?

apparently dc comics company supported comic stores by giving out new titles and stuff during the beginning of the pandemic to help them run and I just think that's wholesome

ah yeah that's so fucking cool, still don't like dc, the company, because this world is a capitalist hellhole and we're all owned by warner brothers or disney with no in between.

ayo looking at tumblr head canons and finding out bruce is actually a terrible father is a punch in the gut

lmao yes, in like 50% of comics bruce is a terrible father and it gives me whiplash

oooh I just saw the jason todd vs winter soldier post and the real question is: batman vs iron man

while iron man has like hundreds of cases of armor, batman could throw out an emp and have the guy dropping out of the sky in 2 seconds.

dickfast = fastdick = quickdick = quickie

magnum hot take

hey bata(?) just thought I'd let you know I have copied the obnoxious emoji and Billy Ray post for use on simping men going forth

thank you 😘🌷 (@spacebarsidecar)

why would you do that to your followers???? i get why i did it, but why would you???

what is scarecrow made the nightwing funko pop himself, like those diy-ers that paint over other ones

oh god no, horrible take, horrible take, that's a disgusting thought oh no

I see your HC that Bruce and Oliver fucked and raise you this: Dick and Roy ALSO fucked

yes they did and it was a horrible moment for jason to find out dick has fucked both of his best friends

"at this rate bruce adds like 1 child to his family every decade or so" Duke is introduced in 2013, Damian as Damian, not as an unnamed child, in 2006. And he is already 14 years old, Robins rarely remain Robins after 16 😬 It looks like a new Robin and Batkid will appear in a couple of years

i mean i can't wait? but somebody will probably die first tho, we're due for another major character death. my money's on either cass or duke this time.

BRO you're so right all of your Bruce's ex headcanons are amazing but they aren't ships, that's kinda wild. Like I don't want any peeks into how their relationship was I just want to see everyone make fun of them

lmao YES it's just i love bruce being a slut, like good for him.

I am in love with your posts your honour thank you

omg thanks are we like,, gonna kiss now?

The justice league needs to have a meeting to discuss how many of their members/partners have slept with bruce. Because through a combination of cannon & fannon (if DC wasn’t homophobic) we have AT LEAST: 1) clark 2) lois 3) oliver 4) dinah 5) john

Thats not counting villains or random civilians @dudelookitsalesbian

yes yes yes, they'll have a yearly meeting about how many of their collective exes could be out for revenge and batman's list just keeps getting longer.

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

and what about it?

when steph's fighting livewire and she zaps her with lighting and nothing happens and then they both just. stand there awkwardly for a second and talk. yeah i couldn't stop laughing at that batgirl steph is the BEST

oh yeah that was fucking hilarious and i think it would be so cool and sexy of dc to give steph a little comic series,,, as a treat

Hi I absolutely adore all of yours "Bruce and Oliver very badly pretending they didn't fuck each other" memes

lmao i do too

I need you to know that “Bruce Wayne had frosted tips” is one of my favorite Bruce takes of all time it’s so galaxy brained. you’re right and you should say it

he also painted his hair blonde once when he was travelling and in conclusion, this is why he's being blackmailed by the gotham gazette.

you know my thing about gordon being branded as the only good cop in gotham is its a load of shit like arguably he's a good person and not working to screw people over or anything but the fact that he also works w. batman makes him a shit cop. like yea batman is better than the mob but its still illegal its still an abuse of power he just not making bank

babe, all cops are bad cops. (but yeah youre absolutely right, working with vigilantes makes you a shit cop, but also working against vigilantes just makes you an asshole cop yanno?)

ruh roh i think i’m about to add “so not yeehaw” every time i don’t like something

that's a very good vocabulary upgrade

somehow i feel like steph already knew. like babs obviously knew but i feel like bruce got high/drunk in front of steph and started telling his boarding school stories and steph was just like “oh you fucked up i’m never gonna forget this”

steph and bruce have weird uncle/rebellious niece dynamic and they just hang out sometimes and bruce will be like 'i once broke my arm when i tripped over a hedge when i was drunk so oliver drove me to the hospital on an electric scooter' and steph will just have to sit there with that knowledge in her head.

Hello I just wanted to tell you you are So right in all your steph opinions bc she is, in fact amazing and I think that's very sexy of you. Ps. Your Bruce/Oliver fic is hilarious

babe, thank you so much and yes steph is amazing and i love her and she deserves the world and she's the best member of the batfam hands down. also thanks

In Supersons we see a couple of kids that are implied to be Damian and Jon's children and the boy has laser eyes and can fly, so I asume he's not adopted. The girl, who calls Bruce grandpa, can also fly, btw. So it's canon (probably by accident) that Jon can have kids and he must have married one of Bruce's kids. (I'm hoping for Damian, mostly because any other of his children would be waaaaaaaaaaaaay too old.) @artemisa97

lmao that was probably an accident seeing as jon is a 17 year old superhero in the year 3000 (by the jonas brothers)

You know, I'm a die hard fan of your memes, but I gotta say one thing: if Gothamites actually took gas mask everywhere with them, then the Scarecrow would just be a weird dude in a weird costume, and not a villain oh so scary. DC really should just takes notes from you.

bold of you to assume there's no gothamite anti-maskers

How does it feel being the funniest person on this app?

horrible, next question.

I can't listen to Green Day or Billy Joel without thinking of your post about how Bruce got arrested at a Billy Joel concert @nightwings-kid

yeah that's your mistake, i on the other hand can't enjoy billy joel without thinking about the glee rendition of 'uptown girl'

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

superman: so what do you do in your free time? batman, thinking about the superman fanfiction he's writing on the batcomputer: i have no free time

bruce and oliver be like boyfriends to co-workers 401k (do the justice leagues get 401ks??? not that bruce and ollie would need them, but-)

lmao yes just 400 thousand words of bruce realising 'oh dip oliver is such a fucking dumbass' (also i don't know what a 401 k is but i assume they don't?)

Gothamites would totally boo superman as he saves Gotham while batman is out. @meenje

he's like 'okay think about that next time you want to be saved from an alien octopus'

I just took long break from dc comics and I come back to see ric grayson ??

i think it's very cool and sexy of dc to see dick and just think 'you know what? let's just give him a traumatic brain injury' and then didn't develop his character in any real way

SPEAKING OF RIC GRAYSON, gothamites making confused memes out of ric grayson is much needed

'dick grayson is my taxi driver? can anyone explain what the fuck happened he looks like an italian plumber?'

i hate to say it but batfam are def "marvel characters" in that sense they are characters who are human but become superheroes unlike most dc characters who are gods trying to be human maybe this is why I like batfam

fair enough

[asstronauts]

quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

rating: t word count: 2.4k pairing: the homoeroticism of 200 amplified, aka jemily summary: a post-200 rewrite, in which jj spends some time in emily's arms and in the hospital instead of in a bar right after being tortured.

read on ao3, if you'd prefer

tw mention of jj's canon abduction and torture

---

A hundred feet.

Strangely enough, it wasn't the closest she'd come to death in this line of work, but now it was all that separated her dangling feet from the ground below.

She felt nothing besides Emily's arms and her heart thudding in her chest. JJ risked a glance downwards, turning her head ever so slightly to look.

Michael Hastings' body fallen. Dead.

It was over.

"You're here. It's you," JJ managed between ragged breaths as she was pulled back from the edge of the rooftop and onto solid ground. Her hands were still clinging desperately to Emily's biceps, her only lifeline while the world spun around.

“Emily,” JJ murmured, though it came out sounding more like a question. She needed to be sure. After hours of torture at the hands of Tivon Askari, and after the intense pursuit of Michael Hastings onto the rooftop, her friend’s comforting presence seemed almost unbelievable.

Emily inhaled sharply and reached out to move JJ's hair back. The blonde flinched instinctively, then slowly relaxed into Emily's touch. It was nothing like Askari's rough hands. It was tender — a soft brush across her cheekbone to wipe away a tear she hadn't even realized was there. The gentle caress grounded her, letting her know she was here and that somehow, against all odds, she was still alive, safely kneeling with Emily on this concrete rooftop a hundred feet high.

JJ could hardly bring herself to look around. She didn’t recognize the building he’d taken her to. It was in D.C, that much she could be sure of, but the air felt different now that she was free from Askari’s grasp. Fresher somehow. Below her, the city lights blinked on, unaware of the terrifying ordeal that had just happened. And in front of her, Emily.

Emily's hand was warm. Or perhaps JJ was just freezing. There was a chill in her bones that had remained since she'd seen Askari's face, a cold she couldn’t quite escape.

"You're here," JJ repeated, her voice steadier but still quiet. She shivered against the concrete, her shallow breaths visible in the cold night air.

"So are you." Their eyes met, and JJ found Emily's filled with concern, with relief, with love. They carefully searched JJ's face to make sure she was okay.

Emily's gaze landed on the blonde's unbuttoned shirt, and she furrowed her brow, the hard lines in her face deliberating a question she didn't want to ask.

JJ shook her head and drew back slightly. He didn't, she wanted to say.

He didn't, but she could still feel his hands on her, all over her. He didn't, but she could still hear his voice saying, "Maybe I can make you one. Another one." He didn't, but...

"It's okay," Emily murmured in a soothing voice. She noted the look on JJ’s face, but didn’t press further. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.” Her heart broke at the way the woman clenched her jaw and avoided Emily’s fixed stare.

JJ gave a stiff nod of permission as Emily reached out, gently beginning to button the shirt back up. JJ licked her lips and forced her fingers to relax their grip as she tried to speak again — to say something, anything.

"Cruz...is he-"

"He'll be fine."

"And everyone else?"

"Everyone's okay." Emily looked up as she finished with the shirt. “They’re waiting downstairs with the ambulances whenever you’re ready.”

“How did you find me?”

“We...we looked into everything from when you were in Afghanistan. Your backstop.” Emily tried to meet JJ’s eyes, but they were staring guiltily at the ground. “No more secrets please, JJ.”

“No more secrets,” she echoed back. “Only the truth from now on.”

JJ opened her mouth as if to say more, then shook her head and furrowed her brow.

Emily knew there were questions she was avoiding, trying to ask about the team to dismiss any concerns over her own wellbeing. Denial was ingrained in her nature — a habit she had perfected so well, she sometimes managed to fool herself.

The younger agent stood unsteadily and pretended to inspect her top as she took a moment to collect herself. "We should head down then," she mumbled, crossing her arms as another shiver ran up her body.

"You're allowed to take a moment, JJ," Emily said softly and rose to stand in front of her. "Take your time."

JJ bit her lip and shook her head ever so slightly. If she took even a breath to process all that had happened in the last 24 hours, the inevitable breakdown would come rushing over her, and she feared she'd never be able to stop.

"You're okay now," Emily said again, reaching her arms out and allowing JJ to collapse into them. The blonde buried her face in the crook of Emily's neck as gentle but strong arms wrapped around her body.

From the moment Hotch had called her about the news of JJ's disappearance, Emily's heart had been gripped by an intense fear over the other woman's safety. The thought of JJ in danger, of JJ hurt, of JJ on the brink of death had been too overwhelming to bear.

The panic had fueled her to find everything she could on Tivon Askari, to do everything she could to fight for JJ’s life. But the anxiety that had built up during Emily's flight over was only just now beginning to subside, as she reassured herself of JJ's safety.

"You're okay, you're okay," Emily whispered as she rubbed comforting circles on JJ's back.

She's okay.

---

45...46...47...48...

Emily concentrated hard on counting the hospital floor tiles, whatever she could to keep from thinking of her friend having just been tortured. She’d read the files on Askari, and she knew exactly what JJ had gone through. The drugs, the physical abuse, the waterboarding, the electrocution. It made her burn with uncharacteristic anger, made her wish this man had received a fate worse than death for hurting JJ. And from the look she’d seen on JJ’s face, there was far more to the story than just what Emily had read.

The situation had left the rest of the team a headache-inducing amount of paperwork, but Hotch had insisted that someone be present when JJ woke up. All eyes had landed on Emily, with Penelope demanding she be called immediately after, no matter the time of night.

It was late now, but Emily still felt restless. She picked furiously at her nails, counting and recounting the tiles over and over again until a voice broke her thoughts.

"Emily? She wants to see you."

Emily looked up and mouthed a silent thank you to the doctor, not quite trusting herself to speak aloud.

A wave of relief washed over her as she walked into the hospital room, and blue eyes turned to meet her.

"You're here."

Emily managed a sort of strangled sound in reply, a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"I'm still here," she breathed, reaching out her hand to grasp JJ's. It was icy cold, but just warm enough to reassure Emily that JJ was alive.

"I wasn't sure...I've been seeing things," JJ mumbled. "I saw you, or I thought I did. Before I saw you, I mean."

JJ shook her head, trying to clear the cloud from her incoherent thoughts as Emily creased her eyebrows in confusion.

She exhaled and tried again. "It doesn't matter. But you...you really came all the way here for me."

"You'd do the same for me," Emily replied. "Hell, you already did the same for me."

Their eyes met.

Paris.

Emily remembered everything — the long nights that never seemed to end, the two of them exploring every street and shop, the night JJ had grabbed her hand and pulled her into an alleyway, and they'd stood unbelievably close, eyes shining in the moonlight with exhilaration...

She wondered if JJ remembered everything too.

"How long do you have here?" JJ asked.

Emily bit her lip. "A few hours." Not long enough.

"Do you have to go?" came JJ’s quiet voice. Emily had asked the same question that night in Paris.

They’d let the question hang unanswered then too, both too afraid to admit that they were running, not just leaving. Because staying would mean confronting the intensity of their feelings for one another, and that was somehow more terrifying than anything they’d ever faced in the field.

Besides, Emily's expression said more than her words could.

“How are you feeling?” Emily asked instead of answering.

“It hurts,” JJ said simply.

Emily’s grip around her hand tightened protectively. "I know," she whispered.

JJ began to trace delicate circles along Emily's knuckles with her thumb, eyes slightly unfocused. She could feel her mind already struggling, tendrils of flashbacks lurking beneath the surface. The pain in her side seemed to intensify, and her breath caught slightly.

"Hastings and Askari are dead." Her voice came out raw and louder than intended, as though she was still convincing herself of the fact.

JJ took a shuddering breath and shivered as a chill went up her spine.

Cold. Why was the room so cold?

She felt, rather than saw, everything around her shift as a sudden sense of dread overwhelmed her in the haze. Dark. Cold. Alone.

Alone, except for him. The shadow of Tivon Askari loomed in front of her, and a bolt of pain and panic wracked her body.

“Come back to me, JJ.”

She blinked.

“I wasn’t..I-It wasn’t a full flashback or anything,” JJ stuttered. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, just breathe.”

JJ sat for a moment until the pounding in her chest subsided, painfully aware of the heart monitor’s rapid beeping. She focused her attention on Emily’s hand in hers.

��I’m fine,” JJ repeated quietly.

"I know it doesn't feel like it yet," Emily replied. "It takes time, but I promise one day, you’ll be okay. You’ll feel safe again."

Emily moved her free hand to touch JJ’s shoulder, capturing her full attention so that the blonde could read the sincerity in her eyes.

“What do I do till then?”

"You could get a tattoo. We could match," Emily said lightly.

"Blackbird," JJ mused with a tired smile.

She remembered the day that Emily had shown her the tattoo, how she had stared in amazement at the beautiful ink that somehow both covered and showed off Emily's scars from her encounter with Doyle. Even then, she had been slightly wary, but Emily had taken her hand and guided her fingers to graze the tattoo, showing her that scars weren’t something to be afraid of.

The bruises and lacerations would fade. The electrical burns would leave a mark. JJ could feel their sting now, marring her skin with ugly scars. Perhaps she could get a tattoo to cover them up, but there was only so much she could hide. Beneath it all, there’d still be a heavy burden, an invisible wound she’d have to carry day to day, case to case, for the rest of her life.

They sat, hand in hand again now, letting the presence of each other be enough. JJ's thumb was still tracing its way across the familiar landscape of Emily's hand, one that the blonde had long since memorized. In those moments, with Emily holding her hand, it felt like everything was okay. Yet there was a feeling of horrid anticipation, like the teetering at the top of a rollercoaster, where the burning in her stomach told her that the moment Emily let go and left for London, time would inevitably start again, and everything would fall quickly and suddenly, collapsing into a wild frenzy despite Emily’s words of comfort.

“I don’t want you to go. I need you here,” JJ murmured.

She wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the medication talking, but she hadn’t quite realized the truth behind the statement until she’d said it aloud. JJ tried it again, her voice barely a whisper. “I need you.”

The admission hung in the air unanswered for a moment, and JJ’s mind raced, wondering if she’d made a mistake.

Emily didn’t speak, staring hard at the hospital blankets as if they would tell her the meaning behind what JJ had said. Part of her wanted to scream with joy at the idea that JJ wanted her near. But the other part of her shrunk back in fear, wanting to flee across an entire ocean once again to run from her emotions. She was terrified of what she felt towards JJ — an affection more intense and overwhelming than anything she’d ever experienced before. Without it, she’d be lost. She couldn’t risk that; it was too fragile to be tampered with, too precious to even be acknowledged.

“I saw you,” JJ began rambling, unable to bear the silence. “When they were trying to get my codes, I thought I saw you. I guess my mind just needed something or someone to hold on to. You should’ve been a million miles away, but some part of me knew that you’d come. That I’d be okay because you were coming.”

“JJ-“

“I knew it’d be you. It’s always going to be you.”

“I can’t...” Emily began, but the fear choked her and kept her from finishing her sentence.

“I know you have to go.” JJ’s grip tightened as her voice broke. “Will you stay until I fall asleep? Say goodbye now so I don’t have to watch you leave.”

A lump rose in Emily’s throat. Tell me to stay again. Tell me to stay for you, and I’ll leave it all, she wanted to say. But her cowardice won in the end.

Instead, Emily nodded and sat next to the bed as JJ closed her eyes.

---

JJ awoke to an empty hospital room. The pain in her side flared, and tears sprung to her eyes as everything she had experienced hit her full force.

The fluorescent lights blinked back at her from above, and the only noises she could hear were the gentle beeping of a heart monitor and her own shallow breathing.

One hand lay across her torso, the other gripped the hospital bed sheets as though she’d been holding onto something, to someone. She could've sworn...

She’s not here.

No, Emily was in London, thousands of miles away. There was no way, right?

She wouldn’t have come and then left her, not again. JJ pulled her hand in and held it to her chest, as she bit back a cry.

It must have been another hallucination. It had to be.

Any other way would hurt too much.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Those who weave (New Series Snippet)

So, I’m starting a new series! I’m not dropping Nostalgia of course, and that series is still my priority so this one won’t have scheduled updates, but I’m having a really tough time writing (in general, and for Nostalgia in specific) so I decided to start posting this one.

It is a Reincarnation fic, basically, with some curse elements. Of course, an AU, takes place mainly in the Viking era, late Middle Ages, and modern times.

It is an Ivar/Reader fic, but it does have a lot of Freydis in it, because...it’s me, of course it has Freydis on it. I am trying a new side of her on this one tho!

A few things about this story:

It is a Reader-insert, and though I do have a faceclaim for her (Turkish actress Özge Törer) it is for graphic thingies, no descriptions in the story. However, it isn’t very inclusive, since in some of their lives her and Freydis are half sisters. I’m sorry for that.

It will be divided into three acts/lives: Sight, Love, and Time.

It is a fucking mess. I have to leave behind very important themes of the canon story, like the aspect of Valhalla, and Ivar’s ambitions of fame, and many other things, because they simply don’t fit as conflicts or themes with a multiple-lives dynamic. But I have fun writing this, and I hope you will have fun reading it.

So yeah, I really don’t know how to make these announcement thingies, but I wanted to make one for this cause a) I worked really hard on that graphic thingy and I want you to see it cause I’m stupidly proud of myself, and b) I wanna check who wants to be tagged for this.

I’m tagging those on my ‘All’ taglist, please lemme know if you wanna be added or removed! Love ya!

Snippet of...something under the cut. It technically happens during the Love Act, but it is a scene that doesn’t happen in the main story, an alternate POV of sorts.

So, quick ground rules: Ivar remembers their past lives (not all of it, but he remembers the Reader and Freydis, and sometimes other people), Freydis and the Reader don’t remember anything most of the time (but Freydis has premonitions regarding her and her sister’s futures).

I hope you like it 😉

Katia sits before you on the bed, her back to you and her eyes closed as you methodically brush her hair. Just like you used to when you were children.

Your mother taught you differently than Katia’s mother did, and she remembers how endlessly fascinated you were while growing up at how she chose to wear her hair with rarely any coverings, just as she was so delighted in finding linens and jewels to make and adorn your shawls and veils.

Your fingers replace the brush, and she feels you carefully toying with the strands of her hair.

You sigh, a little wistfully, a little lost.

“I liked it better when your hair was blonde,” You tell her, chuckling after your words like you haven’t just stopped her heart with but a sentence, “I miss braiding it.”

Katia tells herself this is nothing out of the ordinary. Since you were children she has heard you talk of a world neither of you ever knew, little lost promises of a life that was nothing but a dream.

She remembers how you’d wake her up saying your chest hurt and that you didn’t want to leave her alone, how you’d sit at her side in the mornings and ask if you’d ever be back home even as you had breakfast in the only home you had known; and she remembers how just as easily you’d lay by her side and sleep again with no memory of your pain come morning, how you’d smile wistfully and forget your nostalgia with a bite of a biscuit and the start of your day.

All her life, she has written it off as nothing other than illusions, nothing other than the soft heart of her sister lingering in a world of dreams.

Now, she isn’t so sure they are dreams. Now, she isn’t so sure she doesn’t know Ivar, now she isn’t so sure he is crazy.

The man towers over her, but strangely enough, Katia doesn’t feel fear.

All she feels is anger. All she feels is rage and hate.

And a part of her feels strangely vindicated at the lost look in his eyes, like someone she never was -or someone she never stopped being- is cruelly delighted at his pain.

“You are Freydis,” He tells her, and she keeps careful eyes on him but says nothing, “You’re playing games with me, y-you’ve cursed me.”

“Cursed you?” She asks, the beginning of a smile on her lips. To anyone else, she might look like a woman that has lost her mind, but, to him, she dares think, she looks like a woman powerful, a woman he’d wage war against. “I would think I’d have a reason to curse you. Tell me…did I?”

There’s something there, something human in all the rage of a monster, something like pain, like grief. But the man doesn’t allow it to linger for long, and the pain morphs into wrath before her eyes.

“You took everything from me.” He snarls, rough hand grabbing Katia’s arm and forcing her closer. His eyes are piercing and wrathful as they look into hers.

“What is going on here?” You call out from behind her. And the man’s eyes leave her to focus on you as you approach. His hand drops from her arm, and Katia holds her breath.

Pale blue eyes shine as your soft footsteps approach, and as the man’s expression trembles with something like pain, something like hope, something like love; Katia finds herself afraid to turn around and find a woman she doesn’t recognize in her sister’s place.

She notices the change in him at the sight of you, and for the first time she feels fear.

And she waits now, with baited breath, for you to shake off the veil of dreams, the chimera of something that never was, that never would be.

But you don’t. You continue trailing soft and delicate fingers through her long hair, as if you aren’t making dread and fear poison her from the inside with each passing breath of silence.

“Blonde?” She asks, and her voice trembles, but she doesn’t care.

“Mhm,” You mumble, not really paying attention. After a moment, you take a breath and start again, “Ivar’s eyes were very blue today, di-…”

“His name isn’t Ivar. You should know that by now.”

“That’s what he said his name is.” You insist, but there’s a strange stillness to the way you hold yourself now, when she turns to meet your gaze.

“And he says my name is different too, do you believe him?”

“You aren’t Freydis,” You chuckle, saying the name that haunts Katia’s dreams with terrifying ease. And it feels familiar, coming from your lips. As familiar as the curve of your smile, as familiar as the way you look at that monster that pretends to be a man. You reach with your hand to put a lock of dark hair behind her ear, and offer a soft smile, “Your hair is different.”

She asks what she hasn’t dared ask in a whole life at your side, “W-What else is different?”

“Everything is, and…nothing is,” Your eyes are dazed, and though you are looking directly at her Katia would swear you cannot see her. “You’re my sister, and you love me. That hasn’t changed.”

She doesn’t quite understand why a part of her sighs in relief at hearing you admit you know -knew?- of her love for you, but she does understand why a part of her tightens in fear at the implications that swim in her mind.

And she voices another question, “And what he is to you, has that changed?”

She doesn’t say his name, maybe because she doesn’t know which one to utter.

You smile, and your eyes focus a bit on her, see more of her, “That could never change.”

Her eyes fall from yours, for she cannot keep looking into a familiar hue and see familiar warmth.

She feels you lean forward and press your brow against hers, a gesture of comfort that only makes her shut her eyes tight and bite back a sob.

“Alll our Fates are woven together,” You promise, a death sentence as you grasp your sister’s hand. “We may forget, but those who weave our Fates cannot.”

Come morning, you won’t remember the previous night; come morning Ivar’s eyes will be less blue; come morning, his pain won’t make the memories return to you like strings that tighten and tell you he needs you, or who you once were.

Come morning, you won’t remember. But Katia will.

And she will vow to do whatever it takes not to lose you to him.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading! Hope I could catch your interest! The first chapter will be up between Tuesday and Wednesday :)

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld​ @stupiddarkkside​  @northumbria​  @aprilivar​  

[miracle-sham]

Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytales} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| The folk tales always speak of those destined for greatness. Heroes alongside their faithful dragons, fighting the ever turning tides against evil. But they're just that, folk tales. After all, what are the chances a border-town apprentice seamstress like Marinette, would ever be offered a different vocation by the recruitment guild. |

| Word Count: 3,428. |

| Warnings/Tags: Kingdom/Fantasy/No Miraculous/Dragon Riders Au, Minor Lila & Adrien salt, Canon Typical lies and manipulation from Lila, Explicit Language/Swearing, and Some Fluff. |

———

| A/N: First things first, the word 'Dragoon' will be used multiple times in this piece and it is spelled that way on purpose (see end notes for further explanation). Secondly, yep! It's a dragon riding/academy au. This is the first piece of the series, which I'm really excited for because I've spent ages worldbuilding for! And for anyone worried about salt mention, it is addressed in this piece but the tag is there because of canon-typical Lila manipulation and lies, plus no Miraculous means no reason for Adrien with his sheltered upbringing to realise she's lying. |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's been a few days of tense stagecoach travel. And to be fair to Marinette, even she hadn't expected to be declared in the middle of the town square as showing aptitude for a position within the Justice League's armée volante—specifically the dragoon squadrons—thanks to the recruitment guild no less.

Unfortunately, Adrien and Lila had also shown an aptitude. Which, seeing as they all come from the same border-town of Paris, meant they were all trapped inside the same cramped coach space for the excruciating four days journey to reach Gotham Town; the place where they are being sent to attend the dragoon academy, which is technically outside the bounds of the town proper. Seeing as the Gotham Dragoon Academy and Somerset Dragon Range are on the opposite shores of the Gotham river to the town itself.

There's only another half-day until they reach the Mooney bridge and then the Somerset

Dragon Ranges. And luckily, Adrien and Lila have taken to sitting on the same bench, the one facing forwards. Leaving the opposite bench all for Marinette.

Not that having a whole bench to myself for this time will help with whether I can continue to survive as a captive audience for Lila. Marinette thinks to herself, rather disgruntled about this whole situation she's unwillingly ended up in. She was perfectly happily remaining an apprentice seamstress, sewing commissions for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the rest of her famous or otherwise clientele, not that fate seemed to care though. Of course, a part of her stipulation she fought the recruiters for, is that along with her studies she can continue her commissions for current and prior clientele alone. Which is to say, better than being completely unable to continue her main hobby and form of stress relief.

The recruiters had also said that baking and cooking would be no problem to practice, as apparently there'll be free reign to "student kitchens" alongside cooking classes so any use of either skill will be "undoubtedly encouraged". Dangerous words, Marinette muses to herself once more, because if I get claimed by a dragon the first thing I'm doing is baking all the dragon dietary-safe treats I can!

“Marinette! What do you think?” Lila asks, voice as cloying as ever.

Marinette startles and half-heartedly smiles awkwardly across at her, “ah, I'm really sorry Lila! I got distracted wondering what kind all of our dragons might end up being and how they might look!” Not, I'm going to love mine regardless of appearance unlike you.

Smiling faux-sweetly, Lila shakes her head. “Don't worry Marinette, I was only saying how we're just like those local fairytales of your town! Three close-knit friends who become powerful and famous dragoon guardians and save the world from the evil destruction of Hawkmoth and his army of shadow dragons! Out of the three of us, I would be our leader, obviously. Since I'm the only one here descended from a dragoon guardian! My grandmother even gave me a token that once belonged to my dragoon guardian ancestor!”

“Wow, you've said it before but I still can't believe how incredible you are Lila! It's going to be amazing training besides you at the academy!” Adrien gushes, gazing at Lila with adoration.

Lila preens at his words. “Thank you, Adrien! But Marinette, since you mentioned what our dragons will be, did you know my ancestor's dragon was said to be the most beautiful of all the dragons in the Justice League squadrons! My ancestor's dragon had orange scales that glimmered red and yellow like flames, and pearlescent white scales along the underbelly. Oh, and the horns were pearlescent white too! Obviously, the dragon I'll get is sure to be a descendant of that dragon and just as beautiful.”

“Wow, no wonder your ancestor's dragon was the most beautiful, they sound absolutely gorgeous! What kind of dragon do you think I'll get, Lila?” Adrien asks, eyes shining with awe and curiosity.

She puts on a show of holding her chin and humming. “Hmm, probably a golden dragon, with shiny scales as bright as the sun!”

“I hope you're right!” Adrien chuckles, “the fairy tales really would be coming true if we both get the dragons you think we will! One with scales of fire, another with scales of gold!”

“It really would.” Marinette echoes weakly, not really believing in her own words.

Lila laughs, “awww don't sound so worried Marinette, your dragon will probably be a plain and drab dragon with some sort of shade of brown, or maybe even grey. But at least it won't be attention-grabbing. So you won't need to worry about people staring and judging or dragons-forbid trying to hurt you for having a prettier dragon than any nobles!”

Marinette smiles, though it turns out far more grimace-like than intended, whoops. “Yeah… that'd be awful. Haha, I'd be really lucky to get a dragon like you described for me, Lila.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you understand, Marinette! Then again, all three of us are besties so of course you'd understand!” Lila titters, crossing her fingers, “we're just like this!”

Screaming internally, Marinette nods and keeps smiling. Dragons-almighty, I'm at the end of my thread here. Hopefully, I'll be able to leave Lila's "friendship" behind at the academy without fear of mine and my parent's reputations being ruined by Lila's mother.

Her attention is briefly taken by the rolling view outside the stagecoach, unable to help herself she mumbles to herself, “the landscape here is so pretty.”

“It is pretty I guess, but not as pretty as my home country!” Lila pipes up, jumping on the new conversation—like a shadow dragon on a sheep.

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second and breathes deeply, chanting internally. The academy will be my fresh start.

———

The academy is not in fact Marinette's fresh start.

It is well past evenfall by the time their stagecoach passes through the gates of the imposing academy. It rounds a large fountain in the centre of the courtyard with a statue of a person encircled by a large dragon. However, due to the darkness and the movements of the stagecoach, any attempts at recognising whom the statue was dedicated after are thoroughly hampered. They roll to a stop before the great stone staircase—where a figure with a smaller giant rat-like creature beside them, is waiting at the top—which clearly leads to the grand front doors of the academy.

Even with the darkness obscuring the view, it's obvious that the academy is a repurposed castle. High stone walls with crenellations and littered towers, a main keep with a multitude of buildings surrounding the inner courtyard. And the most eye-catching of all, the shadowy draconic gargoyles that seem to cling and lurk upon every building.

It's impressive to say the least, certainly the most well-fortified building Marinette has ever stepped foot in her life. Impressive enough that it has her practically clawing to pull out a sketching journal and start creating. However, she's not stupid enough to do that within Lila's presence. No, that'd undoubtedly lead to honey-coated lies and being forced to listen to her prattle on about her wondrous skills and connections to the most prestigious fashion guild in the country.

Marinette startles as the stagecoach door is opened by a footman. She doesn't fuss as Lila exits first, followed by Adrien. As she steps outside last, she nods and smiles at the footman. Whispering as audibly as she can without the other two hearing, she adds, “thank you, sir.”

The footman simply glances at her attire and nods back stiffly.

In the time it's taken to all leave the stagecoach, the figure from the stairs has walked over—a woman with long blonde hair dressed in a casual black leather riding coat, and a not-dog following behind loyally. “Good evening, you must be the potential students from the town of Paris?”

Marinette hesitates for a second before nodding along with Adrien and Lila.

Lila takes a step forwards, towards the woman. “Yes, we are! I'm Lila Rossi.”

The woman nods slowly, “and the other two must be Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That's correct!” Adrien responds with a bright smile.

Marinette nods and makes an affirmative squeak instead.

“Great.” The woman says, clapping her hands. “I'm Dinah Lance and I'll be one of your instructors during your attendance here. And this,” She pauses to point to the weird giant not-rat with its yellow flecked greyish-brown fur, “is Drake, he's my Ichneumon. You'll learn all about Ichneumon and why they're used within the dragoon squadron during your time here, so don't worry if you've never heard or seen of them before.”

Drake makes a high pitched trill and takes a few steps forward, sniffing the air in front of the three of them. Before scampering in a circle around Dinah Lance.

She smiles fondly at Drake before continuing. “Unfortunately it's a little late to give you the tour of the grounds now, so we'll cover that tomorrow. Tonight we'll guide you to the dining hall for a late night's meal since it's been a long journey for you three or so I've heard, and you must be starving. Then we'll discuss the main details of your attendance, and afterwards, we will show you to the temporary rooms you will be staying in, to begin with. Any questions?”

Lila rocks on the heels of her boots before shaking her head, “no, we've got no questions!”

Adrien copies with a shake of his head too.

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, were you waiting out in the cold for us long? Will the tour teach us about the different places within the academy? Will it take long? What do you mean by the main details? Why are we staying in temporary rooms to begin with? When do our lessons start? Do we need to purchase any uniforms or schooling supplies? When will we meet our dragons? Questions bubbling in her mind like a kettle over the fire, but closes her mouth just as quickly, as she catches a glare from Lila out of the corner of her eye. With that, she also briefly and nervously shakes her head. “N–no, no questions here either, Mlle Lance.”

Internally, Marinette hopes that display is enough to tide over Lila's irritation for now.

Mlle Lance glances over the three of them, seeming to stare at Marinette a little longer than the other two. “Well then, since there are no questions, let us head to the dining hall. And don't worry about your belongings, the footman will bring them to your lodgings.”

“Oh, Mlle Lance, I'd–uh… I'd rather not hassle the staff here, I can manage bringing my belongings up on my own.” Marinette admits, wringing her hands slightly.

Mlle Lance shakes her head, “that's very polite of you but I'm afraid, as you'll be having dinner and we'll be discussing details, it'll be a little while before you head to your temporary rooms. So it'll be far easier on both you and the staff here, if you allow them to do their job.”

“Okay…” Marinette relents easily, trying to ignore Lila rolling her eyes at her.

“If there are no more further questions, then follow after me please, the academy can be rather labyrinthine for those unfamiliar with its halls.” Mlle Lance instructs, already turning around and walking back towards the great stone staircase, Drake on her heels.

———

The journey through the hallways and various anterooms of the academy takes far longer than Marinette could have anticipated. On more than one occasion, she ends up falling behind due to getting distracted by the sheer amount of luxury, art, and finery everywhere. Forcing her to frantically scurry after Mlle Lance, Lila, and Adrien—all three who seem completely at home and unperturbed or uninterested by the décor, unlike her.

By the time they reach the large and ornately carved wooden doors leading to the dining hall, Marinette is flushed bright red from the embarrassment of having fallen behind so many times.

The heavy doors creak loudly as they slowly swing open at Mlle Lance's push, revealing a large dining hall—far larger than any Marinette has seen—with seemingly hundreds of wooden tables and benches. Startlingly enough, there's a boy already seated at one of the nearer benches—eating away at a trencher of hunter's stew.

No Ichneumon in sight, Marinette notes, a fellow student perhaps?

“Good evening, Jason, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here at the moment.” Mlle Lance greeted, nodding her head to him.

Jason squints at Mlle Lance and hunches his shoulders defensively. “B said I could grab food from here whenever I wanted.”

Mlle Lance smiles, “and that's perfectly fine. These are new arrivals, so I was just hoping to let them have some dinner without the usual chaos before going over the main details they'll need to know about attending here.” She paused for a moment. “You don't have to stay and listen if you don't want to, since you've heard this spiel many times now. But equally, feel free to stay, I'm sure it'd be nice for you and the new arrivals to get to know each other before meeting the rest of the class tomorrow.”

Jason slowly eyes Lila, Adrien, and Marinette. He places an arm in front of his trencher. “Might as well stay then I guess.”

Mlle Lance nods at him again before guiding the three of them over to the back of the dining hall where the kitchen was connected to. A few cooks were tending to various meals and pots of hunter's stew, as well as prepping trenchers or cleaning wooden bowls, and wood or horn spoons.

Marinette is still half processing everything so receiving a trencher full of hunter's stew from the cooks barely registers in her mind. And next thing she knows, she is seated next to Lila on the end of the bench and table next to Jason, with Mlle Lance sitting opposite her, Lila, and Adrien. The other two have already started tucking into the food, so cautiously Marinette takes a few sips of the stew broth with a horn spoon.

Mlle Lance clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. “Let's start with what you three already know regarding the dragoon squadrons and this academy.”

Pausing in his eating, Adrien grins. “This is the longest standing dragoon academy, and we'll be taught everything from dragon history, to the language of the dragons, to what is known of Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army!”

“And,” Lila pipes up, “we'll pick our dragons that we'll train alongside and eventually become fully-fledged Dragoon Guardians with.”

Jason snorts, “sorry to break it you two but this isn't some fucking fairytale.”

Before Lila or Adrien could respond, Mlle Lance cleared her throat. “Right well firstly, Dragoon Guardians is somewhat of an archaic term I'm afraid. But you're not too far off with what you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason pretends to be suddenly interested in his trencher of stew.

Though, Marinette does catch him briefly glancing up at her with a curious but also disbelieving look in his eyes. She can't help but instinctively curl her shoulders in and make herself as small as possible.

“And Marinette, what do you know about the academy?” Mlle Lance adds.

Marinette hesitates, trembling slightly and licks her lips. “Uh, well I know roughly the same as Lila and Adrien, so nothing that hasn't been said already…”

She catches Jason squinting at her, and she curls up even more.

Mlle Lance nods thoughtfully, “to start with, Adrien, you are correct in that this is the longest standing dragoon academy. You're also correct that we teach our students dragon history—including the history of the dragoons—as well as teaching the language of the dragon. We also do teach regarding Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army. However, that will be taught across multiple different subjects as it isn't quite as simple as it may currently seem to you.”

Adrien beams at having been mostly correct. “My father hoped I would be chosen to attend a dragoon academy so he made sure I was taught a general overview.”

“And that's more than most know to begin with, so well done.” Mlle Lance praises, before continuing. “However, Lila, here students do not pick their dragons. The process of meeting the dragon who will be raised and trained beside you, is not what most people think of when they first hear about dragoon human and dragon pairs meeting.”

Lila's lips twitch downwards in dissatisfaction and narrows her eyes slightly at Mlle Lance.

Before anything else can be said, Mlle Lance furrows her brows, “one moment students, a matter has just arisen that I need to quickly take care of.”

With that, she rises from the bench and strides out of the dining hall, shutting the door behind her as she exits.

As soon as the door shuts, Jason, with a concerned look on his face, gets up as well and walks the few steps over to Marinette's bench. Quietly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Marinette swallows a breath of air thickly, and still visibly trembling, laughs nervously. “W-well I'm a little over-overwhelmed, I suppose… What with every—”

Only to slam her mouth shut as Lila wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to her side.

“She's fine thank you,” Lila coos, “just not used to all the displays of wealth in the castle, here, isn't that right, Marinette.”

Marinette pales, eyes widening with panic and frantically nods her head. “Y-yep!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at Lila, unable to keep the slight sneer off his face as he turns ever so slightly to stare at her, “and you are?”

Lila perks up at his attention, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. “Didn't you hear Mlle Lance there, I'm Lila.” She smiles cloyingly at him and flutters her eyelashes. “I'm the daughter of a very important diplomat and one of my ancestors was an incredibly powerful Dragoon Guardian.”

Jason snorts, and rolls his eyes once more. “Right. Whatever.” He turns his attention back to Marinette and gives her a sharp nod. “What shit has the rich brat got hanging over your head?”

It clearly takes all of Lila's self-control to not immediately switch from her faux sweetness to fury. Her smile turns wooden and her gaze sharpens at Jason. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused,” Jason responds smugly.

“W-what do you mean?” Marinette asks, struggling to process the conversation after the slight cannonball that Jason just casually asked her.

He tilts his head at her, not unlike a bird. “She looks, sounds, and acts exactly like the kinda rich bastards that hold shit above kids who aren't rich, and you're clearly fucking petrified of her. So is she blackmailing you or something?”

Marinette mouths yes at him whilst shaking her head.

Jason raises an eyebrow at her for a second before shrugging with one shoulder, “alright.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his table and bench where his trencher of stew is waiting.

Lila gapes at him.

Adrien rises from his seat and stares at Jason, flabbergasted. “Aren't you going to apologise to Lila, now? You were wrong.”

Lifting his chin, Jason gives Adrien an unimpressed look then flips the bird at him. A few seconds pass before he shrugs and makes a non-committal noise of disinterest, then he starts spooning stew into his mouth.

Lila huffs and scowls at Jason. She turns to glare at Marinette, faux concern practically dripping from her words despite the evident fury on her face. “You should avoid him from now on, wouldn't want the teachers to think you're a delinquent and get kicked out before you even get to meet your dragon.”

Marinette nods slowly and keeps her attention very carefully on her food.

Her patience is rewarded as a few dozen seconds later, Lila loses interest in her and starts eating her trencher of stew whilst starting a new conversation with just Adrien.

Taking her chances, Marinette sneaks a glance up at Jason with a small smile on her lips.

To her surprise, he also happens to be looking over at her. He flashes her a cheeky grin, winks, before going back to eating.

Maybe, she muses to herself as her grin turns giddy, I was wrong about the academy not being my fresh start. Because this definitely feels like a fresh start now, it almost feels like I'm in a fairytale.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| The dragon riders are called Dragoons in reference to the mounted cavalry called Dragoons who used guns/firearms known as Dragons hence the name. And so I decided it only makes sense for these dragon riders to also be called Dragoons. Armée volante means flying army and was what the historical dragoons were sometimes known as, because of how mobile they were. |

| Ichneumon, also known as Echinemon in Medieval Zoology are enemies of dragons (and snakes and crocodiles in some accounts) and defeated them by covering themselves in armour made from mud before attacking. They are also one the only creatures (the other being weasels) that are immune to the Cockatrices' petrifying sight. |

| Fun fact: Trenchers are flat round (often stale) bread "plates" used during the medieval era. They are cut in half and sometimes the fluffy bread innards are scooped out (like pumpkins) so that the loaf's crust forms a bowl instead. Usually the bowls are used to hold stews or soups, though they were also used for non-liquid based food (which is why they later evolved into our modern day plates and cheese boards). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #21: Sea of time

Words: ca. 6,000 Setting: post-canon/mAU Lemon: No CW: Angst, tragedy, MCD, drowning

-ooo-

1844

“So you’re leaving…”

There was a certain calmness around the great stones that marked the Forest’s entrance. There was a great sense of longing in the sight of the falling leaves that swirled around their feet, and great beauty in the silvery locks of hair that framed her sister’s delicate face.

“I’m not. I’m staying here.” Elsa’s smile was fake, of course. Anna could see it, the broken thread between her words and her feelings. “There is a difference.”

“Will you at least tell me why…?” She pleaded, even if the rest of her didn’t budge. She kept her arms crossed, her posture strong and defiant. Did she expect her to just bid her farewell?

Her sister’s brow creased.

“You know why…”

Enough, Anna thought. Enough of the shy stares. Enough of the guilt, enough of the imagined barriers between both; without warning, she closed the distance, grabbing Elsa by her shoulders. The young Queen stared deeply at those blue orbs, wide-opened.

“Then stay.” She half-demanded, half-asked.

Firmly, the blonde took her hands in her own, pushing her away.

“It can’t be.” The treasonous smile resurfaced, renewing the growing ache in Anna’s chest. Was this it, then? How their budding love ended: a few words, and a last goodbye? She wanted to shake her head, to hug her and kiss her and convince her it was worth it but she knew it futile; they had been down this path before, and only heartache had come.

“If I stay…” A pale thumb caressed her cheek, and Anna leaned into the touch. “If I stay… we would end up falling deeper…”

Anna hung her head, but refused to let her tears fall. Over the few years that followed their return, Fate’s turns had shown their cruelty, for her heart’s calling lay always in reach, yet unreachable all the same. She had been ready to leave everything behind: her husband, her life and everyone she knew, if only Elsa had agreed, but she hadn’t. Duty came first: hers, as the ruler of her people, and Elsa’s, as the Fifth Spirit.

“Just once…” Anna uttered, her hands bravely cupping her sister’s perfect jaw. “Say it out loud.”

Elsa’s mask finally broke. It all rushed into her gaze, into the contours of her eyes and the sudden tightness of her gestures.

She didn’t say it; instead, she kissed Anna’s lips gently, only once, a small glimpse of what could’ve been, had they been born in other circumstances, in other lives. An instant suspended in time, made of untold confessions and love never-shared. Anna could taste her own tears, and a whimpering sob finally pulled them apart. Elsa turned away, wiping her cheeks.

Before she returned to the Forest, Elsa looked back, and that memory would forever haunt Anna’s dreams.

Five years later, the letter came.

-ooo-

1848

She had raced towards the Enchanted Forest through the cold rains, forcing her mount to sprint through the days-long journey. Her hammering heart urged her. She had to arrive in time. With Gale’s help – showing her the shortest path through the mountains – she managed to reach the main camp of the Northuldra just before twilight broke.

—

Dear Anna:

I know it’s been a while since my last letter. I had hoped to talk to you in person, to explain the things that will happen, but I don’t think it would be a good idea anymore.

There is one thing, a single thing I have kept from you over the last years. Ahtohallan’s truth…

—

Yelana, her golden eyes wide as platers, came to greet her. She looked at her up and down, making Anna picture herself, with her clothes wet and muddy and her hair disheveled and roughed. Nevertheless, she couldn’t waste time; she just bluntly asked for a boat and some food, which they gave her, even if she refused to explain. She couldn’t stop, not knowing how much time she had left. She sailed up the river, the one that, according to the Northuldra’s tradition, fed from Ahtohallan’s heart itself, its flow restored by her and Elsa’s efforts after her grandfather’s heinous betrayal.

—

It all comes at a price. Once I took Ahtohallan’s soul within me, once I became one with its essence… it gave me more than I could’ve ever imagined. After four years, I can feel it, see it. My body won’t change. Now I live outside of time’s flow. It is the spirit’s greatest gift, but one I cannot accept.

I’m sorry, but I can’t stand this feeling, knowing… knowing you will die someday, and that I’ll have to live on without you. Knowing I’ll live on, a thousand lifetimes, without the chance of seeing you again.

That’s why I must reject the gift, and the only way to do it… is to give it to you.

I’m giving you everything that I am. There are no words that can make up for what I’ll do, but I certainly hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, in time. I understand the injustice, the unfairness of what I’m doing, but you’ve always been stronger than me. I trust you, and I know you will take care of the river’s soul.

Only thing I can promise you, with the certainty of the heart, is that by offering my soul to Ahtohallan, we will meet again. I’m sorry I didn’t say those words the last time we saw each other, but I promise I will, someday. Our bond won’t die; we’re bound to one another, in this life… or the next.

I have never been good with goodbyes. Till we meet again… Yours always.

Elsa.

—

The biting winds carried the taste of salt water, and their sharp cold warned her: she was not welcomed here. No one was. The Black Sea raged, its turbulent waters splashing loudly against the rocky beach as Anna prepared, taking off the looped rope crossed over her chest. She dragged her boat all the way down the cliff to the waves’ edge.

Exhausted, Anna now stood alone at the dark beach, pulling against the boat’s ropes, tightening the lone sail as hard as she could, even through her hurting palms. She worked hard and fast, making sure the knots were strong enough, driven by the desperation that threatened to spill at any moment; yet, she kept it all inside, for despair wouldn’t do her any good now. Only one thing mattered: to reach Ahtohallan in time.

Gale whistled and circled her, and when she tried to jump into the boat, the spirit pushed her back gently.

“I won’t stop. I have to find her before…” Anna choked the last words. The wind’s spirit whined, and she felt the soft breeze pushing again, trying to communicate with her.

“I have to. Help me, please.”

The spirit’s dance slowed around her, but after a brief instant, it complied. Exhaling heavily, Anna prepared herself, stepping into the small boat while begging to whatever deity would hear her. Let me be on time to stop her…

Once Gale pushed hard against the sail, the boat swayed violently from side to side as it began to brave the angry waves. Cold water splashed against her, and in an instant, the redhead was already soaked, a crippling chill taking hold of her limbs. Fighting against her chattering teeth and the growing fear on her chest, she hung on to the mast as the relentless tides bashed against her vessel; twice it almost tipped, and twice the wind spirit barely saved her.

The sea roared, each crashing wave deafening, and water spilled into the boat a plenty. The darkened skies occasionally thundered, and during one of those brief glimpses of light, her eyes widened. As the upcoming wave rose in front of her – tall as a tower – her mind blanked, terror’s white frost squeezing her heart. Anna cried out for Gale, but she only felt the rumbling of her throat, her voice lost against the storm.

She only had an instant to brace herself as her boat flung into the air.

There was a brief moment of weightlessness before her back hit the freezing waters, knocking the air out of her lungs. She spun, the cold pushing against her from every direction; her nose and mouth stung as water entered her mouth.

An unbearable pressure rang on her ears as she slowly sank. A piercing ache took hold of her limbs and chest as Anna tried to swim upwards, but her strength had already vanished. Her final, panicked thoughts, strung together by the barest of threads, echoed inside her, but silence quickly followed.

She had failed.

Her body jerked; burning pain filled her lungs, and the need for air overwrote any other instinct, driving her mad. She attempted one last, defiant push with her cramped legs, but her last effort proved futile. Her own weight dragged her deeper into the uncaring darkness.

Through the pulsing silence of the last beats of her heart, she felt it, growing: a white, soothing feeling, spreading all throughout her body, radiating in waves. For the briefest of instants, she wondered… if that was what dying felt like. Her body spasmed again, and Anna closed her eyes, finally surrendering to the glacial waters.

…

The feeling remained. Warmth continued spreading, repelling the cold that surrounded her.

Then, it sparked inside her. An ancient presence, a fractal made from a thousand voices, echoing in her very soul. A gentle call, a connection being made… The voice cradled her, urging her at the same time…

Anna…

Teal eyes shot open. Her heart thumped; her pulse grew stronger. The cold had receded, leaving only a tingling numbness on her skin. She grew warmer, and as the pain vanished, her thought’s rekindled in a burst of emotion and clarity.

It was there, at hand’s reach, having lain dormant her whole life. For the first time, she could grasp it: a freeing bond, a blossoming certainty. She drew strength from its depths, reaching her hand upwards and calling on its ancient power, as naturally as if she had done it her whole life, for she wasn’t surprised when the elements answered her call. A small current swirled at the tip of her index, then around her extended arm only to continue descending, whirling around her body. It felt as if meeting an old, forgotten friend anew, and it told her, assured her: the Black Sea would not be her tomb.

The current carried her upwards, and Anna broke the sea’s surface, gasping for air desperately, breathing in the harsh, salty winds. She only had a few seconds of respite before she ducked again, avoiding the upcoming waves. Anna resurfaced and gasped again, slowly but surely regaining her wits. Once she recovered a bit of breath she used Gale’s full might, splashing out the water, sliding and ducking over the dark waters in a frenzy of movement, leaving a ripple trail behind her. Soon, the sea’s rage settled as she reached the first small glaciers.

Soon, she saw them for the first time, Ahtohallan’s entrance, even though it felt as if she had seen them before. With one last push, she stumbled upon its shore.

She slowly walked up the frozen beach; her soaked clothes weighed her down heavily. A few steps away from the entrance, Anna collapsed onto the ground. Under the watchful, ancient presence of the white cliffs, her fist slammed against the hard, white surface as she shut her eyes tight, trying to tame the wild, growing pain that threatened to swallow her whole.

She knew it.

She knew what had happened the moment she felt the spirits awaken within; lingering at her mind’s edges was Ahtohallan’s voice, its quiet flow coursing through her. If she fully embodied the Fifth spirit now…

A grey storm clouded her tired thoughts, but Ahtohallan called for her; its soft, familiar voice resonated just ahead, hidden underneath its great ice walls. Fighting against her growing grief, Anna got up, determined to see her journey to the bitter end, even if she had failed already.

—

She found her deep into Ahtohallan’s cavernous heart.

Anna passed through mesmerizing halls of memory, made of ice so pure they reflected the edges of her mind. Her past was mirrored underneath the frozen surface; her happy childhood, her strained, lonely teenage years… it all appeared like a mosaic, each corner of the gleaming ice containing another piece of her life. And all of them revolved around Elsa. Her sweet sister, the cornerstone of her life. She saw her everywhere she looked: she saw them both as children, fumbling around in the snow; their nights together, their silly adventures and their make-believe playing, Anna a shining knight, Elsa a beautiful princess.

Elsa at her coronation. Elsa at her ice castle, clad in her blue, sparkling dress. Elsa after she came back from Ahtohallan, glowing like never before, finally free.

Aided by the wind’s grace she now wielded, she kept going, descending deeper into the river’s core, sliding down its irregular, shining hallways.

Finally, she reached her, sitting with her back turned and her legs crossed at the center of a great chamber of glass and snow. Underneath her, a great fractal had formed on the ice’s surface, an intricate four-pointed pattern that reached the walls and rose until it reached the dark ceiling. The river’s voice sang, its sound coming not from the hall but from inside her. The call was soothing, gentle, like a mother’s lullaby, preparing her.

Anna stepped closer, suddenly conscious of her beating heart. She knelt in front of Elsa, but her eyes and head fell to the ground, unable to keep her gaze steady. Even if she tried to contain them, her sobs and small whimpers began to weakly echo in the lone chamber.

Her sister’s expression was calm and pure, with only the ghost of a smile – filled with melancholy – captured in the frozen surface of her face. Her body lay still; every inch exactly the same as it had been before, yet undeniable different, lifeless and cold.

“Why…” Anna uttered, the tears finally falling, each one a frozen droplet by the time they reached the ground. With a trembling hand, she touched Elsa’s cheek, but the hardness under her fingertips shattered whatever hope she had left. Even with her powers, in life, her sister had always been warm, always bright and lively in her own, reserved way.

Now, Elsa’s eyes – cold and unmoving – stared at nothingness.

Anna hugged her frozen figure and wept, wishing for a miracle, begging to Ahtohallan’s spirit to bring her back. The river’s song wavered, it’s great, ancient voice murmuring its farewell, a slow lament that merged with her desperate cries.

This time, no act of true love could save them.

—

It did not get easier as the years passed.

Time’s flow never stopped, withering everything in its path. It all changed and morphed under its heavy, unavoidable touch: the people she loved, the shape and customs of her kingdom as she looked from the sidelines. It took her quite a while to arrange the means of her succession. Unable to bear an heir, unable to tell Kristoff the truth, she separated from him a few years into her reign; as it became more and more evident how fruitless were her efforts to mask her youth, she pushed for reform, abolishing the monarchy, entrusting her people’s future into their own hands.

Once done, she vanished from public life, retreating into herself. The small life in the countryside brought her no peace. The world’s beauty, its color and warm, had lost its glow. No joy remained. Only the inexorable passing of days, the slow crawling of years that soon became barren decades.

In the worst of times, bitterness waged war in her heart, tearing her apart. In the wake of her lonesome, grey days, she had wanted to hate Elsa; to despise her for cursing her with her own fate… but the feeling was passing as the stations, for she could never deny the deeper truth: a lasting, final act of love. Yet, the sorrow remained; forced to watch from afar, one by one, every thread of her former life fell under time’s cruel, unforgiving weight.

After Kristoff’s passing – the last bond to her fading world – she bid the kingdom farewell from the stern of the ship that would take her to the continental grounds. Hidden under her cloak, Anna peered one last time at Arendelle’s fjord, taking in the proud profile of the castle against the clear blue skies. It had already been a whole lifetime since anyone had lived there.

-ooo-

1966

Anna… The voice whispered.

She ached. She knew that voice. How could she ever forget?

A great rift of turbulent mists – dark as ink – separated them. The fabric of reality felt feeble around her, as if the simplest of gestures could gash and rip it apart.  If only she could reach out… would the world crumble?

Her voice cried, hollered, but it wasn’t enough. Words could not pierce the veil.

No matter her efforts, her essence escaped each time, and yet…

“Señorita.”

Each time, it became a little bit clearer. Her heart spun wildly as the mists began to part; just as she caught a glimpse of silver… was she waiting for her…?

“Señorita.”

…

Anna’s eyes opened wide, blinking away the drowsiness and the sun’s glare before looking around.

A toothy grin and a pair of bright brown eyes looked up at her, small hands holding up a worker’s cap. At the center of the plaza, she could see an old couple singing and playing in a deep, rumbling voice, circled by tourists and passerby’s, their clear words mixing with the shouts of vendors and another half a dozen musicians spread around, most of them sitting under the trees’ shade.

The redhead smiled kindly at the girl, taking a handful of coins from her pocket and dropping them in the cap. The child’s smile widened.

“¡Muchas gracias!” the girl cheered before running to the next table, repeating the gesture on another unsuspecting spectator.

Yawning, Anna got up her chair, grabbing her purse and jacket, quickly mounting up her bicycle. As every Sunday, the Alameda bustled with life and noise under the heavy Spanish’s sun. With ease, she scurried away in between the tourists and the townsfolk, quickly traversing the narrow cobble streets – with its rows of yellow and white houses, all squeezed together – until she reached the tall seawall, from where she gazed upon the Mediterranean, the capricious, old sea greeting her as usual with its salty breeze and its blinding shine. From the beach came adrift the mellow sound of melodies and laughter as people splashed and swam into the clear waters.

Her hair – cut short because of the summer’s heat – flew freely as she pedaled, following the coastal road that led north, away from Valencia. After a few minutes, she abandoned it, venturing into the dry slopes that preceded the soft hills ahead; a few miles up the dirt track the first few houses emerged from behind rows of fruit trees and wooden fences. The small village had fallen in the deep slumber of the siesta hour; only the wind chimes and the occasional barks poked the silence.

She made her way to the wooden door of a small store, unrecognizable as such unless you knew beforehand; a bell rang softly as she entered. It was a humble place, with rows of wooden planks that served as shelfs, with a variety of fresh fruits and cans precariously stacked over them. In the background, she could hear the monotonous droning of an old radio.

She quickly gathered the few groceries she needed, stopping in consideration in front of the small wine rack that stood in one of the corners. Shrugging to herself, she took one. After the first decades of her travels, she had to admit she had grown a soft spot for the Valencian wines; not even the French ones could compare to its sweetness and texture.

The slow whine of another door broke the evening’s silence, followed by heavy footsteps.

“Oh, ¡Anita querida!” A clear voice called. “Lo juro, os veo igualita que el día que te conocí.”  (Little Anna, dear! I swear, you look the exact same as the day I met you.)

“Carmelita,” Anna turned to greet her, “¿Cómo os encontráis?”  (How are you?)

She walked towards the room’s other end and began to put her groceries on the counter, and she received a gentle pat on her hand and a full smile back after she handed the woman a couple dozen pesetas.

“Como siempre, hija. No puedo quejarme…” (As always, daughter. I can’t complain…) Old, grey eyes glanced at the framed portraits on the wall next to her. The picture captured three men, grinning from ear to ear, the two youngest wearing peasant wool shirts and suspenders, both with rifles on their hands. The eldest in the middle, don Gustavo – short-haired as well as short in stature – she had met almost a decade earlier, Carmela’s late husband.

Both her sons, lost in the aftermath of the civil war. A broken family, like countless others; the aftermath of a failed dream.

“Que rápido se va la vida…” (How fast life goes by…) Carmela muttered, her smile showing the melancholy of better times long gone.

Anna looked back at the old lady. The woman’s brown hair had greyed over the last years; her posture had hunched, and her body, bit by bit, had begun to give up: the long creases around her eyes attested to that. Yet, her energy remained, the joviality of a hard-working, plentiful life by the Mediterranean’s side.

Off in the distance, the church’s bells tolled, calling for the evening mass. The lady sighed.

“Voy a cerrar, querida. ¿Necesitáis algo más?” (I’m about to close, darling. Do you need anything else?) Carmela asked, jingling her keys as she circled the counter. Anna shook her head, taking in her groceries and saying her goodbyes, both of them exiting the store.

She mounted up again, pedaling up the dirt street until she cleared the last of the buildings, and after a couple more minutes, she finally arrived home.

Her house – a small, one-bedroom chalet – overlooked the sea from the hillside. All around the path were long trims of dry bushes and yellow brooms; the sound of gravel followed her every step until she reached the door.

No one came to greet her.

Once inside, she stored her groceries and sat down on her sofa, pouring herself a small glass of wine. The sunset had begun its farewell, the reddening light sneaking in from every window. Decorating the southern wall of her living room hung a handful of paintings. The most important one – center to them all – was a faithful recreation of her sister’s likeness.

She had lost Elsa’s pocket portrait – as most of her belongings – in the chaos that followed the beginning of the Great War as she fled Vienna. To her, it didn’t really matter: hers was the face she would never forget, so she painted her from memory, every detail deeply rooted in her memory’s chambers. Her image remained alive, and Anna clung to it. Every remembrance from her long, eventful life had remained clear as water, thanks to Ahtohallan’s spirit, living inside her.

She had wanted to leave bleeding, crushed Europe and the horrors of its endless wars and industrial wastes; of its growing cities and its growing crowds. After two decades living near Marseille, she crossed the Spanish frontier through the Pyrenees during the early 30’s, only to have the nightmares follow her. Caught in the changing winds of the civil war, as a foreigner she had fled the north of Spain – quickly fallen under fascist hands – and slowly made her way south, spending the bulk of the war trying to help as many people as she could in the long stretches of no-man’s land that formed in between each side.

In this new world, there was no place for magic, and after three years, it became clear the Republic would fall, and so she continued to move, most of the time forced to travel light.

Painting helped her, to record some of the places she had visited over the years that followed the century’s beginning.

As she looked at the various canvases, she went back to her first years in France, during the time she spent in Marseille, where she had learned how to paint.

“Who’s her?” her instructor had asked the last evening of their course, pointing to her finished portrait. Even through her courteous tone, her posture betrayed the flirty nature of her question as the tall woman leaned forward, her curious, green eyes going back and forth in between her own and the painting.

She had only managed a weak smile.

“My love…” she had said, hoping her dejection was subtle enough. Her instructor had nodded once and left, her soft smile vanished.

After that brief exchange, Anna had wondered…

Perhaps – the thought wormed its way recurrently during her lonely nights – she could give herself a chance… perhaps it was time, to be with someone again… Nonetheless, she didn’t. What else would it bring, if not heartbreak? Most of the time, she convinced herself of that.

The rest of her small paintings depicted places she had visited: the twisting alleyways of Turin, the sorrowful streets of Paris and the rich meadows of southern France. The only places that had managed to brighten her days, even if only for a while. There had been so much beauty hidden in the simplest of places, and still… nothing could mend her heart.

The truth was, she still waited.

Outside, the grasshoppers and the wild birds began their solemn, rhythmic song. Night’s mantle fell around the hills, the last tint of orange in the sky turning into the deep violet of the late dusk.

Anna sighed, pinching her nose while reclining her head over the top of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

Carmelita’s comment had been a grim reminder. She had perhaps three or four more years before she had to move again. A new surname, a new life. Over the last summers, she had been considering the possibility of going beyond the great plains and cordilleras of the Spanish soil: to visit Marruecos and perhaps even Tripoli, to dive deeper into the great world. She even had thought of going back to her birthplace, to reach out into the rich tapestry of Arendelle’s history and reconnect with her roots, to see her old home one more time…

For over a century now, she had been a pilgrim of the world, a person without roots nor a past. In this new world, she was no longer Anna of Arendelle; could never be, again, same as her heart, never whole.

Now, she was only Anna, her name pronounced uniquely and differently in every new nation she had visited.

She had wandered far. She had taken hobbies, learned new languages, all for her own sanity’s sake, yet she never settled. She couldn’t, for she still waited.

She would wait whole centuries for her.

-ooo-

1968

Her cerulean eyes hadn’t lost their lively glimmer. They gazed at her, two bright stars underneath the still waters. The black skies reflected on the endless sea; the depths mirrored the world below, and the calm surface separated both their worlds.

It torn her asunder, to feel her, see her so close… and so impossibly far.

Anna swam, and as she got deeper, the sea’s surface grew closer. She was underwater; and yet, she floated above the endless sea. Two halves of a broken whole, separated by the thinnest of lines; the stars shone above, and they sparkled in the depths of the other side as well. She looked down – or up, she couldn’t tell – and she extended her arm.

Elsa smiled, and their bodies came closer.

The faint echo of her voice reached her as the tip of their fingers broke the surface.

…

Slowly, Anna sat on her bed. Wide-awake, she looked out the window. The fading darkness of the early morning had yet to leave the hills and the twig trees outside, the world submerged in the deep slumber that preceded the sunrise; a fragile peace meant not to last, but to soothe an old soul.

An irrevocable certainty had been born that day.

As surely as the sun would rise over the mountain’s top in a few minutes, she sensed it. The river’s voice, its call, renewed, whole again, and its ancient flow – alive inside her – spoke of what she had longed for, all this time…

She clutched her chest, sighing brokenly, for the river’s soul had delivered, finally; inside her chest, she felt the beating of two hearts, her own and another, somewhere in the world. It was, as with everything pertaining fate, just a matter of time before she found her.

—

During the first dim hours of the morning, before she had to leave for work – teaching painting and French back in a small college in Valencia –, she rode down to the coast. The small, lonesome beach was isolated from view: a small haven that not even the villagers used too often. In there, even the crashing of the waves was quiet, even shy.

Taking off her shoes, she walked barefoot until she reached the waves’ edge, careful to keep her gig bag dry as she settled. A cold breeze – not yet warmed by the sun’s light – passed every now and then.

Sitting on the warm sand, she stroke the guitar’s strings, testing them and tuning the instrument a few times before she played the first chords; her now calloused fingertips didn’t hurt anymore, and her hand moved along the guitar’s neck, striking each note with precision.

After a few minutes of practice, she began to intone a simple song she had composed for her, her mournful voice drifting at the winds’ mercy.

Alma mia… / Soul of mine ¿A donde has ido? / Where have you gone? Oh, alma mia… / Oh, soul of mine ¿Dónde te podre encontrar? /Where can I find you?

Notas carmesíes, ensayo sin fin / Crimson notes, endless try Esperando que mi voz / Hoping that my voice Pueda llegar hasta ti / Can reach you at last

Anna gazed into the Mediterranean, exhaling heavily as she let go for just a moment. Around her, the sand and the wind began to move, tiny spirals forming around as a strong gale circled her, dancing happily for a few minutes in unison to the notes before Anna loosened her grasp on the elements, returning them to their slumber.

Playing the final chords, she sang again.

Notas de otoño, testigos de esta condena / Autumn’s notes, witnesses to this sentence ¿Dónde te podre encontrar? / Where can I find you? Oh, alma mía, responde / Oh, soul of mine, answer me Antes de que llegue la tempestad… / Before the storm arrives

-ooo-

1987

Closer to winter, Castilla’s gales barreled down on the outer ring of Madrid, lifting and sweeping around the leaves that covered and sneaked around its every corner. In the streets, long gone were the scars of the war, but the memory of their struggle remained, in the shape of their monuments, and in the eyes of its aging, but gentle people. Skyscrapers and tall buildings now dominated the horizon, but the city’s old heart – in its cathedrals and its humble neighborhoods – remained alive, its stout charm mixing perfectly with the fall’s sadness.

As Anna stood in the middle of the shedding trees of the park, her mind travelled far, going back to a life that now seemed foreign. It had been the first one of many, but it was the one she cherished the most. The last time she had seen her, it had been autumn as well.

During the last months, she had heard the call grow stronger, guiding her. She had followed it, and now the voice had quieted at last, having delivered her. After all – she thought shakily as she gazed ahead – their souls were bonded, and not even time could shatter their link.

Only a few steps separated them, but each one felt decades-long. She braved them, walking forward.

She sat on a stone bench, looking straight at her, as if she knew Anna was coming. Perhaps she did, the redhead wondered. Long platinum locks swayed in the breeze, and her expression was gentle, welcoming. The young woman stood up, closing the remaining distance between them.

The winds picked up, and Anna couldn’t tell if it was her doing.

What if this was all a feverish dream? But the coldness in the air, her drumming heart were real. They had to be, she hoped.

“Elsa…” She muttered.

The woman’s lips turned into a small, regal smile, and Anna’s heart ached.

“Casi,” she corrected her, “me llamo Elisa.” (Almost. My name’s Elisa.)

As she looked at Elsa, it dawned on her. Of course there would be differences. Nothing could stay the same. The tone of her eyes was darker, more close to indigo than her previous crystal-blue one. Her skin was tanned and not so pale, and for the first time, Anna was the taller of the two. Those were details of a life she knew nothing about, a whole side of Elsa that she couldn’t wait to discover. She was no longer her sister, and yet she was the same. She was no longer her Elsa, and yet, she was.

A confident hand rose and gently caressed her cheek, making Anna’s breath hitch. The touch felt familiar, so painfully intimate. That moment – full of the shifting tones of autumn, framed by the falling leaves and the dying sun – it did not feel unreal nor dreamlike. It felt as if the world was about to shift whole under her feet.

How long had she longed for this very instant?

“Te he visto antes, en mis sueños… no puedo creer que seas real…” The young woman uttered, her keen, blue eyes studying her. (I have seen you before, in my dreams… I can’t believe you’re real…)

“Te he esperado…” (I have waited for you…) Anna began, barely able to force the words past the tightness on her throat.

“Lo se…” The blonde said. “No tengo idea cómo, pero lo se…” (I know… I have no idea how, but I know.)

Anna’s arms rose, opening invitingly. Elisa leaned forward, her arms circling the redhead’s hips as Anna’s clutched the back of the woman’s long coat.

“Ana…” She whispered, nuzzling into the crook of Anna’s neck.

Finally, it all fell into place. Every instant, every waking moment had led them here.

“Lo siento tanto…” (I’m so sorry…) Elisa said, the roughness of her voice betraying her falling tears. The redhead shook her head and chuckled, sniffling loudly, never wanting to let go. Anna buried her head in her hair, re-acquainting herself with the feeling of her smell, of her terse skin and her shuddering breath.

Their hug tightened. Their embrace spoke from an era long gone, of a kept promise, through the inevitable marching of a dozen generations, through a sea of time. In her heart of hearts, Anna knew: how it would all end.

It didn’t matter, she realized.

They now had a whole, new lifetime together, and even if in the grand scheme of things, it would be brief as a star’s blink, it was theirs alone.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Something undefinable

(During the 73rd Hunger Games, the Training Center goes into lockdown. Haymitch and Effie, on the verge of a relationship, get stuck together in the penthouse. ❤️💥☀️ — Cinna’s presence in this fic is off-canon, but I adore him so much I just want more of him, you know.)

***

Effie limped from the elevator to the penthouse, regretting her decision to break in a new pair of shoes on day 1 of the Games. The boy from 12 had died quickly, but the girl survived 10 hours before being killed. Effie’s hopes for a victor were dashed. Then there was the press to contend with. She highlighted what she could of the accomplishments of her tributes and conveyed gratitude to the sponsors that she and Haymitch had garnered for the girl. Their support gave her more time in the arena but ultimately didn’t change her fate.

It was a long day to be stuck in uncomfortable footwear.

Even though the sun was setting and her tributes were dead, Effie’s day wasn’t over. As long as deals were being made, she wanted to witness the action and show a favorable presence. How else would she hope to secure an escort position in an inlying district? Not likely with a win from 12, since in 73 years that had only happened twice.

The doors to the penthouse opened, and she hobbled into the living room where Haymitch was sitting side-by-side with the bar cart. His coat, vest, and tie were lying in a pile on the rug. A few buttons of his shirt were unfastened, as were his cuffs. He rolled his sleeves up and opened a bottle of liquor, having already finished the dregs of a first.

“I had to talk to the press alone thanks to YOU, Haymitch!” She chastised him as she eased onto the sofa. The shoes cut into her heels, and she bit her lip to stifle a grimace.

“When the kids stop being alive, my mentor job is done. If you wanna talk to the press, then fine. Those kids will still be just as dead when you’re through.”

Effie winced at the truth and winced again as she unstrapped her shoes and worked them off her feet. The shoes fell to the rug, and she rubbed her strained muscles and tender skin through her stockings.

As amused as Haymitch was with facets of Effie’s vanity, he didn’t like seeing her in pain. “Are you okay?”

She let go of her feet and sat up as if posture alone could keep up a facade. Sometimes it worked, but not today. “It’s just... I’ll be...” Her expression shifted to tears as she shook her head ‘no.’

Haymitch was quite comfortable in his chair, with his feet up on a cluster of coffee tables and a bottle of gin in his hands. He’d planned to drink there until he fell asleep. If Effie had been having a breakdown NEAR him, then he might not have had to move. But, damn it; this girl, who he liked now much more than he didn’t, was at the FAR end of a long couch, and she was failing at trying not to cry.

He rose slowly from the chair, bringing the bottle with him. He sauntered along the curve of the sofa and sat on the coffee table in front of Effie. Setting the gin beside him, he drew her feet onto his lap.

She leaned back against the couch cushions as he worked his thumbs over her stockings. “What are you doing?” she questioned.

“Today sucked, honey. I’m trying to help you feel less like shit.”

She brushed her knuckles along her face to clear the tears, then closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his hands on her. Long turquoise eyelashes pressed to her cheeks. “I can’t stay,” she said unconvincingly. “I’m changing shoes, then going back down.”

“It’s over.”

“Not for everyone. If I make connections, I may eventually be able to escort tributes with better odds in their favor.”

Haymitch paused, then kept massaging. “In a different district.”

She looked at him. “I didn’t expect to get so attached to the children. Then they keep dying, and... I...”

“What? Grew a conscience?”

“Haymitch! That’s not fair. I’ve always known what’s expected; I just didn’t expect the way I’d feel about the same outcome over and over again.”

An alarm sounded, and the doors bolted shut. Effie sat upright, and he let go of her feet.

“Lockdown,” he said casually.

“Of course it’s a lockdown! And if I was downstairs, then I’d know what was happening!” Effie hurried on tender feet to the doors. As she approached, the sensor didn’t trigger them to open.

Haymitch watched her try unsuccessfully to force them. “Or if you were downstairs, then you might be on the periphery of peacekeeper bullets.”

The last lockdown of the Training Center during the Games happened after malfunctioning sensors in a tribute’s clothing rapidly overheated, and he spontaneously combusted on live feed. Snow requested a meeting with the stylist. She fled, then hid in the building when peacekeepers blocked the exits. They had to search for her room by room. Nobody saw her after that.

Effie returned to the living room. “There’s no space for error here. None! How can people who are not detail oriented work under these conditions? Sometimes even I can hardly breathe.”

“You want to breathe? Then take off your corset, sweetheart. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.” He swallowed some gin.

“I was speaking metaphorically!”

“And I’m speaking about actual breathing, which in your case certainly couldn’t hurt.” He held the bottle out to her.

“Fine!” She took a drink. After handing him the bottle, she reached behind her back, unzipped her dress, and loosened laces. Then she reached within, unhooked clasps, pulled her corset out through the back of her dress, and tossed the purple thing on the sofa. She zipped her dress part way up again, just enough, finishing as quickly as she started. “There! I’m breathing. Are you satisfied?”

The whole thing was like a magic trick that Haymitch watched without blinking. In the absence of the corset, he could make out the natural shape of her breasts within her dress. He imagined they’d fit in his mouth like ripe plums. He tried to shake the thought. Satisfied?? That’s definitely not the feeling.

“And my feet are killing me!”

“Sit down and have another drink,” he offered.

She acquiesced, taking the bottle, sinking into the sofa, and propping her feet in his lap again. “You know, there ARE drinking glasses.” With a flourish, she pointed at the bar cart.

Haymitch smirked, “You wanna go get one?” He idly traced the seam of her stockings up her calves.

Something undefinable shifted.

She put the bottle to her lips, suddenly aware that his mouth had been there before hers. They passed it back and forth a few times in silence. The bottle was like a vector for a kiss, for as many kisses as she’d wanted from him, for years, but didn’t plan to take yet.

He traced the seam back down to her heels. She winced again as he touched her there.

“Blisters?”

Glancing at her heels, Effie gasped more at the sight of the runs in her stockings than the rips in her skin.

“Damn!”

“Do you want these off?” he touched an inch above her knee, and waited for her answer.

Yes. She wanted his hands on her thighs. “Yes... but I’m not going to have sex with you.” She whispered it to herself more than to him.

“Honey, I’m not offering.”

“I’m just being perfectly clear.”

He slid his hand up her thigh to the garters, which he unclassped without struggle. She looked surprised.

“It’s not my first time,” he said.

“Nor mine.”

After inching down the stocking, he repeated it all with her other leg. He couldn’t remember ever being so turned on taking off somebody’s clothes.

She handed him the gin in lieu of exchanging flavors with her tongue. He reached for the bottle, but she didn’t let go. She dropped her feet to the floor and urged him to the sofa beside her.

He went willingly. At his turn with the gin, he set the bottle on the table. “What do you want, Effie?”

“I want what’s happening here.”

He traced along her rib cage, hesitated, then circled each of her breasts. So soft. You’re so damn soft. “And what exactly is happening?”

She sighed, “Can I just...” She unhooked the fourth button of his shirt, and he froze.

“I ain’t so pretty without a shirt.”

“I’ve wondered about your body more than anything in my life.” It was a big confession. “And I want to see you.”

“How about a trade?... My shirt for your wig.”

Effie froze this time. “I already took off my corset, and you took off my stockings. How much do you want from me?”

Everything. “Remind me why we’re not going to have sex.”

“Because you told me, ‘Not now. Not like this.’”

“When did I say that?”

“Years ago.”

He remembered the night vaguely.

“WHY did you say that?” she asked.

He could tell her that they’d been drinking or that it was too soon, but what would be the point in half-truths. “I liked you too much. ...I still like you too much.”

“And that’s precisely why this is happening...” She pulled a dozen hairpins and set those on the table. Then she laid the wig beside her corset. She pulled out a dozen more pins, and her hair fell below her ears in messy blonde crimps.

“God... you’re beautiful.” He ran his fingers through her hair and along her scalp, holding back from kissing her. If he kissed her, then he’d be gone.

She unhooked the rest of his buttons and slipped the shirt off his shoulders without asking. He could stop her if he wanted. And maybe part of him wanted to, but he shrugged the shirt off anyway.

She held her breath, tracing each scar on his chest and stomach. She’d wanted this for so long. She’d wanted him just like this. Tears pooled in her eyes, and he misunderstood.

“It’s too much.” he said.

Effie knew she was in love with him, and she was equally annoyed with him for being so obtuse about it.

“It is NOT too much.” She curled against him, drawing her knees into his lap, kissing a scar just above his collarbone, and pressing her palm to the largest one across his stomach. “I’ll kiss every scar.”

“When?” He slipped his hand inside the back of her dress, still partly unzipped, while drawing the zipper down with the other.

“When your answer to the question about why we’re not having sex is NOT because you like me too much.”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“Not exactly. But you meant it like that.”

He wanted to drown all his fears in that bottle of gin and just fuck her. They’d wave away the Avoxes lurking in the corners, and he’d fuck her on this black leather sofa where children who were dead now had sat just this morning. In the horror of his life, he needed something good. He needed her.

He was about to say it when the alarm sounded again. Claudius Templesmith popped up on every screen in the Training Center, including the one in front of them, announcing the end of the lockdown and a resuming of regular programming and procedures.

The door slid open, and the prep team streamed in on a river of stories about a runaway Gamemaker, being locked together in an elevator, and Flavius threatening to piss in a corner if the lockdown hadn’t ended when it did. As the tale was being told, the hairstylist ran to the nearest bathroom.

Effie disengaged herself from Haymitch with a mix of disappointment about being interrupted and overwhelming chagrin about their relative state of undress, especially hers. How could I have been so careless? She scrambled to collect her wig, corset, stockings, and shoes. “If you’ll all excuse me.” She left the hairpins on the table as she hurried to her room with her dress unzipped.

Haymitch was buzzed from the gin and from being with Effie. He slipped his shirt on, realized it was inside out, took it off and tried again. The second attempt was successful.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your party,” Cinna dropped onto the sofa, “Your lockdown appears to have been more enjoyable than ours.”

“She came up to change her shoes. Then she decided to change... other things. You know. Women. ...DO you know women?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then maybe you can explain them to me.”

“Cinna, he definitely needs help,” Venia whispered, “You might want to start with a lesson about the idiocy inherent in NOT following the woman he’s in love with when she leaves a room in a state of mortification.”

“Hey! Nobody’s an idiot, and nobody’s in love,” Haymitch protested.

Octavia chimed in, “Scratch what she said. First he needs a lesson in how to recognize when he’s in love.”

“It’s not happening. IN LOVE is a dangerous place to be, and it’s just not happening!” The seriousness of Haymitch’s tone ended the discussion.

“It’s been a long day. I’m going to grab a beer and see what food is in the kitchen before taking off.” The rest of the team followed Cinna’s lead.

Haymitch eventually gathered up the hairpins and dragged himself from the couch to search for Effie. He found her curled up in bed. Her makeup was off, along with everything else except a silk robe. She was the sun going to sleep.

He set the hairpins on her nightstand. She didn’t object to him lying down beside her and telling her a story.

“When I was growing up, there was a meadow in the Seam. In summer, the flowers turned to skeletons and the sun burned the grasses gold.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “...It was the first place I had sex. The day before the Reaping.”

Effie caressed the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“I loved that girl,” he said.

“I know.”

“That’s why she died. ...Because I loved her.”

Effie stroked his temples, holding back tears.

“When I say ‘I like you too much’...” His voice trailed off because he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t acknowledge anything like it. “...I can’t do this, Effie. I can’t fuck around with you and pretend it’s nothing. And that’s how it would have to be. That’s the only way it could be.”

She threaded their fingers together, taking comfort in the fresh memory of his hands on her body and her hands on him.

She’d waited 23 years for him. She could wait a little longer.

[birbleafs]

[fic] It’s A Matter Of (In)Convenience

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Toritsuka Reita, Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Nendou Riki, Yumehara Chiyo, Teruhashi Kokomi Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Saiki Kusuo’s plan for a quiet Sunday spent shopping for desserts in an ordinary konbini is thrown into disarray when he runs into several… inconveniences, much to his dismay. A/N: I've been re-reading/re-watching Saiki K. during this quarantine period and I haven't laughed this hard since I was into Gintama. This series has given me so much ridiculous joy, it’s great for helping keep anxiety and existential despair at bay lol. Fic can also be read on AO3

_______

Saiki Kusuo could not say he dislikes commuting by public train but he’s not particularly a fan of it either. After all, it’s exceedingly more troublesome and vexing for someone like him, encumbered with psychic abilities beyond human comprehension. He’s unable to switch off his telepathy at will, so it’s no small feat being stuck in a packed cabin and trying to filter out the cacophonous thoughts of fifty-odd passengers buzzing incessantly in his mind throughout the long ride to the next town. Distance isn’t an issue today, however. Not that it had ever been an issue, mind you—he could teleport to almost any location he so wished. But Kusuo had long since mastered inconspicuousness into an art form, and teleporting to his destination and appearing seemingly out of thin air in the middle of a packed convenience store was sure to draw unwanted attention to himself. No, it’s not worth the risk, even for such a coveted goal at the end of his journey. Besides, Kusuo is a man of principle, one who does not easily succumb to using his powers for self-interest. He will do this the ordinary, pedestrian way.

In any case, travelling out of Hidariwakibara-chō to neighbouring Tonari Machi on a random Sunday morning would also mean the chances of him running into certain... inconveniences are very nearly zero. Forty-five minutes and twelve stops later, Kusuo beams in quiet triumph as he walks past the automatic sliding doors and into the aforementioned convenience store, barely registering the musical jiggle over the speakers. He steps through the sparse crowd, pausing midway through the snack and desserts aisle when he finally catches sight of the neat row of orange boxes with silver trimmings on the top shelf. Kusuo allows himself a tiny grin as he reaches for a box, eyes bright with anticipation as he gazes upon its wondrous contents—three cups of chocolate brownie and cherry parfait, infused with coffee jelly and topped with dollops of luscious cream and cinnamon sprinkles. A simple but unmatched delicacy right here in this nondescript konbini, he thinks, savouring the glorious moment a little longer. Still, as fate would have it, he would be reminded in less than ten seconds that his life is but an unfortunate series of daily disasters, and his current reprieve short-lived. And it comes in the form of a young woman who had waltzed through the crowd and is now latching onto his arm with garishly pink manicured nails, her wavy blonde hair already casting a dark cloud over Kusuo’s face. Aiura Mikoto, resident soothsayer and trendsetter gal. Inconvenience No. 1. Ah. So it begins. “Wassup, Kusuo!” Aiura chirps a little too brightly. Already two or three mob characters in the konbini are throwing scandalized looks their way, but to Aiura they’re nothing but background scenery and lazily drawn silhouettes. “Who woulda thunk we’d meet here like this? It must totes be our destiny as soul mates, fer sure!” Isn’t it more because someone is totes a stalker? Kusuo deadpans telepathically her way, even as he makes no real attempt to avoid Aiura’s smothering embrace. Instead, he fixes her with a stare as blank as stone canvas. This is an invasion of privacy. Also, what’s with the meta observation in the previous paragraph? Stop messing with the readers like that. “Man, you sure are a ray of sunshine sometimes,” Aiura pouts, before she breaks into a giggle and relents. She unlatches herself from him, putting some distance between them. “Anyway, can’t your BFF like, just accidentally bump into you while shopping for the same box of snacks you no doubt travelled all the way out here for?” So you admit you really are a stalker then, Kusuo counters drily, only to frown again at the sudden creeping presence of another aura. He feels the weight of another arm draping carelessly over his shoulder, followed by the brusque yapping of an over-eager and desperate hot-blooded young male in his ears. “Yooo, Saiki-san! What a coincidence!” Toritsuka Reita, the spirit medium and an exemplary specimen of the most depraved life-form, the lecherous scum. Also known as Inconvenience No. 2. Saiki Kusuo, a man most unfortunate, lets out a weary sigh. “I see you’ve got that accusatory glare painted all over your face.” Toritsuka wags an annoying finger before Kusuo. “Now, now. Before you also accuse me of stalking, Mister Doom and Gloom, let me just say that I’m only here for one thing.” He flicks a furtive glance towards a discreet corner of the magazine section. The shelves are filled with magazines wrapped in plastic, large R-18 stickers plastered across the covers and over the spines much like indecent warning signs. Toritsuka dabs towards the third shelf, waving a mini poster at both Kusuo and Aiura, and this sentence then abruptly proceeds to describe the close-up of said poster—a particularly titillating centre spread featuring a curvaceous model’s skimpily clad... assets. “Surely there’s no better reason to be here now than for the special compilation of EROmag’s Greatest Upskirts And Panty-shots Of The Month!” Toritsuka exclaims, echoing the thoughts of all resident perverts. “Ugh, grody to the max,” Aiura says, lips curled in utter revulsion. For once, the stars are aligned and Kusuo finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with her sentiment. Before he can get a retort in edgewise however, he’s unceremoniously tugged closer into Toritsuka’s one-armed embrace, who then proceeds to thump a hand over Kusuo’s chest in a grand show of obnoxious male posturing and solidarity. “You women will never understand,” Toritsuka counters with an ingratiating smirk. “But Saiki-san and I, we’re bosom buddies, connoisseurs of refined aesthetics. Together, we’ll finally gaze upon those heavenly lace panti—A-ACKK!!” He hacks up a lung just as Kusuo nonchalantly drives a sharp elbow right into his solar plexus, causing him to stagger backwards onto the floor. Bosom buddies? Kusuo echoes ominously, glaring daggers at the pathetic writhing form before him. Pretty sure that ridiculous thump you just pulled is both an outrage and insult of my modesty. Hey, can I call the police? I’m calling the police. Aiura nods at that, lips curved into a Cheshire grin and looking extremely pleased with herself as though she’s the one to suggest calling the cops. “Delusional sleazebags should just crawl back into the garbage bin where they belong. Like the skeevy trash panda that they are, right Kusuo?” “Who are you calling delusional, huh?!” Toritsuka snaps, jumping back to his feet. “I’ll have you know that Saiki-san and I have been nothing but the most loyal, the tightest of all bosom buddies—” Refer to me as your bosom buddy again and I’ll crush your windpipe, Kusuo interjects without missing a beat, and the EROmag poster in Toritsuka’s hand spontaneously combusts into flames. “Argh, not the panties!!” Toritsuka yelps, watching in despair as the poster shrivels up in the blaze, only to catch sight of the eerie, voidless depths of Kusuo’s inscrutable gaze. The spirit medium pales at the split-second reminder of his fleeting mortality, sweat dripping down his nape as he carefully backs away from the precarious jaws of death. “B-B-Bros! I-I meant that we’re the best kind of bro-some buddies, ahahaha! T-That is to say, brotherly and wholesome—R-right, Saiki-san? So don’t get all conceited just because you’ve got big knockers, Tits McGee!!” “Pfft, brotherly and wholesome? As if!” Aiura scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re about as wholesome as your d*ck aura and a college frat boy’s porno stash. Just admit you ain’t nothing but a tiresome anime trope!” “Look who’s talking, Miss Fanservice. This is a wholesome shounen series, so how about you take those bazongas back to Hooters where they belong!” “Haaah? You looking for a fight, you raunchy racoon?!” “Bring it on then!” Kusuo scowls at the petty squabbling, exasperated at how easily his quiet Sunday was already going awry, much like the metaphorical train wreck poised for a manic spiral off its rails. He decides to take his leave then from the two inconveniences bickering loudly, making his way towards the self-checkout station near the entrance. He pays for his items, stealthily packing them away with a subtle flick of his psychokinesis, and is only a few paces away from complete freedom at last when the generic musical jingle blares from the speakers overhead. “♪~Welcome to F☆mily Mart Konbini, We Guarantee 99.9% Shopping Satisfaction! It’s A Matter of Convenience~! ♪” Kusuo frowns at the jingle. Why is it only 99.9% satisfaction? And really, a matter of convenience? Not when he’d already run into two inconveniences in a row and all in a convenience store. Is God conspiring with the universe and pulling a sick prank on him right now? What a horrible sense of humour. The automatic doors at the entrance slide wide open then, and in saunter three terribly familiar faces—Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, and Nendou Riki. Inconvenience No. 3, No. 4, and No. 5 respectively. “What did I tell you, Aren? Not only did we manage to beat traffic, but this unexpected change in my Sunday routine would’ve thrown a wrench into Dark Reunion’s plans of attempted kidnapping. Too bad I, The Jet-Black Wing, am always several steps ahead. Heh.” “Uhmm, yeah I guess… Hey, Shun, look! There isn’t a queue for the limited edition Ginta-Man figurine raffle tickets here at all. Good thing you insisted we meet at the crack of dawn—Tch, Nendou, don’t dawdle around and block the entrance like that! What’re you looking at anyway?” “Oh? I thought I saw my pal just a few seconds ago...” “Huh, Saiki’s here too-?! Oh, you mean that. Don’t be daft, Nendou, that’s just a cardboard cut-out of that kiddie hero show, Cyborg Cider-man Mark II.” Seriously?? Kusuo curses irritably as he dives inconspicuously out of sight from the passing trio, right into the bath and shampoo aisle. It’s just been a series of inconveniences one after another this morning, the metaphorical train wreck already hurtling itself past the edge of no return. Good grief, what a pain. May as well have the rest of the cast show up next— Another cheesy musical jingle, another swoosh of the sliding doors, and— “Waahh, it’s really you, Kaidou-kun!” “Hello, what a nice surprise to run into everyone here.” “Oh, hey there, Yumehara and... Offu~! T-T-Teruhashi-san?!” Saiki Kusuo, ever the suffering protagonist, drags a hand over his face. See? God hates him. Two aisles over, he can still hear Aiura and Toritsuka’s voices drifting over: “Man, I’m sick of looking at your pervy mug. C’mon, Kusuo, let’s ditch this loser—Huh, where did you run off to, Kusuo?!” “Your petty squawking has given us all an earache and must’ve driven Saiki-san off as well!” Oi, oi, Kusuo flinches inwardly, seized by a helpless fear of watching his quiet Sunday careening off the cliff and further away from his grasp. Quit yelling out my name like that and throwing me to the wolves already! Too late. At the mention of Kusuo’s name, Nendou cranes his neck 270 degrees Exorcist-style like a hideously monstrous owl and rushes over to Toritsuka’s side. “Oh! Did you just say my pal is here?!” he exclaims happily, shaking Toritsuka by the shoulders like a dog shaking an unfortunate chew toy. “I knew I’d seen him when we walked in earlier!” Not to be outdone by Nendou, Teruhashi also leaps forward before Aiura with none of her previous composure, her unblemished, porcelain visage now dusted with a hint of rose, a conflicted mix of perplexity and (envious) shock pooling in her angelic eyes. “D-Did you say ‘Saiki’?! H-Hey, Aiura-san, you did say ‘Saiki’ and not actually ‘Kusuo’, right? M-My, I must have misheard things, right? R-Right?!” “What the heck is going on? Is Saiki really here?” Anxious, Kusuo grits his teeth at the growing clamour as his friends converge from all corners of the store towards the aisle where he’d been forced to hide. Guess there’s no avoiding it after all, he frets despairingly, and in less than a nanosecond, teleports unnoticed from the konbini to an empty street outside. Kusuo sighs, relieved to have finally escaped. Minor inconveniences aside, perhaps a quiet Sunday spent savouring chocolate brownie and cherry parfait in the comfort of his home isn’t beyond his reach yet. What? Didn’t he just use his powers for self-interest to teleport out of a sticky situation? Foolish readers, that was for self-preservation and completely acceptable, of course. He holds his shopping bag close, pleased that he’d managed to avoid a disaster, and begins to walk down the street—only to freeze mid-step when he feels a sudden splitting headache jolt through him… A flash of images appears: Aiura and Toritsuka crouching in fear together, Kuboyasu bracing his bleeding arm, Kaidou screaming shrilly as he shields Yumehara and Teruhashi from a masked man brandishing a gun, Nendou digging his nose with his pinky—That’s just disgusting, no one wants to see that, stop it!! The vision finally ends, and Kusuo lifts a hand to his face, massaging his temple to clear the precognitive fog from his mind. An armed robbery, huh. He lets out another resigned sigh. Good grief—What a pain, Saiki ‘I-don’t-(but I actually really do)-care-about-my-friends’ Kusuo mutters internally in annoyance, even as he yeets himself head-first into other people’s business and right back into the convenience store to stop a future robbery. Still he smiles, eyes soft with perhaps the slightest flicker of affection for this dysfunctional bunch of people in his disastrous life. Someone has to protect them and save the day, after all.

  –End–

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 1

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

[the-chanteloup]

InuYasha RP Bio

Omg. I’m alive! Things have been so hectic, I forgot I had a Tumblr! Silly me. Well, I’ve returned, and with that return, I give you my finalized InuYasha RP bio! 

So, I created this character about 18 years ago when InuYasha first aired on Adult Swim. I debuted her on Yahoo!Chat, and when that died, she sort of went into hibernation. With the series coming out, and this sudden surge of InuYasha, I really wanted to finalize her, and get her out into the world. :3  

Name (last, first): Setsuna ( Of the Karyukai, The Flower and Willow World )

Nickname(s): Hanyou, Runt, Pup, Geisha

Age: 55 (Youthful appearance, commonly mistaken for 20-25)

Species: Half-Dog Demon, Half-Human (Hanyou)

Gender: Female

Birthday: Around the Winter Solstice

Life Story:

Left on the doorstep of an orphanage in the village of Sawara, in a shabby reed basket during a harsh winter was not the ideal beginning, but, all great legends must start somewhere. Luckily, warm hearts were in good spirits this cold night, and the overseers of this particular orphanage just couldn’t leave a bright eyed, bundle of joy out in the elements. Brought in out of the cold, and raised alongside human children, the pup never really knew she was different, other than having two black fluffy ears atop her head. As she grew, she was given a general education along with the other children, nothing fancy since they were considered the lower class, but enough to get her by should she ever take to selling turnips.

Unfortunately, all fairy tales have to end, and when her 16th year rolled around, she was tossed out into the world to fend for herself.

Being a small Hanyou had its benefits job wise, roaming gangs of thieves were always willing to have her tag along for heists, at a quarter of the profit for most of the dangerous work. But fate is a fickle mistress, and while perusing through a shop during a heist one night, she was detained by an older man named Ino Tadataka, with nun chucks. How embarrassing. She didn’t need superb Demon hearing to know her comrades had bailed, leaving her the scapegoat. However, before she could decide which hand she was okay with having chopped off, the old man offered her a deal. She would assist him in mapping some of the harder to reach places in the area, and in return he would house her, feed her and teach her to read.

Since climbing trees for an old man was a much better option than losing a limb, she hastily agreed, and spent many years assisting “Old Man Ino”, as she called him, in completing his map of Japan.

In the Spring of her last month with Ino, he referred her to an old friend in a village called Kanazawa in the Western Lands for another job. With no other real work leads, other than going back to stealing, she took the lead. When she arrived at the mapped destination Ino had given her, it turned out to be an exotic tea house. She swore on all the Gods above and below that she would knock the taste out of that old pervert’s mouth for this. As she stood outside making her proclamation to bash an old man’s head in, she was interrupted by the tea house’s 'mother', Kikuya. Seeing a rare opportunity to be the only tea house in the district with a Hanyou entertaining, Kikuya took her in instantly.

Amazingly, after several rough years of learning, she was finally “promoted” to the highest rank, Geisha.

Fast forward a few short years, just a few months from fully paying off her debt, she is one of the more popular girls advertised at the tea house. Fully skilled in playing the kokyū, flirting with men in a proper way, starting and losing games of Janken or Daruma Otoshi gracefully, and pouring hot tea in hazardous ways, courtesy of her quick Hanyou reflexes, she has acquired several frequent guests.

A Samurai named Yorimoto quickly became her favorite “customer”, and though they saw each other as nothing more than siblings, she developed a connection to the Human. He was never short on adventurous stories about fighting, and war, which she soaked up like a sponge, enjoying the romantic way he told of their honor code. Being half-Demon, she was naturally drawn to weapons and all their convenient ways of killing things, and eventually convinced Yorimoto to teach her how to use the Naginata. Unfortunately, it was highly un-Geisha like to swing around a “blade on a stick”, as her mother called it, so, under the guise of certain services, they met and trained. Several months passed, and her Samurai was called away to battle, but before he left, Yorimoto gifted her a Naginata all her own, for emergencies, of course.

Even though she was content to stay at her tea house and practice her Naginata in peace until the day when she could afford to open her own business, she also wouldn’t mind a little bit of adventure sneaking in and stirring things up.  

Appearance:

Setsuna stands an intimidating five feet tall at her black ear tips, which has earned her the nickname “Runt”. Thanks to her Demon genetics, despite her small stature, she is sturdily built, muscular and has a curvy frame. She is a milky skinned Hanyou with loosely curled raven black hair that trails down to her rear, and cobalt blue, cat like eyes rimmed in coal eyeliner. Her ears are slightly fluffy, and sport two small silver hoops in each, a gift from her Geisha mother, Kikuya. Her claws are a soft pearl color; however, they are kept at a shorter length due to her kokyū playing and aesthetics for the tea house, but they still remain filed to a point and sharp.

Her only truly intimidating feature is a deep, guttural growl that could easily be mistaken for a much larger demon. Setsuna’s normal attire is that of a typical Geisha, minus the white makeup. Elaborate silk kimonos and obis, along with jeweled hair trinkets and pins. Her hair is never tied up, allowing her ears to remain out in the open. When she is training with the Naginata, she dons a black hakama, with a royal blue sash around her waist. Setsuna is almost always barefoot as she likes the feel of Earth on her skin.

Like all Hanyou, she reverts to a mortal Human form on the night of the new moon. She becomes weaker, as she loses all of her Demon abilities. Her hair fades to a dusty blonde color, and her eyes dull to a pale gray.  

Personality:

Setsuna is usually the center of the party. Having trained with her Geisha mother, she can strike up conversations easily with almost anyone. She has a laid-back demeanor, seeming to just roll with the punches. A smile of some sort is usually found on her face, giving her an easy to approach look. She has an old wisdom about her, and is always available to offer advice or find an answer to a question. She tends to have a soft spot for animals and children, but she prefers both go home with someone else. Her one true weakness is a field of wild flowers, or flowers of any kind. Though she hates to admit it, she’s a sucker for romance and intimate physical touches.

Unfortunately, with a decent amount of Demon blood in her veins, Setsuna is not the quiet, demure creature one would expect when they see her in full Geisha attire. Having been raised by thieves, her mouth is dirtier than a sewer grate, and her mind has been likened to that of a lecherous old man’s. Even with traditionally excitable genetics, she is calm, collected, and calculating, preferring her enemies to either make fools of themselves or to wander right into her trap. Though she has never been in a true battle, the canine in her usually wishes a mother fucker would so she could let her Naginata bathe in blood. Of course, that doesn’t mean she goes looking for a fight, but should one happen to peek around a corner….

Good Habit(s):

She is very understanding, and a good listener. No problem is too dramatic, or small for her ears. She offers honest advice (This could be good or bad) She is fiercely loyal to those who have earned it. Her colorful background and lifestyle have given her a wealth of wisdom and knowledge, both useful and not.  

Bad Habit(s):

Hot headed, she finds a boiling point rather quickly over certain things. Decently excitable, the World is a big adventure to a young Hanyou. Territorial, what’s hers is hers. Cursing bad enough to make perverts blush.

Like(s):

Walking in the forest, feeling the sun on her skin and the Earth on her bare feet. Having her hair done/played with. Food. Training with her Naginata. Playing the kokyū. Listening to stories, mostly battle and war stories. Thunderstorms at night. Wildflower fields.

Special Powers/Abilities:

Aside from the typical Hanyou speed, flexibility and agility, she has a natural ability to hide and camouflage herself due to her small stature. She’s also decently formidable in a fist fight. Intimidating low, guttural growl usually used for intimidation. Rapid healing.

Ambition/Life-long Dream:

Even though she longs for the thrill of battle, a more reasonable ambition would be to finally pay off her debts to Kikuya, and to open her own tea house that specializes in ‘unique’ Geishas like herself.

Love Interest:

Unknown.  

Occupation/Job:

Geisha, entertainer, Hanyou

Notes:

Now, I know y'all who follow the series are looking at me like, "Uh...THAT NAME IS FAMILIAR" And, yeah, I know, trust me. I had a moment when the official announcement was made, but when I created Setsuna, I actually used the name from the manga Angel Sanctuary ( showing my age here ), and this character was never meant to follow any sort of canon story line, ever, she was always strictly AU. With all that being said, please don't come for me. xD I am smol and anxiety ridden. I really just wanted to have her bio published, because I love this little shit of a Hanyou. She was one of my very first creations and holds a pretty special place in my cold black heart. A few more notes: I'm totally up for RP! Feel free to send me a note or whatever. I'm pretty laid-back, and open to most scenarios.

I usually ship Setsuna with Sesshomaru, because it's adorable, but, I’m open to any ship.  

She has no art. Like I said, this has been a long time coming, so I haven't had any art of her commissioned, but maybe in the near future I will. ( -eyeballs the extremely talented @destinyfall) But, I can give you details and photo references if you decide you would like to RP.

[27emailsicantsend]

Could you possible write a dumbass trio fic where they start a band together!!

Author’s Note: This took way too freaking long for me to write and I am so sorry. I got caught up in my AU, but I’m finally getting to writing my requests, and I wanted to start with this one because you have been patiently waiting for it. :) Everything historically reference is canon to the show and based off of the show’s timeline with the Bash-Mitzvah, I’m assuming Cyrus’ birthday is in mid-May when this takes place. They’re also sophomores in high school. Also, I’m lazy and probably won’t go back and check for typo’s, so sorry if there are some. This was fun to write though, so thank you!

Dare for a Dare: A Dumba$$ Trio One Shot

Jonah

“Jonah, you have seriously come so far. You’re almost better than me dude,” Bowie said with a wink. Jonah and Bowie had just finished another practice session at the Red Rooster. When Andi’s family moved to be closer to SAVA, Jonah continued to practice guitar every day after school. It was the only outlet he had for his anxiety, so his consistent practicing became life saving for him. When Andi decided to come back to Grant to be with her friends sophomore year, Bowie took his job back and started training Jonah in many other areas of instruments. He learned guitar, improved his singing, did decent on the drums, but also got his head stuck in a tuba and his finger stuck in a flute. He decided to stick to guitar.

“I am better than you,” Jonah retorted, with a joking undertone. “I love playing so much. I wouldn’t be nearly this good if you guys hadn’t moved back”.

“We’re happy to be back too, kid,” Bowie said as he stood up and gave Jonah’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Don’t forget to put your music stand away,” Bowie called over his shoulder. 

Jonah packed up his guitar and shut the case. He knew about all of the stickers on the case, but rarely gave second thought to them. This time he decided to observe them more closely. This was Bowie’s old guitar, so they were stickers from different places he toured. There was even a worn out picture of Bex scotch-taped to the side. Jonah gave it a small smile. 

His mind couldn’t help but think about how fun Bowie’s tour days must have been. On the road with his friends, not a care in the world, playing music and making money- it felt like the dream. Jonah knew he was pretty good and a lot of musicians start around the same age as him. Jonah was typically not an impulsive person, but he knew he wasn’t going to make a living off of ultimate frisbee the rest of his life. He realized if he wanted to make his music career happen, he was going to need to start now. And even if it flopped, it would be good experience.

“Hey, Bowie!” Jonah called out.

Bowie came speed walking back into the room. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I think... I want to start a band”. As Jonah said this, he made eye contact with Bowie. Instead of being surprised, Bowie’s face widened into a massive grin.

TJ

“For the 100th time, I won’t do it,” TJ said sternly to Cyrus. The two of them were sitting in the choir room, having lunch. TJ had convinced Cyrus that it would be fun to see the view from the roof of the school. The teachers did not find it fun and put them in lunch detention. It felt like de-ja-vu from the first time they got detention together, stealing golf carts. 

“Please,” Cyrus begged. “No one will even be able to hear you”.

TJ got a mischievous look in his eye. “Dare for a Dare”.

“NO,” Cyrus immediately rejected. “I won’t. That is literally how we ended up here in the first place”. This was a game TJ invented shortly after he and Cyrus stole golf carts in eighth grade. Cyrus had been trying to work on his confidence and grow outside his safety bubble and this was an easy way to help him with that. The rules are simple: If someone is dared to do something and they do it, the other person has to take on a dare as well. Backing out after already promising Dare for a Dare makes the loser have to buy the winner Baby Taters for a month. Both boys didn’t have jobs (at least that’s what most people thought), so it would wipe either of their savings pretty quickly to lose- thus, the stakes were high.

“Fine then, I won’t do it,” TJ compromised.

“But TJ it’s almost my birthday and all I want is one rap from you,” Cyrus guilted TJ.

“My rapping days are over, Cyrus, you know that. Somehow everyone found out about my rap for Buffy,” TJ shot a glare at Cyrus, “so no, I won’t do it. Beg all you want- it’s not happening”.

Cyrus looked defeated, yet he continued to persist. “TJ, I told you I’m sorry about that. Buffy and I just thought it was really good so we made that video copying it to honor you. We weren’t trying to get the whole school to rap it to you- that was completely unintentional!”

“I told you, I won’t do it, Cy. My music days are over”. Just as TJ said this, as if fate itself had walked through the door, Jonah busted into the choir room.

“Jonah?!” Cyrus and TJ shrieked in unison from the jump-scare.

“What are you doing here?” TJ asked.

“I actually came to practice... wait, why are you guys here?”

Cyrus looked at TJ as if to say, “care to explain?” with his eyes.

TJ heaved a large breath, “Cyrus dared me to eat every lunch special at the spoon in one day, so I dared him to climb to the roof of the school with me and...”

“You got caught?” Jonah finished.

TJ and Cyrus nodded shamefully.

“Well, I’m actually kind of glad both of you are here. I am considering starting a band, but I don’t know anyone else in the school who does music”. Cyrus immediately looked at TJ and TJ shook his head ‘no’.

Jonah didn’t seem to notice so he continued. “I thought about asking Bowie, but I feel like he wouldn’t want to be in a band with a sixteen year old, so that’s when I thought that maybe I could make one of those cool layered videos. You know the ones? Where it’s me playing all of the instruments, but I layer it so it sounds like one song. I need piano and drums so I thought I would come in here and practice piano- if that’s alright with you guys”.

TJ gestured at the piano, “all yours”.

Jonah sat on the bench and pulled out some sheet music. It was printed, but looked fairly simple. He touched each key with shaky hands, pausing every few minutes to push the sheet music up with his other hand. He eventually gave up and only played the song with one hand, while holding the music consistently with the other.

TJ cut off his playing with a question, “you ok there? Looks like you’re struggling a bit”.

“I can’t keep the music up. Would one of you mind holding it for me?”

“Here, try this,” TJ said as he pulled a small silver “w” shaped item out of his bag. He slipped it over the papers, holding them perfectly in place.

“Whoa, that’s so cool- where did you get it?” Jonah asked, impressed.

“Uh... well... remember when I played piano at Andi’s Party in eighth grade? That’s because I had been taking lessons. Now I teach piano to some of the kids that used to go to the gym I worked at. So I just always have this in my bag”.

“Cyrus, did you know about this?” Jonah asked.

“Yes, but TJ doesn’t like talking about his musical abilities because of... something that happened a couple years ago, so I never told anyone”.

“Which I appreciate,” TJ said as he wrapped his arm around Cyrus’ shoulders and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. 

“I completely forgot you played piano, TJ!” Jonah exclaimed. “Why don’t you join my band? It would be so fun and we could make some amazing music”.

“I’m sorry, but no. I don’t want anyone in our school knowing I play”.

Jonah looked glum as he sat quietly for a couple of minutes with the boys. But then, inspiration struck. Jonah pulled a ski mask out of his backpack. Since it was the end of the school year, Jonah had been cleaning out his locker earlier and found a ski mask he ended up having to use for a particularly cold, windy day during the winter.

“Do you think you could play with this on?” Jonah asked.

“Erm... let me see”. TJ slipped the cotton mask over his head and went to the piano. He effortlessly began to play Moonlight Sonata. Jonah and Cyrus exchanged positive glances.

“TJ, would you like to join my band? No one will know it is you, it will give you something fun to do, and it could be really good practice to help you teach those kids”.

TJ pulled the mask off his head and ran his fingers through his thick blonde hair. “Absolutely,” he said grinning.

Marty

Buffy was sitting at Marty’s kitchen counter, watching him quietly put away dishes. He was humming to himself as he stacked each plate in neatly. He shut the door to the dishwasher and it began to whir, making a gentle steam sound.

He walked over to the counter across from Buffy and leaned over it, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “You ready to go do homework?”

“Am I ever ready?” Buffy asked un-amused. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Marty giggled to himself.

Buffy sighed as she hopped down from the stool and grabbed her backpack. They walked up to his bedroom, sat on the floor, and began to work.

About two hours later, books and papers were sprawled around them. Buffy was now laying on her stomach in Marty’s hoodie (because the AC in his house was too cold for her), and Marty was thinking carefully about a math problem. He bit his pencil eraser in concentration and began to write, humming again.

“What’s that song you keep humming?” Buffy asked.

“Huh?” Marty asked as his head snapped up from the world his head was in.

“The song? You’ve been humming it all day. It’s kinda good- I was just wondering what song it was?”

“Oh, it’s called ‘Beautiful’ by Bazzi. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it. It was pretty big a few years ago”.

“Yeah, I never have... but I’ve never even really heard you sing before. Can you sing?”

“Ah... I don’t know,” Marty replied shyly. “I never really tried”.

About two hours later, after they had all finished eating dinner, Buffy and Marty laid on the couch, cuddling. He had his arm behind her, holding her up from rolling off. She was using his chest as a pillow. He began to sing, not hum, the song from earlier quietly in her ear as he traced his fingers gently up and down her arm.

Buffy began to melt. His voice was simple and pure. It took no effort for him to sing each note on pitch and keep the sound warm. He was naturally gifted- there was no question about it. When he finished singing, Buffy sat up, twisting her head to look at him. He continued to stay laying down, but scooted his body so his back was more propped against the arm rest.

“Marty, you can sing,” she said sincerely.

“What? No. That’s not true,” Marty said, blushing and looking down.

“Marty, I’m not messing around. You can sing and you’re really good. No one has told you this before?”

“I guess I never really sing in front of people. You’re my girlfriend, so I felt comfortable. But now I feel uncomfortable,” Marty swung his legs behind Buffy so that he was sitting upright on the couch again.

“I didn’t say that to make you uncomfortable,” Buffy said, slightly annoyed. “I said it because I meant it. It’s a real talent you have and you could do so much with it”.

Marty scoffed, “like what? Join a band?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. “Whatever you would like,” she said as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and laid her head down on the one closest to her.

The Band

The next day, was a beautiful Saturday with a lot of sunshine and birds chirping freely. Marty and Buffy walked hand in hand down the main street of Shadyside. They saw Jonah as they passed Red Rooster. Buffy nodded her head in the direction of the window and the two walked in.

“Hey Jonah,” Buffy said as the two sat down on the couch. He was sitting on the coffee table playing the same chord progression over and over. He seemed to keep getting stuck at the same note.

“Hey guys, how are you?” He fumbled the progression again.

“Good,” Buffy replied. “What are you up to?”

“I’m trying to get this chord progression, but I keep fumbling on the G”.

“Can I see?” Marty asked.

“Sure,” Jonah said as he gave him a suspicious look, but handed the guitar over anyway.

Marty set the guitar in his lap and played the chord perfectly. “You were holding your hand wrong. This is how you play it”. Marty showed him once again.

Buffy watched with a bewildered look in her eye. “What else do I not know about you?”

Marty shrugged casually and handed the guitar back to Jonah. Jonah tried the way Marty showed him and got the progression immediately. “Whoa! Thanks dude!” He said, beaming. “I had no idea you played guitar!”

“Neither did I,” Buffy shot back.

“Oh, it’s just a little side hobby I’ve been learning,” Marty said, nonchalant.

They all sat in silence for a moment, then Jonah asked, “hey, I know this is weird, but how would you feel about joining a band?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Marty asked.

“No, I’m dead serious,” Jonah said and the look on his face showed he meant it. “You’re really good. That’s a hard progression and you got it immediately. I’m starting a band to help with my music career and I would love another person in it”.

“Would it just be us two?” Marty asked, more interested now.

“Well, there is one other person... but he asked to remain anonymous to the general public. You’ll know who it is when you see him”.

“Marty, you should also tell Jonah you can sing”.

This time, it was Jonah’s turn to look bewildered at Marty. “You can sing too??”

“Apparently,” Marty said, unenthusiastic.

“And he’s really good,” Buffy supported him. “Sing that song you sang to me earlier”.

Marty obliged. When he finished singing, all Jonah could say was, “whoa”. 

Buffy shook her head, “I know”.

On Sunday, Marty was in the kitchen having a snack with Buffy, when he heard his doorbell ring. The band was going to have their first practice, so it must have been Jonah and the “mysterious piano player” at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Marty said, mouth full of oreos. He swung the door open and was greeted by three faces: Jonah, TJ, and Cyrus. “Hey guys! Come on in!”

The boys gave each other fist bumps and bro-hugs to greet one another (except Cyrus who insisted on gentle, long hugs from each of them). They all made their way to the kitchen. Buffy saw Cyrus and immediately began to bust up laughing. “Ok, now I know this is a joke. Cyrus does not have musical ability”.

“Hey!” Cyrus retorted offensively.

“You know it’s true,” Buffy countered.

“I know...” Cyrus said glumly.

“Actually,” Jonah said, pulling TJ in for a side-hug, “TJ is going to be our piano player. But he can’t if he gets made fun of again. You and Cyrus have to promise not to make a video mocking him again. We don’t need a ‘rapping incident’ repeated”. 

“You take the fun out of everything,” Buffy pouted.

“Buffy... I really need you to cooperate. This will be helpful for all of us, including your boyfriend,” Jonah lectured. Buffy looked over at Marty, who was standing in the most uncomfortably correct posture she had ever seen.

“Fine...,” Buffy cowered down.

“Well, let’s go make some music boys!” Jonah exclaimed.

The five of them went into Marty’s basement and began to set up. He had a keyboard, his guitar, an old drum set from when his dad was in a high school jazz band, some music recording equipment that his older sister used at times, and a old, raggedy blue couch. The boys began to set up and choose who would play what. Jonah could also play drums, so they decided that he would switch between bass and drums depending on the song. TJ took keyboard, which left Marty with lead guitar and singer. All three boys could sing, so they decided to try and alternate who was singing at times. Cyrus and Buffy laid on the couch talking and browsing their phones while they half-listened to the boys practice. The practice was rough, but they figured it was because it was their first time playing together.

“Even though it was rough, I’m really impressed. Hey, would you guys be willing to play at my birthday party? It’s two weeks from now,” Cyrus asked, hopeful.

The boys looked at each other uncomfortably for a minute and then Jonah caved, “sure”.

TJ began to panic. “What? No! We won’t be ready by then. I won’t be ready be then, especially”.

“TJ,” Jonah said sympathetically, “we have a cover for you, we have a couple weeks to practice and it’s Cyrus’ birthday. We should do it”.

“I don’t know...” TJ hesitated.

“Dare for a Dare,” Cyrus said. This peaked TJ’s interest.

Buffy shook her head, “oh no”. She hated this game.

“I’m listening,” TJ said.

“You perform at my birthday and you can dare me. You can wear the mask, exit off stage quietly, we won’t have to say anything about you playing”.

“Ok, fine,” TJ said thoughtfully. “But you have to perform a solo dance number at your birthday”.

This absolutely terrified Cyrus and the entire room could feel that.

“What if I take on a dare for him?” Marty interjected.

“What do you mean?” TJ asked.

“Exactly what I said. What if I did Dare for a Dare instead. I dare you to perform at the party and you dare me to do something”.

“I guess we could do that...” TJ agreed.

Cyrus let out a giant sigh of relief. “Oh my gosh thank you Marty I thought I was going to die,” Cyrus said in one breath.

“Ok fine. If I play... then you have to juggle five of those baseballs,” TJ said, pointing to a small stack of baseballs in the corner of the basement. 

Marty walked over and without saying a word, picked up five baseballs and juggled them flawlessly. He began to add tricks, throwing them under his leg, behind his head and even to Jonah and catching it when Jonah threw it back.

Buffy’s eyes were wide in amazement. There was nothing he couldn’t do. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said as Marty walked back over, put the baseballs in her arms and kissed her cheek.

The next week and a half was practicing every day after school. The boys began to get really in sync with each other- sounding almost flawless. They were only practicing one song, however. But for them, practicing it that much made them sound like an actual band. Buffy and Cyrus got bored after the first practice so they would hang out at Buffy’s house while the boys practiced.

Cyrus was going through Buffy’s closet, when he came across a feathered boah. He took one end and flipped it over his shoulder. “How do I look?” he asked Buffy, one arm on his hip.

“Stunning as always,” Buffy encouraged. She stood up and put a black fedorah on her head. “How am I?”

“Beautiful as always,” Cyrus parroted.

They giggled for a minute, until Cyrus looked sad. He took the boah off and placed it back on it’s hook.

“What’s up?” Buffy asked sincerely. She took the hat off and they both walked over to her bed and sat down.

“Do you think the band will actually play? I feel really bad we ruined TJ’s music career. I think he’s really talented, but because of us he wouldn’t talk about music for almost two years. I feel like he’s ashamed because of me. I didn’t even know he was still playing and teaching piano until a few months ago. I mean, how do you go that long without knowing something like that about your own boyfriend?”

“Trust me. I get it,” Buffy said, unamused.

The night of Cyrus’ birthday party all of the boys were getting ready to play backstage. Marty was warming up his voice, TJ was massaging his hands, and Jonah was tuning the strings on Marty’s guitar. Cyrus walked in and handed TJ his mask. “For you,” he said as he stood on his tiptoes to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. TJ looked solemnly at the mask.

“So I realized, I need to introduce you, but you guys don’t have a band name,” Cyrus said.

“I guess with all of the practicing we’ve been doing, we haven’t even thought of one,” Jonah remarked.

“I mean, they might be fine without a name,” Buffy stated. She was laying in a chair with her legs draped over the edge while she picked at a chocolate chip cookie. “Like, think about it, the only reason TJ agreed to do this was because of Dare for a Dare”.

While Buffy giggled to herself, all of the boys looked at each other and shouted in unison, “DARE FOR A DARE!”

They each began to shout, “Buffy, you’re a genius!” “That’s the perfect name!” “I love it!”

Buffy wanted to be proud, but she felt more annoyed than anything that that stupid game is what became their band name.

“I love it,” Marty said as he kissed the tip of her nose.

She just smiled as she said, “yeah, yeah, yeah” and shooed him off.

Cyrus looked at his watch, “crap! It’s time! You ready?”

All of the boys hesitated to smile, but nodded that they were. Cyrus ran on stage and introduced them.

“... and now I present, Dare for a Dare!”

The boys walked out on stage. They were in a rec center that had a small performing stage. There were a ton of people at this party and it reminded them of his Bar Mitzvah. Buffy and Cyrus ran to where the crowd was as the boys began to sing. Suddenly, halfway through the song, TJ ripped off his mask, came around from the piano, mic in hand and screamed, “and this one is for the birthday boy!”

He rapped the best birthday rap Cyrus had ever heard in his life. Everyone clapped and cheered when the boys finished and all of them ran off stage. Buffy couldn’t resist herself and immediately kissed Marty the second he was next to her. Jonah ran off to talk to some friends. TJ walked over to Cyrus shyly. “How did I do?”

Cyrus’ eyes were wide. “That. Was. Perfect. I loved it!” TJ giggled a sigh of relief and hugged Cyrus. The rest of the night the band and all of their loved ones danced, laughed, and joked around together. It was the start of a beautiful era.

Requested by: @losrgeekwhatevr

[kurtty-drabbles]

You´re a witchy, Kitty au (part 16)

N/A: Kidnap time. And this is the penultimate chapter. More fluffy on the Maximoffs Twins because of fuck canon.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @bamfoftheundead

Wanda is using magic to make a hairstyle to match to her wedding dress, sadly, her magic does not update on newest styles and she ended up like "I love Lucy" and is not a look that she was hoping for nor one she wants and judge by her twin expression, not even him likes such look.

"Wanna help?" Pietro offers once he stops laughing and Wanda sighs and let him do her hair and remembers a time when her mother, Marya Maximoff, their real mother and that´s all that matters, had trouble with her hair and it was Pietro who used to help with that problem. No one would believe now, but little Pietro wanted to be a hairstyle designer, but, fates have different plans to him.

"See?  much better" Pietro brags and Wanda sighs as her twin is right and instead, she decides to repeat a question she made when she and Vision start to date.

"How do you feel about Vision?"

"Look, I´d not like robots...bad story with them, yes, Vision is cool and treats you right, but, I still don´t like robots..."

"Can you accept Vision as a family member?"

"I can, but, please, Wanda, I´d not like robots and those bad memories and feelings won´t vanish just because Vision is a good guy...Can you accept this?"

"Of course, you´re my Twin and my only family ...all I´m asking is for you and Vision get along. I´m not heartless to ignore your pain nor nightmares and me and Vision will be understanding of that as long you too are  understanding of our relationship"

"Yeah, I can do that"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is on her sit as Agatha announced the bride is about to come to the aisle, but, as Magneto tries to break in the wedding, much to Pietro´s chagrin and Wanda´s and well, everyone else, this moment was postponed as some X-men are fighting Magneto as well some Avengers and this leads Kitty to be left on her own.

Amanda, along with the mesmerized Dr Rory, makes her move as Kitty is talking with the Rabbi (oh right, Scarlet Witch is Jewish and Romani too) who is explaining who this is the X-men normal.

Agatha is no way near to the girl. She was with Wanda making sure Scarlet Witch don´t murder Magneto(is not fitting for a bride to kill her biological father today) and Amanda saw a nice opening and went for it.

"Kitty Pryde?" Amanda speaks using her strength to make her illusion be stronger enough to fool Kitty, she´s good with magic(too good, to the point some other witches are talking about her future and how they lament she´s wasting time with the X-men, well, that´s a polarized opinion as some of the witches support the X-men and think Kitty will grow in this group) "Are you really Kitty Pryde?"

Kitty offers a gentle smile and nods and speaks with a bright way. "Yes, I´m Kitty Pryde, and this is Rabbi Abadi," said Rabbi waves his hand a bit nervous as he can hear Cyclops giving orders on the other said of the mansion to take Magneto out of the way.

Amanda clapped her hands together and gushes at this. Perfect acting, if Amanda can say so. "Oh my god, I´m a fan. It was true you defeat Selene?"

Kitty chuckles a bit awkward. "Well, I had lots of help, not sure I couldn´t have done on my own. Storm and Nightcrawler were a good help, so, the credit goes to them too"

"Oh, of course, say, would you mind if I take a picture with you? My mother is a fan and my son" she points at Doug who looks nervous and far away from his parents as possible and back to Kitty. "is also a fan but really shy. Can I take a picture?"

Kitty looks at the Rabbi who chuckles and promises he´s better as the shouts stop and Magneto is finally out of the propriety. Kitty is not really keen with fans, Nightcrawler, her total opposite, has many fans(fangirls, pretty women that adore him and aren´t shy about it much to Kitty´s mortification and even jealousy) and takes selfies when the mood strikes(again, Kurt knows how to deal with his fans, but, makes a point in making his fans understand he wants privacy too)

"Ok, one selfie. Just one" Kitty instructed and Amanda nods as she takes her camera and takes a photo, but, instead of a pretty smile or a funny face, Kitty is knocked out and Rabbi Abadi is in a total trance as if nothing could bother him.

"Rory, take the girl...she´s ugly and heavy" Amanda has to say those words as still stinging her ego that Kurt picked this plain girl over Amanda and decides to be as petty as possible.

She teleports Rory, Kitty and herself away from the X-men who are back and left Doug behind, if the X-men go faulting Doug and kill him, well, Amanda won´t lose an ounce of sleep.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Raven Darkholme was in the scene and watches as Kitty Pryde, the famous witch of Agatha´s school, getting knocked down so easily and Raven is disappointed, but, then again she´s young and still has lots to learn.

Now. She thinks. How to make this situation favourable in my way?

________________________________________________________________________________________

The Rabbi only comes back to his sense when Jean, using her powers carefully, manages to wake him up and the man is clearly confused by the time lost. "What happened?" and Jean informed what she knows and the man pales.

"Oh no...what happened to that lady?" he begins muttering something in Hebrew until he calms himself to speak in English again. "Kitty was here ...explaining how Magneto and X-men is a complex thing, anyway, a lady with blonde hair arrives and asked for a selfie...and then...I´m here talking with you" and those words hit everyone hard.

Agatha is the one to look at Kurt with accusatory eyes, one thing that the man can´t ignore and does not accept. "Blonde woman? A Szardos?"

"You still think I´m like them no matter what? You know what, I have no time for this...Katzchen is in trouble and I´ll save her while you point at me" Kurt explains and his eyes look at Doug who is under Psylocke and Ororo´s custody.

The boy is confused and at the verge of crying. And Once Kurt arrives, no spell needed to enhance his intimidation factor, the boy spills everything he knows.

"I´m from Hellfire, this blonde woman is Amanda...she and her brother fuck every day in the classroom...The White Queen took me as Amanda´s help" and more is giving as Psylocke can offer some sympathise for the boy as he does not want to do this and had no clue Amanda would do such thing, yet, naivety is often deadly in this world and her sympathies won´t let Doug scoop free.

Agatha looks up as a Raven leaves the tree and morphs into Mystique, Agatha can only frown at the sight, while Wanda is clearly counting until 100 to not lose her temper. Her father trying to bust in her wedding is one thing, but, kidnapping Kitty before the vows...Oh, Wanda is not happy.

"Hello, Son" Raven makes the reveal that is obvious to everyone even Kurt, however, it does not give her any warm welcome. "Looking for your soulmate? I know where Amanda took Kitty"

Questions are being made and Kurt will have to explain this, but, right now, is not the time. Wanda, with her eyes crimson, looks at Raven as a literal demon. "Tell me the truth" she speaks and well, everyone lives to regret as Raven is telling the entire truth about herself.

Vision was silent during the whole ordeal. He asks the Rabbi if he can quickly marry him and Wanda now as they´ll go right now and save Kitty Pryde, well, it wasn´t orthodox, but, sure the Rabbi can do a quick version as long Wanda and Vision return to the wedding.

Kurt Szardos wants to say he can save Kitty on his own, but, if they´re using Kitty for what Kurt fears then yes, Kurt will have to swallow his pride and accept help.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Margalia is happy that Amanda brought the unconscious Kitty to the sacred location. "Amanda, my daughter, all is forgiven" and this phrase beams Amanda´s soul. "This will be a perfect sacrifice to the Dark Pharaoh...Well done"

"Anything for you, mother"

Dr Rory is still completely under her control and Stefan is still irking by the scene of the love of his life being so cosy with a total stranger as well the fact he´s useless here.

Stefan wishes he could be a gallant hero like Kurt was in their games in a very distant memory of a very forgotten childhood.

[cuthian]

Chances

That's all she wrote!

The next part will be a bigger work, taking place during canon-The Winter Soldier era.

Thanks to Juulna for putting up with me :D

Lots of Love, Annaelle

Chances

The One Where the Avengers Throw Becca & Steve a Party

“Anytime That We Step Out Boldly to Make Changes, We Take a Chance That We Might Fail. But the Only Way to Get Better Is to Try.”

—Joyce Meyer

The Whip & Fiddle, London, UK

November 5th, 1943

He hadn’t had much time to himself after he’d returned to the camp with Bucky and four hundred other former prisoners of war in tow. He’d not expected such avid responses from his superiors, and he had most definitely not expected to be patted on the back.

Peggy Carter had sat in on many of the meetings as their official MI6-liaison, and it had comforted Steve a little to see a familiar, semi-friendly face.

She, at least, had understood he could not stay put while Bucky’s life was in danger.

If only Bucky had felt the same way.

“What the ever-lovin’ fuck were you thinkin’, you reckless piece of shit?” Bucky’d shouted at him the very second he’d gotten Steve alone, shoving at his shoulder roughly, hard enough to make Steve bump back against the dirty brick wall in the back alley of the Whip & Fiddle, where Steve’s newly minted team had been trying to drink each other under the table.

Steve had not been turned on.

He hadn’t been.

(He so had been).  

“I had to,” Steve’d tried, biting his lower lip lightly. “Buck, they said you were dead, and if you weren’t yet, you were gonna be! I couldn’t sit and do nothin’.” He had known he could get away with a lot when he’d looked at Bucky like that, and given that this was the first time he and Bucky had been semi-alone since Steve had pulled him off a metal table in a factory in Austria, there were things Steve would much rather have been doing than being yelled at.

“That’s exactly what you shoulda done, you dumb fuckin’ punk!” Bucky had hollered. “You coulda died! I coulda already been dead—you would have been dead for nothin’, Steve, damn it!”

“It wouldn’t have been for nothin’,” Steve had snapped, shoving back against Bucky for the first time. “If you’d been dead—I ain’t doin’ this without you, Buck. I can’t.” He had seen the fear burning in Bucky’s eyes and he’d known, he’d understood—because it was what Steve had felt the day Bucky had come home with a 1A, the day he’d had to watch Bucky leave for England without him, the moment Peggy had casually mentioned the 107th’s fate. “End of the line together, Buck.”

“Stevie,” Bucky had sighed, softening immediately, reaching out to him. Steve’d wanted to maintain the distance for a second longer, had wanted to resist, because he had still been angry at Bucky for yelling, but he’d always been weak for Bucky looking at him like that.

When Bucky had pressed his palm to Steve’s cheek, Steve had melted into the touch, swaying towards Bucky almost subconsciously, slipping his arms around Bucky’s neck as the other man had slipped his around Steve’s waist, pressing their bodies close together in a way they hadn’t been able to in months—since before Bucky had left for basic at Camp McCoy.

He’d rested his forehead against Bucky’s—briefly disoriented to find that he could reach—and had exhaled shakily. “I got you, babydoll,” Bucky had whispered, rubbing his hands over the length of Steve’s back, like Steve was still five-foot-nothing and able to curl up in Bucky’s arms like he belonged there.

Steve had let out another shuddering breath and had pressed into Bucky’s embrace as much as he had been able to, relishing in the short moment they’d been allowed before the war would demand their attention again. “I was so scared,” he’d admitted in a rush, tightening his arms around Bucky. “When they said—and then I couldn’t—I was so scared, Buck.”

“Shhh,” Bucky’d whispered, leaning forward to press a flurry of soft, small kisses to Steve’s cheeks, nose, and lips. “I’m here, sweetheart. You got me out. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Steve had leaned into the kisses, allowing Bucky to soothe the frantic energy within him.

He’d never liked being vulnerable—never liked been seen as weak—but he’d never quite minded as much when it had been Bucky seeing him like this. He’d trusted Bucky enough to show him this part of himself, knowing the other man wouldn’t mock him for needing the reassurance. Steve had even admitted, only in the privacy of his own mind, that he’d liked it when Bucky guided him with a firm hand, when Bucky had shoved him around a little when they were getting really into it.

“Buck,” he’d murmured, looking up at the other man from beneath his lashes. “I’m sorry.” For not telling you. For making you worry. For everything that happened. For not coming to rescue you sooner.

He hadn’t finished the sentence, but he hadn’t really needed to.

Bucky had shaken his head and smiled wryly. “Don’t you go blamin’ yourself for things that ain’t your fault, Rogers. Your shoulders may be bigger,” Bucky had smirked and patted a hand on aforementioned shoulders, “but you still ain’t gotta take the weight of the world on ‘em.”

Steve’s cheeks had flushed and he ducked his head bashfully.

He had been worried, about what his best guy would say about his brand-fucking-new body, but it had seemed Bucky was just as appreciative as everyone else Steve had met so far. It had been both satisfying and exceptionally debilitating to his already fragile self-image. Had Bucky lied, when he’d said he’d loved Steve’s old body? Had he lied when he’d reassured Steve that he didn’t needsomeone who was bigger, and stronger, and healthier?

“Don’t think I can’t see you overthinking,” Bucky had chided, stepping even closer to flick at Steve’s forehead. Steve had not yelped, though he had to admit Bucky’s methods of distraction were solid. Steve had been, once again, fully focused on Bucky. “Wha’s going on in that pretty blond head of yours, Stevie?”

“Nuthin’,” Steve had lied through his teeth, averting his eyes from Bucky’s knowing gaze—he’d forgotten just how well Bucky knew how to read him and he’d been tired of it already.

“Awe, c’mon, doll,” Bucky had cajoled, pushing towards Steve again, jolting his hip against Steve’s and grinning innocently at him when Steve had halfheartedly glared at him. “Don’t be like that. You gotta tell me what you’re thinkin’, baby, or I can’t make it better.”

Steve hadn’t said anything—mostly because he hadn’t been sure how to say it without sounding ridiculous, ‘cause he’d known that Bucky had loved him when he was smaller, and that he probably would now too—and stubbornly stared at his feet. He hadn’t fought it, though, when Bucky had snuck an arm around his waist and patted his other hand on Steve’s chest.

“Is it all this?” Bucky had questioned softly, tapping his fingers over Steve’s heart delicately before he’d slipped them down his stomach to rest on Steve’s waistband. “You afraid I was gonna be sore at ya?”

“Maybe,” Steve’d huffed when Bucky had tugged on his waistband, silently demanding an answer.

“Only reason I’m sore at ya is ‘cause you keep puttin’ your dumb ass in danger,” Bucky had insisted. “Especially when I ain’t there to watch your six.”

Steve had huffed, but had leaned into Bucky’s touch when the other man dragged him closer. He’d been without Bucky for far too long to risk spurning his advances now. Who knew when they’d next get the chance to sneak off together? “’s different though,” he’d murmured, ducking to bury his face against Bucky’s neck, slipping his arms around the other man’s waist to hug him close. “I’m different.”

He could almost feel Bucky’s quiet revelation before he’d even said anything. “Oh. Oh, babydoll, is that what you thought?” Steve had barely suppressed the urge to whine when Bucky had pushed him back a little so he could look at him.

Barely.

He hadn’t been sure what expression was on his face, but it seemed Bucky had gathered what he needed to know from his expression anyway, because he’d frowned, shaking his head sadly. “Stevie, c’mon. You know I’m sweet on ya, right?” Steve had pouted a little, but leaned into Bucky’s hand when he tracked his fingers through Steve’s previously neatly-combed hair.

“I know,” he’d finally sighed, leaning in to rub his nose against Bucky’s, to breathe him in, to feel him. “But it’s real different. I wouldn’t—”

“Hey,” Bucky had interrupted. “I love the shit outta ya, Rogers. Big, small, sick, or healthy… End of the line, remember? And we ain’t there yet.” He’d grabbed Steve’s chin and forced Steve to look at him, to see the serious look in his eye, and smiled a little. “Okay?”

Steve had smiled, a little relieved, and had nodded as much as Bucky’s grip on his chin allowed. “Okay,” he’d said. “Okay.” Bucky had grinned and rewarded him with a small, quick kiss, before jerking his chin back towards the pub. “We should go check on the boys, get ‘em to the barracks. You got an early day tomorrow, Captain.”

Steve had shivered at the way Bucky’s eyes had darkened, heat pooling low in his belly. “Yeah.” He’d let Bucky pull him forward, back towards the raucous crowd spilling out of the pub. “Okay.”

——————

Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A. March 23rd, 2012

Steve

Steve settled back into Tony’s comfortable sofa cushions, more relaxed and—dare he say—happy than he had been in a very, very long time. The increased frequency of his therapy sessions with Karen-the-therapist—with the noted addition of Karim-the-grief-counselor, and Alicia-the-VA-counselor—had done wonders for his state of mind, and had, eventually, helped him learn to tolerate, if not appreciate, the second chance at life that he had been given.

He’d not been able to, for a while, hadn’t been able to see past all the things he had lost.

It hadn’t been until Peggy and Gabe and Dum Dum had come to see him—barging into his apartment with all the bluster and noise of that unruly gang of twenty-year-olds that he remembered, not the ninety-year-olds that they now were—and quite literally slapped him up the head that he’d remembered that he’d gained things too, in this century.

It’d been Peggy’s idea, initially, to work with several therapists, each with a different specialization, to help Steve acclimate and deal with things on several levels.

Steve had not protested.

He had learned long ago that his life was much easier when he didn’t put up a fight and just did as Peggy said.

Indeed, when he had finished sobbing on Peggy’s perfectly-pressed blouse, she had lectured him very sternly, and Steve had been forced to listen, if only because he was afraid Dum Dum would try to make good on his threat to come sit on him and break a hip trying to get out of his wheelchair.

He’d cherished seeing his friends—his team—again, and learned to appreciate the frequent phone calls which followed their visit, because Dum Dum was still Dum Dum, even if he was ninety and had a whole army of grandchildren now, and Gabe was still Gabe, even though he had somehow married Bucky’s littlest sister, moved to France, and had a whole brood of kids with her—just another link tying them together, one of many.

Peggy was still as strong and competent and beautiful as Steve had remembered her, and it’d helped to see her, even when he had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

But he had.

And so he’d done as Peggy said, and he’d asked Karen-the-therapist for references, and asked her for help, because he couldn’t do it on his own, and he needed to admit that too.

And he did get better.

He’d picked up a paintbrush again, and filled several canvases and sketchbooks with old memories, and several more with new ones. He’d started running every morning, and picked up the sparring sessions with Peggy’s niece and her infuriating boyfriend again, and when Fury asked him to accept a provisional job as an independent advisor for S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve said yes.

Steve found he liked the independence his position gave him within S.H.I.E.L.D., without taking away from his authority when he was asked to step in on a mission. He liked being able to do something, to help, even if help didn’t always look the way Steve would like it to.

He got to work closely with Sharon Carter’s boyfriend sometimes—Brock was head of the STRIKE team that Steve got assigned to most often—and he found that, though the man was annoying and cocky as hell in his personal life, Steve could appreciate his competence and utter professionalism while they were on the job.

He worked with Becca very rarely, which wasn’t much of a surprise, considering his own, relatively high position in the chain of command, and her relatively low one. The times they did work together showed that they made an excellent team though, and when Natasha was added to the mix, they were so frighteningly competent it baffled even Steve himself.

That in itself had been a bit of a surprise to Steve—Becca had refused to speak to Natasha for a solid three weeks before she initiated contact again, and even then his roommate had been careful to keep her contact with Natasha strictly professional. Steve hadn’t blamed her; Natasha had broken her heart, after all, in a pretty shitty way.

Steve had been very upset with Nat too, although he’d been forced to give her at least a little bit of a break when Clint pointed out that Nat felt like utter shit about what had happened, and was doing her best to make up for it—albeit in a clumsy, slightly awkward way.

Despite Becca’s resolve to forgive Natasha, it had taken her a bit of time to be okay with even being in the same room as the other woman; especially when Clint had admitted he really would like to try dating Nat, if Becca was okay with him giving it a shot. Clint had been furious too, but—for reasons Steve didn’t even pretend to understand—he’d taken much less time to cool down than Becca had.

Becca had, naturally, not responded to the news of Clint and Nat dating as well as she probably could have, which led to Steve finding Maria Hill in their kitchen in her underwear at four A.M. at least twice, and one incredibly awkward elevator ride down to the lobby in the morning, where Becca had made sure to kiss Maria in full view of an equally flabbergasted and infuriated Natasha.

Steve was pretty sure Maria knew exactly what was going on and let it happen anyway.

So, when Nat had been assigned to a mission together with him and Becca, Steve had expected… issues, to say the least. In the end though, they’d gotten their mission accomplished in half the estimated time range, and it was such a resounding success that Steve was almost sure Fury might have smiled.

Their raging success was also why they had all descended on the common floor of the Tower—Steve and Becca would be relocating to Washington D.C. for an unspecified period of time, and Tony had insisted that it was the perfect reason to throw them a going-away party, as though he wouldn’t just fly over and break into their new, S.H.I.E.L.D.-approved house whenever he missed them.

Not, of course, that Tony would ever admit to that out loud.

“It’s a trick,” Clint insisted, breaking Steve from his reverie and waving his hand towards the hammer Thor had plonked down on the coffee table before they’d started drinking. Steve grinned broadly and leaned back into the couch, letting the conversation wash over him.  

All of the Avengers were sprawled across Tony’s excessively expensive furniture on the common floor, in various stages of inebriation, and Steve had had enough of Thor’s Asgardian mead to feel warm and tingly, with the room going just the right kind of fuzzy around the edges.

Becca was sprawled on her back on one of the sofas, bare feet deposited on Thor’s lap and her high heels abandoned on the floor, while her head rested on Nat’s lap. The redhead had looked at Becca with an exasperated fondness when the brunette gracelessly sprawled across her and Thor, but Steve caught the indulgent smile she and Thor exchanged too.

It was one of the first times since Nat had unceremoniously chosen Clint over Becca after their brief fling that the two women looked anywhere remotely comfortable around each other, and Steve was glad to see it, even if most of it was likely due to lowered inhibitions due to excessive consumption of alcohol.

Steve also hadn’t missed the contemplative looks Thor tended to give Becca lately, coupled with what Steve was mostly certain was Thor’s version of starry-eyed affection.

He’d been spending more time at Steve and Becca’s newly renovated Brooklyn apartment than he had on his own floor in the Tower or Asgard, and Steve really wondered when one of those two morons would pull their heads out of their asses and make a move. Admittedly, he just really wanted Becca to smile again, and to stop moping over the—granted, really shitty—way Nat had dumped her, and he missed the carefree way Thor used to smile, before he’d lost…

Well, before he’d lost everything he’d held most dear.

Steve didn’t doubt that Thor loved Asgard, his father, and his friends, but he knew that none of them could ever come close to the kind of affection a mother inspired, and that no one would ever be able to replace Loki in Thor’s heart.

For a very short while, Steve had thought that maybe Thor would let himself seek comfort in Jane Foster, but he found out pretty quickly that he’d turned her down before anything ever really happened.

It seemed they’d managed to build a pretty solid friendship despite the initial awkwardness, along with a man named Selvig and someone Thor referred to as Lady Darcy.

Afterwards, however, Thor hadn’t really spent time with anyone but him, Becca, and the other Avengers.

Steve was sure Becca and Thor would be good for each other though, if they ever got over themselves and actually tried.

Of course, when Steve had brought it up with Thor, he’d bashfully tried to deny being interested at all, which was a lot more telling than admitting it would have been.

Thor never avoided questions about those he found himself attracted to.

It hadn’t happened often since Loki’s passing, but it had happened, and Steve wasn’t imagining the way Thor would gravitate towards Becca when she entered a room, or the way she blushed when she caught him looking at her, or even the—far from—subtle touches after battle under the guise of checking each other for injuries that might have gone unnoticed.

He couldn’t deny that the latter was effective though.

Thor, apparently, had a pain tolerance so high he hardly even noticed when he did contract injuries.

Steve was abruptly torn from his thoughts when Tony booed loudly from his spot on the couch, where he was curled up with Rhodey, fingers linked together. Pepper sat cross-legged on the floor before them, discussing something or the other with Bruce with a very serious expression on her face.

Steve could probably concentrate to listen and figure out what they were talking about, but he was warm and comfortable and Steve wanted to melt.

Thor chuckled in response to Clint’s indignant squawking and shook his head lightly. “Oh no, I assure you, its magic is much more than a simple trick.”

His words were met with mostly incoherent protests—they had been drinking for a while—and Becca’s poorly aimed kicks towards his stomach, which he easily contained with one hand. “Please,” he laughed, gesturing towards the hammer with his free hand, keeping Becca’s feet trapped with the other.

“Be my guest.”

The atmosphere in the room changed almost immediately from one of lazy comfort to one of eager anticipation, and Steve noticed that even Bruce and Pepper—and Jane, who was hanging out with them for the first time and had joined their discussion sometime in the last three minutes—looked between Thor and Clint curiously.

“Really?” Clint bounced upright and grinned brightly, seemingly unhindered by his slight inability to walk straight as he positively floated towards the table and the hammer.

“Yes.” Thor smirked as Tony booed at Clint and flapped his hand in Rhodey’s face to make sure he was watching too. Steve rolled his eyes a little at their antics, and he couldn’t help but grin when Becca grumbled at Thor while using his bicep to try to sit up straight.

It didn’t look like the most successful endeavor.

“Screw you, Odinson,” Becca huffed, drawing herself off the couch—moving remarkably steadily—until she collapsed half on top of and half next to Steve. “They’re stupid,” she told him seriously, pupils dilated a little and her breath smelling like the half a dozen glasses of wine she’d already had.

“They really are,” Steve chuckled, rolling his head a little to look at Becca, who seemed entirely content to use him as her newest body pillow. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it or didn’t like it—Becca was very tactile with her friends, and they almost always inevitably ended up in a cuddle pile when they tried to watch movies on the couch.

“You okay?” he asked softly, deliberately ignoring the shitshow going on beside him as Clint tried, in vain, to pull a highly uncooperative Mjölnir from the table. He’d seen Becca really drunk enough times to know when she was playing it up a little, so people wouldn’t pay as much attention to her.

Becca blinked blankly at him for a couple of seconds before she sighed and dropped her forehead to rest against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she nodded against him. “Tired of Nat looking at me like I’m going to break every time I see her with Clint.”

Steve winced a little, because he couldn’t exactly deny that.

For all that Nat could probably have gone about picking between Clint and Becca in a better way, she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had hurt Becca while doing so, at least.

They were torn from their soft conversation by a pillow thrown in their direction, followed by Tony’s outcry of, “Pay attention, you lovebirds! Interesting things going on here!” Before either Steve or Becca could say anything, Pepper slapped Tony’s knee and Clint and Nat booed at him in perfect unison, but the implication was there, again, and Steve’s cheeks were so hot, he was pretty sure he was on fire.

He hated that people assumed he and Becca were sleeping together just because they were of opposite genders and really close. He hated it more when it was the Avengers implying it, even though he knew that they knew it wasn’t like that.

They did, and that’s what made it worse.

“Right,” Becca nodded seriously, raising an eyebrow at Clint in challenge. “Were you done trying and failing to establish your dominance?”

Steve burst into laughter at the indignant look on Clint’s face, and the rest of the group followed swiftly, Tony gasping, “Smell the silent judgement, Barton?” between hysteric peals of laughter.

“Oh, please,” Clint exclaimed heatedly, waving his arms towards the group vaguely. “I’d like to see you knuckleheads try to do it!”

“I’ll take that bet!” Tony shouted immediately, springing up from the sofa probably a little too energetically, narrowly avoiding tripping over Pepper as he stepped forward towards the table. Steve watched, amused, as Tony—clearly more intoxicated than he’d probably prefer to show—stumbled his way to the coffee table.

Rhodey facepalmed—Steve seriously loved that new word—as Clint laughed, leaning against Nat now, the redhead patting his head fondly as they watched Tony. “Here we go,” Nat hummed delightedly, eyeing Tony with a kind of predatory assessment that still threw Steve off sometimes.

“I’ve never been one to shrink from an honest challenge,” Tony boasted, coming to a stop before the hammer, looking down at it calculatingly before he looked at Thor. “It’s just physics,” he said firmly, ignoring Bruce’s snort at that.  “So if I lift this… I then rule Asgard?”

Thor nodded, lips obviously pressed together to avoid laughing. “Yes, of course.”

Tony nodded primly and pointed one finger at Thor, squinting at him suspiciously. “I will be re-instituting Prima Nocta.” Behind him, Pepper coughed delicately and raised an eyebrow when Tony froze, and then slowly pivoted to look at her.

“Will you?” she asked pleasantly, leaning back against Rhodey a little.

Steve couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter at Tony’s wide-eyed expression. “No?” he backtracked, flapping his hands at Rhodey and Pepper uselessly. “I was just kidding?” The shrill question at the end really sold it.

Pepper rolled her eyes and smiled. “Go pick up the hammer, Tony.”

Tony saluted her sloppily, spinning on his heel and nearly face-planting onto the table. “Yes, ma’am,” he shot back cheekily, wrapping his hands around Mjölnir’s handle and grunting a little when he pulled. Mjölnir, predictably, remained on the coffee table. Steve chuckled at the look on Tony’s face when he failed to lift the hammer, but couldn’t say he was entirely surprised when Tony muttered, “I’ll be right back. No one try before I get back!” and ran off.

Becca huffed a laugh and sagged back against Steve a little, for all the world looking like she was close to falling asleep, but Steve knew she was really just settling into a prime position for people-watching. In this case, of course, that meant watching as Steve’s team made idiots of themselves trying to lift a hammer that was legendarily hard to lift.

Tony reappeared with one of his armored gauntlets, gleefully insisting it would help him lift the hammer.

Predictably, that did not work either.

Steve grinned along with Thor when Tony recruited Rhodey—though Steve had to admit the latter looked more reluctant than excited to aid Tony in his quest—with the Iron Patriot’s armored hand, and gratefully allowed Thor to fill up his glass again.

“Sláinte,” Steve said, lifting his glass towards him in thanks without dislodging Becca from his side.

The Irish Gaelic phrase still came to his lips as easily as the English toast would have, even though he hadn’t spoken more than a word of it here and there to anyone since his mother had passed. Bucky had only known a few words, at most, and he’d always been more drawn to the Yiddish words his own mother had taught him.

It was… comforting, to have someone like Thor here, who may not know Gaelic the way Steve did, but who understood when Steve spoke it nonetheless, who did not mind when Steve reverted to the comfort of his native tongue—he hadn’t even learned proper English until he was four and he met Bucky.

“Skål,” Thor replied enthusiastically, thrusting his glass forward so eagerly that some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. Steve didn’t miss the way Thor’s eyes strayed to Becca, who was still staring intently at Tony and Rhodey unsuccessfully trying to lift Mjölnir.

The others seemed to have lost interest in the two men—Pepper had returned to her conversation with Bruce and Jane—and Clint and Natasha were quietly talking, switching between sign language and spoken words fluently, like they’d been doing it for decades… which they probably had been.

Steve smiled a little and nudged Becca. “Thor’s looking at you,” he murmured, sipping casually at his drink when Becca stiffened a little, shooting a quick glance towards Thor before she settled back against Steve.

“So what?” she huffed semi-casually. Steve wasn’t really fooled at all.

“Becs,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over her shoulder comfortingly. “Come on. You can’t sulk about Nat forever. And Thor actually likesyou.”

“Not sulking,” Becca pouted. “It’s been like three months; I’m over it. And I’ve hooked up with… plenty of people. Doesn’t mean I should start hooking up with my friends too.” She sat up and glanced around with a slight frown. “I’ve slept with way too many people in this room as it is.”

Steve glanced around as well and frowned. “I thought you’d only slept with Tony and Nat?” he blurted, possibly slightly too loud, if the way Nat looked at them in confusion was any indication.

“Yeah,” Becca deadpanned. “Thanks, Steve, I know that.”

Her cheeks were flushed and she was a little hunched in on herself and Steve immediately felt like a fathead for pushing her. “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I just…” He shrugged helplessly and looked at her seriously. “I wanna see you smile again. I want you to be happy.” He nodded stealthily towards Thor, and Becca smiled weakly as Steve said, “I don’t know if seeing what could happen between you and him would make you happy, but…” he shrugged again and bit his lip. “Isn’t it at least worth considering?”

Becca looked at him, eyes wide and expression vulnerable, before Tony rudely interrupted by yelling, “Let’s go, Steve—your turn! No pressure!”

Steve groaned, thumping his head back on the couch. “I don’t wanna,” he whined, glaring at Tony playfully, pushing his lip out into a pout. “We’re comfortable here.”

“Nah,” Becca said, voice tight, but her smile deliberately exuberant. “Go lift the hammer. I’m gonna take a breather anyway.” She added deed to words as soon as she said it, pushing herself away from Steve without looking at him.

Something deep inside Steve’s chest twisted, and he felt like a heel for pushing the subject, even when she’d already given a pretty clear indication she didn’t want to talk about it. “Becs,” he pleaded, reaching for her wrist, careful to not exert too much pressure. She looked at him with that same devastating expression and smiled tightly, pulling her wrist from his grasp.

“I’m fine. Just need some fresh air.” She gestured to the others, who were watching their exchange with expressions ranging from interest—Natasha and Tony—to concern—Thor and Pepper and even Jane. “Go show off those biceps, Rogers.” She gave him an exaggerated wink—poorly concealing her sudden melancholy—before swiftly exiting the circle the couches and chairs made around the table and heading towards the balcony, only twelve feet away.

Steve stared after her for a second, the room entirely silent for a heartbeat before Thor shot to his feet, gesturing towards the balcony door less than subtly. “I also… I could do with a breath of fresh air. I’m afraid the mead has gone to my head.” Steve stared at him, painfully aware that Thor had probably heard everything Steve had said to Becca, painfully aware that he’d probably pushed them both into admitting something neither of them was ready for.

He watched through the glass door and wall as Thor stepped up to Becca awkwardly, and then Steve turned away abruptly when Thor moved even closer still.

“Well, that was awkward,” Tony exclaimed, throwing himself on the couch beside Rhodey and pulling Pepper up to snuggle against his other side. “Wonder what they’re talking about.”

“Nothing much, probably,” Steve deflected, stepping forward so he was blocking the other’s view of Becca and Thor. “So, I bet I can lift this thing.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed loudly amongst a chorus of ‘boos’ from the others. “You can’t.”

“Man, it’s rigged,” Clint said again. “Betcha only Thor can lift that thing ‘cause it needs his fingerprints or something.” Natasha didn’t say anything, just eyed him contemplatively, and Steve was almost sure she knew exactly what he was trying to do.

She didn’t call him out on it though, merely raised an eyebrow and smirked in that peculiar way of hers. “Well then, Rogers. Put your money where your mouth is.”

“I don’t know,” Steve drawled, grinning a little as he reached for the handle, looking up at Stark from beneath his lashes. “What do I get if I can do it?”

“Pfft,” Tony snorted. “Whatever the fuck you want. But,” he leaned forward eagerly. “If you can’t, you have to come to the next gala and perform the U.S.O. routine.” He waggled his eyebrows and added, “with the motorcycle and the girls—and the costumes! I’ll set it all up.” The others hooted, and normally, Steve would feel embarrassed by the mere mention of the goddamned U.S.O. tour, but he had an ace up his sleeve, and he wasn’t afraid to use it to keep the other Avengers’ eyes on him.

“Deal,” he smirked. “If I lift this, you do whatever I want. If I don’t, I’ll do the U.SO. routine. You sure you wanna do this, Tony?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony nodded eagerly, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Bring it, Capsicle.”

Steve chuckled, tightened his grip on Mjölnir’s handle and grinned up at Tony. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that, Stark.” He gave Tony half a second to look smug, making sure to strain his muscles, to make it look like he wasn’t gonna be able to do it—and then lifted Mjölnir, flipping it over and catching it effortlessly.

Everyone gaped at him, and Steve smirked. “Didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

——————

Thor

He was, honestly, quite unsure of what he would say once he caught up to Lady Rebecca.

Thor had never been one for flowery words or grand speeches. Loki had always been the one to charm his way out of trouble simply by the virtue of being verbose, and while Thor missed Loki every single day, he felt Loki’s absence—and the absence of his silver tongue[MS1] —painfully in this moment.

Rebecca—Becca, he reminded himself—sat with her back towards the door, cross-legged on one of the raised ledges that looked out over the city, arms wrapped around her torso in a bid to ward of the chill of the evening breeze; or to shield herself from the emotional turmoil Steven’s words had stirred up inside of her.

Thor felt slightly shamed that he could not yet read his friend well enough to tell which it was.

He and Becca had spent much time together since he had absconded from Asgard and its painful memories and his father’s crushing expectations, and he liked to think they had built a solid friendship in that time, as he had with Steven. He had even, in his most private moments, allowed himself the illusion of finding comfort in her arms, though he knew the feeling would likely never be requited.

Rebecca, like Steven, seemed woefully loyal to whoever she gave her heart, whether said affection was returned or not.

“Are you alright?”

The words tumbled from his lips without permission, and for a moment he feared he’d startled her. When she turned and looked at him though, he could see the distinct lack of surprise in her expression, instead replaced with something that felt far more reminiscent of tired resignation.

It was, sadly, an expression not unfamiliar to him.

Many of those he held dearest to heart had leveled said expression at him in his not-inconsiderable lifespan, and he wondered if he should begin to take note of when such occurrences happened.

“I guess there’s no use in pretending you didn’t hear every word Steve said to me, right?” she said lowly, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. Her cheeks were still slightly rosy—from embarrassment or drink, he did not know—and Thor was sure she did not know how alluring she looked, because he knew she would never look at him like this on purpose.

If anything, he would say she had been going out of her way to appear less appealing, at times.

She confused him greatly.

“I suppose I could pretend,” he offered, smiling a little at her wry smile. “If it would help.”

Becca snorted and shook her head, long locks spilling forward across her shoulders as she shifted, turning around so she was facing him. Thor smiled helplessly and moved towards her, until he stood directly in front of her, knees pressed against the cold concrete of the ledge she sat on.

“Was he wrong?” she asked abruptly, cheeks darkening into a full blush as she averted her eyes.

Thor opened his mouth to respond—though he did not know if denial or confirmation would have fallen from his lips—but he found he did not know what to say. Steven, for all his virtues, seemed under the impression that Thor’s feelings for Becca ran a lot deeper than friendship and attraction, and Thor wasn’t sure that was the case.

He had never allowed himself to develop deeper feelings for anyone, and he did not think he could.

In that, at least, he and Steven stood united.

He had never truly understood Steven’s devotion to a dead man until he had lost Loki—until he was forced to face a future that looked radically different from the future he had always imagined he would have. He’d loved Loki, for all his faults, in every way he knew how, and he did not want to let go of that love, ever—nor did he think he was even capable of letting said love go.

“I don’t know,” he replied eventually, shooting for honesty, because Rebecca was his friend, and while he was not in love with her, he did care for her a great deal, as he did all his Midgardian friends. Perhaps a little more. “I do not think he was entirely right,” he admitted, “but he was not wrong.”

“What does that even mean?” Becca exclaimed, exasperation dripping from each word.

Thor smiled sadly and shrugged one shoulder. “I apologize. I know it doesn’t clarify anything, but…” He looked up at her and shook his head. “I’ve not found myself in this position before either.”

Becca didn’t say anything, but her raised eyebrow spoke volumes, and Thor smirked a little before he settled in to lean against the waist-high ledge next to her. “I’ve taken great care in ensuring I did not grow attached to my previous… entanglements. Should we act on any of our urges…” he grinned at her when she smacked his shoulder playfully.

“I already care about you,” he finally admitted. “I’ve no idea how to proceed, how to…”

He stopped abruptly when she lunged forward, curling her fingers around the back of his neck to smash their lips together in a breathless, messy kiss. She stole the breath from his lungs, and he barely had the opportunity to relish in the taste of her lips before she retreated, almost as abruptly as she had leapt forward, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, and lips decidedly redder than they had been.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, shaking her head a little, “I just thought—and you—I know we shouldn’t.”

Thor blinked at her, opening and closing his mouth several times before he actually managed to say something. Her fingers were still curled in the collar of his shirt, and she was still leaning against him, and the weight of her felt warm and comfortable and it was an exhilarating, unfamiliar feeling he was loath to let go of.

Thor decided that perhaps, it did not need to be so complicated at all.

Perhaps, what they were could be very simple indeed.

“Perhaps we should,” he murmured absently, finding that he could not tear his eyes from her full lips. “I cannot see fault in two friends finding comfort in each other’s arms.”

She gasped quietly when he leaned in again, but eagerly kissed him back when he pulled her into a second kiss, far deeper and hungrier than the first. It was easy, to lose himself in her eager touch and in the sensual slide of their lips, and easy to let her draw him closer. He curled his fingers in her hair and around her waist until they were pressed together entirely and so tightly he could not tell where she began and he ended.

Kissing Rebecca felt different than kissing anyone else had, and different than kissing Loki had, but it still felt like allowing the lightning that perpetually hummed beneath his skin to run free.

She moaned quietly against his lips, a deep, wanton sound that abruptly reminded him that they were still in plain view of the other Avengers, and that there would only be so long Steven could distract them before they got past their politeness and came looking.

Slowly and very, very reluctantly, he leaned back, barely able to hold back a groan when she refused to let him go, pressing her fingers against the back of his neck insistently and whining quietly when he persisted in breaking the kiss. “Hush, krúttið mitt,” he whispered warmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She quieted down, but remained pressed against him, having slipped from her cross-legged position to curl one leg around his. “We have to do that again,” she said, quite matter-of-factly.

He grinned, leaning in to press a single, lingering kiss to her lips before he disentangled their limbs. “Come,” he smiled, offering her his hand when she pouted. “They’ll miss us before long.” They did not speak more, but the restless ache inside his chest had been soothed, and when she slipped her slim fingers between his, the worry that he had somehow ruined their friendship dissipated.

He still could not help but smirk when he overheard her whisper ‘wow’ to Steve when they went back in. Said smirk only grew further when he heard his friend reply with a muttered ‘I know, right?’ Thor settled on the sofa again, smiling a little when Becca—who had resumed using Steven as a pillow—stretched to press her toes beneath his thigh.

Anthony sat with his lovers, Lady Pepper’s fingers tangled in his dark brown hair and Colonel Rhodes leaning back against his leg. Natasha had looked up at them with a contemplative expression when he and Rebecca re-entered from the balcony, and for a moment Thor feared she would say something, but the moment had passed, and she had returned her attention to Barton.

Bruce had engaged the Lady Jane in a spirited conversation, and Becca and Steve were quietly murmuring and giggling together, and for once, the ache in Thor’s chest receded, leaving a contented warmth in its absence.

He was, at least for now, at peace.

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Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the sequel HERE on Tumblr :)