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nagaismybff · 1 year

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Fanfic WIP Snippet: 911 x Motherland: Fort Salem Crossover

Chapter Summary: Chimney is worried that the cursed bracelet has left lingering effects on the 118′s firehouse. He asks Emerson, a veterinarian for the LA Zoo who also happens to be a witch, to sweep the station for cursed objects. She’s not a professional, but she humors him. Anything to get him to stop freaking out.

A/N: Here is a draft chapter from my main WIP fic. Apologies if it sounds choppy or repetitive, I am still practicing my editing skills. I currently don’t have an AO3 account, so I’ll be posting short sections of my fanfics on here for now. Story includes some concepts from Motherland: Fort Salem. For context since this chapter is later in the story, the sugar glider is Emerson’s familiar. Hope you enjoy!

Referenced Episodes: “Jinxed” 4 x 06, “Cursed” 6 x 07

Word Count: ~2,500

Cursed...Again

Firehouse 118, Fall 2022

Emerson walks through the open bay door at the station, looking around. Buck, Hen, Ravi, and a few other firefighters are cleaning and performing maintenance on the fire trucks and ambulance. However Chimney, who’d asked her to come, is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh hey Em, what are you doing here?” Buck asks, confused. He’s wiping down the engine with a rag, a spray bottle in his other hand. While she does hang out with the 118 a lot outside of work, it’s fairly rare for her to show up at the firehouse.

“I got a cryptic text from Chimney. He said to come down here this morning if I was free and didn’t explain why. He just said it’s urgent.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders.

“Hey Chim!” He calls out into the firehouse, his voice echoing in the vehicle bay. Chimney pops his head out from behind the ambulance, doors open while he restocks medical supplies.

“Yeah?” He answers, looking over to Buck. He sees Emerson and his eyes perk up. Chimney waves to her as he walks towards her. The hood of the ambulance is up and Hen is checking the oil. “Hen! Hen, she’s here.”

Hen returns the oil stick to the engine and wipes her hands on a cloth. Ravi turns to face them, but continues to clean and inventory equipment with a curious look on his face.

“Alright, Chim. Why did you ask me to come here?” Emerson asks him. Momo climbs out of her jacket pocket and crawls up to her shoulder. The sugar glider’s tail tickles her neck.

“I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted. I thought this matter was settled.” Hen looks at Chim crossing her arms, deadpan look on her face.

“I told you, Hen. We need her to check and make sure there’s no lingering effects.” Chim bickers back to his partner. Hen sighs and throws her hands up.

“Whatever. If it gets you to stop acting weird while we’re on shift.” She gives up and returns to her vehicle maintenance.

“Lingering effects from what?” Emerson raises her eyebrow at Chim.

“Ok, so earlier this week we had a series of calls that involved the same woman and a cursed object. It was left in the ambulance at one point, and weird stuff started happening here in the firehouse.” Chim explains.

“Gas leaked from Cap’s truck and we had to evacuate the building.” Ravi chimes in.

“So you called me here to lift a curse?” Emerson asks.

“Chim, there was no curse. The actress was just being stalked by the sketchy artifact dealer. I’m sure the leaking vehicle was just a coincidence. Hen’s right, I thought we settled the issue with the bracelet.” Buck jumps down from the engine and walks over. Hen just shakes her head.

“Look, I just want to be extra sure that’s what it was.” Chim says back to him.

“Chim, if you’re worried about curses, there are other witches who deal with them professionally who can help you. Why did you call me? I’m a zoo vet and I don’t specialize in cursed objects.” Emerson asks Chimney.

“Not even when you served in Afghanistan?” He asks.

“I know the basics, like how to spot them or cast simple curses, but nothing complex.” She crosses her arms.

“It’s just…you were very helpful that one time we were worried we’d cursed ourselves when Ravi used the Q-word. I thought maybe you could help us out.” He seems bummed and looks at his feet.

“Hey, I’ve since learned my lesson.” Ravi chimes in again. Emerson sighs and puts her hands on her hips.

“Alright, I’ll have a look around. But don’t blame me if I miss something.” She says waving her hand. “Where’s the offending object?”

“Oh, here!” Chim pulls out his phone, pulling up a picture. He shows her a photo of a gold snake bracelet with red gems for eyes.

“May I?” She asks for his phone.

“Sure.” Chim hands it to her. She zooms on the picture and moves it around. Shaking her head, she returns his phone.

“I can’t really tell from the picture.” She says. “I’d need to see the bracelet for myself. Do you have it?”

“No, it’s not here anymore.” Chim says, sighing and looking up at the ceiling.

“Hmm, okay…” Emerson crosses her arms and thinks. “Oh! You mentioned the ambulance? Can you show me the places the bracelet has been? If it was cursed, there should be some residual energy.”

“Yeah, back here.” Chim leads her to the back of the ambulance. Other firefighters at the back of the station turn their heads briefly to investigate. She steps into the back, looks around, and purses her lips to create a light buzzing sound. It fills the ambulance, sounding almost like a whistle. Her eyes glow a faint yellow as she scans the vehicle. She goes silent then nods her head.

“No curses here. Looks like it was just an ugly bracelet.” She hops out of the ambulance and straightens her jacket. Chim sighs in relief, giving a little smile.

“However, you do have a few spirits of lost patients clinging to this ambulance. I can give you the number of one of my coven members who can help them find closure.” She adds.

“Our ambulance is haunted?” Chimney’s face goes pale and he holds his breath.

“Don’t worry. They won’t affect your ability to do your job, you just might have a feeling that someone is watching you. They’re mostly just confused. Sarah can help you out, she’s a Medium.” Emerson reassures him.

“Well, what about the rest of the building? Is there anything here we should be worried about?” Chim questions her.

“There is a way for me to sweep the rest of the firehouse all at once, but it won’t be as accurate.” She explains.

“Well let’s do it, anything that will help.” He shifts on his feet.

“Ok, I’ll try my best.” Emerson says as she walks over to the back of the firehouse near the gym, Chim and Buck in tow. She turns to face out toward the front bay doors with a good view of a large portion of the vehicle bay. She sings an arpeggio, letting the notes resonate in the room.

“You have great acoustics here.” She says, spinning around looking up at the ceiling. She sings a few lines from Wicked Game, even louder this time.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

Her voice rings through the whole building, echoing back to her. It has an enchanting quality to it, just a slight edge that separates it from other people’s voices. Bobby and Eddie come to the railing to investigate. Her singing was loud enough to tear them away from their work upstairs.

“Em? What are you doing here?” Eddie calls down to her, very confused yet intrigued.

“Yeah guys, what’s going on?” Bobby asks, checking to see what shenanigans were going on in his firehouse.

“Chimney. Asked me to check the place for curses.” Emerson points at Chim with her thumb over her shoulder. Momo jumps onto her head, his leg falling in front of her eye and making her squint. Bobby and Eddie share an exasperated look and roll their eyes.

“Chimney, the bracelet wasn’t cursed.” Bobby says, his hand on his pained face.

“Oh we cleared that up, Em just confirmed that’s not a problem. But we’re checking the rest of the station.” Chim answers. Bobby sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Alright, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our jobs, do what you need to feel better.” Bobby says.

“Yes! Thanks, Cap!” Chim jumps.

“This won’t take long, I promise.” Emerson shouts up to Bobby. He waves to her and goes back to the kitchen, leaving Eddie at the railing.

“Ok, where was I…ah. This might do.” She looks around until she remembers the next step. She heads for the fire pole and gives it a few knocks with her knuckle.

“What are you doing?” Buck asks as he and Chim walk over to meet her.

“Trying to find an object of importance to the firehouse that has good resonance.” She knocks the pole again, leaning her ear close. She hums a few times until she matches the pitch of the metal pole. “Got it.”

Reaching into her sling bag, Emerson pulls out a fabric case. She unzips it to reveal a tuning fork kit. Grabbing one of the forks, she double checks that the pitches match. Returning to her previous position by the gym, she takes a few deep breaths.

The tuning fork is hit against the floor, sending vibrations into the air. Emerson copies the pitch and closes her eyes. Her voice is quiet at first, difficult to separate from the ringing metal. Gradually the sound grows and fills the room, even shaking through everyone’s bodies. The tuning fork’s ringing fades and soon it’s just her voice.

She stops, listening to the echoes for anything unusual. Her voice resonates through the building for a few seconds after she goes quiet, eventually fading into nothing. The firefighters hold still, not daring to take a breath. Buck, Chim, and Eddie exchange looks, waiting for an answer. Hen has finished her maintenance and walks over to watch as well. When the sounds finally dissipate, Emerson opens her eyes and stares at the floor.

“Kitchen.” A single word leaves her mouth and she points upstairs.

“Wait, you actually found something?” Hen says, furrowing her brows. Eddie turns to look behind him as Buck and Chim grow nervous.

“Can’t tell what is from here, but there’s definitely an enchanted object upstairs.” Emerson answers her. She puts her tuning forks away as she runs up the stairs, the others following close behind her.

“Hey Cap, she found something.” Eddie shouts to Bobby. He joins the group as Emerson makes it to the top of the stairs and slows down. Bobby is in the kitchen drying dishes. He gives a concerned look when he sees everyone gathering near the stairs.

“Everything alright?” He asks, raising a brow.

“Bobby, I need you to put that pan down on the counter, slowly.” Emerson instructs him. “No sudden movements, just set it down and back out of the kitchen.”

Bobby does as she said, even leaving the dish towel behind. He joins the others behind her. Everyone is silent and doesn’t dare move.

She slowly moves to the kitchen and sings the same pitches she used in the ambulance. She scans the appliances, the counters, and the cabinets. Grabbing the dish towel Bobby had just been using and an oven mitt, she opens a cabinet on the island next to the stove.

“Ah ha! Gotcha!” She reaches in and pulls out a cast iron skillet. Her body is still quite tense, holding the pan at arms length. “This is your culprit.”

“Em, is it dangerous? Do we need to evacuate?” Bobby asks cautiously.

“Don’t know yet, give me a second.” She spins it in a circle between her hands and sings the buzzing sound again.

“Oh.” She finally says. Her body relaxes and she begins to belt out laughing. Everyone looks at her confused, unsure what’s happening.

“You…you guys are safe. This is someone’s idea of a joke.” She continues to laugh and sets the skillet on the counter.

“So we’re not gonna drop dead?” Chim asks.

“No, you can come back into the kitchen. No cause for alarm. Sorry about that.” She answers. The firefighters seem to take a collective sigh of relief. They gather around the island and probe her with questions.

“So…. What's up with the pan? Is it not cursed after all?” Hen asks.

“Oh it’s cursed alright. It’s just more of an inconvenience than deadly.” Emerson responds. A few of them still instinctively take a step back. Eddie reaches over and grabs the skillet.

“So, what’s wrong with it?” He inspects it himself.

“Someone hexed that pan to burn any food someone tries to cook in it. Doesn’t matter who the cook is or the temperature of the stove.” She explains. Bobby’s eyes go wide.

“Damnit, I knew something was off about that pan.” Bobby grits his teeth.

“Yeah… yeah! I’ve always hated it too. Guess that’s why we ended up just keeping it in the cabinet.” Buck chimes in.

“So did someone purposely give us hexed cookware?” Chim asks, looking around at everyone.

“Depends…Bobby, do you know where this came from?” Emerson asks him.

“Consignment store. Why?” He answers.

“Ah, ok. It’s very likely the pan was already cursed when you bought it and wasn’t directed specifically at you guys.” She speculates. “The previous owner may have given it up for the same reason you don’t use it. It looks like a good pan, but it’s deceiving.”

“Huh. How about that.” Bobby grabs the pan from Eddie.

“There are also some witches who like to play pranks by cursing random objects with relatively harmless but inconvenient effects and setting them loose into the world. Mainly just to enjoy the chaos.” She adds.

“So what do we do about it?” Hen asks. “Can you remove the curse?”

“Nope.” She puts her hands up and gives a not it face. “Turns out petty curses like these are complex and difficult to work with. I’ll leave the decision to you. You can keep it as it is, get rid of it, have a professional remove the curse…either way I can’t help you. Sorry.”

“Well regardless, we appreciate you checking the place out. Hopefully, now people will be less squirrelly on shift.” Bobby thanks her before looking directly at Chimney.

“Hey, just followed a hunch.” Chim gets defensive. “Turns out I was right… sort of.”

“You’re welcome. And if you’re worried about someone placing a dangerous curse on the firehouse, I do however have a method you can use to fortify the place. No magic required.” Emerson says.

“What really? What is it?” Buck chimes in.

“Plants. Just place a whole bunch of plants in here and if there’s some bad energy being sent your way, they will absorb the brunt of it.” She explains. “There’s a reason my house looks like a jungle.”

“Any particular kind of plants or…” Hen asks.

“Anything will do. Just keep them watered and pruned.” Emerson says as she starts to head for the stairs.

“How will we know it’s working?” Bobby asks. She pauses to look back at him.

“If all of the plants suddenly drop dead at the same time with no natural cause. That is if Eddie hasn’t killed them first.” She jokes. They snort and laugh at her comment, meanwhile Eddie flushes red and sips his coffee.

“Thanks again, Em.” Chimney waves. Emerson waves back and heads out of the firehouse. She stops to look back at the station before getting in her car, nodding to herself.

“Yep, still got it.”

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Cult girl and Hannibal go through an exhaustive list of potential adoptive couples.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warning: sexual harassment, christianity, discussion of pregnancy and family planning, adoption, murder and cannibalism

Step two: find an adoptive family.

Some would say your list of expectations for potential adoptive parents was too extensive. Impossible for any human to reach. But it was really just the bare minimum.

Regardless of if they were two men, two women, one of each, or a few people, the parents had to be trustworthy. It wasn't easy to earn Hannibal's trust, but he could recognize those who had the capacity to right away. It was a little instinct you had dubbed 'friend or food'.

On paper, the apostolic pastor and his wife of 19 years seemed like the perfect candidates. The adoption agency tried to push them on you, as they had a great track record with adopting from them prior. Three boys, all of which were honors students.

Hannibal insisted on a formal introduction, during which you could conduct a proper, though surreptitious, interview. It was an invitation to dinner.

He invited the couple into his office, where a pot of tea and an interrogation was waiting for them. Then there was you. Barely-pregnant little [F/N], feeling entirely safe so long as your fiancé was beside you.

"You're doing the right thing, y'know." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Landon, said upon meeting you.

"How do you mean?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"All god's life is precious." She said, placing a hand on your not-even-remotely-showing-yet stomach. "You're walking in obedience to the lord by giving this child a shot at life."

Strike one: bringing up religion unprompted. Strike two: touching me without asking first.

You wanted to swat her hand away, but remembered that patience was a virtue. She and her husband took a seat across from you.

"Y'know," The man began, his mannerisms eerily similar to those of his wife. "I don't usually begin with the god talk, but I think a higher power had to have been involved in the conception of this- well, our child. I'd like to think the good lord brought us together today."

Strike three: already believes he is entitled to my child. You're outta here.

"Don't flatter the adoption agency like that, Jacob." Hannibal chuckled, placing his teacup on the side table.

"I'm serious, Dr. Lecter." Jacob interjected. "Faith and I really do believe that god put us on this earth to prepare his smallest soldiers for the spiritual war."

You shot Hannibal a side glance that said 'can we please just eat them now?'.

The answer was no. Hannibal liked to play with his food.

"And your adult children have all moved out?" He asked.

"That's right." Jacob nodded. "We have plenty of room in our five-bedroom house for the new little slugger to run around in."

"And if it's a girl!" The wife interrupted. "We have enough closet space for all the denim maxi-skirts money could buy."

Strike four: arbitrarily genders the behavior of a nine-week-old embryo.

The man then returned the teacup to the table, not bothering to use the saucer and instead leaving a nasty ring of condensation on the polished mahogany.

"Okay." Hannibal huffed, resignedly rising from his seat. He pulled two hypodermic needles from his back pocket and carefully, subtly stuck them onto the couples' necks. They couldn't even scream.

The tacos al pastor that followed (after a few days of marinating, of course) were exquisite.

The next week brought a new couple to your doorstep. Frank and Angela, they were named. Their claim to fame was that their oldest son played football for one of those big southern party schools. Either Auburn or Alabama. There was hardly a difference.

You sat for what felt like hours listening to the man speak in unintelligible football babble, waiting for him to take a breath. Surprisingly, it was the mom who got him to finally shut up.

"Frank, please." She said with more frustration than this one situation even remotely warranted. Either she had enough intuition to know she was being tested, or she’d spent the last decade putting up with this. Possibly both. "You're boring our hosts to death."

"What? No way! She loves it!" Frank replied, then turned to you. Not to Hannibal, just you. “Aren’t you having a great time, sweetheart?”

Strike one: takes advantage of the female socialization to be passive and polite, allowing himself to take up the most space.

You shook your head. “I hate football.”

His wife looked quite pleased with herself.

“Angie, I just wanted her to know what good breeding her son is going to have.” He said, without a lick of irony or self-awareness. He eyed you up and down and licked his lips. “And it is mutual, I see.”

The room went quiet as everyone tried to determine whether he was serious or if it was just a fucked-up joke. The longer the silence lingered, the more you realized he wasn’t kidding. Angela looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I don’t know what the agency told you, Mr. Wyatt,” Hannibal said, trying not to grit his teeth. “She isn’t a surrogate. She’s already pregnant.”

Frank’s jaw hung dumbly open. “I thought you were looking for a sperm donor? I just-”

“No.” You cut him off, raising your hand and covering your face. “I don’t want to know what you thought.”

“Well, I would!” Angela interjected, righteous fury eclipsing what should have been crippling embarrassment. “What exactly did you think this was, Francis?”

“The file said that he was over fifty, so I just assumed--” Frank rationalized, his voice far too loud for the room. “Y’know? That she wanted a baby that wouldn’t come out all funny-looking?”

“You’re disgusting.” You blurted out.

“Francis Howard Wyatt,” Angela scolded as if she were talking to her son. “You are forty-eight and the only increasing part of your body is your blood pressure. Why on Earth would any woman choose you over her smart, handsome doctor fiancé?”

This made Hannibal sit up a little straighter. He wanted Francis on the butcher’s block yesterday, but he momentarily considered letting Angela live.

“They’re not married?” Frank whispered, or whatever the loud-aggressive-toxic-masculinity version of whispering was. He paused, as the dead hamster on the wheel powering his brain crept back to life. “That actually makes sense.”

Angela loudly smacked her hand against her face. “Dr. Lecter, Ms. [L/N], I am so sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Wyatt.” Hannibal stood up, readying the next batch of needles. “It just makes what I’m about to do easier.”

It took quite a bit of restraint to not make their deaths hurt, but he made up for it when it came time to carve. He had fun running his fittingly small penis through a meat grinder. Not with any intent to cook it, though. Just because.

Hannibal wanted to make Francis Wyatt into the least dignified meal imaginable. You quickly recalled going to a friend’s barbeque in Georgia and encountering a horrendously Southern delicacy known as Frito Pie. You proposed the idea to Hannibal, who, after reviling in abject horror at the notion of eating something out of a bag, agreed that it was the most fitting end. He could spare a few pounds of flesh to grind up and make into chili.

The third week brought yet another couple. They seemed smart enough to realize your invitation wasn't the friendly olive branch the others had interpreted it as. Their healthy skepticism was refreshing, to say the least. Then, you met them: Max and Archie.

"You'll have to forgive my partner's paranoia." Max said upon entering the house. He tugged playfully at Archie's hand. "We watched Get Out recently, so an invitation to the suburbs sounded some alarms in his sleep-deprived brain."

"I love that movie." You chimed in. "It reminds me of my family."

"Oh no." Archie's eyes widened in only half-pretend fear. He shot an I-told-you-so look in his partner's direction.

"But my favorite horror flick has to be Midsommar." You added. "My friends and I saw a midnight screening and we didn't sleep at all that night."

"But have you seen Hereditary?" Archie posited.

"Of course." You shrugged. "Aster is totally genius."

You made more than just polite conversation with the couple. Max, despite his young age, was a skilled data analyst and day trader. He attributed his success to the hard work of his immigrant parents. Archie was an environmental lawyer and land activist. He was also a bit of a thrill junkie, indulging in everything from scary movies to bungee jumping.

It didn't take long to realize that you wouldn't be eating them. They were far too pleasant of company to eat.

"So when is this baby planning to make its entrance?" Archie asked, gesturing to you. "You don’t look all that pregnant to me."

You put your hand over your slightly-protruding stomach. "Late August, I believe. If everything goes according to plan."

"You're not far along at all, aren’t you?" Max observed. "That gives us plenty of time to prove ourselves to you."

"Believe me." You put up your hand. "You're doing a great job so far."

“If you like horror stories, we might have to indulge you in the last two encounters we had.” Hannibal commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. That was a good sign. “No blood was spilled, thank god. Would have ruined my carpets. But believe me when I tell you it came very close.”

The couple laughed along. Archie leaned in like he was about to tell a life-shattering secret. “You wouldn’t believe the hoops we had to jump through to even have the chance to adopt. And I don’t want to say that it’s because we’re an interracial gay couple, but...”

“Agencies aren’t exactly colorblind.” You finished, via his prompting.

“She gets it.” Archie pointed to you. “See, Maxie? She agrees with me.”

Max pushed his glasses up his nose. “I never said I disagreed.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the conversation to take a sharp left turn off a cliff, but it didn’t happen. They were wonderful company; polite, intelligent and articulate. Exactly the kind of people you’d want to see taking care of your child.

You’d have to look for you next meal elsewhere.

#hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #cult girl #cult girl 2 #cult girl doctorate

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ptergwen · 4 years

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4 times peter loved you and 1 time he said it

warnings: angst, swearing, and flash being a dickwad (love him tho)

a/n: i wasn’t sure if i would ever finish this bc i started in march? and gave up but i really like the concept so i made myself get back into it and AHH i’m really happy with how it turned out! fingers crossed y’all like too ahaha. also this is unrelated but send me requests!

to say you and peter were each other’s missing halves would be an absolute understatement. there wasn’t a secret you didn’t share, an inside joke you didn’t have, a text or call left unanswered, or a second you weren’t on the other’s mind.

it had been like that since your first day of freshman year. you took the seat next to peter in first period spanish, and the rest was history.

peter knew you better than you knew yourself. as cheesy as it sounded, it was true. he could guess what you were going to order at a restaurant before you picked up the menu. if you had a bad day, he’d come over to your place with tissues and hugs, without you having to ask. he knew all the little things.

you? you were a peter parker encyclopedia. you watched all his favorite movies so he could rant to you about them, and you’d actually understand what he was saying. whenever he felt overwhelmed by his chaotic life, you found a way to calm him.

you two were soulmates in best friend form.

best friends, nothing more.

♡ 1.

you had an arm around peter’s neck as you picked at some fruit on his lunch tray. his head was resting comfortably against your cheek, whole body leaning on you. impromtu cuddle sessions weren’t unusual for the two of you. they worked in both of your favors. peter was your own personal heater, and you were just really comfortable to nap on, in his opinion.

“are you gonna eat all my grapes? i was looking forward to those,” peter whined, taking one out of your hand. “are you gonna keep using me as a pillow?” you challenged. he responded by moving his head to your shoulder and chewing. “then, yes. i am gonna eat all your grapes.”

“you know what two people who share food are?” ned chimed in from across the cafeteria table. already knowing what he was implying, you sighed. “what, ned?” he cupped his hand over his mouth like he was about to spill the world’s biggest secret. “a couple.”

it wouldn’t be a regular day without ned trying to play matchmaker for you and peter. the idea made peter scoff. “leave us alone, man. that doesn’t even make sense.” “yes it does!” ned nudged mj for backup. she only raised her hands in defense. it was always a hard pass from her on getting involved in these types of things, unless she found a reason to.

“really? how?” you grabbed peter’s milk and took a sip just for the hell of it. he chuckled at that, forgetting he was supposed to be annoyed with you. a bit of milk dripped down your chin in the process. “oops,” you grimaced at yourself and licked it away.

something about the whole thing made peter’s heart clench. it was so... you were so... cute. cute was definitely the word he was looking for. wait, what? that was new. peter had always thought you were pretty and all, but he’d never found himself endeared like this over such a little thing you did. or had he? no. nope. it was ned’s stupid theory messing with him. that was all.

“y/n, dude, everyone knows it’s a thing. like, why else would someone give up their whole lunch? it’s flirting,” ned interrupted peter’s sudden thoughts about your cuteness. the smug look on his face made you want to throw the tray at him.

before you even joined their friend group, ned was on a mission to set the two of you up. peter described you to him and mj as “the actual sweetest girl ever. she makes me laugh a lot. you guys gotta meet her.” mj obviously ‘tsked’ at him, but a light bulb went off in ned’s head. peter was crushing. he just didn’t know it yet.

part of how you and peter got so close was that ned and mj used to back out of group plans. you’d end up hanging out alone most of the time. of course, it was ned’s idea. a successful idea, yes, but neither of you understood the obsession. apparently it was a guy in the chair’s duty to be a good wingman, and you should leave it to him. whatever that meant.

“if i remember correctly, you and your mom went halfsies on a piece of cake at your birthday party last year. what are you trying to tell us, leeds?” mj asked with a smirk. you and peter looked at each other and burst into laughter, ned’s mouth hanging open. the girl could really get someone when she wanted to.

“shut up, you guys! that’s different!” “so is y/n stealing my food and you calling it sharing,” peter made a point of saying more to you than ned. despite his words, he pushed the tray over to you. it was basically yours, anyway.

you thanked him with a pat on his cheek and popped more grapes into your mouth. in that moment, peter decided he’d get you all the grapes in the world if he could. jeez, he seriously needed to reel it in.

ned was only going to keep going now. “see that? peter’s such a sweet boyfriend. isn’t he, y/n?” he cooed and clasped his hands under his chin. you didn’t have the chance to change the topic before flash appeared at your table. he’d probably overheard your conversation. “penis parker is somebody’s boyfriend? good one.”

feeling peter tense up next to you, you put a hand on his shoulder to let him know you were there. you’d been in too many of these situations. the way flash talked to peter pissed you off in ways you didn’t think were possible. he was fine with everybody else, so why did he choose to pick on him? peter was the least deserving person of having to put up with it from anyone.

“just ignore him, okay? he’ll get bored and leave. works every time,” you reminded peter. too uneasy to say anything, he reached back and put his hand on top of yours. he tried to focus on how nice your touch felt instead of the fact that he was about to be humiliated by flash yet again.

“peter could totally get a girlfriend! he has, like, tons of girls after him,” ned attempted to back peter up, pleased with himself. groaning, peter put his head down on the table. he couldn’t bare to watch his friend destroy what was left of his social life. “you’re really pushing this now. stop talking,” mj warned in a whisper yell to ned. that didn’t stop flash from hearing her.

“she’s right. even parker agrees! look at him,” he snickered at peter’s embarrassed state. you’d had more than enough of him at that point. screw the silence. it wasn’t going to cut it for this one. while wingman ned was still making up stories, you tapped peter’s shoulder to find out how he was doing. his head remained down.

“you okay? want me to say something?” “i’m used to it, and no. i don’t wanna make you deal with him.” peter hated putting his issues on other people, but you couldn’t stand another second of listening to the things flash was saying. you cut into an argument between him and ned about peter’s body count. like his was any higher.

“fuck off, flash!” he stopped in the middle of his sentence. “huh?” “i said fuck off. anyone would be so lucky to date peter. you’re probably salty at him all the time because it’ll never be you,” you finally snapped. his tough guy persona faltered for a few seconds at your words, ned and mj taking the opportunity to high five you for telling him off.

peter was glad his head was still down because his cheeks were pinker than he’d like to admit. did you really mean that? would you be lucky to date him, too?

“what are you, president of the parker protection squad? or are you two a thing?” flash quickly recovered. there he went trying to get the last word in. the embarrassment for peter if you denied it was exactly what he wanted, but you weren’t letting him have it.

“ask me again some other time.” you plastered on a shit-eating grin and waved goodbye. unsatisfied with your answer, flash huffed his way back to his own table. after he was gone, peter looked up at you with something you’d never seen before twinkling in his eyes.

“thank you, y/n. you really didn’t have to say all of that.” “oh, no. don’t thank me. i‘d do it for you anytime. i am president of the parker protection squad, after all.” your fake smile turned into a genuine one for him. peter couldn’t help but mirror it.

his was heart doing that thing again. he guessed it was because he loved you so much, but this love felt different somehow. it wasn’t the friend kind of love he’d had for you all those years.

it was the kind of love he saw in the rom coms you made him watch when you got to pick for movie night. cupid’s love was the official name for it. when he put two and two together, the realization smacked him straight in the face. ned was right.

peter was starting to fall in love with you, and there was no way he could stop.

♡ 2.

peter was a workaholic. patrolaholic to be exact, especially when he had a reason. he’d sometimes find himself in a cycle of getting home late and going out early for days on end. he’d gotten used to the sleep deprivation. his grumbling stomach from missing meals wasn’t too big of a deal either. not when he had a city to save.

it was also a good distraction from everything else going on in his life. man, did he need a distraction. after peter came to terms with the fact that he loved loved his best friend, he narrowed it down to two options; telling you about his feelings or taking them to his grave. since the city was so busy, he was thankful he could throw himself into patrolling and not decide just yet.

may would usually only allow peter to patrol on weekends. school existed, and he had to take breaks. peter really wanted to help out more, so he proposed an idea that could potentially let him up it to the full seven days. he had to make it home in one piece every night for a trial week. that would prove to may he could handle it.

ignoring his black eye on tuesday and limp on thursday, it worked out. peter was positive he could finish off the week just fine. may didn’t have the same optimism. she decided that so much as a scratch on friday and it was strike three. friday came, and peter had impressively managed to end the day, like he thought, just fine.

he did one last swing around the neighborhood he was in, then started heading back to queens to gloat to may. on his way, he remembered he had to text you goodnight. he was bound by a pinky swear to you that he would do it every time he finished patrolling.

peter being spider-man was something you figured out only a few months after he got his powers. he technically exposed himself, and you pieced everything together. it all happened when spider-man offered to walk you home from school one day.

the way he rubbed the back of his neck while asking was a nervous habit that was oddly familiar, and urged you to say yes. you also thought it was strange how even though he didn’t ask for your address, he somehow knew where he was taking you. then again, he was spider-man. it was his job to know new york city and the people living in it.

you came to the conclusion you were making things up until he was about to leave. he walked you to the door of your apartment building and said, “stay safe, squirt.” nobody called you that besides peter. he came up with it because he had recently grown a few inches taller and could finally give you hell for being the short one.

needless to say, peter didn’t take off like he was intending to. he realized his slip up as soon as the nickname came out of his mouth. you brought him upstairs and had a long afternoon of questioning, explanations, and making promises.

peter typed out a message telling you he was fine and to go to sleep. as he was about to hit send, he swung too low and smacked his head right into a traffic light. that was what he got for texting while swinging. he could imagine mj giving him one of her famous safety lectures already, but that wasn’t first on his list of worries. he had a throbbing head and may’s third strike to deal with.

crap, may couldn’t know about this. she’d ban him from patrolling probably forever. going home was out of the question, but peter was in desperate need of an ice pack. there was already a bump forming from where the light hit him. his next choice would be to go to happy, only he couldn’t do that because he‘d tell may.

peter’s hands worked faster than his brain, and he started swinging over to your apartment. the overthinking began soon after. nobody wants to deal with a surprise appearance from their possibly concussed friend at 2 a.m. besides, what would he say? he’d barely seen you all week. it wasn’t fair to you, but it was too late to turn back.

peter landed on the sidewalk with an “oof” and crawled up the wall of your building. when he reached your window, he knocked in the same rhythm that he always did. no answer. he knocked louder. no answer again.

seeing as he had no other option, peter had to let himself in. he pushed on your window to see if it was unlocked. thank god it slid up then, but he made a mental note to remind you about keeping it locked another time. he climbed through the window with as little noise as possible so your family wouldn’t hear.

after navigating in the dark, peter pulled off his mask by the side of your bed. he instantly melted at the sight of you. your face was squished into your pillow, hair sprawled everywhere. you’d must have fallen asleep waiting for his text because you were holding your phone. peter was sure he’d never seen something so adorable.

he let himself stand there and watch the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. the bump on his head was no longer a priority. peter was utterly and completely entranced with you. god, why was he acting like this? oh, right. he was secretly in love with you.

before peter could help himself, he brushed some hair that had fallen into your eyes away with his fingers. you squirmed in your sleep, peter pulling his hand back. he was such an idiot sometimes. your eyes fluttered open and landed on him.

“peter? ‘s that you?” you squinted to see in the darkness of your room. he moved closer. your legs dangled over the bed as you slowly sat up. “yeah, it’s me. sorry to wake you.” he went to scratch his head out of nerves, but stopped when he remembered it really freaking hurt right there.

“‘s okay. i was hoping you’d come over soon. missed you all week.” you frowned at the red and blue clad boy in front of you. except for school, you hadn’t seen peter the past few days. “lots of crime to fight lately?” “missed you more, and yeah. been kicking lots of asses.” the awkwardness peter was imaging faded away when he plopped down next to you on your bed.

“how’s your eye doing? and the limp?” you turned his head towards you by his chin. he exhaled in relief. “getting better, i think. now that we’re talking about injuries...” the sleepiness was knocked out of you. you all but leapt to your feet and turned on the lamp by your bed. peter had a feeling you’d slightly freak.

“we’ve been making small talk and you’re hurt? what happened, peter?” “i-i sort of, um, i was texting you and swung into a traffic light.” “oh my god, where?” he pointed at his forehead with a weak smile. surely enough, there was a big bump. you gasped. “please don’t be mad at me.” “i’m not mad at you. just feel bad it was kinda my fault. do you think you have a concussion?”

you weren’t sure what to do beyond the mostly useless first aid videos they played in gym class. being an avenger, peter had had his share of experience with wounds. whenever he came to you hurt, he talked you through how to help him. the most you’d ever dealt with was a few particularly deep cuts. this was not the same.

“i‘m not sure. you could try that finger thing?” he suggested. you crouched down in front of him. “good idea. let’s do that.” as you waved your index finger back and forth and peter’s eyes followed it seemingly well, his mind was elsewhere. he was thinking about crawling into bed with you and sleeping in your arms.

“well, you passed or whatever they say. i’m pretty sure you don’t have a concussion. you’ll heal fast because of... you know.” you stood up and mimicked the way he shoots his webs. peter chuckled quietly. your thumb ran lightly over his bump, making him wince. “how bad does it feel?” “on a scale from one to ten it’s, like, a five and a half.”

although not what you wanted to hear, it was manageable. you hoped so, at least. “i’m gonna go get some stuff. change into comfortable clothes.” “yes, doctor y/n.” peter saluted you. you were happy to see he still felt up to joking around. biting your lip to hold back a smile, you made your way to the kitchen.

peter searched through the spare clothes he’d left here over the years. there were so many, you had to give him a drawer. he changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt, then sat back down criss cross on your bed.

you came in shortly after with a water bottle, two advil, and an ice pack wrapped in a towel. “i was kidding about the whole doctor thing, you know.” “too bad.” you handed him the advil and water. “take these. they’ll help until your magic healing powers kick in.” peter took the pills while you pressed the ice pack to his bump. he took it from you when he was finished.

“is that any better?” “much better. i’m all good. i should probably go soon.” he mumbled, not meaning it but also not wanting to overstay his welcome. you’d already done so much for him. you stopped him from getting up by putting a hand on his chest.

“what? you already changed, and i’m not sending you home to get killed by may. just stay.” “are you sure? i don’t wanna bother you anymore. it was annoying for me to come here so late in the first place.”

a frown set on your face. “peter, don’t you remember my promise?” there was a beat of silence while he thought about it. “that you’d help out with spidey stuff?” “however and whenever i can. i don’t know what made you think differently just now, but nothing’s gonna change that. doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night or early in the morning. i’m always here.”

only you could reassure him just like that. peter was really lucky to have you. really, really lucky.

“right. you’re right. sorry for... whatever that was.” “you apologize too much.” you poked his chest to punctuate your statement and switched the light off. “sorry for that, too,” he teased, wanting a reaction from you. “peter benjamin parker, just get in the bed.” “yes, ma’am.” that was enough before you changed your mind and threw him out.

you rolled to lay on the other side of peter. still pressing the ice pack to his head, he laid down next to you. it didn’t take long for both of you to be settled under the covers. “try not to bang into the wall or something,” you joked and pulled your comforter up to your chin.

peter puffed some air out of his cheeks, tugging more of it back. “you can’t be mean and hog the blanket.” “it’s my bed, so i actually can. i’ll hog everything.”

to prove your point, you moved over to peter until there was no room between you. both of you knew it was an excuse to cuddle. he wasn’t mad about it at all. peter opened an arm for you. you curled into his side, letting him hold you close. his whole body relaxed as you hugged him against you. “goodnight, spidey.” “night, squirt.”

♡ 3.

“what does that cloud look like to you?” you pointed up at the sky. peter’s eyes darted around as he tried to find exactly which one you were talking about. there were a lot of them, in his defense. you made a big circle with your finger around the cloud in question.

“the really curvy one. right there.” “kinda looks like a tiger. can we keep walking now?” peter tugged your arm linked in his in an attempt to move you from the spot you’d randomly stopped in. he made a whiny noise when you didn’t budge.

“i think it looks more like a horse, and no. why are you in such a rush?” furrowing your brows at him, you tightened your grip on his arm. “because some people don’t like cloud watching, grandma.” “i only asked you about one! i’m just... trying to get the most out of today.”

with college around the corner, you and peter both had a lot to do and a little bit of time to get it done. your only hangouts had become some shared extracurriculars and weekly study group with your other friends. trying to binge watch your shows together on facetime hadn’t been easy, for one thing. you fumbled to keep your phone up more than you payed attention.

on a more serious note, being apart sucked majorly. it was going to be this times a million when you would inevitably have to split up in a few months. thinking about it for too long usually made you cry.

peter was struggling in other ways. his more than a friend feelings for you were only getting stronger. having all that love and not being able to give it to you was hurting like hell, and he had to just pack everything up and act normal during the rare moments you were together. you were both going through it.

this was the first sunday in what felt like forever that you and peter were both free. you decided that the nice weather called for a meetup at central park. so, there you were, arm in arm on your afternoon stroll.

“don’t say it like that, y/n. you’re making me sad.” peter let out a breath as you rested your head on his shoulder. “that was the point.” you started walking again, peter following next to you. he kicked at pebbles while you smiled up at him. that made him smile at his feet. you were getting really good at making him flustered.

“so, did you finish that pre calc packet?” peter asked to distract himself. you lifted your head off his shoulder with a groan. “peter, we’re not talking about school for once. let’s talk about literally anything else.” “like what?” you were about to make a suggestion, but something caught your attention.

you raced over to a swingset, dragging peter along with you before he could realize where you were taking him. you stopped in front of it and threw your hands up to present it to him. he let out a breathy laugh. “when was the last time you went on one of these?” you asked, taking peter’s arm again. peter shook his head. “way too long ago.”

with a smile, you walked him over and took a seat on one of the swings. peter sat on the one next to you. you spun around in a circle to see how much you could twist the chains, peter laughing. “y/n, what are you doing?” “having fun. you should try it sometime.” he backed up to get himself started and grabbed his own chains. “i do have fun. it’s just not in the ways you think.”

you untwisted yourself to watch peter. “so, how?” “well,” he started going higher, “i like learning about stuff, even the things we have to in school.” “everybody knows that. that’s the first thing i thought of.” you did know everything possible about him.

everything except his new feelings for you, but this wasn’t the time for him to blurt that out. he was still figuring out when or if he should.

“guess i’m not gonna say i like movies, either.” “singing?” you were swinging next to him, turning it into an unspoken competiton for who could get the highest. peter slowed down a bit since he’d had a head start. “i suck. the only person who’s allowed to hear me is you.”

“it’s possible to suck at something and still enjoy it.” the breeze blew your hair around, peter seeing it from the corner of his eye. he’d always loved how carefree you were around him. it rubbed off.

“remind me to force you to do karaoke one day.” “you’re so annoying.” that motivated you to kick off harder on the ground. peter huffed and tried to catch up to you. “don’t be mean to your only source of fun.” if that wasn’t true, he would’ve came up with a comeback.

the only time peter remembered to relax was when he was with you. it was usually because you reminded him. he skidded to a stop on the swing and looked up at you.

“why’d you let me win? was that too mean?” you looked over your shoulder. “nah, i just got tired.” “oh. we can do something else now. catch me?” “sure,” peter chuckled and got off the swing. he stood in front of you on the grass and waited for you to get lower. you clenched your teeth into a nervous smile.

“ready?” “ready.” swinging towards him, you jumped off and expected to land in his arms. you ended up completely on top of him instead.

the wind was knocked out of both of you, but peter had it worse because he broke your fall. your hands were on his shoulders and one of his was around your lower back. neither of you realized the position you were in. you were too busy trying to breathe again.

“god, that hurt.” “my bad,” peter mumbled. in any other circumstance, he wouldn’t be complaining about this. “i should’ve warned you or something,” you dismissed him.

you were still hovering over peter, your lips dangerously close to his. he could’ve sworn they almost touched. that was when you got off of him. he only forced out a laugh. nothing ever went his way. you offered him a hand, oblivious to his inner conflict. peter took it and pulled himself up, falling into step next to you as you headed to another path.

that could’ve been a chance to make some sort of move, and he blew it.

♡ 4.

it hadn’t been easy for peter to move on from that day. his mind kept replaying the split second you almost kissed on an endless loop, and all he could do was come up with what he should’ve done in the moment.

things were getting to a point where he had no clue how to act around you. being your friend was hard, but becoming your boyfriend would be that much harder. his stupid feelings put him in an awkward place, and he was afraid you were starting to realize. he couldn’t lose you altogether.

you asked peter to meet you for coffee after school. it was this small place in between your apartments you’d both been to once before. they had really good cookies and an overall cozy feeling you liked. peter wasn’t sure what this was all about.

were you going to confront him? did ned say something? maybe it was a mistake to confide in his most gossipy friend about how he felt.

with a headache from stress and a heavy backpack hanging off his shoulders, peter walked into the café. he spotted you at a table near the window. you’d already taken the liberty of ordering, two drinks and a chocolate chip cookie waiting there. you looked up from your phone when peter pulled a chair out.

“hi.” you gave him a small smile and put your phone down. “i already got everything.” peter shrugged off his backpack with a grin. he sat down facing you. “thanks. sorry i’m kinda late. i had to stop at my locker.” you usually met him there. come to think of it, why hadn’t you today? you pushed peter’s drink over to him. “you’re fine. i came here early to get us a table, anyway.” phew.

peter bent the straw to his iced macchiato and took a sip. it made him feel grown up, casually drinking coffee with you over a boring conversation. adult life must’ve sucked. “so, how was the rest of your day?” he asked to fill the silence. you only had two classes without him after lunch, so that was a dumb question. he’d never had so much trouble talking to you.

“eh. betty fell asleep on me during this cold war documentary we had to watch.” “didn’t she say american history is her favorite?” you broke off a piece of the cookie with a laugh. “not after that. what about your day?” the light from the window was shining directly on you, blocking out everything else from peter’s view. he wanted to tell you how beautiful you were so bad, but that would be creepy.

you took a bite of your cookie and raised an eyebrow. he was staring. “uh, nothing interesting. i’m gonna patrol a little bit later.” peter sipped his drink again. you clicked your tongue and let out a breath. “that’s all you do these days.” he knew you were catching on to how off he’d been. what was he supposed to say? it would’ve helped if he’d prepared a few excuses.

“just trying to help out while i’m still here.” that was a half truth. “yeah, but you should still take some time for yourself.” you ripped open your straw wrapper and blew it at peter. he caught it just before it hit his face. rolling your eyes, you put the straw into your drink. “i hate your reflexes sometimes.” he shrugged one of his shoulders casually. “jealousy is a disease.”

neither of you said anything for a few minutes. you stared out the window while peter finished the rest of the cookie. he could tell something was on your mind. whenever you were deep in your thoughts, you sort of zoned out like this.

he was too nervous to ask you what was wrong because of the conversation you just had. it sounded like you had already considered he was being distant before today. his feelings aside, he needed to reassure you. that was more important.

“y/n?” you turned your head to look at him. “yeah?” peter’s gaze shifted from you to his thumbs twiddling in his lap. “i know we’ve both been really... busy lately, but i’m still here. don’t forget that.” a hint of a smile played on your lips. you would’ve hugged him if you could reach. “thank you, peter. i kinda needed to hear that.” he nudged your leg under the table. “of course. hey, you wanna come with me tonight?”

a couple of hours later, you were in peter’s arms on a rooftop that was much higher up than it looked. he insisted on taking you for a swing so you could get the full experience. he’d been trying to get you to do this for the longest time, so he wondered what made you agree today. you wanted to find out what was so enjoyable about it.

“i trust you, but you’re not gonna drop me, right?” your legs were around his waist, and he had one hand supporting you by your back. that wasn’t terrifying at all. you grabbed peter’s shoulders, the idea of it making you nervous. he wrapped his arm tighter around you.

“oh my god, no. i can always web you back up.” “peter! that’s not funny.” even behind the mask, you could tell he was smirking. “you’re always safe with me, squirt. don’t worry.” you brought your arms up to loop around his neck.

“i feel better now.” “good. i’m gonna jump when we get to the edge, okay?“ your whole body stiffened up. peter could sense it. as excited as he was to share this with you, he didn’t want to make you feel pressured. “or we don’t have to do it.” his voice was quiet. you tried to relax in his hold. “i’m just gonna close my eyes. i think that’ll help.” “we’re about to find out.”

peter started walking towards the edge of the building with you holding on even tighter to him, your eyes squeezed shut. he kept finding himself in situations where he was close to you in the ways he’d been wishing for, but never for the same reasons. it was bittersweet.

he bit down on his lip and aimed his free hand at a building. you squealed when he leaned back. “i’m jumping now,” he prepared you, and before you could respond, you were in the air. you hid your face in peter’s chest the second you felt yourself pretty much flying.

“what the fuck, you like this?” you had to yell so he could hear you. peter shot another web to keep swinging. “it’s really not that bad! try looking up!” he shouted back, clearly amused.

grip tightening around his neck, you slowly pulled your face away from him. he kept you close as he swung. you somehow convinced yourself you weren’t going to die by looking at something besides peter. your eyes landed on the sky behind his head.

the sun was almost completely set, deep pink and orange merging together against the glowing lights of the city. you were finally understanding why he liked this so much. it was beautiful.

peter peeked at you for a second to check on you. he swore his heart was going to explode out of his chest. the look of adoration on your face, it was even better than the view. it was the view. the little moments where peter got to see you this way made him realize how in love with you he really was.

“this is... wow. i get it now,” you laughed in disbelief, watching as the city whirled past you. peter smiled so big it hurt. “pretty awesome, huh?” one of your hands slid back down to his shoulder. “take me with you more often.”

♡ 5.

peter licked his lips out of habit as he held the door open for may, who was following behind him with a look of pride. he was about to graduate high school. the ceremony was being held in a really nice stadium-like place. trying to find it added minutes on to the parker tradition of being late to everything important.

peter wasn’t as concerned with his tardiness as he was with finding you.

while he tossed and turned in bed the night before, he went over his whole school year in his head. that meant little things and big things. he was starting to drift off until he remembered a conversation with ned a few weeks back. they decided on a deadline for peter to tell you about his feelings, and it was before graduation.

they chose it because if peter got rejected, he’d be over it by the time college started. that was the goal.

it wasn’t that peter had changed his mind. it was that he completely forgot. he didn’t have a solid plan for what he should do. these things needed to be decided way in advance. he ended up pulling something together last minute because it was you. plus, this extra pressure gave him the push to go through with it. somewhere between steps seven and eight, he passed out.

may rushed him to get ready because he’d slept past his alarm. the whole morning was a mess, and he had at most fifteen minutes to confess his love to you by the time he got there.

“you should go make sure you’re marked here. i’ll see you after. love you.” may pressed a kiss to his cheek and half-jogged to the auditorium for a seat. he squeezed her arm and headed off to check in. your whole grade was already lined up along the walls for what looked like miles. the deal was to tell you before graduation. he still had about ten minutes.

peter walked past hundreds of students with his heartbeat thumping in his ears. everyone was in alphabetical order, so it didn’t take too long to find you. relief washed over you when you saw peter. you were worried he wouldn’t show up at all. his cap was in his hand, hair getting tangled from running his fingers through it. he looked at you with pleading eyes.

“finally, i’ve been trying to call you all morning. where were you?” your tone was dripping with concern. “i overslept. there’s something i gotta tell you, y/n.” he gulped. you smiled in a way that was kind of pitying. “we’re about to start going inside. i- you have to wait, pete. go get lined up.”

this wasn’t how it was going to end. not again.

he looked around to see who was watching, then he grabbed your wrist. “peter, what are you-“ “just come with me really quick.” despite yourself, you let him lead you down the hallway. you dodged a couple of teachers having a conversation and went into a bathroom that was vacant by some chance. he let go of you after the door shut. you stood behind it while he walked over to a sink.

it was making you anxious to not be out there. you could be late. peter was the same way when it came to school, so you knew this had to be pretty serious. you gave up the battle with yourself and made your way over to him. he was looking at himself in the mirror, trying to get a stray curl back in place.

“let me help.” you stood next to him. he turned to face you, that same look of urgency still in his eyes. you used two fingers to brush through his hair. there was so much gel that it was wet enough to mess with. you smiled a bit and took your hand out of his hair. his hand was gripping the sink.

“you look good, pete. you smell good, too.” “so do you.” his voice was lower than usual. you flattened out the material of your blue gown. “thanks. so, talk to me. what’s up?”

the question was so simple, but way too many answers were running through peter’s brain. he wasn’t even sure he’d have enough time to explain everything now. this was why he needed a written out and carefully crafted plan.

but, like he said to himself last night, this was you. his best friend in the entire world and any other that might exist. the person who’s been there for his most embarrassing moments, and who’s been responsible for some of his best ones. if he couldn’t finally say the three words he’d said to you so many times before, what was the point?

his fingers drummed a steady rhythm while he mustered up the last remaining bit of courage in him. you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. “just, um...” he was stalling. he pulled his hand off the sink. “i... love you.” peter only glanced at you for a second, too afraid to see your reaction. “i love you, too. is everything okay?” his heart sank. you thought he meant it in the friend way.

that was what he got for being so terrible with words.

“no, y/n. not like that.” he blurted. you were lost. peter pressed his back against the wall and sat down. confused and equally worried, you sat next to him on the floor. “then what do you mean? you’re scaring me.” he checked the watch may made him wear to see how much time was left before graduation. four minutes. he really should’ve woken up on time.

“we have to get back in line soon. i don’t wanna miss-“ “i love you, y/n. i’m in love with you.” a weight that had been on peter’s chest for months was lifted just by saying it. you squinted your eyes at him, but said nothing.

“i’ve been trying to tell you for a while, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. i just had to say it.” “fuck, are you serious?” you sounded what peter could only describe as disappointed. yeah, it was unrequited. here came a summer of crying. “i was gonna tell you first.”

peter’s breath hitched in his throat, and he swore you could hear it. he was so sleep deprived that it felt like he was hallucinating. you shook your head as heat came to your cheeks.

“how long have you...” peter trailed off, an eye crinkling smile interrupting him. “that day we went for coffee. something clicked, so i thought for a while and figured it out. i think i’ve loved you for a really long time.”

you inched closer to peter, just barely resting your head on his shoulder. for once, you felt like the shy one. he put his hand on top of yours. his thumb traced over each of your fingers. “i’d ask you out, but you know. we don’t really have time.”

“peter, it won’t take that long.” you giggled. he squeezed your hand in his. “hm. y/n, would you wanna go out with me after this?” you thought about teasing him for it, but he was right. you had to go. that was the friend still in you. “i’d love to go out with you, peter.”

with that, you both jumped to your feet and ran out of the bathroom. you were still holding hands, and a few classmates made faces when you rushed past them to get to your spots. you exchanged one last smile with peter before lining up.

the person in front of you said everybody was looking for you two. honestly, you didn’t care all that much. you were too excited for your date later. peter already knew he’d be checking his watch throughout the whole ceremony.

it was a best friend and soulmate thing.

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland writing #spiderman #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #marvel #mcu #tom holland oneshot

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sergaku · 3 years

Text

You Were My Nightmare

This is my @mlsecretsanta gift to you @galahadwilder. This is a sort of idea I have had for a while that I haven't seen before be done with other fics. It's a concept that I wish was in the show, but know its not gonna happen. Thanks to @gryffindorcls for the feedback. Was very nervous about this story til she read it.

The only thing Marinette could see was darkness. It was a cold darkness that sent a terrible shiver through her body. She took a step forward, letting out a surprised yelp as the darkness was replaced with a blinding light.

When everything returned to normal she noticed where she stood. She was still in Paris, but not a Paris she was familiar with. She stood atop a skyscraper, it being surrounded by a hazey blue. When moving toward the edge she noticed the blue was water. Everything was flooded, and when she looked to the sky the moon was destroyed, and silence was the only noise she could hear.

"Marinette…." A voice with venom in its tone came from behind her.

She turned around quickly to find Chat Noir standing there, eyes closed as if in a daze. She rushed towards him, only to stop when he opened his eyes. They were an icy blue and showed none of the kindness that normally accompanied them.

"C-chat? What happened to you? To this place?" Marinette asked with a shakey tone.

"Our love did this to the world Marinette."

He began walking towards her, the black of his costume slowly being turned white along with his hair. Marinette just watched in horror as she began backing away. She tried to speak, but no words were coming out her mouth. It was only when she fell on her rear and tried to crawl backwards did she find her voice.

"Plu...ple...please Chat! We….we can fix th-" The cold leather of Chat's left hand connecting to her throat interrupted her.

He stared deep into her eyes, his smile twisting into something wicked. His right hand glowing with the power of destruction.

"You made me into a heartless creature Marinette. It's time I return the favor!"

Chat Blanc yelled out a blood curdling scream as he thrusted his hand into Marinette's heart. The only thing Marinette could do was scream from the intense pain, and finally woke up.

_____________________

Marinette shot out of her bed, screaming loudly as she clutched her chest. When she got a moment to get her bearings she noticed her room, and the dark Paris night sky. She gazed down at her hand tightly grasping at her shirt and let go, letting out a sigh before hearing her door open.

"Marinette, are you ok," her father shouted as his large figure burst into the room.

He held a baseball bat in his hand, reaching up to touch her hand as a way to console/protect her.

"I'm…...I'm fine dad. Just had another nightmare is all" She pat his hand gently and gave her the best smile she could muster. "You can go back to bed."

Without another word from Tom, he left the room. Though he was hesitant to do so.

Marinette got out of her bed, ascending the trap door to her balcony wearing a jacket to fight the chill of the night. She felt the cold sweat on her face trickle down from her forehead as she leaned against the railing.

"Why...why is this happening now?" Marinette asked herself as she clenched her fists. "I thought I was over this….over feeling this way…."

"You can't exactly erase an event like that from your mind Marinette." Tikki chimed in as the Kwami sat on the girl's hand. "Chat Blanc was the most dangerous enemy you had ever fought. More than Hawk Moth."

"Yes, but this was months ago Tikki. I was able to talk with Master Fu about it. He helped me get closure...more or less. But why now?" Marinette felt her legs start to give out, forcing her to retire to the floor and sit against the cool metal bars.

"Maybe...maybe because of New York?"

"What? Why would that cause Chat Blanc to attack my dreams again?"

"Well….he could have 'returned'. Chat Noir was so distraught from failing you that his emotional state was incredibly low. Low enough to a point where if he was Akumatized as his civilian self, he would have most likely been able to turn into him."

"I….yeah. I had that same thought. But, I didn't want that in my head. But this time I have no one to talk to. Master Fu is gone and if I tell Chat about Blanc he might be upset with me." Marinette trailed off at the thought of Chat being mad at her. She kept stuff from him sure, it was part of the whole identity thing. But Blanc? He is a bigger secret than her identity. One wrong move could turn that altered future to reality.

"Then you have to tell him. You can't keep this to yourself anymore. Chat deserves to know now. And it's your job as Guardian that you do everything in your power to make sure nothing bad happens involving the Miraculous."

Tikki looked at her partner, a sense of agitation growing inside her from this situation. Tikki had to endure this for a few days the last time this happened. Now, it's been over a week. And it needed to end before Marinette could do any hero work.

"But what will he think of me? Of himself? It's not just me I am worried about. What if Chat thinks he himself as too dangerous to be around anymore. I am not replacing him with anyone else. No matter what!" The sense of determination in her tone to not replace Chat was the prime example for the love she showed him.

"The only thing that you can do Marinette is trust him. Because you know you can." Tikki gave Marinette a small hug on her cheek before retreating back into the room.

Marinette looked up into the night sky, watching the full moon hover above the world.

_____________________

Adrien had noticed how tired Marinette had been lately. He attributed that to late night studying, but now he wasn't sure. The way she stumbled through classes, her slurred speaking, her odd flirtatious tone, all off it was off. It was cute at first to see another side of her. Now, it was very concerning.

As Adrien walked into the school he noticed Marinette leaning against her locker. She looked like someone smashed a pillow against her face.

"Marinette? Is everything ok?" Adrien asked as he made his way over to her.

"Huh? Oh Adrien. Yeah I'm doing just fine you know. Just fine indeed." Marinette responded with a yawn tackled at the end. "Just...just haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately."

Adrien looked into her eyes, spotting a hint of deceit in them. He placed his hand on her shoulder, which caused the young fashion designer to look up at him with a hint of red on her cheeks.

"Marinette, if something is going on I want you to know that you have people to talk to. Alya and Nino are always there to listen if you have a problem. And…" Adrien spoke softly as he spoke. He felt his face heat up when he thought of the next words to say. "Especially me. I am always an open ear for you."

Marinette gave a small smile as she nodded at the boy. She pressed her head against his shoulder, causing Adrien's entire body to tense at the sudden contact. He felt his heart throb, not knowing what this sensation that was coursing through him.

When he looked down at the girl he couldn't help the smile that plastered his face. 'Had this girl always been this cute.' He relaxed his body some and pat her shoulder gently.

"Thanks for talking to me Adrien. I feel a little better. But….I still got some stuff to think about." She lifted her head up, her cheeks showing a small shade of pink.

"No problem Marinette. I am always glad to help you if I can." Adrien gave her a smile and a nod.

'Now I just need to confront another girl who looks exhausted.' Adrien thought as he made his way to class. Not noticing the Kwami in his breast pocket flying away.

_____________________

Tikki was sitting in Marinette's locker, bundled up with a small pillow and tiny cloth blanket. She was soon joined by her partner Plagg, taking note of the sleeping creature.

"Alright Sugar Cube, I need to know what's going on with her. Why is your bug so….groggy." Plagg asked as he shook her awake.

Tikki stirred a bit as she opened her eyes. She sat up, stretching her tiny arms and letting out a yawn.

"I don't think I should tell you Plagg. Marinette doesn't even want to talk about it fully with me." She answered melancholy.

"Yeah, when have I ever cared about that. Her demeanor is going to affect the dynamic of their teamwork. If she isn't up to snuff then we need someone else."

"...fine. I will tell you everything…."

As Tikki explained the situation Plagg slowly began to break his stoic look. His ear dropped as he sat down in the locker.

"So you know as much as I do. I can only assume that Hawk Moth found out who Adrien is and manipulated him. Used Marinette to...to turn him." Tikki looked up at Plagg, waiting for his reaction to this information.

"Huh. I don't know why she is so worked up over this. It's no big deal." Plagg just shrugged and shook his head.

"Plagg! How could you-"

"Because it's them."

Tikki tilted her head as she gave a confused look. "What? What do you mean?"

"She is planning on telling him tonight right?"

"Yeah?"

"If Adrien is half as smart as me, then he will come to the same conclusion I have." Plagg spoke with a smug look as he gave a toothy smile.

"What do you mean?"

"You will just have to trust me."

_____________________

Ladybug stood on a random rooftop, waiting patiently for her partner to arrive. Another quiet patrol, no Akuma to distract her from her thoughts. The entire time she kept wondering how she was going to tell Chat. Can she bring it up casually? Make it the focal point of a serious discussion?

Ladybug let out a sigh as she rubbed the space between her eyes. She felt the twinge of a headache approach from thinking about this too long. Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a hand grasp her left shoulder followed by a voice.

"Ladybug?"

On instinct she grabbed the hand with her right, side-stepping in the same direction whilst bringing her left hand in a chopping motion. She had no time to process who the person was before her hand connected to the person's throat, making them let out a gacking noise as they grabbed their throat and fell to their knees. It was then when she realised she just chopped her partner in the throat.

"OHMYGOSHCHATIMSOSORRY!"

She quickly dove to his side, patting his back gently as he let out a few coughs.

"It's….it's fine….*ack* should have ..announced myself." Chat's voice was raspy, doing his best to massage his neck to alleviate the pain.

A few minutes passed and Chat was back to normal. Ladybug just looked at him as he explained his portion of patrol, not being able to focus on his words. When she looked at him she saw flashes of Blanc. His face twisting from his warm smile to that cold scowl.

"Ladybug, something has been bothering you lately. I can see it on your face."

These words broke her from her trance, and she shook her head and waved her hands in dismissal.

"Oh no no. I am fine Chat. Just got distracted." Ladybug clammed up, feeling her whole body stiffen as she stood in front of her partner.

She felt like a coward. She wanted to discuss this with him, but when she looked at him she couldn't. She couldn't bare to see the potential disappointment on his face. Her hands tangled together, rubbing her palms and jittering her fingers in a nervous fidget.

"Ladybug, you can talk to me, you know that right? I am always here to listen to you." Chat gave her a big smile as he placed both hands on her shoulders.

She only felt more tense at this. Her anxiety about the situation rising at a rapid pace. Her breathing became shallow as her world began to crumble.

"Nononono….I…..I'm…..I…."

Ladybug.

"No...I said no…..stop……"

LADYBUG!

She looked up to see Blanc staring at her, his face getting close as his eyes narrowed.

"I said NO!"

She pushed his hands off her shoulders roughly, taking a step back as her fist connected with his jaw. She panted some as she saw her world return to normal, looking up to see Chat Noir standing a few feet back with his head turned. Her eyes went wide as she looked at her fist, feeling her fingers throb from the impact.

"Chat.." She took a step towards him, her voice shaky as she felt tears start to form in her eyes.

Chat took a step back, his head moving to look down at the ground. "I'm sorry Ladybug. I didn't mean to overstep my bounds."

"Chat no it's…" She took another step towards him.

"I can see that you don't want to talk. I will leave you be for the night." He took another step backwards.

He turned around, grabbing his staff and extending it. Ladybug watched his movements and dashed toward him. Just as he jumped she grabbed his tail, bringing him back down as she fell on her stomach. He looked down at her as her face stared down at the floor.

"Don't leave...please….don't go." She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.

Chat dropped his staff, rushed to her side and wrapped his arms around her. She felt a sense of warmth in his arms, a safe and secure place. She returned the hug, closing her eyes to enjoy this small, peaceful moment.

During their embrace Ladybug explained everything that plagued her mind. The events that transpired from her experience from Blanc, the nightmares it gave her, and how they returned on their return trip to Paris.

Chat looked at her, taking every word in and not interrupting. When she finished she looked up at him, waiting and scared of his reaction.

"I don't see the big deal."

"What! Chat did you not hear anything I said?!"

"I did. And it sounds like that Ladybug and Chat Noir were together after he found out your identity. And I assume the other you knew his. So I don't see how any of what you said could be your fault."

"But….he said that it was our love. He knew who I was. How could it not be my fault? Him knowing my identity that means that he-"

"Was manipulated. Ladybug I love you. The girl under the mask is who I yearn for. I would never do anything to ever harm you. I would rather destroy myself than have to do you any harm. Even if I was controlled by Hawk Moth, he couldn't stop the feelings I have for you. You are much stronger in my heart.

"The only way he could try is if he knew who we were and used that against us. And we know he would. Hawk Moth is very devious like that."

Chat Noir took a deep breath and grabbed both of her hands, kissing them gently and looking into her eyes.

"Ladybug, never keep something like this from me. I may not be able to do much, but I can listen. I can be there for you."

Ladybug looked down, a new set of tears falling down her face at these words. She hugged him tight, feeling a warmth spread through her body as she sobbed. This man, this man right here was someone she could trust entirely. She would be lost without him. And he deserved to know.

"Marinette. You can call me Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Chat Noir froze as she hugged him and looked at her when she said her name. His arms snaked around her tight, letting out a hearty laugh as tears went down his face.

"I am so glad that it's you Marinette. And I am glad to say my name is Adrien Agreste."

They broke their hug as they dropped their transformations. Both of them looked into each other's eyes with an overwhelming sense of joy.

"Adrien….."

"I love you, Marinette."

"I...love you too, Adrien."

They moved towards each other, both of their eyes closed as their lips connected. It was better than any other kiss they had before. It was better because it was the first of many in this new relationship.

_____________________

Marinette stood back on that building, back to the scene. She turned around, spotting Chat Blanc standing there with a Cataclysm charged. He charged at her, yelling out to her. She just stood there and spread her arms, preparing for the worst. It never came.

Chat Blanc stood there, his hand inches from her and about to destroy her. He looked up at her, anger pouring out his eyes.

"Why aren't you scared!?"

"Because I have no reason to be Adrien."

She placed a hand on his cheek, giving him a warm smile and kissing his lips. Blanc's eyes went wide at this, but slowly closed them. His Cataclysm disappeared and stood tall infront of her. His costume slowly changed from white to black, and then his costume disappeared. Adrien was left there with her and the world returning to normal

_____________________

Tikki looked at Marinette, smiling in her sleep as she grasped the Chat Noir plushie tight against her chest. No screaming, no cold sweat. She was at peace.

"Well, I guess you were right Plagg. I'm excited for the future."

#ml secret santa #ml spoilers #ml fanfic #tw anxeity #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #healing

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notallthosewho-wanderarelost · 3 years

Text

Since it’s Tuesday and we get Loki 1x05 tomorrow and then I’m seeing Black Widow the day after, and I guess I’m doing these now, some thoughts on Loki 1x04.

Hopefully this will be a shorter post due to me not knowing wtf is going on. This show is so chaotic and it’s perfect but that makes trying to predict it impossible. How VERY LOKI OF IT.

NOPE, NOPE THIS IS NOT A SHORTER POST, I have no idea what is going on plot wise but this episode gave me a lot of character stuff to talk about apparently.

Alright, let me get the big one out of the way. I’ve already said this in various places, mostly tags, but if I’m gonna make this post it’s gotta be here. I’m uncomfortable with Loki/Sylvie being romantic. Would prefer for Marvel to stay away from selfcest. PLEASE. I’m kind of hoping and wondering if it’s a fakeout for a reveal that Loki has finally learned to love or at least accept himself through his care of and admiration for Sylvie, which would be VERY Agent of Asgard-esque and I can see it being very probable.

I think giving Loki a love interest of any kind was always going to be difficult to pull off, but especially Loki as he is at the point in time when the show finds him- fresh off his attempted takeover of Earth and probably still deeply reeling from the revelation of his adoption and also likely mentally affected by any torture and/or mental manipulation Thanos might have done on him. Loki’s self-loathing is probably still close to an all-time high here and he’s questioning who he even is. I’m not saying that you have to love yourself before you can love someone else- I don’t think that at all; in fact I think loving someone else would probably encourage someone to value themselves more- but Loki as he is here I think would need to work through some of his own issues before he could get involved with anyone else. I think that Loki would need to learn to love himself first, to accept that he’s worthy of love, before he could genuinely fall in love with anyone else. (Remember this, I’ll come back to it.)

I got major sibling vibes from Loki and Sylvie on Lamentis. Like I said last post, they felt like alternate universe twins to me. They’re the same person from different universe, but also very much not the same- I feel like twins is the closest description? I can admittedly be pretty awful at picking up romantic vibes when I’m not expecting them, but I did not get romance vibes at all.

I also feel kind of annoyed that we would never be having this conversation or having this as a canonical ship option if Sylvie hadn’t been female. Loki is now officially canonically bi, (which means Sylvie is too btw) but in comics Loki is both bi and also genderfluid. Lady Loki is just Loki when Loki is identifying as female. So having Loki fall in love with a female version of himself feels both unnecessarily heteronormative and kind of...awkward in terms of 616!Loki’s genderfluidity, to put it lightly. (Note: I am not genderfluid, this is just my opinion, please prioritize actual genderfluid people’s opinions on the subject over mine.)

That said, after I finished the episode I was genuinely confused if they were actually going there and had to go look up interviews to see what the Loki team was saying about it. I found this interview with head writer Michael Waldron, also featuring quotes from director Kate Herron and from Tom Hiddleston. Relevant quotes below:

“That was one of the cruxes of my pitch [for the series], that there was going to be a love story,” head writer Michael Waldron explains to Marvel.com. “We went back and forth for a little bit about, like do we really want to have this guy fall in love with another version of himself? Is that too crazy? But in a series that, to me, is ultimately about self-love, self-reflection, and forgiving yourself, it just felt right that that would be Loki's first real love story.”

Loki reassures her that while they might lose, they don’t die — they survive. He goes on to call Sylvie “amazing” for how she almost took down the TVA on her own, and it’s clear from the look on his face that even though they’ve only been together a short while, Loki’s already come to admire and respect her. As the moon literally crumbles around them, Sylvie places a hand on Loki’s arm, and that’s when it happens: A branch on the Sacred Timeline. These two Lokis are having a moment they were never supposed to have, which as Mobius puts it, is “pure chaos.”

“The look that they share, that moment, [it started as] a blossoming friendship,” continues Waldron. “Then for the first time, they both feel that twinge of, ‘Oh, could this be something more? What is this I'm feeling?’ These are two beings of pure chaos that are the same person falling in love with one another. That's a straight-up and down branch, and exactly the sort of thing that would terrify the TVA.”

...

“Who’s a better match for Loki than himself?” director Kate Herron chimes in. “The whole show is about identity. It's about him, and he is on a very different path, and he is on a different journey. He sees things in Sylvie that he is like, ‘Oh, I've been there. I know what you feel.’ But she's like, ‘Well, I don't feel that way.’ And I think that was the kind of fun thing about it. She is him, but she's not him. They've had such different life experiences. So just from an identity perspective, it was interesting to dig into that.”

“When Loki meets Sylvie, he's inspired solely by curiosity,” reveals Hiddleston. “He wants to talk to her and understand her and try to discern what was similar about their experiences, and what was different. He keeps asking her questions because he wants to see if his experience was also her experience. I think he realizes, and she realizes, that while they're the same, they're not the same.”

Aside from the parts where Michael Waldron says “...have this guy fall in love with another version of himself...” and “the same person falling in with another version of one another,” everything they talk about in this article could be read as Loki and Sylvie caring for each other in a way that’s not necessarily romantic. Waldron even says that the series is specifically about self-love and forgiving yourself.

(Coming back to the thing from earlier about Loki needing to love himself now.) The way I’d read Loki and Sylvie’s relationship, especially from Loki’s side since we know more of his history, is that this is the first time that either of them actually cares about themselves. Because of their trust in and their love for each other, they’re each able to see themselves as a person worthy of love. I think that’s what the Nexus Event was. I think that’s why Loki and Sylvie’s moment of connection destabilized the timeline. Because Loki’s self-loathing is a deep root of his villainy, and the sacred timeline needs Loki to be a villain, two versions of Loki feeling self-worth, at the same time and place, created a HUGE nexus event. Loki even says it himself in the first episode: he doesn’t enjoy hurting people, he does it because (he feels) he has to, in a desperate play for control. He lashes out and hurts people because he thinks it’s the only way for him to have some control over things.

What Loki starts to speak to Sylvie at the end, he says, “This is new for me,” and references the nexus event on Lamentis. We never get to hear what it is that’s new for him. The episode sets it up to make us think that Loki’s about to tell Sylvie that he’s in love with her. But I think (or hope) that he was about to say something more along the lines of how the time he spent getting to know Sylvie on Lamentis helped him learn to care about himself and see his own self worth. That’s certainly a new feeling for him, since Loki seems to have always been an outsider and been looked down upon. And actually saying out loud that he’s starting to gain a sense of self worth would definitely be new for him. Loki knows that he and Sylvie will figure this out because he’s figured out the nexus event on Lamentis- that when they accept themselves and their own self worth, they can do pretty much anything.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that we never actually hear from Loki himself that he’s in love with Sylvie. We only hear it from Mobius, who’s feeling pretty betrayed by Loki and uses the entire concept to write Loki off as a huge narcissist. That way, he won’t feel as bad about Loki betraying him, or about sticking Loki in a time loop jail. Not that Loki would be the type to shout any romantic feelings to the world, especially in this situation, but the way he kept denying it didn’t seem like it was something he had to lie about.

This episode also called Loki a narcissist a lot; I assume to set up the “reveal” of his feelings for Sylvie and explain why he would fall in love with an alternate version of himself. But while Loki is many things and sure has a lot of issues, I do NOT think narcissism is one of them. When the time loops really start to get to him, he says to Sif: “I crave attention, because I’m a narcissist. And I suppose it’s because I’m scared of being alone.” But that second sentence completely contradicts the whole idea of narcissism! According to a quick google, the definition of “narcissist” is “a person who has an excessive interest in or admiration of themselves.” But Loki is the exact opposite. He has such a low opinion of himself that he acts out to get attention, because he’s so used to being overshadowed, overlooked and alone that he’s afraid that if he doesn’t do things for attention then nobody will give him any. He can be arrogant, yes, but even a lot of that stems from well-earned confidence. Loki is very talented magically and is used to being the smartest person in the room. He knows what he’s good at. But he sure isn’t attention-seeking just for its own sake. Any narcissism he’s displayed, he’s done since becoming a “villain” in Thor, and it’s actually been a mask to cover up his massive inferiority complex.

I also think it’s definitely worth mentioning that when Loki calls himself a narcissist, he’s repeating what Mobius said to him earlier. Loki clearly does care about Mobius and his opinion of him and feels bad about how things have fallen out with him. He’s also been through the time loop dozens of times now, and there’s a reason the TVA picked that memory. Because what Sif says to Loki really reflects his deepest fear. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he has such little love for himself that he might very well think he deserves to be. Loki’s emotionally exhausted at that point and just wants things to stop.

Okay. I think that covered most of my character analysis of the episode. I have some theories about Sylvie and the Time Keepers/TVA, etc, but they won’t be anywhere near as long as THAT^ was.

To start at the beginning of the episode: Sylvie’s backstory is SO SAD. I want to hug her. She spent almost her entire life on the run, growing up and living in apocalypses so the TVA wouldn’t catch her again. She didn’t deserve any of that and I’m so upset on her behalf.

Especially because as I said in another post, I think that the reason Sylvie got taken by the TVA was because she was never going to be a villain. Sylvie was kind and wanted to be heroic in the clip we see of her as a child, and she knew she was adopted. She was never going to be the Loki the TVA needed her to be for the Sacred Timeline because nothing would have ever pushed her to do what our Loki did.

The scene with Sylvie and B-15 was so good. Sylvie was kind to B-15, because her natural instinct is to be kind, and I have so many feelings about that. I love Sylvie. And then B-15 coming to the rescue to uncollar Sylvie and Loki and give Sylvie her sword was EPIC. She’s so cool.

Small aside, I got emotional seeing Asgard again in Sylvie’s flashback. I miss Asgard. :(

Also, if a kid can escape the TVA just by biting the agent holding her, the TVA have really got to step up their game. That’s kind of pathetic. Good for Sylvie though, that was very clever of her. The most juvenile yet effective tactic.

The Time Keepers being fake robots was an excellent twist, and one that I kind of saw coming as soon as they didn’t show Ravonna’s conversation with them earlier in the episode. It immediately made me feel like there were no Time Keepers at all. (And I was wondering if the no-robots rule from episode 1 would be plot relevant! I wonder if it has anything to do with the Time Keepers actually being robots?) It was also really clear that Ravonna was lying about what happened to C-20. As of now I think that Ravonna might actually be the real power behind the TVA. Or possibly a designated lieutenant to the real power behind the TVA:

When I was looking up interviews about Loki/Sylvie in this episode, I stumbled across an article about Ravonna’s comic counterpart and started kicking myself so hard for not recognizing her. In comics, Ravonna Renslayer is Kang the Conqueror’s wife. (Now, in my defense, my previous exposure to Ravonna was in Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, in which she spends most of her screentime in a coma.) For anyone who doesn’t know, Kang the Conqueror is a time traveling classic Avengers villain. His whole thing is that he time travels, and wants to take over all of time. So it’s possible that Ravonna runs the TVA to benefit Kang somehow (maybe because Kang needs a certain sequence of events to assure a future victory over the Avengers?) or even does it on his orders. Kang the Conqueror is also set to be in Antman and the Wasp: Quantumania. (Aka Antman 3.)

(I don’t know if it’s relevant, but Kang the Conqueror also happens to be the reason the Young Avengers form. The very first member, Iron Lad aka Nate Richards, is a teenage Kang who meets his future self and decides he doesn’t want to be evil, so he travels back in time to get the help of Kang’s nemeses, the Avengers. However, he lands when the Avengers have disbanded and winds up putting together a team of Avengers-affiliated teenagers instead. The team gets bigger over time and a later version of it notably includes Kid Loki. I’m not going to go off on a Young Avengers tangent here but I LOVE the Young Avengers, please read Young Avengers volume 1 by Allan Heinberg and Jim Cheung and all of its associated tie-ins. It’s fantastic. Unfortunately Kid Loki is only in volume 2, which gets a very solid “no thank you” from me but ymmv. Imo if you want Loki, read Agent of Asgard instead; I keep bringing it up for a reason and that’s because it’s amazing. Kid Loki is also in Journey into Mystery prior to his appearance in Young Avengers, and I haven’t read that yet but it looks very good.)

I’m VERY curious as to what the deal is behind the TVA. This could go a lot of different ways but they all seem exciting.

This show is definitely gearing up for a finale in which the TVA no longer exists or at least no longer decides everyone’s fates, which is exactly what I predicted back in episode 1.

Final thoughts on the episode: I was just wondering after Mobius was pruned if maybe the pruning sticks are actually teleporters of some kind, instead of time tasers, and then we got THAT CREDITS SCENE. I am so confused but also VERY EXCITED. I almost screamed when I saw Kid Loki. MY CHILD. I just had this thought but oh, I would kill for a Thori reference. Best murder dog. Classic Loki’s costume looks so terrible, it’s absolutely on purpose, and I love it.

THIS SHOW HAD BETTER END WITH MOBIUS GETTING A JETSKI. AND BOTH SYLVIE AND LOKI HAPPY.

I’ve been wondering since the show was announced if this show would somehow end with a version of the comics Kid Loki + AoA Loki storyline, where this Loki gets reborn into the main MCU as Kid/Teen Loki so he can join the Young Avengers, and I still don’t know how I feel about that, but with how things are going I can still see it happening.

LET EVERYONE WE LOVE BE HAPPY AT THE END MARVEL.

#long post #loki spoilers #loki 1x04 #loki series #a rare text post appears #loki #sylvie #mobius #tva #ravonna renslayer #kang the conqueror #meta #my stuff

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metanoiamorii · 3 years

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❛Falling for her wasn't falling at all. It was walking into a house and suddenly knowing you're home.❜

♧ Title: Coming Home [CH]

♧ Status: Drafting, honestly

♧ Point of View: Most likely third person, with two, three povs it can jump between

♧ Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance

♧ Warnings: Nudity, violence, attempted murder, eldritch beings, gore, witch hunts, using religion to commit atrocities, deaths, tragic endings, star crossed lovers, tragic romance, mention of past abuse, mention of past torture; I'm sure I'm missing some.

♧ Featuring: A cottage witch and her two eldritch idiots for a good start.... Diverse LGBTQ+ characters, enemies to begrudging allies to friends to lovers to enemies, complicated relationships, morally grey characters, complex and complicated world-building, slow-burn relationships, plenty of symbolism, witches, fantasy religions, found family, cottagecore, character redemption arcs, character corruption arcs; I'm sure I'm missing some but you get the picture!

♧ Setting: Honestly? It's kind of ambiguous as I can't make up my mind where it's set. Overall it's a cute remote cottage these three share. With mention of other places.

♧ Tease: Just because you are feeling lost, it does not mean that you need to go back their way, even if they were the only home you've ever known. You left it for a reason, remember? It is best to stay lost and search for a better home than to return to the home that was never really a home. Build your own home.

♧ Synopsis:

Liraz lives a simple life. Her days are spent alone, with her companion Blodeu. Together they live in seclusion in a cottage in the middle of nowhere. It is as they prefer, for their own safety.

In the mornings, Liraz wakes. She cooks herself breakfast and plans for the day. Until noon she tends to her cottage and her gardens. In the evenings, with Blodeu she ventures into the woodlands nearby and enjoys nature and all she finds. Before she sleeps, she leaves offerings to the spirits and to the gods. She wakes. The cycle repeats.

One night, however, the cycle is interrupted.

First comes a hailstorm as never witnessed before. When she stirs from bed to investigate, the wind calls her by what she is: witch. The next night opposed to a hailstorm and wind, there is a fire that blazes across the entire mountain. The flames too cackle in greeting by what she is: witch. The next night, she meets the spirits that have been interrupting her sleep.

Or so, she had expected spirits. She may have bargained a bit more than she could handle. But she isn't a woman that rejects a challenge.

Ultimately, Liraz comes to an arrangement with the two. Soon, they all fall into a pattern that involves a reliance and acceptance of each other. The company they provide, the cottage is no longer quiet and lonely, and Liraz... Liraz doesn't mind it as much as she should.

♧ Excerpt:

[this is one of the few times I write first person, so enjoy it. This all started since I was writing a journal for this woman in a dnd campaign]

I admit, I must have fallen asleep waiting. It's to my surprise, it did not come during the Witching Hour, but after, in what could be in the early morn, before the suns and moons would chime five. And it was not an it, but a they. It would make far more sense, than it being one entity. Their presence, not such a show as the night before, stirred me from my slumber.

The first clad in dark with skin to rival ice. Off the ground they walked, glided I believe is the right expression, on the wind. And in hand carried a gnarled staff made of ice. The second donned the head of a bird (more a vulture than a raven, I would say), with eyes made of ember and cloaked in a dark mantle of feathers. And they carried a gnarled staff made of fire opal and flames. One singed the earth where they walked, and I knew it was the one that came last night; the other chilled the wind when they breathed, and I knew it was the one that came the night before.

At the boundaries, where the wards began, they stopped. To me, they greeted, in voices that tasted older than anything I have known, "hail witch."

As I moved forward, to stand within my safety, but before them, I returned their greeting. "Hail spirits."

And how they laughed a laugh, one that chilled the air and my very bones, and another that ignited the blood in my veins and sent my heart racing. "We are no spirits."

"Hail daims then." I corrected myself.

And again, they laughed that very very laugh. When they settled, they replied, "you have not a name for what we are… some would call us—"

Although they spoke, I caught not what it was. It felt like a blow that hit hard and forced me back a step. In I took a breath and my ground I stood.

"What do you want from me?" I asked them as I held their eyes.

♧ Characters: Surprisingly, I only have four main characters for you this time. Sure there will be others, but this is their story. Get a taste of simplicity with me.

Ekaterine Liraz, The Cottage Witch

Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Witch • Asexual • Demiromantic

Liraz is the known witch who lives on her own at the top of the mountain. She lives around and comes to town only for supplies once or twice a month. Her only companion is the owl she keeps and she keeps to herself. She has secluded herself atop her mountain and in her cottage for her own safety, against the urge of he nature for adventure.

Blodeu, the Horned Owl

Male • He/Him • The familiar of Liraz

Blodeu is the faithful familiar of Liraz. He's moody and overprotective of his witch. With his unnerving eye, he keeps away any of the townsfolk who wish ill against Liraz. In return, he enjoys chin scritches, being able to fly the open sky, and being able to accompany his mistress on her endeavors.

Kregznic, or En for short, The Eternal Flame

Agender • They/Them [they will have days in which they will align She/Her and He/Him, but overall it's They/Them and you need permission for anything else] • Great Old One • Asexual • Aromantic

The Keeper of the Flame, En is well known amongst their own kind as a ruthless individual that holds no affection for anything except their other half. They're withdrawn and antisocial, and quick to set anything aflame. The few capable of becoming close to them get to see the unwavering loyalty and support they place, and their devotion to ensure the happiness and security of what they love.

Marzomme, or Moro for short, The Eternal Frost

Genderfluid • He/She • Great Old One • Asexual • Demiromantic

The Keeper of the Ice, Moro is well known by his own kind as a childish. He lacks the care to understand human concepts, but he does enjoy learning their traditions and cultures. Very airheaded, Moro carries a light attitude about him. He's immature and enjoys pulling pranks. Rarely does he share in En's indulgence of ruin and damnation, but when he does... most prefer the Flame.

Taglist: @little-boats-on-a-lake, @zielenbloesem, @cecilsstorycorner

If you would like to be added or removed, feel free to send in an ask, shoot me a dm, or reblog this! 💕

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keijikunn · 3 years

Text

All Of Your Soul

Part of the @babythotshq mini collab!! You can check the other parts here!

Pairing: demon!Tsukishima Kei x gender neutral!reader Genre: angst, crack if you squint for like 2 seconds Summary: Your superstitious grandmother always told you not to get involved with demons, but how could you not when Tsukishima Kei, the one you’ve summoned, was so alluring? Word count: ~3.4k

Author’s note: Happy Halloween!! I hope you enjoy this piece, and a massive shoutout to @hidden-otaku-stuff @kaitycole and of course @babythotshq who helped me out during the process of writing this fic! Love you all mwah mwah 💞

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, minor and major character death, yandere!tsukki, mentions of violence, mention of sex, swearing

Ever since you were a kid, your grandmother warned you about the evil creatures that cohabited the world you lived in. She was often called crazy because of it - after all, she was an old lady talking non-stop about demons. However, that topic amazed you rather than giving you chills down your spine. Your curiosity grew progressively as she told you the same thing over and over: “Don’t mess up with them, or else they’ll take your soul away”.

You always thought grandma told you those stories just to scare you off, to make sure you would stay in line. But the way you’d laugh it off at the age of 7 almost like daring the threat hinted your disbelief.

"The entire hell can come get me, they won't be able to touch me!" you once told your grandmother, which earned you a scoff and a flick on your forehead.

"Oh, Y/N" she cooed, almost in pity, patting your head. "You will regret it when you're older,"

And once again, you laughed at her.

It became part of your childhood, long forgotten as the years passed by and the concept of believing in demons appeared to be silly. Your memory permanently buried it in the depths of your mind after your dear grandmother passed away, leaving this world with her tales from underworld creatures.

A long time since she passed,, you remembered the spooky way the old woman would tell you different myths when you were packing your belongings to leave for college. The old box stuffed inside the attic filled with dusty and thick books lit a lamp in your head, concluding your grandma used to tell you those stories.

Not only did she have short terrifying ones, your grandma seemed to be way more superstitious than just believing in simple tales. Some of them had different symbols, with many side notes written - assumably - by your late relative. The barely readable handwritten overlapped one another, all information mixing into a big mess that you could hardly understand.

“Granny was really into it, huh?”

It wouldn’t hurt reading them - after all, it would be for the sake of your childhood.

And just like you found yourself drawing strange patterns inside a circle on the floor of your bedroom with chalk, it hardly appeared but you didn’t mind. It’s just some made up stories, you thought, proceeding to let an airy laugh just thinking about your grandmother tossing and turning in her coffin. Your disbelief in these surely came from your young age. After that, all you needed to do was a single drop of your blood and say some weird phrases.

“If it doesn’t work, it’s because of these freaking sentences,” you muttered, pricking your finger with a needle. As the red liquid fell on the center of the circle you drew, the difficult words slipped out of your lips.

A few minutes passed by after you finished the ritual and the bedroom was engulfed in silence. How you wished you could talk to your grandmother right now, just to rub it in her face that she was wrong - even though you had a mess to clean. Tossing the old book aside, you laughed at the situation you had put yourself in and undid a part of the draw.

“You know, ever since you were a kid your sassy attitude got me on my nerves,” a second voice echoed, a male one.

You have never turned your head so quickly in your life, looking for the person who just spoke to you. A tall, blonde guy stood on the other side of the circle; the black dress shirt had the first three buttons undone matching with the black slacks. He was handsome, and you wondered if it was your mind’s work to show you one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen (and imagined) in your life. “It’s rude to stare”

“I must be crazy,” you laughed, rubbing your eyes, when you opened them again, he was still there, with an annoyed look on his features. “Granny must be pranking me, there’s no fucking way I summoned-”

“A demon, actually you just did, haven’t you read the book, dumbass?” he hissed, rolling his eyes. The blonde man crouched to look at the poorly drawn summoning circle and scoffed. “I wonder how you managed to summon me, this shit is terrible, not to mention your Latin”

“Well, I’m sorry if it’s fucking hard to draw it, let alone speaking goddamn Latin!” This guy, this demon was pissing you out, and he had only been in your room for less than five minutes. “Okay, I guess you’re real, my grandma was right, go to hell”

“A lot of people have already told me this joke, and I have to remind every single human that it sucks,” he snapped angrily, before sighing in defeat and looking at you. “What do you want from me?”

“Me, nothing,” you chimed sarcastically. “I was serious when I told you to go to hell, demon.”

“Can you please not call me demon?!”

“So how should I call you? Rex?”

“Jesus, you’re so annoying-”

“I thought demons couldn’t say Jesus’ name, Rex”

“For fucks sake, it’s Tsukishima!” he said louder than he wanted, his voice vibrated inside your body sending chills down your spine. “You’re the worst human that has ever summoned me, and it was just for fun!”

“Then stop complaining and return to hell, it’s not that hard!” you shot back, just as annoyed as him. A part of yourself, the superstitious one, the same one that had believed for a short while in your grandma, was screaming at yourself for picking up a fight with a demon, but your prideful one wouldn’t let that go easily.

“I can’t just do it when you fucking used your blood while summoning me!” Tsukishima exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you know how to read? It clearly says that blood rituals are strong, they tie your soul to me.”

“You’re telling me you, a demon, can't undo this shit?” you asked, at the sight of the male shaking his head sideways you groan frustrated. "What kind of shitty demons are you?"

"A demon that is way smarter than you, idiot." he mocked angrily.

"What am I going to do with such a pain in the ass?" The question didn't look for a proper answer from him, but either way he grunted in protest. "If I pray to whatever god, will you be repelled?"

"You're really the dumbest human I’ve ever met," Tsukishima stated as he rolled his eyes. "Of course not, what do you think I am? An ordinary demon from a shitty movie?"

"Well-"

"You know what? Don't answer it," he cut you, shaking his hand as if the gesture would shut you off. "Clean this mess, it's giving me chills seeing such a bad job."

"Use your demon powers to clean it all!"

"I'm not a fucking fairy!"

Tsukishima was just a single demon, but his presence seemed to bring the whole hell to you. His witty and unnecessary comments easily threw you off the edge, and as if he noticed, which he probably did, the man made sure to say at least one provoking statement every single time he opened his mouth.

It wasn’t easy to get used with his presence, especially when Tsukishima made sure to remind you every minute you were awake that “it’s your fault”.

Yet, the demon did not tell you how to break whatever bond you established with him. You came to the conclusion that his duty whenever he was summoned was to annoy people out. What a useless demon, you thought once, just to hear him screaming profanities and insults inside your head.

You have never imagined that this situation would drag for so long. Tsukishima was there on your first day at college, and he made sure to make you embarrass yourself in front of your class. He was also there to ruin your first date with a cute guy from one of your periods, Inuoka ended the night a bit paranoid about someone following him around.

“I think you told me you weren’t a fairy to do this kind of thing, Tsukki” you commented sarcastically, feeling the anger bubble inside your chest.

“You heard it right, Y/N,” he answered, throwing himself at your not-so-comfortable sofa, stretching his legs over the coffee table in front of it. “That guy looked like a little boy scared of his own shadow!”

“Why did you do it?!” The question came out more desperate than you wanted it to be. Inuoka wasn’t the first man Tsukishima pulled a stunt on, and by the way your personal demon (as you address him) acts it’s not going to be the last. “He was so nice, he didn’t deserve this childish attitude of yours!”

“Well, he doesn’t have part of your soul like I do,” Tsukishima muttered quietly, but his eyes spoke volumes about his feelings. The possessiveness shone in his golden-brown orbs, a hint of jealous maybe, and you wondered once again if he had feelings like you.

“Tsukishima…”

All words left your brain as the tall man walked over you, holding your face with his hand. He ran his thumb over your lips and squeezed your cheeks with his grip, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “What are you-”

“You’re mine.” He spoke firmly, not giving a chance to say anything back. “I have a part of me in you and part of your soul is mine. You are mine”

Without a warning, Tsukishima leaned down to smash his lips against yours. His movements were harsh, but it didn’t take too long for you to give in into the heated kiss. Your head was empty, and all you could feel was his mouth on yours and a slender hand travelling inside your shirt. The lack of air in your system made you pull away from the contact, locking eyes with him with a clear question mark above your head.

“What the hell was that, Tsukki?” The anger vanished, leaving behind confusion and a bit of… desire inside of you.

“I’m just showing you who you belong to.”

At that moment you couldn’t see all the red flags on that simple statement. The frustration of many failed dates piled up on your nerves to the point that you were not able to see the meaning behind those words. The mere thought of a man desiring you probably the same way as you did blinded you, and that made you snake your hands around Tsukishima’s neck and bring him down to another feverish kiss.

The rest of the night passed by like a blur, Tsukishima’s touch was hot on your skin - and you enjoyed it. The sane part of your brain didn’t have enough room to question your actions: what on Earth were you doing hooking up with a demon? Were you that desperate to be intimate with someone? As quickly as those thoughts invaded your mind, the man towering over you proceeded to take your focus to himself

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but once you woke up, feeling sore as fuck, you noticed Tsukki lying next to you. His eyes were closed, yet you knew for a fact he wasn’t in a deep slumber- he didn't need sleep. Nevertheless, you took a few moments to appreciate the view, at the same time flashes of your previous activities together came to you just like a fever dream.

“You don’t have a brain to think too much, dumbass,” he said without even looking at you, a sly smile graced his face nicely and you wondered if he was, at some point in his life, an actual angel. “Do you know who you belong to?”

“I’m not really sure,” you replied shamelessly. Tsukishima’s eyes opened to look straight at yours, arching his eyebrows at your daring tone. “All I remember is a very annoying demon being a bitch about a guy I was interested in”

Messing with Tsukishima became one of your favourite things, because his immediate response was to pin you on the next hard surface and engage in a messy kiss. Being with him was way different than any other relationship you've had, which weren't many since that demon was on your ass ever since you started college.

Either way, you loved the push and pull between you two. The constant bickering would eventually turn into a heated make out session, and sometimes even more than that. You completely forgot that the man you were in a sort of relationship (if you could call it that way) was a supernatural creature; your mind chose to bury the important information of who Tsukishima really was: a demon.

His actions started to change after over a month or two since you fucked for the first time. Although the snarky and teasing comments were far from coming to an end, you found yourself curled next to him every night. Tsukishima would hold you before you sleep, even if he had to spend a few hours in the same position (which never lasted long, he learned in the hard way that you toss and turn a lot).

You also changed around him, much to your surprise. You no longer found other men at college attractive; your Friday nights were spent on your couch with Tsukishima next to you, with a random movie on the TV while the two of you kiss. He was your getaway when things got too rough for you, with his hot touches and endless desire.

Maybe it was the attention Tsukishima gave you, or perhaps that he has been with you for so long, but he managed to win your heart completely. Every time the blonde demon hissed “you’re mine”, how he always satiates your desires and even the awkward moments when he tries to cuddle you. Every little thing this man does pull the strings attached to your heart and mind.

And you knew Tsukishima noticed your change of demeanor as well, how you got clingier as the months passed by, the soft tone on your voice and the lack of sarcastic responses to his mean comments. You were falling in love with him, and it was the most obvious thing Tsukki has ever witnessed during his whole life dealing with humans.

“I think I love you, Tsukki” you managed to say, your body trembled due to the intense pleasure the man above you just provided. His eyes were unreadable as he looked down at you, but you could dare to say there was a hint of fondness swimming in them. “I never thought it would be possible to fall in love with in all creatures, a demon”

“Yeah?” he caressed your cheek, tracing down to your neckline and pressing on the reddish marks on your skin. “And you were the almighty kid who didn’t believe in demons”

“A pretty annoying demon changed my mind, I have to add” the smile on your face was small, but held so much meaning. However, Tsukishima didn’t mirror your feelings, displaying a rather sadistic one instead. “And you, have you changed your mind about humans?”

“Who knows?” Tsukishima asked rhetorically, letting his body fall next to yours on the bed. "You're the most… interesting human I've met."

You laughed at his comment, pressing your face against his side in a loving manner. The fact that Tsukishima stood still instead of responding to the display of affection went unnoticed by you; he was being himself, you tried to justify his stiffness.

Your relationship with him was just like that: you being overly affectionate and Tsukishima… being himself, the hard to approach demon with beautiful looks and with a magnetic aura. You fell easily for him, like getting used to a new daily routine. In a matter of time you found yourself being more vocal about your quick paced heart, the butterflies flying inside your stomach and even the high pitched tone of your voice whenever you couldn't retort one of his comments.

The man, on the other hand, didn’t follow this demeanor - in fact, Tsukishima started to act the opposite way. He would avoid your touches like the plague, leaving your apartment late at night and returning near the afternoon with purple marks on his neck and collarbones. Something inside you, jealousy, lit up like setting something on fire: wild, uncontrolled and destructive. Once it starts burning, it won’t stop easily.

“Can’t you stop fucking other people around?!” You screamed at him, not caring if the clock on the wall just hit three in the morning. “Am I not enough for you?”

“Stop making a case out of it, Y/N” Tsukishima rolled his eyes trying to pass through you, only to be blocked by your body. “Jesus, why are you being so jealous?! We have nothing between us”

“I am fucking in love with you, dumbass!” Your high pitched voice was followed by a dead silence. Tsukishima stared at you blankly while you took deep breaths in order to calm yourself, but the adrenaline of your confession didn’t help you stay quiet. “I’ve been head over heels for you for the longest time and you proceeded to hook up with other people every night… Am I that easy for you? I love you with all my heart, a part of my soul is yours- why can’t you do the same?”

All you could hear at first was your erratic breathing pattern, then the room was filled with his laugh. He was laughing as if someone had just told him the funniest joke he ever heard, the way his torso bent forward to accompany sick amusement creeped you out. Tsukishima pretended to wipe a tear and smiled at you.

“Oh, Y/N… You’re definitely something else, huh?” He said rhetorically, stretching his arm so his hand could cup your face. You stood still, suddenly unsure about his actions and words. Tsukishima has never used such a cold and psychotic tone with you, let alone that sadistic smirk hiding so many feelings. “So you finally accepted that you’re mine, right?”

“H-How can I be yours if you don’t give yourself to me, as well?” Never in your life have you felt so terrified, something in Tsukishima’s demeanor screamed that he wasn’t joking around. He was about to do something bad, and it would be against you. “Isn’t my love enough for you?”

“Well, to be honest? It’s almost enough” he agreed, his index finger traced down your cheeks, following down your neck until it pointed directly to the left side of your chest, above your beating heart. “So, shall I claim what is mine?”

The time seemed to be slowed down, your heartbeats were loud in your ears and your limbs were numb - you couldn’t move them at all. Regardless, it would be impossible for you, a mere human, to stop Tsukishima from slamming his hand against your chest. You didn’t feel physical pain, but the sensation of something, someone wrapping slender fingers around your inner self made you scream.

“Tsukishima, w-what are you doing?” Your trembling voice made him laugh, the same hand he used to hit you fully on display for you to see him close it. The immediate reaction of you was a shriek, as if the demon was squeezing your insides. “What the fuck, Tsukki?”

“Why are you so surprised?” Tsukishima asked with fake innocence, wiping the tears you didn’t know you shed. “You just told me you loved me with all your heart, that a part of your soul is mine… So I’m claiming my belongings, after all, this is the kind of demon I am: whenever a stupid little human like you summons me with blood, they sell their souls to me. It’s a matter of time for me to get it”

“I… I trusted you, Tsukki…” Your sobs interrupted your own speech. All the intimate moments you two have spent together were pure acting, meaningless, just to make you give your everything spontaneously to him.

Your grandmother was right. You regretted every single interaction you had with Tsukishima, the demon you summoned before entering college.

“Well, it’s your own fault.” With that, Tsukishima harshly pulled his hand backwards, leaving behind only an empty body with no soul.

TAGLIST

crossed users are the ones i couldn’t tag!

@jovialnoise @paripedia @angmarwitch @shinhiromi @mariachiiii @elianetsantana @moonlightaangel @vicassa @boosyboo9206 @shrimpypenis @sunshine-hina @kozupresh @humanitysbiggestsimp @atsumubabe @sachirou-senpai

#bbthots #spoofythots #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

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meloncubedradpops · 4 years

Text

Repo! The Corona Opera

For every rotation that Earth has completed around the sun since the dawn of humanity, humans have created art to cope with the realities surrounding our everyday life. We weave stories in songs, movies, plays, books, paintings, and so forth, that help digest the world around us and provide an entertaining escape from the cruelties we endure. Some stories take place in abstract universes or in the future, and we rely on what we know in our present reality to build upon these fantasy societies. My favorite movie, Repo! the Genetic Opera, certainly makes this list. We are currently experiencing perhaps the most surreal year of our collective lives, and with each passing day I argue that we find ourselves closer to the world crafted in Repo. I have seen this movie, at least 20 times. If you haven't watched Repo! the Genetic Opera or you haven't seen it in a while, I recommend giving it a view. The movie is unique in that it falls under three distinct genres: musical, horror, and sci-fi. And while the jury is out on whether our future society is going to go full on gothic aesthetic, I can say that the Repo! movie experience offers a glimpse into a dystopian fascist post-plague world wrapped in unapologetically hilarity with a heaping side of camp. It doesn't offer any spiritual cleansing that our souls collectively need, but it does show us what a new normal could look like if we really go off the rails.

As things stand, right now, so much of our daily lives and culture are impacted by the coronavirus. All of our institutions have been impacted, from school, to work, to family, to the way we interact with strangers, and especially our economy. We have all felt the effects in one way or another, and honestly? Most the impacts are of our own undoing, for better or for worse. I am going to write three pieces analyzing Repo! the Genetic Opera. First I will create the foundations that bridge our contemporary life and the world of Repo! Second I will explain how the Repo! universe operates under the definitions of fascism. And third I will weave together parts one and two into our contemporary world (particularly in the context of the United States) to highlight the dark path we heading towards. My viewpoints are of mine, and my own alone. Let's dive into part one.

Part I Repo! the Genetic Opera takes place in the year 2056. Humanity was on the brink of collapse as a result of a medical crisis that caused massive organ failure.

I never gave the premise much thought, at least not until recently. We aren't given much detail beyond the fact that entrepreneur Rottissimo "Rotti" Largo solved this crisis through his company GeneCo. GeneCo provides organ transplants that can be repaid through a payment plan. Witnessing the coronavirus unfold in real time and seeing its wrath, particularly on severe cases, honestly makes me wonder if the writers had some sort of "super plague" in mind when creating this universe. For the purpose of this analysis, I will assume that humanity suffered at least one infectious disease crisis. And just to reiterate covid-19 particularly, we really *don't* know what it's going to do to us long-term. Let the parallels begin.

The world in Repo! the Genetic Opera, operates as normally as the citizens possibly can, which appears to be quite limited. I have noted how dated some the technologies look.

For a world 30 years in the future, it lacks cell phones and easy access to internet. When we enter Shilo's world (aka her bedroom!) she watched Blind Mag sing on a busted up tiny ass TV and the program itself looks like an ad on Home Shopping Network.

The Graverobber is shown reading headlines on a newspaper. The news reporters shown in the ribbon cutting ceremony during the 1st Italian Post-Plague Renaissance have old school cameras with flashbulbs.

The most contemporary technology appears to be a Wish.com version of an Apple watch, and even that looks like a leftover prop from Spy Kids.

Obviously the people who made this movie intentionally inserted these anachronisms, but why? This is a science fiction movie after all. I speculate that they reverted back because the impact from humanity's crisis resulted in an overall professional "brain drain" from the sheer volume of professionals that dropped dead. In fact every scene depicting medical procedures looks dimly lit and lacking in sanitation. We will see this as we struggle to contain the coronavirus, at least in America. Healthcare workers have already died from this thing, and I am sure many prospective college students will have second thoughts about a career in healthcare. I mean hell, look at no other than GeneCo itself. That company employs workers called "Genterns" who are most definitely not in full PPE. I don't doubt their medical expertise, but they appear to be disposable (please see: that time Luigi killed one for NO REASON in "Mark it Up").

On that note, it really was quite incredible how China built the pop-up hospital in Wuhan in under 4 days, but it was also not the most safe or structurally sound building by far (it collapsed, people were hurt!). Maybe at this point, the people in Repo! don't have much of a choice. I am sure there were likely legit hospitals, but the fact that the Renaissance had gross surgery tents is a bit unsettling.

This is a world that is completely built upon the social more of valuing your health above all else. There had to be a turning point in the GeneCo business model where they really played on up-selling organs for the benefit of "genetic perfection". "I needed a kidney transplant desperately. GeneCo showed this single mom sympathy. This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!" Imagine signing the documents for your power of attorney while actively going into renal failure, when your doctor chimes in with an up-sell for breast implants. When all is said an done, your body is now not only functioning again, but you're hot! Even in a post-plague dystopia we are still holding value to having a nice rack. What's not to love about GeneCo? Obviously we know right away that GeneCo has a dirty side. Rotti Largo personally lobbied to make organ repossessions legal, and he does not hesitate to recollect his property. The concept itself is, of course, wild. In America, our healthcare system is incredibly broken and expensive. You would wonder how it could get worse without us backpedaling many steps on the industrialization timeline. And in a lot of ways, I could see a company like GeneCo thrive here. We already hate the poor, and we have political think tanks that salivate over the idea of cutting social programs that keep people alive. Our president has wanted to repeal the Affordable Care Act while many people are unemployed during a pandemic. In Repo! we hear about those who don't pay, but obviously there are plenty of people who do. Those who can will happily pay, either for vanity reasons or to stay alive.

And while society cites Rotti as being a "hero" for humanity, we see more and more evidence that the crisis is both not under control and life is cheap.

His son murders multiple people, in front of others, with seemingly no repercussions. In the scene where Shilo meets the Graverobber for the first time, adjacent to the graveyard and tombs owned by wealthy families who could afford grave markers, lies a poorly constructed wall hiding thousands of corpses piled on top of one another. We even get a glimpse of a truckload pouring more onto the pile. I would not be surprised if there is a disinformation campaign there keeping the public in the dark (although you'd think the smell would be unbearable at this point).

There are multiple indications that propaganda works in society (still), and no one is getting the full picture of how much of a raw deal the people in Repo! have. We see poster after poster about GeneCo, in the literal absence of other corporations.

And a lot of them bear resemblance to 20th century Russian propaganda. It would be a real shame if the goals outlined The Foundations of Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia were actually realized. Imagine going to visit your mother's grave and hearing commercials for hardcore analgesics play through the cemetery. Also, there's a police presence too. Apparently the police are called Genecops and have authority to execute any assumed graverobbers on site.

Imagine the hellscape it would be to live in a world where your loved ones may have died from a terrible pandemic, and you face a non-zero chance of an over zealous cop murdering you thereafter, and because their qualified immunity bypasses the judicial system entirely...oh wait. Anyways let's circle back to the Graverobber character.

Graverobber's role in Repo! appears to be minor on the surface. Rotti's daughter, Amber Sweet, appears to almost despise her relationship with him. And that relationship involves him supplying Amber with what he describes as the "21st Century cure". This cure you ask? A super effective painkiller with the clinical use to accompany GeneCo surgeries. This drug is called Zydrate, and it has a street version that he acquires and sells, with clients including Amber Sweet.

Graverobber makes his living sucking the glowy blue brain corpse goo and injecting them into people on the streets. Yum!

Not everyone who needs an organ transplant can pay for it all upfront. Luckily for them, GeneCo provides payment plan options! The caveat to this is if you fail to make those payments, legally GeneCo can come and repossess your newly acquired organs. If you find yourself past due, you will soon see the last face before your doom, the Repo Man. He will harvest GeneCo's property, and it won't matter where you are or what you are doing. There is no anesthetic, and you will likely die! This was all made legal through Rotti's lobbying efforts.

Society, as it's set up today, allows for property repossessions. This can be as straightforward as a repossession of your vehicle to as heartbreaking as a foreclosure on your home. At the end of the day, the impacts of that are difficult and life changing. Currently millions of people in America are out of work, and the threat of losing everything is at stake for many. We could lose our homes, our vehicles, and our sense of purpose. And while many government bodies have created temporary moratoriums, they have not provided any substantial financial relief to keep the proverbial repo man at bay. What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment? Fascism! Ah yes, the dreaded f-word. In my next essay, I will outline the 14 characteristics of fascism and how it relates to the universe in Repo! After I will relate that to our modern world so that we can try and stop this from becoming our reality.

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mortviolette · 4 years

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Catra The Historian

Based on the characters developed for TV by Noelle Stevenson and owned by DreamWorks

Concept originally by sunnylildragun on tumblr

Written by MortViolette

Prologue

It has been 6 months sense the defeat of Horde Prime and all Etheria is well on its way to recovery. The Fright Zone now known as New Sorpion is ruled by Scorpia, who along with Perfuma helped the former Horde soldiers and clones settle into a more positive and healthy life. Entrapta had taken Hordak back to Dryl, promising to keep a close eye on him. The two learning from and experimenting with the remaining Horde tech. Glimmer had remained Queen but had appointed Micah as her advisor. Meaning he ran the daily operations whilst she kept the official title. Adora had insisted Catra move into her room immediately after arriving at Bright Moon. Adora still planned to go off into space eventually but she was first and foremost Etheria’s protector and knew she and the best friend squad needed to postpone their plans for at least a year or two. Bow had been busy assisting Glimmer and had not visited his dads in a while. Once things calm down the BFS decide to join Bow in visiting Lance and George at their recently repaired home in the whispering woods.

Chapter 1

As they enter Bow’s parents are quick to greet everyone. Lance holding a tray of snacks with an excited look in his eyes. Catra stands a bit behind Adora. She has gotten used to meeting new people at this point, but its still strange. Her mismatched eyes wondering around her surroundings. Its more books and artifacts than Catra had ever seen. The Horde was selective with its teaching of history. The bullet points primarily consisting of Hordak rules and princesses suck. Beyond that the former Horde soldiers knew extraordinarily little about Etheria and its vastly complicated backstory. A loud voice startles Catra a bit as her fur stands up. Lance having snapped her out of her thoughts. “And you must be Catra correct?” The man smiles, greeting the visitor. It is definitely Bows dad; she thinks. Attempting to reply. “I see where Bow gets his sunny disposition” She says with a playful level of snark. Both Lance and George Laugh. Lance especially finding it amusing. “Bow wasn’t kidding, you are as sharp as you are cute” He smiles warmly. Catra looking at him then at Bow with a death glare. “Stop telling people I’m cute!” She shouts, her tail shooting straight up as Adora and Glimmer join in on the laughter. She cannot help but smile a little at the sight of Adora laughing a slight blush forming on her cheeks. George cuts in threw the laughter. He has a more serious tone than Lance. A familiar commanding presence to it that Catra finds oddly comforting. Reminding her of old force captains she grew up around. “Well any friend of Bows is a part of this family. Whether they like the attention or not” He gives Catra a wink. Then gestures for everyone to follow as Lance chimes in cheerfully. “Lets all enjoy some snacks! I’m sure you’re all hungry from your trip, plus we have so many new discoveries to tell you about! Oh, and Bow, you must tell us more about what you and Glimmer have been up to lately.” He smirks. Bow blushes looking at him embarrassed. “Lance!” Catra cannot help but giggle seeing him flustered for once. Enjoying the irony.

After about an hour of conversation on their couches. Catra stands up, stretching a little. She decides to explore the house for awhile while. Only Adora notices, the rest very distracted by their current conversation. Adora stops her, grabbing her hand gently but firmly. “Is everything ok?” She sounded so caring. Catra could never get used to having so many people worry about her. She nods, thinking before speaking. “I just wanna look around. This place seems-I don’t know, neat” She mumbles over her words. Adora smiles wide, that stupid, dorky, lovable smile. Catra hadn’t shown much interest in anything outside of fighting and winning. When they had become comfortable at Bright Moon the BFS had tried to get Catra some hobbies, interests to keep her mind occupied. Perfuma having said it would help her adjust to her new normal and being bored and sitting around the room 24/7 wasn’t exactly great for her mental health. But nothing seemed to interest her. So Adora cannot help but be encouraging about this sudden interest. “OK, whatever you want babe” Catra sticks out her tongue to dodge the embarrassment her girlfriend is putting her threw. “Ok weirdo” She heads to the second floor for a bit of privacy. Looking at the seemingly endless rows of books. Its almost a bit intimidating. She looks curiously around, grabbing a few books and flipping threw them. She squints her eyes to focus, a habit she picked up from the few times she’s had to read during her time in the Horde. Its difficult but she manages to read a few random chapters and get the gist of it. But she feels a prominent headache forming from the effort. She sighs, starting to put the books back looking a bit frustrated. When she suddenly hears the familiar voice of Lance. “Have an interest in history Catra?” She looks a bit startled, calming her fur as she looks at him. “No, just bored of y- “She stops herself, taking a breath as Perfuma’s words of kindness and speaking your truth repeat in her head. She speaks again more calmly. “Maybe a little. We never learned about it in the Horde.” Lance looks on the verge of tears, causing Catra to look concerned, worried she did something. His tone is devastated. “You never learned history?! What a terrible thing! History is a wonderful world of stories and discovery. We have dedicated our life to it. A life devoid of a knowledge of history is simply something a cannot allow.” Before Catra knows it, several books are being placed in her hand. Nearly causing her to fall over. “Now this is just the basics to get you started, brief history of Etheria volumes one threw ten! But if you ever decide you want to learn more our home is always open to a fellow lover of history!” He smiles warmly at her, a warmth to him that Catra has never seen in a parental figure. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him about her difficulty reading and simply nods and attempts a smile. “Thank you, um you’re really nice” The two of them head back down the stairs. Catra gets a thumbs up from Adora, the rest of them surprised at the pile of books their friend is now carrying. After awhile they all head home, Adora insisting on carrying the books for Catra. Although she doesn’t mind watching the show of strength. Enjoying the walk home, Catra having refused to be teleported home.

Chapter 2

It was time for the meeting of the princess alliance, a weekly event that primarily consisted of pleasantries, followed by import information and closing in hours of upbeat conversation and genuine friendship. During the tail end of this particular meeting, Adora finds herself uncharacteristically alone in her chair. Catra had gotten in the habit of either sitting on the arm of her chair or more often than not sitting directly on Adora’s lap. Refusing to be away from her and occasionally chiming in with useful advice or ideas (She had been a Horde general for some time) which were often appreciated when they didn’t involve too high a dose of snark. But today Catra had decided not to attend, claiming she was going to read the books Lance had given her. Ever the supportive girlfriend Adora did not fight her on the idea. Despite knowing she would miss her presence, more worried about the feline being alone then her own feelings. Adora takes her mind of it by chatting with everyone. However, Adora was not the only one to notice the absence. Scorpia who was rarely hesitant to speak up, looked to Adora asking curiously. “Hey Adora, why isn’t Catra with you?” She says in an upbeat but equally concerned voice. Glimmer speaks up “Ya she’s never not attended a meeting. Did something happen?” Adora watches as the whole room turns their attention to her. She speaks confidently but slightly nervous at the attention. “She’s uh, reading” Scorpia looks shocked, mouth agape as she starts to lough a bit. No malice in it, simply finding playful humor in the idea. “Catra? Is reading? She never reads, even when she had to do paperwork for the Horde, she just had me or somebody else do it. Wow times change” She smiles looking pleased at the idea. Entrapta takes the opportunity to speak up, speaking quickly and excitedly as usual. “Come to think of it, I had noticed Catra would never read the blueprints or data I collected. I always assumed she just didn’t care about the way I did my research simply that it yielded results. But maybe there was more going on!” She says excitedly as if Catra is a fun science experiment. Glimmer who had been listening to the two of them intently turns to Adora. Speaking curiously but with a hint of concern. “Well Adora. You’ve known her longer than anybody. Can Catra read?” Adora takes a minute to think, her forehead creasing as she summons every memory of Catra she can. After a few moments she speaks, almost shocked. “Honestly, I can’t remember a time I saw her read. I guess I never thought about it” She rubs her neck, embarrassed that she might not have known an important detail about her childhood friend turned girlfriend. Glimmer speaks up, grabbing Bow, Adora, Scorpia and Entrapta. “OK, then let’s settle this!” Poof, pink sparkles of magic surround them and they are suddenly right outside Adora and Catra’s shared room. Entrapta attempts to rush in but Bow stops her, whispering. “Wait, let Adora check first” Entrapta lets out a restrained sigh as Adora leans the door open ever so slightly, trying so hard not to alert her girlfriend. With one eye Adora can see Melog, sitting at the foot of the bed, then she looks to the bed seeing books strewn about. Then seeing Catra who is sitting cross legged, holding a book right in front of her face and squinting. Annoyed sounds coming from inside. Suddenly, the doors swing open behind Adora, Glimmer striding passed her as she walks to Catra, who has jolted off the bed, fur standing up as she hides behind it hissing. “What the hell Sparkles?!” Glimmer ignores her reaction and speaks firmly. “Catra do you not know how to read?” Catra, who is still looking up from behind the bed grumbles at Glimmer, seeing the others following behind her. “Of course, I can read! How dumb do you think I am?!” Adora looks concerned at Catra, not intending to ambush her like this, but willing to go along with it if they get to the bottom of the issue. “Catra please, its us. Nobody is going to judge you.” Adora says as calmly and comforting as she can. Catra just ducks behind the bed, hissing again.

Entrapta walks over and grabs her from the bed, Catra hissing and struggling a little as she is bound. Meanwhile Glimmer grabs one of the books off the bed and opens it, putting it in Catra’s face. “Then prove it. Read one sentence from this book and we leave you alone.” Catra grumbles, looking grumpy as she says annoyed. “Fine!” She looks at the book squinting her eyes as she leans her head closer. “The Etherian P-princesses have b-been in, in- ugh that’s enough see I can read now let go!” Entrapta turns around adjusting her grip as she pulls down her goggles, examining Catra’s eyes. “Fascinating! It seems that along with heterochromia you seem to suffer from an undiagnosed problem with your vison” Catra yells angrily. “English please!” Glimmer puts down the book, looking at Catra sternly but caringly. “It means you need glasses Catra.” Entrapta lets Catra go but before she can get her bearings Scorpia rushes in grabbing her in a big hug. “Oh, you poor thing! To think you’ve been unable to read all this time and we never knew” Catra has a look of murder on her face but takes a deep breath. Channeling all her self-control as she speaks calmly “Scorpia, would you please put me down?” Scorpia quickly lets her go. “Right! Personal space” Glimmer gestures for everyone except Adora to leave, giving her a warm look before closing the door behind her. Catra sits on the bed, looking at the floor. Adora walks over, sitting down and wrapping an arm around her, gently rubbing her arm. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Catra looks away, then sighs before muttering quietly. “Because I was embarrassed” Adora just smiles, placing her other hand on Catra’s cheek as she lifts her head to face her own. “You don’t need to be embarrassed Catra. We aren’t in the Horde anymore; you don’t have to hide weakness. Its ok to need something.” She softly caresses her cheek, tears starting to form around her mismatched eyes. She speaks in a slightly broken voice, filled with sadness. “I just hid it for so long and eventually I just didn’t think I could tell anyone. I, I was afraid you would be mad at me for keeping it from you” Adora’s heart breaks hearing her say that. The thought of her girlfriend ever thinking she could be mad at her over such a thing tearing at her. Adora wipes some of Catra’s tears away and pulls her close tell their foreheads are touching. She speaks softly but firmly. “Catra I will never be mad at you for needing something. Yes, I’m upset you didn’t tell me. But I’m more worried that you would rather hide this from me then come clean. You need to tell me things and damnit we are getting you glasses because you clearly want to read those books”, she kisses her forehead, pulling back a bit as she looks at her. Catra takes a second, then speaks up. “I’m sorry I-I wouldn’t keep anything else from you I promise” Adora pulls her into a tight hug, placing her chin on her head, gently rubbing the back of Catra’s head.

About a week later Catra along with the BFS go to get her glasses. After professionals check her eyes to confirm Entrapta’s impromptu diagnosis, they begin the process of picking them out. Glimmer and Bow seem adamant about having her try on a million different ones, much to Catra’s annoyance. Eventually Catra settees on a round pair, claiming to have chosen them at random because she was sick of looking. It wasn’t because Adora said she looked cute in them. Totally not that.

Chapter 3

Over the last few weeks Catra has been diving deep into the books gifted to her. It took her awhile to adjust to the glasses and reading at a good pace. But after a day of reading she was off to the races. In just two weeks she had read each copy twice, filling them with countless sticky notes and highlights, even working up the courage to ask to barrow a few books Bow had with him, quickly finishing them as well. Everyday when Adora comes home Catra can hardly resist the urge to talk about what she has read, a brightness in her eyes and excitement in her voice that makes Adora smile wide every time. She is also crazy smart, Adora comes to realize. She knew the love of her life was clever but like wow, Adora barely understands half the things she talks about but what she does understand is extremely complicated. Catra seems especially interested in old wars and rulers, recounting several chapters on old battles won by wit or leaders overthrown threw clever plotting. When Bow happens to mention one night at dinner that his dads have several detailed books and artifacts on wars and even combat styles and weapons. Catra cannot help but light up and let out a cheerful purr at the idea. Catra is reminded by Bow of Lance’s offer for her to visit sometime, knowing they would love the company. Catra is hesitant to leave Adora’s side for long and she knows Adora is far too busy to visit with her for any long stretch of time. She says she will think about it, choosing to table the idea for now.

A few days later during a meditation session with Perfuma, the princess can tell something is bothering the feline. Her body struggling more than usual to relax. She speaks as she always does, extremely calmly and positively, still in her pose. “What’s troubling you Catra?” Catra groans a bit, it can be annoying how Perfuma always seems to see right threw her. “Its nothing” Perfuma lets out a light chuckle. “If it were nothing you would be able to relax instead of thinking about it. Remember Catra, holding in emotions only hurts you. Breath deeply and speak your truth” Catra sighs, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, then exhaling as she speaks calmly. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Bow’s dads offered to let me visit and well- “She takes another deep breath, then lets it out. “I can’t decide what to do” Perfuma nods, thinking for a moment. “You want to go, to learn about history. But you’re afraid to leave Adora for so long.” Yet again Perfuma saw right into what she was thinking. Catra opening her eyes and looking at Melog who is currently chasing a nearby butterfly. “We haven’t been away for any longer than 24 hours sense the heart.” Perfuma keeps her eyes closed, nodding at Catra. “It’s a big step for the both of you, to be afraid or nervous about change is perfectly normal Catra. But I know you want this, you yourself have gone on about everything you’ve learned with such joy during our meditation” She giggles, opening her eyes to look at Catra, pulling her attention back to Perfuma. “Your friends will still be here when you return, Adora will still be here when you return. You need to go where your heart leads you. If that means leaving Your love Adora briefly, to explore a love of history. You should take that choice to heart and really ask yourself. Will you regret not doing it?” Catra looks to the floor, the closes her eyes and repeats her breathing exercise a few times. After about a minute she speaks calm with a flare of determination in her voice. “Yes” Perfuma smiles. “Yes what?” Catra responds confidently. “Yes, I will regret not doing it. I-I really want to do it.” Catra feels a hand touch her shoulder, opening her eyes to see Perfuma looking down at her, big smile on her face. “Then you need to talk to Adora” They conclude their session, Perfuma always insisting on hugging Catra before she leaves. She waves and hops on Melog, headed out of Plumeria and back to Bright Moon. Back to Adora, a mix of nerves and excitement at the conversation and events about to come.

The other chapters are still pending. Just wanted to see what everybody thought so far. =3

@sunnylildragun

#spop catra #spop #catradora fanfic #fanfic #she ra catra #catradora #She Ra #she ra glimmer #she ra s5 #she ra bow #adora shera #adora #Catra the historion #perfuma #entrapda #scorpia #post s5 #catra

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nikkalia · 4 years

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Storytime with Auntie Dragon: Betrayal edition

Gather round, children, it’s time once again for “Storytime with Auntie Dragon.” Today’s episode: NYC & Betrayal, a tale of adventure, excitement, and how a certain actor is seemingly easily impressed with modern technology. Hey, it’s pretty snazzy stuff…

We begin our tale at the dawn of November. Your dear Auntie D had just purchased a house, and because closing fell in such a way that I had no housing payment in November, there was some spare cash to be had. A friend of mine who lives in the UK (@mrshiddleston-uk) had been talking about her upcoming trip to the states to see our beloved Mr. Hiddleston in his Broadway debut, and after careful scouring of countless calendars, I decided that the Boychild could miss a day of school to make the trip and decided to go. Another friend ( @silverink-goldenlies) came along for the ride and the trip was set.

THE TRIP: Bloody hell, why is it every time I drive north, roads are torn up? I mean seriously. I spent more time on the brakes because of construction than I did with the cruise control engaged. For 698 miles! I did not, for those who may be curious, drive up I-95. Oh, the hells to the NO. I have driven that stretch of disaster quite enough to know that it’s a toss-up as to whether you get Hell on earth or a multi-lane, multi-hour parking lot. And that’s just around Richmond. D.C. is worse. Much. Worse. But I digress…

I-78 is (mostly) a beautiful drive. Lots of mountains, rolling hills, farmland, all that. From southern Virginia up through parts of New Jersey, there are lots of farms. LOTS of farms. With cows. And steers. And horses. And even an alpaca - dude had a long neck. Somewhere along the way, every time we passed a farm with cows, @silverink-goldenlies would just blurt out “cows.” In the middle of a conversation, “cows”. Passing silence for miles and suddenly, “cows.”

And occasionally, “cows. And horses.” The boy child would even chime in now and again.

THE ARRIVAL: We made it to NYC around sunset. When we were 25 miles or so out, I spied the city skyline and told @silverink-goldenlies to look out the window. Poor thing was so excited I think she almost cried. We took the Lincoln Tunnel into the city because I missed an exit. Which reminds me, Google Maps, get your turn-by-turn shit together. I spent more time on the road than necessary due to a lack of “in 500 feet, turn here.” Waze doesn’t treat me like that. It just crashes. And Waze has Cookie Monster voice. Anyway…Lincoln Tunnel. That was fun, kinda. I kept having flashbacks of Independence Day with the fireball coming up the tunnel following the alien attack. Not cute.

We emerged in the city and I very quickly learned that upstate NY driving is totally different than NYC driving. I lived in Albany for a couple of years, and in upstate, you can use your signal and mostly expect someone to let you in, or at least get out of the way. Not NYC. Nope nope nope. You signal, insert the front fender of your car and hope the person you’re essentially cutting off is paying attention. It only took one missed turn (thanks Google) for me to learn the ways of the natives and navigate correctly through the city. Which I did successfully. At rush hour. Praise Asphaltia, Goddess of the Road.

Cows.

NYC: After a night of bullshit sleep thanks to the rock-solid beds of the LaQuinta - Queens, our party was up and in the city by 9:30 am. I’ve always had this mental image of NYC being small because of how tightly packed everything is. My friends, that is absolutely not the case. The city is M A S S I V E in both size and scope. I was totally a tourist, videoing everything in Times Square and looking up like I expected the sky to fall. I learned something I never knew, and never really thought about: they leave the big crystal ball on top of the building after New Year’s. It’s sitting up there, pretty as you please, changing colors all year long. Who knew?

We hit the highlights of Manhattan like my son speed runs through Dark Souls. Times Square, Hard Rock New York, the M&Ms store (3 floors…3 FLOORS of chocolatey goodness), one of two Lego stores, and Rockefeller Plaza. The tree is up, but not on display. I need them to slow down on the trimming it back. There won’t be any tree left, and it’s looking a little scrawny, to begin with. Ice skating was in full effect, but we didn’t go. I knew I had a show and another 10-hour drive back to NC to get through, and doing it on a seriously bruised ass would not have been a good look.

Noon hits and we head back towards the Jacobs theatre. By the time we got there, the box office was open and there was already a line. Thank the gods for online purchases. Easy in, easy out. Around 1 pm, we met up with the lovely @mrshiddleston-uk and attempted to get lunch at some Irish pub. @mrshiddleston-uk briefed us on all things stage door and helped to craft a plan of attack to get the best spots for meeting the cast. The line to get into the theatre was already formed and growing by the time we decided to bail on the never appearing food.

THE JACOBS THEATRE: This is a gorgeous space. The theatre is on the small side, but I genuinely believe that there isn’t a bad seat in the house. We were in the balcony house left and could see every bit of the stage. Beautiful architecture, comfy seats - if not a little (LOT) short on the legroom - and a pretty chandelier made the place feel cozy and warm. The staff was wonderful as well. I’d totally see another show in this space.

BETRAYAL: So here’s the part you all came for, right? Right. Cows. To be honest, I’d never heard of Harold Pinter before Tom Hiddleston took the role in the London production, much less read any of his work. I didn’t know what to expect except for what I’d heard from @mrshiddleston-uk after her viewings of the London show. The concept of the show is intriguing enough - following a love triangle in reverse order with a minimalist set and lighting design. I’m a tech nerd anyway, so I was excited to see how well this would work.

Oh. My. Goddess. This show was AMAZING. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been to a show that totally sucked me in to the point that I was actually invested in the story. Betrayal did just that. From the moment the curtain rose (more on that in a sec) until the stage went black, I was sucked into the world of Robert and Emma and Jerry and how the affair went from disintegration to conception. I have absolutely no sympathy for any of these characters at the end of the day. They are all seriously flawed and have caused themselves the pain that they experience in this story. But, that’s what makes good drama, right?

The sheer lack of set made it easier to pay attention to the actors and the script, which is a huge perk in this game of verbal tennis. The characters go from normal speech patterns to the famed Pinter pauses to this back and forth without missing a beat (or a syllable) that will make your head spin. The boychild told me later he found it a little hard to follow, which is understandable if you’re not used to hearing it in an English accent.

There was a lot of play with light and shadow in this show. It’s no secret that all three actors are on stage for the duration of the play, with the “odd man out” lurking somewhere in the shadows. It was thrilling to see, to be honest, because you catch yourself looking around to see what the odd man is doing while the two in focus characters are speaking. Robert standing against the back wall facing the wings; Emma curled up on the floor eating an apple; Jerry sitting off the side with his back against the back wall. All making little gestures or motions that hint at what that character is experiencing in that moment in time.

Even the shadows themselves told a part of the story. The sharper focused shadows cast by Robert and Emma when she confesses the affair created a tension that doesn’t exist when Robert is lurking in the background of scenes involving Jerry and Emma or Emma hiding almost when Robert and Jerry are in the forefront. I found myself watching the shadows in this scene more than the actors themselves. It’s that intense.

One other tech geek note: the back wall moved. Now, I’ve seen plenty of moving sets. Hells, I’ve moved a few in my time. But this simple change had a tremendous impact. When the wall moved forward, it cuts the surface area of the stage down to 1/8th of what it was at the beginning. It puts the confession right in your face. You can’t get away from it, just as the characters can’t. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. They, and you, just have to deal with it. Absolutely brilliant on the part of the designers. Enough about the sets, or lack thereof. Cows. I could go on all day.

THE CAST: We’ll start with Zawe Ashton. She’s a perfectly lovely woman, all smiles and bubbly at the stage door, very sweet. I don’t know that I like her as an actress. Or maybe I don’t like her character, Emma. I haven’t really decided yet. But, if there was a downside to this show, she was it. Her laughter was fake to the point of cringy, and there was something noticeably self-absorbed about her on stage. The other thing I noticed is that she was never standing or sitting straight. She was always twisted, curled up, or otherwise contorted in some fashion, and that gave me a twitch. An acting choice? Maybe. It would stand to reason that this was some subconscious outward expression of Emma’s mental/emotional state. She struck me as whiny, and maybe a little “woe is me” to boot. My thought throughout the play was, bitch, you got yourself into this. Suck it up.

Charlie Cox as Jerry. Great guy at stage door, seemed to be enjoying the fans. Again, I haven’t read the play so I’m not 100% on what Jerry is supposed to be, but Charlie was giving some serious lovesick puppy vibes for this show. And that’s all I got from him. Maybe bits of remorse here and there, but not much. Some great comedic moments, but otherwise, he really didn’t stand out for me.

Tom Hiddleston as Robert. We’ll discuss stage door in a minute. I’ve worked in the arts and journalism long enough to know that you often hear about how someone “is” but that’s not really who they really are. They pretend to have a presence that doesn’t exist, or they’re not as talented as they, or their agent, would have you believe. And sometimes that “wonderful” actor is really just a prick in real life. Children, I am here to tell you that Thomas William Hiddleston is EVERYTHING he’d cracked up to be.

When the curtain goes up at the show open, Robert is sitting in a chair, and all you see of him is legs. The man has legs for days…digressing again. Cows. Tom has such a presence that you know exactly where he is. When Charlie and Zawe are sharing their scenes, your eyes can dart straight to Tom. I remember actively looking for Charlie and Emma in scenes they weren’t involved in, just to see what they were doing. Never, ever had to do that with Tom. He was always there, always on the edge of the shadows.

His performance as Robert is an emotional roller coaster. I watched him run the gamut and back again several times over the course of 90 minutes, and really wonder how the hells he does it every day (and has been since June). No wonder he looks exhausted. He was giving that trademarked smile in some scenes, growling with anger in others (your Loki is showing), and on the verge of tears in still others. I looked down at him during the confession scene and his eyes were brimming, reflecting the bright white light that was shining on him. That one hurt my heart. Dude can do anything, and I need someone to give him more meaty roles on film. And for the love of the Gods, cast him in a romcom, comedy, something! He’s proven time and again he can act - let him have something besides Loki.

Disclaimer: I love Loki, don’t get me wrong, but I hate to see talented performers pigeonholed into one role. Tom is so much better than that, as most of them are.

STAGE DOOR: The show ends, the lights come up, and I can’t get the damn Hard Rock Cafe bag out from between the seats. So this is how it’s gonna go down, eh? WRONG. ANSWER. I get downstairs in record time only to be blocked by old people who can’t decide if they need to pee or not, then distracted by Tom speaking on stage about the fundraiser the theatre is doing. That voice, those long assed legs, and holy hells is the end of the stage right fucking there???

FOCUS WOMAN! Cows. Eldery folks having determined that yes, in fact, a stop by the loo is in order, I’m out the door, still struggling with the bag and my coat and not being run over by those who are sprinting to the barricades set up to queue for stage door. Sprinting. Really? It’s like, 300, 400 feet maybe, from the entrance to the stage door. I wanna have 0.5 seconds in front of Tom too, but damn y’all. It ain’t that serious.

Secure in our spot upfront and personal by the lovely @mrshiddleston-uk, I got myself squared away and place the Facebook group chat video call. We all agreed that since @firithariel, @igotloki, and @mischeviousbellarina couldn’t be there in person, we’d bring them along digitally. For once, my phone behaved. Did I remember to put them on speaker? That would be a no.

So, Zawe comes out first, signs programs and chats with fans. She really is adorable. Charlie comes out next and follows the same route, and then the man of the hour (and really the whole point of this trip) emerges in the “uniform”, looking a little frazzled. But, he makes the rounds of autographs, even going so far as to sign a Thanos Funko.

Really? REALLY? Thanos? How you gonna do my boy wrong like that? Grrrr….. Amusing thing was that Tom really didn’t even acknowledge it, but he looked annoyed by it.

That’s when Tom got to our merry little band. @silverink-goldenlies showed him the tattoo done by her husband of a Loki helmet with runes surrounded by flowers. He seemed thoroughly impressed with it. I’m next, with our video chat going strong. I asked him to say hi to the girls, and he got a weird look on his face until he saw the phone. He did a double-take, “There are four people on the screen! How did you do that?” We told him about Facebook group chat and where the girls were located. There’s a video floating around Instagram/Twitter of his reaction. It’s entirely too cute. He leaned in and smiled, said hi to them, showed them an autographed program, and handed them to me. He looked me right in the eye for about a second and a half then moved on. I can still see it in my mind, and it makes me smile every time.

Tom finished the autographs and came back around for selfies. Mine is blurry AF, because of course, it is. It’s the only one I have of him. Maybe I’ll try to fix it in Photoshop. A fucking photographer can’t take a damned selfie. SMH Oh well, you can tell it’s him. @mrshiddleston-uk got some great shots, and I’ll always know I was there, that we spoke, however briefly.

I’ll spare you the details of the trip home because, well…traffic. And cows.

And so ends the tale of the very long too short awesome weekend in NYC where I got to meet Tom Hiddleston.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#betrayal #tom hiddleston #nyc #road trip

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thefreckledone · 5 years

Text

Pompeii Chapter 54

Sakura watched the changing colors of the leaves as she continued driving, enjoying the chance to zone out. There were so many things competing for her attention: her job, her roommates, the upcoming election; it was nice to have this time to herself. When she first started this commute, she’d seen it as a hassle, a waste of time.

Now?

Now it was the only chance Sakura had to think in peace and quiet.

She kept her thoughts light and loose, choosing not to ruminate on her anxieties and doubts. Instead, she completed her long drive home in easy, blissful silence.

Sakura climbed out of the car and grabbed a few packages from the back seat, smiling to herself. There was a secondhand store near the clinic where she worked and she had found quite a treasure trove.

“Sakura!” Zaku exclaimed, hastily hopping down from the fourth floor of their home.

Sakura watched, not even flinching at the heavy thud. She was used to the reckless abandon with which her roommates maneuvered themselves, even though it drove the doctor within her absolutely insane. “Hey Zaku!” she greeted in turn, accepting the arm he threw over her shoulder without complaint. “How were things here?”

“Same old, same old,” Zaku replied. “A couple of fights broke out and were resolved pretty quickly. Ashura and Indra’s spar got a bit out of hand and they destroyed one of the walls. Yamato repaired it without problem, good as new.”

Sakura frowned slightly, brows puckering. “They don’t usually roughhouse so much.”

Sakura could feel Zaku’s shrug through the arm around her shoulders. “I think they got a bit antsy because you stayed at the clinic overnight. No one outright said anything but tensions were higher than usual today.”

Sakura shook her head. “There was an emergent case yesterday afternoon that lasted past clinic hours. By the time everything was stable, I was too tired to drive home safely.”

“I know,” Zaku said. “I’m not chastising you, Sakura. Though you do know that any of us would have been willing to come by and pick you up.”

Sakura snorted, ducking her head against his shoulder. “I’ve seen you drive. I don’t trust any of you behind the wheel of a vehicle. And I wasn’t in the right headspace for the less conventional methods of travel that each of you offer.” She paused, clearing her throat. “How are you, Dosu, and Kin doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the news has picked up and started circulating stories of Orochimaru and his apparent activities. Are you concerned at all?”

Zaku rubbed at his neck, over the mark left on him by a childhood of experiments. “I don’t believe them. It’s just another tactic of fearmongering to try and score votes in the election. Orochimaru isn’t active. He can’t be. We’d know.”

Sakura watched him, wary. “You’re sure?”

“Sakura, the seal isn’t even active. Orochimaru isn’t active, at least in Pompeii. We’d know. Trust me.”

“I do,” Sakura replied, regarding him with sincerity.

Zaku hummed, dropping the matter to peer over her head instead. “So what’s this you got in your arms?” he asked, squeezing her slightly before releasing her fully. Zaku swept the stack of boxes away from her. “Parcheesi? Monopoly?” He sounded out the words with uncertainty, mangling the pronunciations. “Are these items of summoning from the other Planes? I have never heard of the entity Parcheesi, but the name is similar to those from the Plane of Limbo.”

Sakura paused, fighting to contain the peals of laughter that threatened to overwhelm her. She succumbed to the urge, releasing full-bodied, belly-aching laughter. Her legs wobbled and she leaned her weight against Zaku, trusting him. When she first met him, he was thin, malnourished, barely surviving off the land. Now, his limbs were strong and steady as he kept her propped up.

“Alright, I’ll bite; what are these things?” Zaku asked once Sakura reclaimed herself and took half of the games from him.

“These are board games,” Sakura said. “Tonight we will have all of the unhealthy snacks, play a ton of board games, and watch some terrible, hilarious horror movies. If we don’t wake up tomorrow with a sugar hangover then we did it wrong.”

“Ah, I have heard of these board games!” Zaku said, looking a mixture of proud and excited. “They play them sometimes in the shows I watch. Sakura, are we performing a friendship rite!”

Sakura giggled at his phrasing. “Well yes, I suppose you could call it that. Friendships rise and die on the board of Settlers of Catan.”

“Oh and we can get Sai to make kettle corn!” Zaku said, nudging Sakura toward their home. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s get started!”

Sakura chuckled, feeling the weight of her exhaustion and responsibilities melt away in the face of Zaku’s excitement. “Alright, alright. Lead the way, Zaku.”

He bounded away ahead of her, yelling out for the rest of their roommates. Sakura followed at a slower pace, unsurprised to find everyone situated in the common room by the time she arrived.

“So Zaku said something about ‘board games,’” Yamato said, standing to greet her and take the boxes from her hands. “I’m afraid I am not very familiar with the concept.”

“Huh,” Sakura murmured. “I thought you might be the only one who would. Did you not play board games with the Senju?”

Yamato shook his head, following Sakura as she headed into the pantry to rifle for snacks. “I wasn’t allowed to play with the Senju.” His mouth curled with disdain. “Hashirama and Tobirama did not want me to ‘spread Orochimaru’s perversions.’ I did observe the Senju play Sorry quite often. They enjoyed the irony of built-in insincere apologies.”

Sakura snorted, shaking her head. “Why does that not surprise me?” She turned to Yamato, assessing him for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. “I’m glad we will have a chance to make some better memories about board games tonight.”

Yamato’s frown eased into a soft smile as he regarded Sakura in turn. “I am forever thankful for whatever good fortune there is in this world that allowed my path to cross with yours.”

Sakura’s breath caught in her throat as she held Yamato’s gaze, the intensity of his eyes drawing her in. She leaned forward, hand tightening on his arm to brace herself. Yamato lifted his free hand, carding his fingers through her hair. Sakura rolled up onto her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She pulled away, flushing at the awe she saw lingering in the depths of his eyes. Sakura cleared her throat, smoothing her hand down his chest as she broke eye contact. She didn’t think she could withstand everything she could and could not read in his gaze.

“You know that I’m thankful too, right?” Sakura said, desperate to make sure he understood. She knew how little he valued himself and she wanted him to know the truth. “This relationship goes two ways. Having you in my life...I could not imagine my life without you. You are so integral to where I am now; who I am. Your presence in my life is as much a blessing to me as mine is to yours.”

“Sakura,” Yamato said, voice thick as he caught her around the waist and drew her near. He ran his other hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he angled her face up to his. Sakura didn’t dare breathe as she held his eyes, entranced. “I-”

“Sakura!” Ashura called, voice reverberating through the pantry. “Where are you? Kin is cheating!”

“Am not!” Kin yelled back. “Sakura, Ashura is being an asshole!”

Sakura and Yamato stared at each other for a moment, silent, before bursting into laughter. They drew away from each other reluctantly and returned to gathering snacks.

“I’ll be there in a moment!” Sakura shouted. “Try to resolve the situation like adults!”

“Fat chance of that,” Yamato said. “This bunch is more competitive and bloodthirsty than any of the Fae Courts, the Senju included.”

“Oh gods,” Sakura said, going pale.

Yamato watched her for a moment, snickering. “You didn’t think this through did you?”

“Listen, I’m a veteran of the Great Spoons War of `11; I’m used to competition.” Sakura chewed her lip. “I just didn’t contemplate giving beings who are used to actual war and battle a new method to flaunt their skills.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh boy.”

Yamato hip-checked her, grinning when she stumbled before righting herself. “We’ll have fun. Stop worrying.”

“Alright, alright,” Sakura sighed. “Time to face the music.”

0The board games actually go over better than Sakura expected. While there are moments when things get out of hand (i.e., Ashura setting Kin’s hair on fire; Dosu making everyone’s ears pop), everyone really enjoyed the games. Some enjoyed them a bit too much, but those who weren’t as into the games had the Harry Potter marathon to watch instead.

Sakura was sprawled out on her stomach on the floor, legs tangled with Indra’s as they played Settlers of Catan. Yamato was a surprisingly ruthless conqueror and Kin was a late blooming upstart who threatened to topple his reign. Sakura was just scrambling to stay relevant in the game.

“This is not how the game of conquest plays out on the battlefield,” Indra said grumpily, scooting closer to Sakura.

“Really,” Sakura drawled. “It didn’t consist of rolling dice and earning sheep?”

Indra knocked his knee against her thigh. “I’m serious,” he said, though the joke eased the pucker of a pout from his face. “Conquest was all about strategy and meticulous planning. Not luck.”

“There was a little bit of luck involved,” Ashura chimed in from the table where he arm wrestled with Dosu. That had been a well-placed suggestion from Yamato to keep them from roughhousing.

Indra rolled his eyes. “Maybe for you, but mother and I actually planned out the conquest of Pompeii.”

Sakura rolled slightly, regarding Indra fully. “Conquest implies someone to conquer. Who was in Pompeii before you?”

“It wasn’t really a who,” Indra said. “In those days, the primordial forces were much more active. Their magics were young and vibrant and...alive perhaps? Not sentient by any means, but alive in its own fashion. The land defended itself from intruders. To live upon it, to be accepted by its magics, the land had to be conquered. So that is what we did.”

“You and the heroes who accompanied the Maiden,” Sakura said.

“Yes, my mother,” Indra replied, eyes softening as he reminiscenced.

“Did she...did she die in the conquest for Pompeii?” Sakura asked hesitantly, taking his hand.

“No,” Indra said, mouth firming in a scowl. He clung to her hand, folding his fingers through hers. “No, that came later. Pompeii was poisoned and turned upon its inhabitants. To save us, to save Pompeii, my mother made the most difficult choice, the final choice.” He sighed, squeezing her hand. “She didn’t even give us a chance to say goodbye. She knew we would’ve done everything in our power to stop her.”

“I’m so sorry Indra,” Sakura said, hearing the raw edge to his voice. Though it had been centuries, millenia even, since his mother’s passing, Sakura could tell he was nowhere near over it. “Death is always hard, especially when you aren’t allowed to say goodbye.”

Indra looked away, clearing his throat. “In any case, the conquest of Pompeii was a slow, steady build, a subtle masterpiece of tactics. Nothing like this drivel.”

“Catan isn’t ‘drivel.’ You’re just being a sore loser,” Kin said with a roll of her eyes.

Sakura felt Indra’s legs tense like he was preparing to pounce and she opened her mouth to deescalate the situation, when the doorbell rang.

Everyone turned to Sakura.

“Did any of you invite people over?” she asked, untangling herself from Indra to stand.

“Who would we have to invite?” Kin asked.

Sakura hummed, picking her way through the other bodies and scattered snacks toward the door. She wasn’t surprised when Sai sidled up behind her, offering silent support and protection should it be needed. Nevermind the fact that anyone with ill-intentions towards members of the home could not even enter the property.

Sakura checked the eyehole, blanching when she realized who was on the other side.

She hastily removed the charms and locks on the door, throwing it open to greet Tsunade.

“Sakura,” Tsunade greeted, crossing her arms. “May I come in?”

“I’ll step out,” Sakura said, nodding to Sai. He stepped back into the house, leaving Sakura alone with Tsunade. Sakura moved to lounge on the patio furniture, inviting Tsunade to join her. Tsunade took a seat gracefully, keeping her eyes trained on Sakura. “What brings you by this evening, Tsunade?”

“You’ve learned since you’ve arrived here,” Tsunade said.

“I beg your pardon,” Sakura replied, nonplussed by the non sequitur.

“You’ve wised up to the schemes of others. Once, you would have invited me inside without hesitation. Now, you refuse to let outsiders in, preserving the natural protections erected by lack of invitation. It is wise.”

Sakura frowned, a pang ringing clear in her heart as she contemplated the woman she once was when she arrived in Pompeii. She missed parts of that woman, the kindnesses she could afford before all of the betrayals. But Sakura knew she couldn’t go back to who she once was and, truth be told, she did not wish to. “Pompeii changes people, Tsunade, as I am certain you well know. Why are you here this evening?”

Tsunade huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Much more direct than when we first met. I’m not sure if I appreciate it or not.”

Sakura shrugged. “I care little for your appreciation. I have not the time to worry for the thoughts of others.”

“So I see,” Tsunade replied, something similar to respect threading through her tone. She sighed, turning her gaze to the open night sky. “In any case, I am here to ask a favor of you.”

Sakura hummed to indicate that she was listening.

“Have you been paying attention to the election?” Tsunade asked, keeping her eyes skyward.

“How could I not?” Sakura asked bitterly. “This emergency election is inadvertently the result of my fight with Kaguya.”

Tsunade laughed slightly. “I’m afraid you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit. Certainly, your battle in the forest was the impetus that removed Minato from office, but it was not the catalyst. Minato has a history of wanton negligence; it was only a matter of time before he was deposed.”

“Yet his supporters have submitted a new candidate in his place,” Sakura said, leaning back to regard the night sky as well. It was easier to speak such harsh truths while she contemplated something cool and distant. “And Itama seems to be gaining ground rapidly.”

“It is hard to displace the centuries of intrigue and politics that put the Senju at the top,” Tsunade said. “Even an incredible event like you striking down Kaguya is not enough to remove the claws of the Senju from their hold on Pompeii and its people.”

Sakura raised a hand to her throat, tracing over her scars there. “So, in your eyes, it was all for nought?”

“Not at all,” Tsunade said, startled as she redirected her eyes to Sakura. She cleared her throat, looking away again. “What you did...it changed the course of Pompeii, the course of history, irrevocably. Kaguya has lingered as a bad taste over the supernatural world for millennia. Sakura, you are the reason there is an influx of visitors and residents moving to Pompeii. You are the first God-Killer since the early years, when everything was chaos and destruction. There is no denying that your actions will have long lasting consequences.”

“You believe that Itama will win the race?” Sakura asked. “Despite the fact that he is such an obvious sock-puppet for his siblings?”

“Was not Minato the same?” Tsunade countered. “You were not here for his initial election, but I was. It was the exact same rhetoric that Itama now uses, the same fear-mongering that won him the seat in the first place. History repeats and the citizens of Pompeii are too myoptic to realize it.”

“So you think Itama will win,” Sakura said.

“It is a distinct possibility,” Tsunade replied. “It’s more likely than I would care to admit.”

“That’s why you’re here today,” Sakura said, satisfied that she figured it out.

“It is. Itama, despite all the evidence laid at the feet of Pompeii’s citizens, is a strong candidate. People take comfort in that which they know and they know already what they would receive with a Senju in charge.”

“You’re Senju yourself,” Sakura couldn’t help but point out. “Why not couch your election with your family name?”

“I’ve long been separated from the Senju name,” Tsunade replied. “I chose to pursue the path of witchery, turning my back on the Fae heritage that was mine by birthright. I could no more use the Senju name than you could.”

“So why approach me about the election?” Sakura asked. “I do not have a family name that holds any clout.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Tsunade said with a smirk. “You may not hail from any known clan, but the title of ‘God-Killer’ holds more sway than you may think.”

“But that title isn’t even a sure thing,” Sakura said. “There are some who already doubt the events that unfolded in the woods.”

“They are fools,” Tsunade said. “And they will know. Soon.”

Sakura turned to stare at her. “What are you asking of me?”

“I would have you endorse me, explicitly and publicly,” Tsunade said. “Some of Pompeii has thrown your hat in the ring as a contender; your word is important to them. They will likely throw their vote behind whoever you yourself choose. To ensure that Itama does not take the mayorship, I need your support.”

Sakura swallowed. She had a feeling that this might have been what Tsunade was fishing for and yet… “I’m not sure I can,” Sakura said, caressing her scars. “I don’t want to get involved in this election. Tensions are so high...I do not know if I can withstand another battle.”

“You are already involved,” Tsunade said with a hard voice, unable to show sympathy. “Your toppling of Kaguya is what landed Minato out on his ass; your actions tipped the scale. The people of Pompeii are outraged in your name; you are a deciding factor in this election whether you like it or not.” Tsunade stood. “You may not wish to support me; hell, I’d understand if you don’t, but you must choose someone. You must endorse someone or it is probable that Pompeii will fall to Senju rule once more.” Tsunade’s lips twisted. “And I doubt you would care for the treatment you’d receive from them.”

Sakura watched as Tsunade took her leave, an acrid taste coating her tongue.

#pompeii #our fic #weird wednesdays #my fic #sakura haruno #this is coming out late in the day on wednesday #sorry #i had to present to my faculty/peers today #so i was a nervous mess

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ariesbilly · 4 years

Note

Please tell us about fp sobbing in the river while all the other riverparents hold onto him...

why do yall want me to suffer...

i dont even know if i wouldve gone straight for a direct parallel like that, i was more just thinking about the general concept of it. but i mean, dont get me wrong i definitely did think about everyone in an actual river/lake/whatever recreating that exact scene i just dont know if thats the route i wouldve taken had i actually written it

but anyway i had this one idea about the midnight club all breaking in to the school the night after freds funeral (but like mary and gladys and probably hal wouldve been there too because fuck canon. and hiram and hermione wouldve also been there and not in jail. and penelope would not have been on the run... god i had shit thought out about fp and penelope having a conversation too.... listen i had a lot of thoughts about a lot of things but thats not what this message is)

BACK TO THE TOPIC AT HAND

so anyway everyone wouldve been together in the school and its all solemn obviously because fred has left such a huge hole in the group, but then gladys or somebody pipes up and starts sharing this really funny story about fred from back in the day and it gets everybody kinda smiling, half laughing, loosening up. fps like off by himself in a corner just keeping quiet the whole time, but as more stories get told, some of which he was involved in, his mouth starts turning up and its the faintest hint of a smile but its something. and by the time everyones gone around swapping stories the mood in the room is a lot lighter than when it started, but fp still hasnt said anything and it hasnt gone unnoticed

so everyone kind of turns to him and mary asks if hes got any stories he wants to share (and of course he does, hes got a million stories and they all know it)

hes silent for a little bit before he clears his throat and starts talking about this one time they were at pops real late, fp had just gotten into it with his dad so he didnt want to go home and fred had just sat with him in the booth to keep him company, was trying to cheer him up. so fred had been putting on these stupid voices and doing really bad impressions trying to get fp to laugh and it was working a little bit but not as much as fred liked, so fred had started picking at his fries and flicking them at fp and of course fps first reaction was confusion and a tinge of annoyance but fred had this smirk on his face that always meant trouble and it didnt take long for fp to catch on and soon enough they had a full blown food fight in the middle of pops at 11:30 at night. fortunately they were the only two patrons around but by the time pop got them to stop they were covered in ketchup and mustard and milkshake and pickles and pop was yelling his head off at the two of them that they had to clean up the mess themselves which was admittedly a pain in the ass but by that point they couldnt stop laughing and fp had all but forgotten about his dad and even while they were mopping up the floor and wiping down the table they had these big smiles on their faces

and fps smiling as he tells the story but hes got tears in his eyes that he keeps wiping away. and everyone around him is smiling and chuckling along too (alice had chimed in with some commentary about how immature they were but it didnt really hold any bite)

and as the story winds down fps just kinda sitting there thinking about freds smile that night and he can still hear freds laughter ringing in his ears and suddenly its hitting him that hes never gonna hear that again. its hitting that fred always knew how to cheer him up and hes never gonna have that again either and soon enough theres this sob racking through him and even though it wasnt ever really talked about, everybody knows that fred and fp werent just friends. that there was always something deeper. and its abundantly clear now with the way fp cannot keep himself together. gladys and mary are the first ones that go over to him, wrapping him up tight in their arms, gladys holding him to her chest. alice goes over next and holds the hand that fp isnt using to cover his face. everyone kinda follows suit after that and its not long before fps in the middle of this giant group hug which usually would make him feel wildly uncomfortable but he cant really focus on anything else right now besides the memory of fred. hes hardly even aware whats happening around him but eventually he looks up and realizes whats going on around him its a lot to take in. because at the end of the day none of them are friends, not as a whole anyway. and he knows the only reason theyre all even together right now is because freds gone. and its not like he even wants them all to be friends anyway. hes perfectly fine with how things stand between them all but... its nice that they can all come together even if just for a little bit for this.

but once he finally somewhat pulls himself together he says “well this is embarrassing” and everyone laughs and starts to disperse, gladys kisses his temple and she and mary are the only ones that stay close to him.

i also like the idea of alice going over to the window and carving the + between fred and fps initials because in my mind the reason she carved them next to each other in the first place was because she was one of the few people actually in the know about their relationship in high school and she was being a good friend and did that for the gays because she knew fp wouldve carved their initials all over the damn town if he could but this was a stealth way to give him what he wanted. a good friend, really. we love friends. :) so anyway now shes just completing the though but please BELIEVE if there is a lovers bridge or some shit in riverdale fp took his ass down there the next day and finally carved his and freds initials himself! ive cried 15 times writing this

anyway you could also just take all this and apply it to everyone going down to the swimming hole that julia and i have discussed MANY a times and everyone just kinda having a day celebrating fred cuz he used to love going down there in the summer and fp ends up sobbing in the water cuz he keeps thinking about all the secret trips he and fred used to take up there themselves... im depressed

#emo hours who the FVCK IS UP #fp jones #fredsythe #riverparents #briana answers things #Anonymous

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soberqueerinthewild · 5 years

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Truth is just like time: it catches up and it just keeps going

Formerly Titled: In which everyone thinks Alex and Kyle are dating

{AO3 Link}

Part 2 is up HERE

A Maria POV post-finale fic, because introspective Maria is apparently the only thing I write. Heavy on Kylex friendship, mentions of Michael/Maria. Emphasis on Malex, though there is no direct interactions between them.

Thanks to @seeaddywrite for doing her best to save me from my utter inability to use commas correctly and the subtle pressure to actually post some of my fics instead of just sending the to her.

***

Maria admits it’s cowardly, but she avoids Alex for a few weeks after she and Michael start dating. She tells herself that it’s because Liz and Michael need her and she is a bit overwhelmed with the revelations that aliens are real, she’s dating one, and Rosa has been resurrected by Max, who is now dead and in stasis in a pod, while Liz, Michael, and Isobel search for ways to bring him back. And this is all true, but it’s not the only reason she waits. For once she decides to be a little bit selfish because she doesn’t want her newfound relationship tarnished by the guilt she knows she’ll feel when she sees Alex.

Liz is the one who finally convinces her to reach out. Alex has been apparently helping Rosa, first with creating a new identity for her, then with a change in look, and more recently with the PTSD symptoms she’s started experiencing. Apparently both Alex and Kyle have known about aliens for months and are somehow involved a shady government conspiracy started by their fathers, and are the best equipped to figure out how to handle Rosa’s reappearance. Maria’s trying not to be mad that she’s seemingly the last to know; after all, she can’t be mad at Liz and Michael when they are grieving Max, and right now, she can’t exactly be pissed at Alex for not being honest with her, given what she’s been withholding from him.

Liz relates that Alex already knows about her and Michael, though Maria isn’t sure if Michael told him, or someone else did. But even once she realizes she won’t have to tell him the news herself, it takes time for her to gather up the courage, dreading feeling that the hope that was so strong before has now been crushed. But she needn’t have worried about that, she finds. When she finally steels herself and calls him, he’s polite and agrees to get together. They make plans with Liz, Rosa, and Valenti as buffers, and as soon as he arrives, she reaches out first with her powers, trying to get a read on how he’s feeling, but she runs right into what feels like a steel wall in his mind where she usually finds a door. She’s never felt that with anyone, least of all Alex who yes, is closed off with others since his return from war, but has always been pretty open with her. He told her once that the Air Force trained him to withstand torture and interrogation, and she wonders if these are the skills he employs now to block his true feelings from her. He greets her with a hug and says all the right things; that he releases her from guilt, that he and Michael weren’t together, that Michael was allowed to move on, and he wants them both to be happy. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes and at one point she sees Kyle give his leg a reassuring squeeze and Alex shoot him a grateful look in return, but beyond that Alex shows no outward signs that his words are anything other than 100% sincere.

As the weeks bleed into months, and things don’t improve with Alex, Maria tries not to think about it. She focuses instead on her relationship with Michael which is going surprisingly well, being there for Liz as much as she can, and of course her mother. Though she understands a little bit more about her mother’s condition now that she knows aliens are real, they are still no closer to finding a cure. Despite the awkwardness, Alex faithfully passes along any research from his father’s experiments that he thinks might be at all pertinent to her mom’s condition. She knows he would never let his personal feelings keep him from helping in any way he can. She misses their previous closeness, but she keeps faith that as time passes, he’ll open up to her again about something other than just research.

They are still seeing each other every few weeks at minimum, mostly in group outings that she thinks Alex attends mostly to prove he’s not angry with her. She runs into him once at her mother's care facility, and is struck again by how unendingly caring he is when she realizes he regularly visits her mom and has never said anything about it. Beyond that, their interactions have been limited to the glimpses of him she catches around town, usually with Rosa who he’s seemingly taken under his wing, and often with Kyle, heads typically bent together in serious conversations likely about the government conspiracy stuff she still doesn’t have details on, but sometimes seemingly hanging out socially. The only person she’s seen Alex flash a genuine smile at in months is Kyle, which she witnessed a few weeks ago when she overheard Kyle recounting a funny story from work, an arm slung over Alex’s shoulder as they exited Beam Me Up Coffee. They greeted Maria politely when she squeezed past them to enter, and Alex’s face, so open a minute before shifted almost imperceptibly, and she knew before she even reached out to try to read him, that she’d be facing that steel wall once again. Even though she’d been expecting it, it still sent a wave of sadness through her when her suspicions were confirmed. She stood frozen for a beat watching them walk away, Kyle curling his arm more tightly around Alex’s shoulder, and Alex leaning into him for a brief moment before regaining his composure and walking on like nothing happened.

It is a little odd seeing them so chummy after the way Kyle bullied Alex in high school, but she supposes they’ve all changed a lot since then. She’s glad Alex has Kyle as a friend, and since Liz has told her that Alex is not all that open with her either, Maria assumes Kyle is probably the only one he talks to about anything real these days. She knows Alex has also been supporting Kyle regarding some revelations about his dad, and helping Kyle develop a relationship with Rosa. They seem good for each other. At first it doesn’t even occur to her that they might be dating, but they seem so physically comfortable with each other that she does do a quick read on Kyle the next time she sees him after the incident at the coffee shop, just to be sure. She feels friendship and affection, but no lust or longing, and laughs a bit at herself for the passing suspicion

She tries not to spend too much time wishing their friendship could go back to the easy camaraderie they used to have, as wishing and hoping never helped anyone, but today as Maria sits slouched in a booth at the Crashdown after closing, waiting for Liz to be ready for a movie night that Maria knows will end up mostly being Liz crying about Max, Maria can’t help but give into the nostalgia and lets her mind wander to happier times in this diner when she, Alex, and Liz could just hang out without so much baggage.

Her reverie is broken by the sound of explosive laughter erupting from the booth behind her. She hadn’t realized that anyone else was here, thinking the diner had cleared out when Liz turned the sign to closed a few minutes ago. She peeks over the back of her seat to see Alex and Kyle lounging in the booth, laughing with Rosa, who is cleaning the table in front of them. Maria expects they are here for similar reasons she is, waiting for Rosa to finish up before doing whatever it is the three of them like to do together. She feels a brief stab of jealousy. She and Rosa had been so close before her death, but since her resurrection, she’s definitely seemed to prefer Alex’s company over almost anyone else’s. Liz admits that Rosa is a little nervous around aliens given that one killed her and all, and Maria does spend a lot of her free time with Michael, so she gets it, but she feels a little shut out nonetheless.

She ducks back down in the booth before they can see her, as she doesn’t feel emotionally prepared to handle another polite conversation with Alex where he looks at her with flat eyes. She does listen in though, wanting to know what it is that caused Alex to laugh in a carefree manner she doesn’t know if she’ll ever hear directed at her again. She hears Kyle exclaim to Rosa, “My god, what is it about this town, you’re like the 8th person to ask me that! Just cause I hang out with someone who is gay doesn’t mean we’re boning! I mean, I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, you’re an attractive guy,” this earns a snort from Alex, “but does no one understand the concept of friends?”

Maria smiles to herself. Apparently she’s not the only one who had suspicions, and not everyone has the benefit of psychic insight.

“Umm Kyle,” Rosa chimes in, “I’m not sure it’s everyone else that needs a refresher on how friends act... I think it’s you. You do know that most people don’t drape themselves all over their friends, and they definitely don’t grope their friend’s asses like I saw you do to Alex in the Wild Pony last week.”

Maria notes that this must’ve been on her day off since she didn’t see the three of them there last week. She shouldn’t be surprised that Alex knows her schedule and purposefully avoids the bar when she’s there.

Laughter erupts from the table again as Kyle protests, “That was one time!! I was drunk and there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Well, you were drunk that’s true,” Rosa concedes. “Drunk enough to break that glass you were holding and nearly getting us kicked out. See if I ever go to a bar with you again. Being a recovering addict in a bar always has its drawbacks, but it’s definitely not worth it if your brother gets you kicked out before the food even comes.” With that she spins on her heel to get back to helping Liz with closing tasks.

Maria hears Alex remark, quieter now, obviously not wanting Liz or Rosa to overhear, oblivious to the fact that Maria is in the booth just behind them, “I’ve been meaning to yell at you for that, come to think of it. You definitely weren’t drunk enough to be groping me.”

“Yeah, well,” Kyle retorts. “We both know I’m not the one who broke that glass either.”

“What were you trying to do, exactly?” She detects exasperation in Alex’s tone.

“At first it was just to make sure you didn’t throw away all that work you’ve been doing for the past few months to prove that you’re totally fine with how things are. I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but the poker face you’ve perfected when you talk to Liz and Maria is not at all effective when you’re within 10 feet of him. I thought you were avoiding seeing him in person, what happened to that plan?” Kyle asks.

Maria draws in a breath, realizing who the “him” is they must be referring to. This is really the point she should let them know she’s here, but she stays frozen in her seat hanging on every word.

Alex replies, “I didn’t think he’d be there on Maria’s night off. When you suggested going out with Rosa, I thought a familiar place would be better for her, and she’d be less likely to have a panic attack that way. I knew it was a risk that we might run into him, but I figured we could avoid each other if it came down to it, only he stopped me to see if I had an update on our research. I was just telling him that we did find some promising notes on those hard drives that I would send over in case it might help him and Iz tap into other powers to resurrect Max, when you decided to make an appearance and drape yourself all over me, and well you know the rest...”

“I thought you were mostly doing updates by texting and emailing?”

“Yeah, we are, but he asked. What was I gonna do, ignore him or tell him not to talk to me and only text me? I owe him any answers I can get him, however he wants them, after what my father did to him and his family. Look, no matter what happens, I meant what I said at Caulfield. He is my family. So whatever he needs I’ll try to give him, no matter if it’s space or constant updates whenever he wants them.”

Maria knows she should stop listening now. They are talking about things Michael definitely hasn’t shared with her. When she reads Michael, she feels an underlying grief that is always there, no matter what else he’s feeling. She’s tried to ask him about it, but it’s become evident that what Michael needs from her is a refuge, where he doesn’t have to think or talk about his pain, trauma, and sadness, so she’s tried to be that for him. She can feel him intentionally tamp down his less pleasant feelings when he looks at her, so she follows his lead and tries to bask instead in the affection for her that does shine through. But she can’t deny that she’s a little hurt that Alex and Kyle seem to know so much more than she does about those things that cause Michael pain.

She hears Alex let out a slow, long, breath, which she’s noticed him doing a lot. She thinks it might be a therapy technique he’s learned and wonders if that’s something he’s teaching Rosa. She can’t psychically check in on his emotions without seeing him, but she finds doesn’t have to. She can hear guilt, pain, and empathy just in his voice as he tells Kyle in a hushed tone, “Honestly, even more than me having a hard time sharing space with him cause of, well, you know, everything... I think really why we are mostly doing the text and email updates is because it’s too hard for him to look at me and not see my father breaking his hand and my father and my brother torturing and then murdering his mom and all those other aliens. I don’t know how you look at me either, given what my father did to yours.”

Maria has to clap her hands over her mouth to hide an audible gasp, still transfixed and unable to stop listening. She had no idea Michael had found his mom, or what exactly Alex is talking about. She wonders if Liz knows and once again she’s the only one not clued in.

“Hey, hey,” Kyle’s voice is a mirror of Alex’s, filled with a similar mix of empathy and pain. “You are not your father. I would never blame you for something he did. All you’ve done is try to make up for your family’s legacy. I know that and so does he deep down.” Kyle stops talking abruptly as Liz makes her way over to them.

“Umm guys…” Maria hears Liz tease, “holding hands is really not helping with those rumors.” She drops complimentary fries off at the table and lets them know that Rosa is upstairs changing and will just be a few minutes more. Liz walks by Maria’s booth on the way to the kitchen and holds up her hand signaling that she’ll be ready in about five minutes. Thankfully Liz doesn’t say anything out loud, and the boys seem to miss her hand gesture. She hopes she can make it out of here without Kyle and Alex knowing she was ever in the next booth.

She doesn’t have any excuse now that would fly for why she hasn’t said anything, but how can she pass up the opportunity to learn more about the things Michael won’t tell her. She can’t deny that she’s suddenly also very curious about the details of Michael and Alex’s history. She and Michael never talk about it and obviously Alex wouldn’t tell her about it now. She’d guess Kyle is probably the only one outside of Michael and Alex who might know everything. She tunes back in and notes that Liz’s interruption seems to have effectively broken the more serious mood as both men are laughing now.

“Kyle, I know you were trying to help but you’re gonna regret it after the 80th time you have to deny that we’re dating.”

“Whatever,” Kyle replies giggling now, it sounds odd coming from him as he always seems so serious these days. “It was worth it. I know you’re rising above it but I thought Guerin should get a taste of what it feels like when your cosmic love seems to be moving on.”

“Valenti,” Alex hisses. “I told you about that in confidence.”

“What, that he called your connection cosmic, a few months ago? I don’t really remember you swearing me to secrecy on that.”

“Well, I was super drunk so I feel it was implied.” Alex’s voice has a lilt of amusement to it still, but edged with sharpness that Maria thinks Kyle should instinctively fear, but evidently doesn’t, as he continues teasing Alex.

“Wait, so does that mean everything you said drunk and crying was supposed to be a secret?” Kyle asks playfully. “So I shouldn’t have been telling everyone that he told you ‘he never looks away’ even after 10 years? Or said the sex was epic? Which I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing, by the way.”

Alex’s groan is muffled, which Maria guesses is the result of him burying his face in his hands. “Ok, I don’t even remember telling you that. We are never going shot for shot again. I thought the military was hardcore, but apparently we’ve got nothing on med school students. I know you think you’re being funny, but now this is just depressing me. I walked away too many times and he finally did look away. He’s moved on and I’ve accepted that.”

Kyle’s drops the teasing tone. “I’m not sure that’s true. Look, you might not believe me, but I know jealousy when I see it. He was pissed. How many times have you seen him lose control of his powers? He’s never been like Max, who flickered the lights every time I so much as looked at Liz. Michael has better control. If he was totally over it, he wouldn’t have broken that glass when he thought we were together.”

“Maybe he just hates you?” Alex suggests.

“Well that too,” Kyle concedes. “But that doesn’t account for the way he still looks at you. I truly think you’re wrong about him seeing your father in you. Last week he was still looking at you the way he did at prom. I can’t believe I didn’t see it then.”

“I mean, you were a little busy punching me in the face to be that observant.”

“Yeah, but look at us now. Moved past all that ugliness to start a beautiful relationship.” The teasing tenor is back in Kyle’s voice.

“Shut up,” Maria hears a tussle, and assumes Alex has shoved Kyle.

“But seriously, I know you think you walked away too many times, but there’s one pretty important time you didn’t. You stood there with him, ready to let the building come down around you both, rather than let him die. You were honest with him about how you feel, and that saved his life. No one but you could’ve gotten him out. I know it’s complicated and I know you’re trying to respect his relationship with Maria, but it just doesn’t seem like your story is over.”

Alex sighs heavily again, sounding world-weary, “I don’t know. There was a time I really didn’t think it could be, that we’d always find our way back to each other. But now, he’s with Maria. He knows how I feel and he made his choice. And apart from that one night I can’t remember much of, and wish you’d forget all of, I’m not gonna let myself wallow in it. I have to just focus on our work, finding Michael and Iz any answers I can so they can bring back Max, and helping Rosa find her new normal. That’s what’s keeping me sane. That, and you. Terrible fake flirting aside, I appreciate that you’ve been there for me, even with everything you’ve been going through too.”

“Same here, dude. I wouldn’t have made it through these last months without you.”

“Seriously?!” Maria’s been focusing on the conversation so intently she missed Rosa coming back into the diner. “It’s like every time I turn my back you guys are having a moment where I seriously can’t tell if it’s bromance or romance. Let’s get out of here and get our horror movie on out at the cabin, but I’ll be pissed if you guys third-wheel me and start making out.”

Kyle and Alex slide out of the booth, and follow Rosa out the door without a glance in Maria’s direction. Maria’s brief feelings of thankfulness that she wasn’t caught are quickly swept away by confusion and disbelief. She’s not really sure what to do with this information. Everything she just heard swirls around in her head, barely making sense. She doesn’t know how to feel. She can’t even be mad at Alex. Maybe he struggles to meet her eyes and their conversations are stilted, but he’s really doing his best to respect her relationship with Michael, and make her feel like it’s not killing him, despite the fact that he’s obviously still in love with Michael. And it’s not like Michael had lied to her exactly. She’d known there was a history, so it shouldn’t shock her so much to hear these details.

But if she’s really honest with herself, she has to admit that she’d imagined that maybe the relationship was mostly one-sided. The only details she’d known had been about kissing in the museum 10 years ago. As soon as she learned the mystery guy was Michael, she’d supposed that maybe Michael had been curious in high school and Alex had caught feelings that were heightened because he’d needed something to hold onto during the years in the military. She’d told herself that the hopefulness she’d sensed was just from seeing Michael around when he returned to Roswell. All she’d heard from Michael was that the relationship was over, had been over. In those weeks and months of pushing away the guilt, she’d let herself believe that he meant it had been over since high school.

She feels embarrassed by the assumptions now. It feels almost insulting to Alex that she’d believed he would be hung up after 10 years on some one-sided fantasy, but she realizes it was a way to exonerate herself a little. If Michael was just a 10-year-old crush that Alex needed to let go of, then maybe instead of betraying him, she was doing him a favor by helping him move on. The justification was weak regardless, but now it’s been effectively destroyed if she is to believe what she just heard, about cosmic connections, epic sex, traumatic events past and present, and being each other’s family. Maria’s heart twists painfully as she recognizes that family isn’t a word either Alex or Michael would ever use lightly. She’d once told Alex that home could be a person, and it feels unfathomable that she is now dating the person he had once, and maybe still, considers to be his.

When Liz’s voice breaks through her haze, she’s not sure if she’s been sitting there for minutes or hours. She looks up and Liz is staring at her. “What?” She manages to croak out.

“I’ve called your name about four times with no reaction. What’s got you so deep in thought? You didn’t even look this shell shocked when we told you about the aliens,” Liz remarks dryly.

“Yeah, well, it turns out that was just the tip of the iceberg of things I don’t know.” Maria tries to keep the bitterness from her voice. It still stings that she was the last to know about aliens, and now it’s clear she knows so little about Michael’s past and present pain, and almost nothing about Alex and Michael and the depth of the connection they shared. She could use a reality check, but she doesn’t feel right burdening Liz with this. She tries to slap a smile on her face. “But babe, honestly, my worries pale in comparison to what you’re going through. I’m not gonna blab on about my silly problems when you’re dealing with Max and Rosa.”

Liz puts a comforting arm around her. “One, your problems are not silly.I can still be your friend when I’m dealing with tough things of my own. And two, I could use a distraction.”

She’s not even sure where to begin. “So umm, how much do you know about Alex and Michael’s relationship?” That seems like the part that’s clear to her now. The revelations about Michael’s mom and a building that exploded still are so incomplete. She’ll have to set those aside for another day.

Liz looks surprised, “I think I mostly know what you know, maybe less. Just what Alex has told us about the museum, which I gather was the rosier parts. The parts he wanted to hold onto. I did try to get him to talk to me, after everything, but he said he didn’t think it would be fair to tell me details because I’m so close to you and Michael. I think he didn’t want me to feel awkward.”

Maria closes her eyes, “Did you know they were together recently, not just in high school? You and Michael are friends, did he ever say anything? Did Max?”

“No sweetie, he’s pretty private. I didn’t even know he was bisexual until you told me. Why, what’s got you troubled?”

Maria tells her everything and Liz just listens, her face a mirror of the shock Maria is sure must still be on her own, when she’s finished.

“Well, important questions first,” Liz breaks her stunned silence. “Do you think Kyle and Alex are really dating? Cause I did not see that one coming.”

She knows Liz is trying to lighten the mood, but if anything the thought makes her more depressed. It would be so convenient if they were, because the truth is so much more complicated for everyone.

“No, definitely not,” she tells Liz sadly. “I don’t think Alex ever looks away from Michael. And I’ve got this sinking suspicion that despite what we have, Michael is always there looking right back.”

“Well, shit.” Liz was always one for the understatement. “What do you want to do?”

“Drink tequila?” She suggests. It’s not gonna solve either of their problems, but it might postpone them a bit.

A few hours later, she heads home, no closer to knowing what, if anything, she plans to say to Michael about anything she’s learned. She knows Michael will be there when she gets in, having planned to come over after practicing with some of his new powers out by the Airstream. He can’t heal anything more intense than a paper cut yet, and has no aptitude with Izzy’s influencer powers, but he’s gotten pretty good at manipulating electricity, which they are hoping will lead to an improvement in his healing skills. Maria had been debating texting to tell him not to come over, before she decided one way or another he’d texted to tell her he was already on his way.

If she’s being fair, she doesn’t think Michael’s using her exactly, at least not on purpose. She knows he has genuine feelings for her beyond just sexual attraction. She can imagine given everything he’s been through, so much of which she didn’t know until tonight, that a relationship with her must have felt like the easier, less painful and fraught choice. Maybe he’d truly believed he could move on and be happy with her.

She tries to believe that maybe he can. She knows that even if he loved Alex, people are capable of loving more than one person in their lifetime. Just because Valenti thinks the story isn’t over, doesn’t mean he’s right. She’s not exactly sure why she’s taking Kyle’s opinion as truth except that it’s brought to the surface some observations of her own she’d been furiously stamping down.

Being so attuned to other people’s emotions does have its drawbacks after all. There have been several times, always when they were at a crowded community event or walking through town, when she felt Michael’s concentration waver, when he was usually pretty good at focusing his attention exclusively on her when they were together. So since those moments felt unusual, she’d dug deeper and sensed longing, guilt, and sometimes jealousy sweep through him seemingly randomly. It hadn’t made any sense so she’d pushed it out of her mind. She’s now pretty convinced that Alex was nearby each time, somewhere in the crowd where she didn’t notice, but Michael, who if she believes what she heard, never looks away, must have. When he strummed the guitar she could feel the peace it brought him, but sometimes after, she’d find him staring at his hand, and when she tapped into his emotions she expected to feel joy that it was finally healed, but instead his feelings were deeply conflicted. It had struck her as odd that it seemed like Michael missed the scars and the pain, but now that she knows the injury, like so much else, is all wrapped up in Alex, it makes more sense.

She knows she should just talk to Michael. They are adults. They should be able to talk about past relationships, sort through their feelings, and see if there’s any future for them. But she just can’t shake the feeling that there isn’t, can’t be; that Michael and Alex’s futures are intrinsically, or what’s that word Michael apparently used just mere months ago, oh yeah, cosmically, linked.

Maybe tomorrow her better angels will prevail, and she’ll initiate a direct and honest conversation, but tonight, after more than a few shots of tequila, and feeling bitter, sad, and guilty, she doesn’t have much interest in the high road. Instead, when she walks in the door and greets Michael, who is practicing making the lights flicker on and off, she remarks in a fake cheerful voice she barely recognizes, “You’ll never guess what I heard today! Apparently, Kyle Valenti and Alex are dating now. Who would’ve thought?” She won’t deny that she feels a flash of grim satisfaction when the light bulb above the door suddenly shatters.

Part 2

#roswell new mexico fic #malex fic #kylex friendship #maria deluca pov #my fic #my post #soberqueerinthewild fic

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thepencilnerd · 5 years

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𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 || 𝐦.𝐲.𝐠.

coup de fou·dre- noun; derived from the French word for a strike of lightning, it describes a sudden unforeseen event, often in reference to love at first sight

➳ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

➳ Summary: Love at first sight didn’t exist. To you, this was a fact. Living in the city of love and lights, therefore, couldn’t have been more ironic. Paris wasn’t just the destination for hopeless romantics and tourists alike, but it was also home to hundreds of hidden treasures that were nestled around ecah street corner. Fate and destiny weren’t exactly concepts that you ever believed in, but how many times does it take for a chance encounter to turn into something even the universe couldn’t explain?

➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, star-crossed encounters, barely a soulmate AU

➳ Word Count: 9.5k

a/n: a few phrases in French but they will be translated in italics, and my French is very extremely rusty so please forgive me

Waking up to the Parisian sun was one of the many things you cherished about living in the city. The open balcony window allowed an ambient breeze to blow into your studio apartment as sunlight streaked through the untied curtains.

Reluctant to part from your disheveled bed sheets and scattered comforters, you took a glimpse at your alarm clock that read 8h47. Forcing yourself to come to terms with the fact that you had to get out of bed sooner or later, you threw your legs over the edge of the bed and hauled yourself up.

It was a lazy Saturday in your quiet apartment, but the impending doom of going back to work on Monday motivated you to enjoy as much of your weekend as possible. When you applied for your university’s Study Abroad for a Summer program, you never imagined that you’d end up transferring to and graduating from Sorbonne, let alone living in Paris to this day. California never really had anything for you to begin with, and you’d lost contact with your parents after you moved out at 18.

From infancy into adolescence, your family began falling apart at the seams. Your mom was barely home, and instead found more pleasure in placing bets and melting the plastic off of her credit card at casino resorts, while your dad couldn’t deal with the stress he got from watching her ruin their entire bank account. He didn’t care much about her livelihood, but when money was thrown into the equation, he went manic.

Being on the dean’s list actually paid off in helping you form close relationships with your counselors and teachers; ones that your parents could never give you. As they had grown well aware of your situation at home, they made sure to take your work ethic and mediocre grades into account when you handed them your transfer application forms. Putting in a good word for you, they helped you realize that family wasn’t confined to blood relations, but rather the extensive bonds that you formed with those around you.

When the opportunity to move out presented itself on a silver platter, you took it without a single ounce of hesitation. Life was hell with or without your family, so why not just get away from it all together?

It was no secret that France was a timeless country. While cities around the world began to construct office buildings and fall into the trend of modern sky-high architecture, France itself was a living and breathing historical artifact. Most buildings had been left untouched and undemolished since the Renaissance era, and they were constantly being maintained and restored like fine artwork.

Passing through each and every street, there wasn’t a single spot exempt from being anything but breathtaking. Even the street art was a sight to see. One of your favorite “touristy” spots was the Parc du Champ de Mars. The first few weeks into spring was when the flora in the park was at its peak. Nestled just behind the Eiffel Tower, the long field was a hotspot for tourists, families, friends, and couples all the like. Throughout the entire week, the park was full of vibrant and lively energy as people gathered to celebrate in the lush green grass.

The Eiffel Tower was unquestionably your favorite place. Nestled in the 7th arrondissement, or sector of Paris, the Tour Eiffel was an icon in and of itself. Known as a culturally recognizable historic monument around the world, it wasn’t just all talk. Although the climb up the tower was grueling and enough to meet your monthly exercise requirements, the view from the highest observation deck was unrivaled.

From the top, you could feel the clean air coursing through your lungs as you took in the view. The Arc de Triomphe was at the heart of the city, with the arch being the center median for twelve streets that ran through it. On the rare occasion in that you’d take the lift up to the deck at night, the whole city came to life as lights that beamed from lampposts, streetlights, and cars illuminated the entire heart of Paris. To describe the sight in words was impossible, and it made you feel like a tourist in your own city.

Every morning before you left the house, especially on days that you didn’t feel like doing anything, you prayed silently and reminded yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to live in a country that some would sell their left kidney just to visit. Thankful for waking up to breathe another day in this reverie of a city, you trudged to the bathroom and washed up.

Once you had settled into the city and stabilized living like a somewhat put-together adult, you had made it your goal to explore as much of the city as possible through any means possible. Most of the time, however, it involved stopping by at the most tourist clustered destinations. Although there were hundreds, if not thousands, of hidden treasures like restaurants and rustic flea markets, you found much more joy in hopping on the metro and letting it fate decide where it took you.

Wrapping a scarf around your neck, a necessity when the spring air was still in its early beginnings, you gathered your remaining things into your bag and hurried out the door into the awaiting city outside.

Weekends typically started off late, as you had formed a habit of sleeping in on Saturdays and crashing early to wake up early on Sunday, but your morning routine always consisted of some kind of coffee to jump-start the day. Your cozy apartment building nestled in the 7th arrondissement of Paris was not only home to the Tour Eiffel but was also a hotspot for trendy cafés and restaurants all-the-like. On almost every street corner and turn of the road, a bistro or eatery occupied the lot, and outdoor seating made them all the more inviting. With a warm and homey atmosphere, even admiring the happy customers was a delightful experience.

About a block or two from your flat building was one such café– Maison de Raphaël. You had heard stories of the original owner, Raphaël Beaumont, had fallen in love and met his wife at a café and was inspired to start his own business with her; a sign of their new journey as lovers and partners until their passing. The business was then inherited by his children and his children’s children to carry on, a constant reminder of how cooperation, understanding, patience, and hard work had the ability to build something magical.

The familiar ring of the chimes on the door was like music to your ears as the scent of freshly ground coffee and steaming hot baked goods rushed to flood your senses. Not to mention the bustling customers, golden colored hanging lights, and rustic feel that made the place feel like a second home.

Distracted by the hectic atmosphere, you tripped on your footing as you bumped into a random person. “Sorry!” Ducking your head and murmuring a quick apology, you immediately that your English slipped out accidentally. Before you could get a chance to rephrase your sentence, you found yourself at the front of the counter in the presence of your best friend.

“Y/N!” Amélie shouted, reaching over the counter to envelop you a bear hug. “Quoi de neuf? / What’s up?”

You couldn’t help but smile in return at her constantly vibrant and bright personality. “Rien de nouveau / Nothing new,” you shrugged.

“Mademoiselle?” another voice rung from the kitchen. A nickname you had earned your first visit to the café as the “lost American,” you craned your neck to the buzzing kitchen, quickly waving to Amélie’s uncle, Pierre, as he gave you a toothy grin before resuming his cooking.

“Still learning English?” you asked intuitively.

Clearing her throat meekly, she stood with her chest puffed out and chin held high as she began speaking in English with a faint accent. “The weather is quite nice today, wouldn’t you say?”

“Very nice,” you complimented her choice of sentence topic. “Je parle pas francais, désolé / I don’t speak French, sorry.” Holding your hands up jokingly, she giggled kindly at your submission to the French language.

In the years that you had lived in France, you were still in middle school level and more than uneasy with verb conjugations. You were also eternally grateful that your job didn’t require that much face-to-face conversation, as everything in this age was done digitally, therefore, virtually.

“Come on,” she scoffed. “You’re fluent enough.” Scrunching your nose at her unbearably kind nature, her French accent still laced her words as she spoke English, but it was one of those things that non-French speakers swooned over.

“Whoever invented verb conjugation is the devil,” you groaned. “Can I have—”

“One café au lait coming right up,” she hummed, knowing your order by heart. Zipping around the tiny back bar like a dancing fairy, her quick hands crafted an award-worthy latte within minutes. Signaling you to find a spot on the swivel stools that lined the window, you maneuvered through the crowded groups of people waiting in line and met her halfway. “L'heure du déjeuner! / Lunch hour/break!” she shouted, her voice ringing through the back kitchen.

Sitting comfortably on the vintage seats, the sunlight hit your skin softly as light from outside peeked through the glass. A tray with two large cups was placed on the table as the scent of fresh coffee and steamed milk immediately found its way to your waiting nose and eager mouth. However, you always took the time to admire the steamed foam artwork that Amélie meticulously painted. Every day was a different masterpiece; some days were tulips and vines, while other days were cats and feathers. Today, it was a perfectly swirled and classic rosetta.

Plopping herself down on the stool and raising it to meet your taller stature, you giggled lightly as you lowered yours, helping her in her efforts. Patting her frizzy curls down, she swept the bangs from her eyes and gave you a sheepish grin.

You had met Amélie almost as soon as you had moved to France all those years ago. A quiet and bashful girl, your coffee addiction was fed by none other than the great-granddaughter of Raphaël Beaumont himself. In a flurry of terrible French and broken English, the two of you quickly bonded after your first turmoil of an encounter, sharing common interests in the world of fashion and cultures from your respective birthplaces. While she helped you pick up French, you began to teach her English and fuel her dream to move to New York to start her own clothing line; a dream she had apparently had since preschool.

“Don’t tell me,” you hummed, quirking your lips into a smirk and knitting your eyebrows as you gestured to her vibrant red top. “New fabrics from the flea market?”

Nodding proudly, she smoothed out the lace overlay that decorated the bodice and patted it appreciatively. “I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I saw them laid out, I had to make a new blouse.”

“Prototypes are supposed to be a rough outline, not perfect products. If your mother were working a shift today, she might snatch it right off of you.” Tracing your fingers over the delicate blossoms and her impeccable handiwork with stitches, her talent never ceased to amaze you. “What am I going to do without your coffee when you leave?”

“You’ll have your boyfriend to keep you company of course,” she retorted, flipping her hair back in an exaggerated manner. “But I won’t be going for a while, so don’t get your—how do you say it again? Panties in a twist?”

“Oh my god, please never say that ever again,” you gawked, trying not to blush out of embarrassment. “Where did you even learn that?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, she raised her cup and took an indulgent sip. You also couldn’t wait any longer and snapped a picture before reluctantly ruining the beautiful artwork. Sighing in relief at the bitter taste that coated your tongue, nothing at that moment felt better than this.

“Anything on la carte / the menu for you today, mademoiselle?” she asked thoughtfully, the nickname that her mother gave on your first visit to the café sticking like tree sap and rosin.

Swirling the already half empty cup, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I might take the metro to the Notre-Dame. Maybe make a wish at Point Zéro and pray for a good workload this month?”

She facepalmed and rolled her eyes at your dull response. “Mon dieu / oh my god, live your life a little. If I had today off, I’d go with you to wish for your boyfriend to come along already.”

The legends of Point Zéro had been spread few and far between standing there with a loved one or paying pilgrimage to the journey in the city, but mostly revolved around the tale that if you stood on the brass plate in front of the cathedral and made a wish, it would come true.

“Come on,” you snorted. “You know I don’t believe in any of that ‘coup de foudre’ stuff.”

The term which literally meant “lightning strike” was an expression often used to describe a fated or unexpected occurrence such as love at first sight. Both of which you didn’t exactly believe in.

“It’s not ‘stuff,’” she mocked your tone. “C’est vrai! / It’s true! You live in the city of love, for goodness sake. Stop killing yourself with your job and enjoy life.”

Swallowing the last of your cold coffee, you propped up your elbow and rested your chin on your hand, studying the small potted plant that was placed on the wood table. “Love is stupid,” you huffed under your breath. “Everyone’s just desperate for a partner who’ll give them everything and not ask for anything in return. What kind of love is that?”

“The stupid kind,” she jeered, flicking your forehead with her index finger to snap you out of your negative thoughts. “There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around.”

After chatting about the upcoming spring fashion walks in New York and getting scolded by her uncle, you agreed to visit her after her shift so you could hang out at your place for the weekend. Bidding Amélie and her family goodbye, you returned to the bustling streets that awaited you.

Despite the sometimes overhyped atmosphere of Paris, it was a sin to deny the fact that the city was a glimmering gem. Aboard the ferry that passed across the River Seine, you were currently en route to the Cathédral Notre-Dame. Resting your elbow on the metal rail, the cool breeze glided across your face, making your sigh in contempt. Weekends were truly the best.

The usually crowded boat was relatively empty today, especially considering it was a weekend. Although there were a few families and tourist groups here and there, the entirety of the boat was overall calm. Drifting off into the vast scenery of antique architecture and busy streets, you noticed that you were just coming up to Pont Alexandre III, a monument bridge that connected the Les Invalides buildings with the Champs-Élysées. Adorned with bronze statues of nymphs and gilded phemes, they stood to represent the arts, agriculture, commerce, and war; the concrete foundation and rich values on which the country was built on. It never failed to make you feel honored to live here.

Pulling your phone out to snap a picture (as per your routine ritual whenever you passed by the bridge), you noticed a white beanie stand out in the photo and in the crowd. Although the weather could be considered chilly enough for extra outerwear, you noticed that out of the people that you had walked past in the last hour or two, this person was the first to don a fuzzy knit cap. Grinning to yourself, you ignored the silly thought as the ferry came to its stop.

The cathedral was busy as always. With the line of entry starting from the inside trailing all the way to the middle of the sidewalk, you were lucky if you could waddle through the crowds. Trying to navigate through the swarm of people, you found yourself a relatively empty spot around the brass plate that officially marked the exact center of the city. Throughout the years, the words and engraved patterns on the plate had worn off, but the central 8-pointed star was still mildly visible.

Standing beside the plate that was centered perfectly with the front of the cathedral, you admired every little detail that your eyes could drink in; the rose windows that were arranged in concentric circles, the stone statues of biblical figures, and the timeless gothic architecture that formed the entirety of the epochal construction.

You didn’t plan on lighting a candle inside today, and the number of people that were pouring outside proved your point. Maybe next week? Staring down at the timeworn brass plate, you shoved your hands inside your pockets and closed your eyes to make a wish.

“Live your life a little. There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around,” Amélie’s words echoed loud and clear in your head.

Huffing out in slight frustration, you pressed your eyes shut and wished for the one thing you had worked so hard for all your life.

I just want to be happy.

Silently praying and repeating the mantra to yourself for a few seconds, you were snapped out of your daze by a kid running headfirst into your thigh and toppling over like a Jenga tower. Gasping in shock, you immediately crouched down to help the little boy up and brush off the dirt from his plaid sweater.

“Désolé! / Sorry!” you cringed, tensing your face into an expression that screamed guilt. “Est-ce que ça va? / Are you okay?”

The seemingly unaffected boy simply nodded, making you find it odd that he wasn’t crying or wailing. Instead, he chortled as if nothing were wrong in the world. “Est-ce que ça va, mademoiselle? / Are you alright, miss?”

Smiling endearingly at his mannerism with a hint of worry knit in your brows, you gently brushed over his wavy tresses and double-checked to make sure he hadn’t scraped anything.

Pressing up onto his tippy toes to raise himself to your height, the boy whispered in your ear. “On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” Before you got a chance to reply, he skipped off and disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen as you tried to think about the words a random child had just re-iterated to you. You had no problem recognizing the quote from your favorite book of all time; Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Trying to think of all the possible reasons why a stranger, let alone a child, would reference that particular quote out of nowhere, you ignored it and settled on the fact that maybe he had been reading too many fantasy books for his own good. Even though the boy had run off somewhere, worry overcame you as you realized you hadn’t even asked him if he was lost.

Squinting your eyes as you scanned the herd of people to see if you could spot him, you were able to make out his tiny plaid sweater amongst the generally darkly clothed adults. He was standing in the entrance line with an older woman you assumed was his mother. The boy turned to the man behind him and tugged on the edge of his beige coat, pointing his finger to somewhere in the crowd. Your eyes began trailing up the tall figure whose back was turned towards you, but you recognized the white beanie from earlier like a red wine stain on linen.

He must have gotten off at the same stop as me.

Unable to see his face from your angle, the man crouched down and ruffled the boy’s hair as a toothy grin appeared on the child’s face. Lightly chuckling to yourself, you quickly snapped a picture, reminding yourself to tell Amélie all about it when you went to visit her later. Checking your watch, the hands read 12:57 and meant that lunch was just around the corner. Glancing at the eroded star once more, you turned to the spot that the boy was standing, only to find that he and his mother were already walking inside, and the man from earlier was now nowhere to be seen.

As with most major city, restaurants in urban districts could be found scattered around every block like street signs. After walking across the Pont Notre-Dame to find the nearest bistro, you stumbled upon a crêperie just short of the Tour Saint-Jacques; another landmark that was the only remaining structure of a 16th-century church that was destroyed during the revolution.

Entering the small and cozy eatery, you were greeted by the friendly hostess behind the bar, currently occupied with wiping down the glasses and silverware. Sitting down by the window booth, she brought you a menu and a glass of water to start. Ordering their special, strawberry creme crêpes with a café au lait, you sat patiently as your stomach began to growl from the long walk. Years in the city and you still hadn’t gotten used to the daily on-foot commute.

Gazing outside the window, you always found yourself magnetized by the most insignificant details about this city. Sometimes, you even found yourself staring at the cracks of old brick walls until a person tapped you on the shoulder asking you if you were alright. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you were the type of person who found joy in strolling around flea markets for hours without boredom.

After a few minutes, a plate of freshly flipped crêpes made its way to your table, the thinly sliced strawberries and fluffy whipped cream seeping at the edges practically begging to be devoured. Bordering the edge of drooling, you cut a bite-sized portion but couldn’t bring yourself to eat at a normal pace for the fear that it would all be gone too soon. This might be your new favorite place, which didn’t bode well for your old faithful crêperie two blocks down from your apartment.

Taking time to savor the light and airy texture of the filling, you paced yourself in between bites and sips, reminding yourself to eat as slow as you could to make the experience all the more worthwhile. Once you downed your last mouthful and a final sip of coffee, you handed the waitress the check as she returned to go get your receipt.

Drawn to the light outside the once more, you saw that the sun was still shining bright, remembering that it was still early spring and the sunset didn’t come until around dinnertime. Shifting your gaze to the crowded patio seats, you couldn’t help but draw your attention to a couple sat in a pair beside the rose bushes that lined the seating area.

They appeared to be in their late thirties and were bantering back and forth while eating, letting a few giggles slip here and there. It’s not that dating or commitment scared you, but it was the idea of giving yourself completely into a relationship and not knowing if the other person might leave you at any moment that seemed—vulnerable. You despised nothing more than being blinded by love, and half of the time, the romance that books and movies talked about wasn’t even real love; it was just lust. Libido-driven physical one-sided lust. Still, you couldn’t help the wishful gaze that began to form.

Would you ever find a love that was even half as passionate as what they had?

Receiving the receipt from the waitress, you quickly thanked her and slung your bag over your shoulder as you got ready to leave. However, before you stood up, a familiar figure was sat two booths down from you. The same back-turned position, white beanie, beige coat, and this time, you could make out the edge of an ivory-colored scarf that was wrapped around his neck. Blinking to make sure that your contacts weren’t just drying up, you shrugged it off as the first coincidence of the day.

You paced yourself out the door and convinced yourself that it was just that; a coincidence.

Venturing down to the 1st arrondissement in a spontaneous act of curiosity, you were drawn to the petite floral shop that was a few blocks from the bus stop. Marveling at the newly made arrangements and bundles of in-season vines that lined the floors and shelves, the kind elderly lady of the store instantly sparked a friendly conversation with you about the meanings of different flowers.

As the conversation carried on with her effortless French and you struggling to decipher her quick tempo, you understood the gist of her speech but still blanked on a couple verbs and idioms here and there. Roses were tokens of love and devotion, calla lilies symbolized beauty and purity, and lilacs represented innocence and confidence. Nodding your head to make sure that you didn’t show how clueless you were in between her complicated sentences, she gave you a heartwarming smile before clasping her hands over her mouth with a gasp, scrambling to reach for something under her workspace.

Ducking down her counter and shuffling through floral wires, foam, and a few cardholders, she found a small cylindrical glass vial necklace and handed it to you tenderly. Looking at it up close, you saw that it was a burgundy rosebud encapsulated in a clear resin of some sort.

"Pour votre aimé / For your loved one." Clasping her hands around yours, she gave you a firm look of sincerity, bordering on the verge of urgency

"Non, s'il te plaît, / No, please," you urged, trying to hand it back to her but receiving a pouted lip and a wagging finger in return. Shaking your hands embarrassingly, you denied her conclusion as quickly as the words had left her mouth. “Je n'ai pas d'amant. / I don’t have a lover.”

“Pas encore, mais bientôt, / Not yet, but soon,” she emphasized her words, laughing at your blank and confused face before waving her hands and telling you to get home early.

When you tried to hand her a few euros in exchange, she nearly bit your head off and ushered you to take off and come back again. Sighing in defeat and surrendering to her persistent nature, you thanked her once more before leaving the shop with a jingle of the windchimes sounding behind you.

Pausing to open your clutched hand and inspected the perfectly preserved bud, completely in awe at how intact and still life-like it was. Frowning slightly, you wondered why she had suddenly been struck with the idea of giving a rather pricey looking necklace to a random customer; mind you, you hadn’t paid for it either.

Feeling guilty for not at least buying a small bouquet or desk succulent, you bit your lip and debated whether you had time to go back inside and buy something before the next bus came. Scanning over the buckets that bordered the outside of the shop, you tried to see if there were any small buds you could bundle together yourself or a small cactus you could quickly buy, but it was a fruitless effort, as most of the displays and pre-made potted plants were too large for you to carry home.

Exhaling in slight annoyance you decided that it was better to come back tomorrow and catch the bus, but not before taking a quick snapshot of the colorful row of blooming petals. Examining the picture you had just taken on your phone, your eyes widened at an all too recognizable figure at the edge of the picture. Wearing that same white beanie, ivory scarf, beige coat, black jeans, and with his back still turned to you, the same man from earlier today was currently standing over the array of flowers.

Looking up, he was still facing away from you in a way that you couldn’t make out his appearance, but you could clearly hear the shutter of a camera going off as he gazed at the freshly blossomed roses. Pondering over the possibility that this was just another coincidence, you reminded yourself that you would just come back tomorrow and buy a full-size arrangement instead.

Returning back to the direction of the bus stop, you almost screamed when you read the time. Nearing dinner time, you dashed down the street as if your life depended on it and tried to catch the last bus home.

The good news was that you ran faster than you had in your entire life and could probably skip cardio for the next few months. The bad news was that you missed your bus and were out of breath, freezing, and hungry.

Your watch read 4:40, making you groan as reality struck. Internally facepalming yourself and saying a prayer to your bank account, you swallowed your pride and told yourself that this was a foreboding from the high heavens as motivation to work harder. A white lie never every once in a while never hurt anyone, right?

Stumbling across a somewhat affordable diner combined brasserie, the enticing smell of roast beef and freshly baked dinner rolls wafted you inside. Since it was a peak hour for early diners, you were lucky to find yourself a spot in the back patio seating. Eyeing the rather empty area oddly, it clicked when you pieced together how full the front and indoor seating area was. Following the waiter to your table, you sighed in relief when your legs came in contact with the leather cushions. With tired legs finally being able to leisure and be limp on the ground, your tired out-of-shape muscles bid you a wordless thank you.

Gulping down the jug of water the kind server had brought you, he chuckled before giving you a break to catch your breath, clearly noticing your exhaustion as you struggled to form proper sentences. If your day to day French was awful, imagine what it sounded like when you were fatigued beyond words.

Deciding on a bowl of bœuf bourguignon with pommes frites / beef stew with fried potatoes, the waiter jotted down your order and excused himself. Closing your eyes and trying to control your growing hunger, you almost fainted when you rolled your head back and turned to two seats down to your right.

“Beanie boy?!” you shrieked, widening your eyes and cupping your hand over your mouth when you realized how loud you had just shouted. The same boy from earlier jolted from his seat, dropping his pasta entwined fork and yelping as well. Coughing to clear his throat from his near-choking experience, you couldn’t believe your eyes. How did he get here?

“Pardon?” he choked, grabbing his napkin to wipe his mouth. Noticing his choice of English, you raised your finger shakily and pointed to him as if he were a zombie that had risen from the dead. “You speak English?” you asked with your jaw agape. He simply blinked and nodded.

Right before you could continue, the waiter walked into the seating area and looked at both of you with bulging eyes before hastily setting your food down on your table and scurrying off.

“Have you—do you—have you been following me?” you mumbled. Your mouth was still agape in shock, periodically opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Cocking his head and furrowing his eyebrow softly, his lower lip jutted in a pout and he shook his head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Jaw dropping entirely, you blinked harshly and checked once more if your contacts were dried out, but gulped anxiously when he was still in front of you. “No. No, I’m not, I just—how?”

“May I sit?” he peeped politely, his extroverted statement contrasting with his outwardly introverted appearance. Nodding unconsciously for the fear that you’d be an awful person if you denied someone eating dinner alone a companion, he got up and shuffled through the chairs and sat down in front of you.

The dim light now illuminated his features, making his face thoroughly visible. Under his knit cap was coarse dark brown hair that framed his round yet angular face. His soft eyebrows drew attention to his brown eyes, while his lips seemed to be formed a perpetual pout.

“I guess this is all just one big coincidence, right?” you forced out an awkward laugh in order to diffuse some of the tension and pry your staring eyes off of him. Maybe it was all in your own head.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, it looked as if he were holding back a laugh. Barely narrowing your eyes to try and analyze his micro expressions, he resumed speaking.

“If you want to call it that,” he chuckled lightly, his voice now emphasized crystal clear. “I’ve had a pretty weird day today.”

Feeling yourself relax at his ability to make casual talk with a stranger like yourself, you felt a grin tug at the edges of your mouth. “I’ll raise you on that bet.”

Eyebrow lifting at your challenge, you raised your eyebrows at him tauntingly, a sudden surge of confidence rushing over you that you had never felt before. He eyed you wearily before raising his fork to his mouth and poking his chin with it, his aim inadvertently ruined by your locked stare. You coughed to hide a snort.

“So what brings you to the 1st arrondissement on this fine Saturday night?” he asked speculatively, deep-set eyes never leaving yours as you replied.

Chewing slowly to think of an answer, you shrugged shyly and gave him your honest answer. “Just another boring Saturday, I guess...” He nodded understandingly, seeming to accept your plain response. “What about you?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I didn’t feel like sitting around in my living room again was the most productive way to spend the weekend, so I thought it’d be a good idea to work on my portfolio.”

Holding your spoon as it came halfway to your mouth, you set it back down and grew interested in his occupation. “Photography major?”

“Photographer, actually,” he smirked playfully, emphasizing the last syllable ever so slightly. “But I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who got mistaken as a student.”

“You thought I was a post-grad?” you scoffed, amazed and flattered that you could still pass off as a woman in her very early twenties.

He grinned widely at your surprise, showing off a gummy smile that made your stomach feel weird. Did they cook the meat all the way through? you thought.

“I guess we have more than one thing in common,” he remarked, winding another mouthful of pasta around his fork neatly before engulfing it like a child.

“You mean ferry rides and flower shops?” you joked.

“Don’t forget cathedrals and cafés,” he reminded, shooting you a cheeky wink.

Shaking your head at his bold nature, the two of you broke into giggles, unable to hold back the recollection of strange concurrences that had occurred in the single day alone. The waiter stopped by the table to refill the water jug, making you both shift in your seats and try to tone your laughter down. Whispering something in the waiter’s ear, he shuffled his hand under the tablecloth, but you assumed your eyes were just deceiving you again.

“So you’re a photographer, are you?”

Quirking the edge of his lip and a brow into a pondering expression, he couldn’t give you a definitive answer. “It depends—am I still a professional if I don’t think my work is particularly that good?”

“Touché,” you hummed. “May I be the judge of that?”

His eyes ducked down timidly, indicating that he was genuinely unconfident in his work. “How about we make a deal of some sort?” he offered.

Jutting your chin down and pressing him to continue, he smiled coyly. “Let me spend the evening with you as reimbursement for dinner, and I’ll show you my portfolio.”

“Is that a euphemism for something I don’t want to know?” your mind urged you to ask apprehensively, noting the kind tone that laced his voice.

“No, I promise,” he raised his hands in defense.

“What do you mean ‘reimbursement for dinner?’” you air-quoted, still not sure of what his intention was.

“Considering I already slipped the waiter my card,” he whipped out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “—and I’ve already signed the receipt, I’d say that this boring Saturday just turned into a spur of the moment hang out between new acquaintances.”

Suppressing a scoff at his daring personality that emitted sheer confidence and shamelessness, you caved in and agreed. This was considered a “blind date,” right?

Continuing our discussion and jumping randomly from topic to topic, the flow of the conversation never stopped, continuing along effortlessly as hours seemed to pass by like seconds. The playful banter was exchanged with teasing comments and jokes, making the rumbling of passing streetcars become drowned out by the combination of your hearty laughter; a sound that you had unintentionally begun to memorize note by note in your mind.

Before you knew it, the sun had already begun to set and was falling fast. A mutual look of understanding crossed your faces when you checked your watch again, the dreaded hands that you had grown to dislike throughout the day clearly reading 8:05.

“I live in the 7th arrondissement. Is it alright I walk you home?” he asked softly, a tone of reluctance lacing his quiet voice.

Blinking your eyes rapidly and coming back to your senses, you nodded, wondering for a split second how he knew which district you lived in, but remembered that he boarded the same ferry as you this morning. Telling yourself that nothing lasted forever and that the night had to come to an end eventually, the two of you rose from your seats and slowly dragged your feet to the exit.

The view from the Pont Alexander III bridge was beautiful during the daytime, but the lampposts that illuminated the pathway at night was an entirely different experience. The ornate and extravagant bridge that you had seen glimmering during the daytime was now toned down, making the statues appear to be asleep.

Considered the golden hour by many, you understood why the lavish name had been given to the spot at this time. The line of the sunset followed the arch of the bridge, skimming it lightly as the sun itself disappeared beneath the skyline. The pastel blue, warm orange, and vibrant red-yellow gradient skies were accentuated by the very golden street lamps, making it the perfect destination to stop by before the end the evening.

“Do I get to see those pictures yet or was this all just a grand scheme to spend the evening with me?” you remarked coyly, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a grin when you saw a light blush fan across his cheeks. Darting his tongue out to wet his lower lip, he still seemed a bit nervous.

“I promise you that my pictures are worse,” you assured. “You looked pretty professional around the roses though, so I wouldn’t really worry.”

Face surrendering into his grin, he pulled out his camera from his satchel and stood beside you, both of you resting your elbows behind you on the rail of the bridge. Handing him your phone and exchanging it with his camera, you each began scrolling through the gallery pictures. You were absolutely spellbound.

He had managed to capture each setting of the landmarks in Paris perfectly. From the Louvre to the Museé d’Orsay and the Arc de Triomphe all the way up to the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, his shots were somehow able to encapture the pure essence and splendor of the city.

“These are—” you gaped. “I don’t—”

“They’re pretty mediocre,” he admitted guiltily as his hand began rubbing the back of his neck instinctively.

“No!” you defended. “They’re just—wow. They’re amazing...”

“Thanks,” he blushed at your compliment. “Your pictures are pretty good, too.”

Rolling your eyes at his makeshift compliment, you accepted it nonetheless. “They’re mediocre,” you mimicked.

He ruffled your hair jocularly, taking your mind back to when you saw him at the cathedral. “Did I mention that I make a great model?”

Your head tilted in confusion at his query but your eyes widened when it dawned on you; he had seen the pictures you’d taken of him. Showing you your phone, he began swiping across the screen, exposing the few pictures that you had snapped of him covertly.

“Oh—” you stuttered. “Those were just—I thought it—I thought it would be a funny story to tell my friend. My best friend. She loves movie-plot stuff like this. Coincidental situations, accidental encounters, you know. Stuff like that?”

Hoping he would understand and look past your rambling mess of words, he burst into a fit of laughter as he showed off his gummy smile again; one you had already begun to grow fond of a little too quickly for your liking.

“Keep scrolling,” he giggled, pointing to his camera in your hand. Following his directions, your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as they caught images of the places you had visited earlier today—with you as the central subject of the pictures.

The first was of the ferry ride; you were holding your chin up from your elbow on the rail and gazing across the river with a serene and tranquil expression. The second was of you standing on point zero; your eyes were shut tight and concentrated firmly on the brass plate, making you remember your wish that you had prayed for. The third was of you at the crêperie; your mind flashed back to the moment when you were staring out the window at the lovely couple. In the captured photo, your wistful gaze conveyed the definition loneliness.

The fourth one at the flower shop was the one that stood out from the rest.

In the other ones, you seemed like you were lost in the haze of your mind and constantly living out of the moment; whether it was thinking about your past or the future, this one was one of pure joy as you were gazing at the beautiful colors and delicate scents of the flora. A repressed grin slipped past your lips, turning into a full-blown expression of awe.

“Do you mind if I take another one?” he asked delicately, rubbing the back of his neck again, a habit you deciphered as one that stemmed from nervousness. Nodding your head as warmth flushed your cheeks, you handed him the camera and panicked, unable to think of a pose.

“Just relax and smile,” he encouraged, giving you a heartfelt grin as he adjusted the lens.

Narrowing your eyes at the ground for a brief second, you retreated to your accustomed position of propping your elbow up and resting your chin on your hand. You looked out across the rippling river and now dark sky as the once bright colors had grown dusky and dim. The shutter clicked once, making you turn to him and click again.

“Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction. / Love doesn’t consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” He spoke in a near whisper to himself as he repeated another quote from Saint-Exupéry, making it the second one today.

Taken aback by his words, you struggled to find words yourself. “Did a boy—a little boy tell you that, by any chance?”

He looked up from his camera display and at you with widened eyes. “I told you today was a weird day,” he stared at you in disbelief. Feeling at ease around his amusing reaction, you shook your head and let out a nasal snort, staring thoughtfully at the river.

"I’m guessing you’re an Exupéry fan too?” you added. Fiddling with his hands, he simply nodded, the edges of his lips curling into a carefree grin.

“Le Petit Prince is a classic tragedy,” he sighed. “I cried for days when my mom explained the ending to me.”

Patting his back and comforting his pouty face, you accidentally let out a giggle. “I thought I was the only one.”

Standing beside each other and glancing at the rippling waves below, you found your eyes drift to a couple on the street that bordered the bridge. Oddly enough, they seemed to mirror the pair of you with their similar taste of clothing and friendly bond.

“Do you think the rose was selfish?” you wondered aloud, not expecting a response from him. It had been an odd question that plagued your very existence ever since you had read the book as a child.

“No,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. “They were so blinded by love, they didn’t understand what it even meant. Would you still call that love?” he pondered, his voice coming out just shy of a whisper.

Your head shifted to him, studying his features as he continued to look across the water. Changing his position to mirror you, his lips relaxed before forming a sympathetic smile.

“Love is easy to find if you look hard enough, especially in a big city like this— but it’s the good kind; the wholehearted, selfless, and genuine devotion that makes everything worthwhile. That’s the one that’s almost impossible to find.”

Feeling his eyes pierce through you, you shyly averted your gaze away and returned to the view of the sky, which was now completely enveloped in darkness as the day was finally at its end.

“That kind of love isn’t something you find; it’s something that comes to you,” he iterated softly, his captivated eyes never leaving you. “But I couldn’t agree more.”

“On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur, / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly,” you started, curious to see if he were as passionate and borderline obsessed with the children’s fable as you were.

“L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux, / What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” he continued, completing the second half of the quote.

Diverting your attention back to the streets below, you swore you felt your heart hiccup.

Within the few hours that you had spent together, you felt as if you’d known each other all your life. There was some kind of connection, a bond, that neither of you could explain. Whether it was your mutual inarticulate French speaking skills or the fact that you had delved deep into the past circumstances that resulted in moving to Paris, time didn’t seem to exist when he spoke to you. To say that you felt comfortable around him was an understatement; you felt like you were home.

Thankfully, Maison de Raphaël was just around the corner from the bridge. You didn’t notice how much time had passed until you checked the time again; it was already 9:30, meaning Amélie would be off work soon.

“I guess this is my stop,” you exhaled, trying not to show your discomfort from all the walking you had done today. Even though the sky was now a deep navy blue, flecks of light constellations began to peek through the dim clouds.

“Time flew by too quickly,” he noted, his hands instinctively returning to stroke the nape of his neck.

Puffing your cheeks to stifle a cheesy grin, you could only nod curtly in agreement. “Way too quickly.”

A few awkward seconds passed before each of you found the courage to speak.

“I—” he started.

“Do you—” you tried to ask.

Cutting off each other’s words, he gestured kindly for you to start first. “You should get home,” you insisted, feeling the guilt grow inside you the longer you kept him here.

He blinked a couple times, opening then closing his mouth as he tried to form a response.

Why oh why of all the things to say did you have to say that stupid sentence, you groaned silently, mentally scolding yourself for being so brusque.

“Oh—yeah. Of course,” he replied while forcing out a cough. “Thanks for tonight.”

Laughing warmly, he couldn’t help but look at you with that same gummy smile you had already known by heart. “Will I get to see you again?” you asked, worried for a second that you might’ve sounded too hopeful.

He considered the realistic possibilities. “It’s a pretty big neighborhood, but judging from the day we’ve spent and the places we both like to visit, I would say the odds are in our favor.”

Holding his hand out, you shook it tenderly, afraid that if you let go too quickly, the universe would find a way to make sure that you’d never see him again. It’s not like you ever believed in fictional concepts like the power of the universe or romantic deities, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The air around you grew cold with melancholy, the two of you more than clearly able to feel the tension as you were forced to accept the reality of parting ways.

Not even a few seconds after walking in the opposite direction, you turned around and bid him one more but hopefully not last farewell.

“Get home safely!” you shouted through cupped hands. He hadn’t moved far from the previous spot he was standing in. Only when you were at the entrance of the café and saw his still unmoved distant figure did you understand that he waited there to make sure that you arrived at your destination safely. Peering through the glass pane, you saw him give you a final wave before his shadow faded into the night.

“So you just left?!” Amélie’s jaw dropped to the ground. “And you didn’t even get his phone number?”

“Yes!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands and slamming them down onto the counter by the cash register. “Don’t rub it in.” Somehow, you had managed to compress in your entire day’s worth of events into a five-minute rant. Breathless at the end of your makeshift speech and in a fugue state, she brought you a glass of water, still gawking at you as you chugged it in four gulps.

“Punaise... / Damn...” she whispered. “Are you alright?” Sniffling slightly, you didn’t realize that tears had begun to flood your eyes until her hands rubbed your back soothingly.

Why were you crying?

“You two must have really had something special going on,” she sighed, still stroking your shoulders tenderly.

“Don’t start with that fate and destiny crap—” you whined but were cut off by her abrupt hush.

“Do you know how starstruck both of you would have been to not even ask for each other’s names?” she dragged out the last word, craning her neck and raising her eyebrows so high they looked animated.

Tears pricked your eyes again as the lump in your throat returned. You broke into full sobs now. “I didn’t even get his name!” Tangling your hands into your hair, you wondered if all those years studying for school actually grew your practical intelligence or just made you dumber.

“Amélie!” Pierre hollered from the empty kitchen. “Un café au lait!”

“On est fermé! / We’re closed!” she groaned, rubbing her temple as she tried to think of a solution to your predicament.

“Vingt minutes! / Twenty minutes!” he barked back.

“Who in their right mind orders coffee at night...” she grumbled a few profanities. You shot her a quick smile and shooed her off to quickly finish her shift so that the two of you could go back to your place. Sleepovers were more fun as adults, especially when champagne was added to the equation.

With your head buried underneath your scarf and crossed arms, you could barely hear the muffled exclamation of Amélie’s cheer as she greeted the last customer of the night, judging by the tone of her voice to come to the conclusion that they were also a regular.

You didn’t even know his name. You didn’t even get his stupid freaking name and you were beating yourself up over how absurd the entire situation was. It’s not like you really knew each other, right? You were appalled at your own desperation. You couldn’t believe actually crying over some random guy.

It was just a fun day with some random stranger. A random stranger who you just happened to click with. A stranger who you coincidentally ran into multiple times, just as luck would have it. An unknown guy who shared the same interests as you and admired the beauty in little things.

A person who you were wholeheartedly and completely mesmerized by right down to the last bit of fluff that was stuck on his beanie.

“Love at first sight my ass—” your obscenity was interrupted by a forceful cough that belonged to none other than your best friend.

“Last time I checked, you were the ‘innocent’ one of us two?” she hummed, raising her brow in a comical manner. Rolling your eyes and wiping the edges of your eyes, your tears finally started to come to a slow. All that remained was a pink flush on your cheeks and a red nose Rudolph would be jealous of.

Noticing the plate of coffee in her hand, you eyed her skeptically and asked her what she was doing watching you cry like an infant instead of serving the last customer so you could go home to your emergency ice cream stash.

Clicking her tongue mischievously, she set the porcelain cup down in front of you. “Pour vous, / For you,” she bowed dramatically.

“What?” you hiccuped.

“Special occasion?” her lips formed into a quirky grin. Nudging her head to the design she had etched into the cup, it was a new pattern. The base was a classic rosetta, but rather than have the buds of the leaves extend and thin out at the tip, she had drawn a plump heart. It was unusual. Out of all the different designs she had drawn on hundreds of cups, you’d never seen her draw a real heart, counting the number of times she had remarked how “cheesy” and “cliché” it was.

“I didn’t order a—” you stammered.

“I guess we have more than a few things in common...” a soft-spoken voice trailed from behind you.

Feeling your breath hitch in your throat, you felt your entire body tense up in shock, too anxious to turn around. Slowly turning your chair to the source of the voice, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes and a beaming smile.

“I forgot to ask you if you wanted to get a cup of coffee with me,” he grinned.

In a heartbeat, you found yourself throwing yourself into in his arms as they enveloped you in a tight embrace. Fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, you nestled your head into his chest as he held you close. It was the first heart fluttering hug you’d felt in years.

“I could’ve sworn I recognized the person I bumped into this morning,” he chuckled deeply.

Your eyes widened to the size of flying saucers.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Y/N, Yoongi” Amélie peeped from the counter, ogling the both of you while waggling her eyebrows impishly.

“Y/N,” he repeated slowly, your name rolling off of his tongue like honey.

“Yoongi,” you greeted with a giggle. His name felt like words you had been waiting an eternity to say.

Amélie read your facial expressions, making hers contort into one that resembled Munch’s painting of The Scream. “You have got to be kidding me,” she drawled out with her hand cupped over her mouth.

Yoongi’s hands wrapped around your waist and pressed you closer into him, sighing in content at the feeling of fulfillment that washed over both of you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he looked down at you, introducing himself formally and taking the opportunity to accentuate your name once more.

“The pleasure is all mine,” you beamed, never feeling more at home than in the arms of Yoongi in this exact present moment.

Maybe this whole coup de foudre thing wasn’t a total fairy tale after all.

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

lizard kiss time thank you

The Rite of Movement (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep, Original Monster Character(s), Sir Marc, Sir Talfryn, Sir Angelo, Quanyii, Sir Caroline

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Engagement, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Poetry, Presents, Monster Customs, Dancing

Fic Summary: Arum has a surprising revelation about his own feelings, and then decides to take matters into his own claws since his humans don’t seem to realize what they are denying themselves.

Chapter Summary: A conversation over breakfast. Hashing out the details, as it were.

Notes: Sorry for the long delay between chapters, I don't have as much of a well-defined plot for this one as I did for Reckoning, so Reckoning took precedence until it was done. Hopefully, this story will just keep going until we hit the actual wedding. Will I be able to actually WRITE said wedding, as an unmarried enby who hasn't been to a wedding since I was maybe eight years old? WE SHALL SEE.]

It isn’t until the next morning that Rilla remembers to question the technicalities, and Damien starts to worry again in the general sense.

“It’s one thing to be engaged,” Rilla says gently as Damien scoops out scrambled eggs and a vegetable hash onto their plates for breakfast. “There’s no law against engagement, regardless of how many people are involved or whether any of them happen to be monsters. But actually getting married… I don’t know if there’s a priest in the world who would-”

“I told you not to worry about what is possible, Amaryllis,” Arum says, voice warm and content and a little bit smug. “You are thinking too small. A human priest? Admittedly, you would be hard pressed to find one amenable to our situation. But your world is larger than just the realm of humanity now, is it not?”

“You are suggesting a- a monster priest?” Damien says, his voice lilting up in disbelief as he sets the skillet back on the counter and comes to join them at the table.

“Probably not a priest as you would recognize. But- there are monsters who oversee such ceremonies.” When they stare at him, doubtful, he scoffs, but he’s still smiling. “What, did you think that committing to each other was a strictly human desire? Not every monster wishes to, and some who desire commitment simply decide that they are married without the pomp and circumstance. But still others have a fondness for attention, ritual, the involvement of friends and rivals and underlings- you understand my meaning.”

“It wouldn’t matter that there are three of us?” Damien asks curiously. “I know that two in unity is a very human concept, but-”

“Monster unions are often complex, and often even more complex than three. Sometimes unions are more practical than romantic, sometimes they are mergers of families, sometimes a commitment of monsters will fall out of love and hold an extravagant ceremony of parting. Three instead of two in the human way is an unchallenging thought, honeysuckle. There is only one rule, for monsters.”

“And marrying you off to a couple of humans…” Rilla trails off.

Arum shrugs. “I know one or two powerful monsters who live far from the Citadel, who hold no specific grudge towards humanity, and if I asked them to oversee the ceremony for me… I think I could convince them.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I… may have already opened a correspondence or two… to test the waters.”

“Wow,” Rilla says. “You’ve really been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“… yes,” Arum admits, his tail curling around her ankle gently. “Yes I have.”

“A monster wedding,” Damien murmurs. “Saints, how my life has changed…”

“Does the idea bother you?” Arum asks, tone carefully blank.

“Once upon a time it would have,” he says with a wry smile. “Now I’m merely considering how to go about telling Sir Angelo about this without him accidentally revealing to the entire Citadel the event we are planning.”

“Oh, damn,” Rilla says with a sigh. “Working out the invitations for this is going to be interesting, huh?”

Arum gives a long-suffering sigh. “Marrying a knight, I suppose I shall have to endure a limited number of other knights in attendance,” he grouses. “I shall not be inviting many guests myself. The Keep shall be my most important witness.”

The Keep gives a joyous trill at that, and Arum hides a smile as he takes a bite of his food.

“Hm.” Rilla taps her fork against her plate absently. “Angelo obviously, and Tal and Marc and Dampierre…” she sighs. “We can’t invite Sir Caroline, even if we did kind of reach an understanding. She’ll still walk in and behead the monster that’s supposed to marry us in a heartbeat, no doubt. And I would invite Quanyii, but I have no idea how to get in touch with her, and, well-”

“You think she’ll start asking for my thumbs again, Amaryllis?”

“Oh hush, I was desperate and I never promised anything.” She pauses. “But I really don’t want her to bring it up again, yeah.”

“I am amused that you should wish such a chaotic creature attend our ceremony at all,” Arum says with a laugh.

“She was instrumental in the saving of our Citadel,” Damien muses. “I’m sure if we are determined, we can find a way to contact her.”

“Maybe,” Rilla says. “Either way, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves a bit. Saints… I can’t believe we’re going to have to plan a wedding. I had resigned myself to perpetual engagement, to be honest.”

“It can be done however you want it to be, Amaryllis,” Arum reminds her, trying not to sound too eager. “You need not adhere to any human traditions that you do not find appealing. And the Keep will help make any arrangements with the space that we need, of course.”

“Will we hold the actual ceremony outside?” Rilla asks, tilting her head. “I don’t imagine that you would want any knights and critters running around the inside of the Keep at will, wedding or no.”

“I had-” Arum pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that. I had been imagining-” a new song filling the greenhouse, hopeful and content instead of yearning, this time. Arum clears his throat, continues, “imagining it in the greenhouse. But outside, yes, I suppose that makes more sense-”

“The greenhouse,” Rilla sighs. “It is the most incredible room in the Keep, I think.”

The Keep sings a soft pleased note at that, and Arum scowls but does not mean it in the least.

“And we could have the Keep seal it off,” Damien suggests, “and only have the guests come in through portals, limit access to the rest of the structure, if only to keep things simple and contained…”

“Yes,” Arum says, fiercely glad that they appear as enthusiastic about the idea as he is. “Yes, I think that will work quite well.”

“How soon were you thinking that we would hold the actual- ceremony?” Rilla asks, watching with amusement as Arum clenches and unclenches his fists, not meeting her eyes.

“I… a month, perhaps?” he suggests, his heart thudding, not sure if that time frame is at all reasonable by human standards. ��Small ceremony, shouldn’t require too much planning, just- need to see if our ‘priest’ is willing, make sure those we want will be able to attend- and-” he sighs. “I am due to molt soon, and I had wanted to wait until after that unpleasantness for this.”

“M-molt?” Damien asks, voice tilting up.

“Lizard,” Rilla chimes, and Arum scowls.

“I am a magical construct-”

“Who just so happens to closely resemble a bunch of lizards and shares many biological similarities with them,” Rilla says with a shrug and a grin. “You haven’t noticed, Damien? The Keep’s been trying to keep him all moisturized and cared for, but poor Arum’s scales have been all dry and pale lately.”

“It isn’t exactly a pleasant process,” Arum grouses.

“But I bet you’ll look pretty incredible when it’s over.” She pauses, eying him. “Shiny new husband,” she muses, mostly to watch the way his posture freezes, the way his eyes go wide, and then narrow.

“Shameless tormentor,” he mutters, fondly, leaning so he can nudge an arm against hers. “So. After I molt at least.”

“Let’s wait until we hear from your monster officiant, and when we know they’ll be available we can start inviting the rest of the little group.”

“You are being remarkably quiet, honeysuckle,” Arum says after a moment, and Rilla feigns a wince.

“Oh, don’t get him started,” she teases.

“It’s only-” Damien laughs, possibly at himself. “I’m so happy,” he says wonderingly. “It’s quite overwhelming, actually. Distracting, even- I keep thinking about-” he glances towards Arum, then gives another pleased little laugh. “I keep half expecting to wake from a dream. This seemed impossible only a day ago, and yet-”

“The impossible is my business, honeysuckle,” Arum says mildly.

“I am overwhelmed by my love for the both of you,” he says, and Rilla smiles and sighs and reaches out to grip his wrist.

“You know we love you too,” she says gently. “No need to get worked up this early in the morning. Besides, you might wanna start saving up your speeches for the wedding itself, don’t you think?”

“I am going to preemptively set a time limit on any speechifying or poetry-reading during the ceremony,” Arum barks quickly.

“At the reception, then,” Rilla concedes with a smile.

“The what?”

Rilla blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Okay- I am asking this completely seriously, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Have you ever actually been to a wedding, Arum?”

“Of-” he snaps his mouth shut, his snout wrinkling in irritation. “I-” he bares his teeth, and then his shoulders sink in defeat. “Of course not. When would I have ever? Who do you think would have invited me?”

Damien is making a face like he’s about to declare that he would, of course, he would invite Arum anywhere, for the rest of his life, anywhere and everywhere, all the most beautiful places- but Rilla steers the conversation before the poet can make Arum any more uncomfortable.

“It’s not a big deal, Arum. I just- didn’t want there to be any big surprises for you if you didn’t know what to expect. Usually after the whole actual ceremony, there’s a reception. A party, really. With food, and dancing, presents, and stuff like that. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, though.”

“… dancing?” Arum echoes.

“Dancing,” Damien agrees in a dreamy tone, his head tilted and eyes looking somewhere distant.

“I… enjoy…” Arum pauses, frill flaring enough to reveal his embarrassment. “I enjoy dancing,” he says quietly, and then he coughs and sticks his nose in the air just a bit. “Of course, I’m sure your human dancing customs are just like all of your other customs: rigid and ridiculous and if you put one claw out of line someone will mock you for it.”

Damien, affronted, opens his mouth to retort, but Rilla gets there first with a laugh.

“Some dancing is like that,” she admits. “But obviously if you wouldn’t like that sort of lock-step, organized dancing, we just wouldn’t do it. I mean, I don’t really like that kind of dancing either, so that’s fine with me.”

Damien ducks his head slightly, almost pouting, but then he sighs and admits, “Most of that choreography is designed for… groupings of two, anyway.”

Arum wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. So invariably dull. You creatures cannot even cavort without putting restraints on every little step and turn.”

Damien frowns in earnest, now. “You don’t seem to mind terribly the restraint on my every little step and turn when I go through my exercises each morning, when you so often conveniently happen to be nearby and observing.”

“I-” Arum’s eyes dart to the side in a way that fails entirely to be stealthy. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I mean, I do,” Rilla says with a shrug. “Watching Damien stretch is my favorite part of my morning routine, just barely beating out coffee.”

Arum laughs. “Fine, fine. I suppose restraint can have its place.”

“What I’m getting from this is that you do want to dance, though,” Rilla says slyly.

“Dancing, food,” he deflects with a shrug, “none of that sounds… disagreeable.”

“How coy your phrasing,” Damien says, voice lilting. “Who would have suspected that a monster could be so very meek about the simple matter of a dance?”

“Meek,” Arum growls. He clearly knows that Damien is goading him, but he narrows his eyes and stands regardless. “I will show you meek, little knight. Keep?”

The Keep sings, then, but not in the usual way, not in its harmonious vagueness, but with rhythm and purpose. A full song, not a phrase of notes. Arum lifts Damien out of his chair with a hand on each side of his waist, and the movement glides easily into a waltzing turn. Arum is substantially taller than Damien, and Damien is less used to following than he is to leading, but he adjusts quickly with a laugh on his breath as Arum guides him through a series of steps that manage to be both unpredictable and elegant at the same time. Monstrous, but controlled. He turns Damien in a tight circle, and his movements to the music are measured and slow compared to his typical blurring speed. Finally he dips the knight back, leaning in close to nip at his jaw as if he just can’t help himself, and when that startles a more enthusiastic laugh out of Damien, Arum pulls him back to stand again, looking equal parts smug and smitten.

“Wedding ceremony planning, version two, entry one,” Rilla chimes into her recorder with a grin, and both of her breathless fiances pause to look at her. “Dancing at the reception is non-negotiable.”

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #links will be added in a second because i want to see if this will actually show up in the tag if i don't put them in #it's actually a couple hours BEFORE #lizard kissin' tuesday #by my time but i'm UNWILLING TO WAIT #okay cool even with NO links this still didn't show up in the tags #hey thanks tumblr you dipshit #the rite of movement

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