#if anyone's keeping track: i have made no progress on that paint by numbers but was late to play the episodes anyway lmaoo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

recapcrew · 2 years

Text

Week 21 Transcript

Video Link

Intro

Extra extra, read all about it! Welcome to the Empire’s Recap, and today we will be going over the chaos and drama of our (somewhat) respected rulers!

This week, the emperors may be headed down a road of potentially-illegal actions, including a black market, stealing, and several instances of murder. It wouldn't be empires without it, and the hermits fit right in with their new tag game!

Pix

Pixlriffs hears a zombie in his catacombs, and tracks the sound to a secret chamber behind the painting of Santa Perla. One of the tombs inside is making noise; has Pix’s ability to bring back extinct creatures made it to dead kings as well?

Not quite - it’s Rendog, who was a king that a little a bit ago back on Hermitcraft before finally making his way through the Rift. Pix dusts the dirt off him and brings Ren into the sunlight, who then confidently declares he can make his own start, heading off to the uninhabited West.

The strange things don’t slow down; Xisumavoid turns up, looking a bit shorter than normal. Pix introduces him to David, happy to be having someone who actually knows redstone take a proper look at his creation. The copper ager impresses Xisuma, and is also why he’s here; he wants to build a copper farm, and thinks Pix would be interested considering his usage.

They build up a platform in the End out of prismarine borrowed from Joey’s shop - blanket access to a shop is a dangerous thing - and plan to lead a bunch of zombies through the End portal to start the farm working. Pix’s sharp ears are used to hearing zombies by now, and he even finds a spawner with convenient placement to dropping them through from above, even if a few still need to be baited in with a game of ring-around-the-end-portal.

Unfortunately, once through the portal, the number of successful transplants proves too great, and not even a totem can save Pix from dying. He returns, slaying the zombies who stole his things since Xisuma stuck them in boats, and NOW things can proceed. Xisuma leads an army of zombies through the void, with Pix in the back acting as his eyes.

Now they can run the farm, and explain its workings with terms like Local Difficulty and Reinforcement Mechanics. Ah, technical players. Zombies go in, copper comes out, good enough for me.

On his own, Pix runs the farm as testing and improvement. His attempts to big-brain things with snowballs falls short, but the big-brain boats are a success, keeping anyone who has to refill the zombies from meeting the same fate he had.

The output of the farm is impressive, and plenty to refill David, so he and Xisuma return and have more redstoner talk, this time with Tick Ranges!

The hands-on learning from creating David has made Pixlriffs a true redstone engineer.

Scott

Today in Chromia, Scott the totally-not-the-emerald-ore-thief is showing off some houses that he built on stream. They're a work in progress, OK? Then he decides to give the server’s resident pirate a taste of his own medicine and plunders the booty from his treasure chest. Wow, sounds weird.

He temporarily hides it behind a painting – the oldest trick in the book, which works for about three seconds until Pixlriffs shows up and confronts Scott about his missing items

[PIX] I owned a deepslate emerald ore that’s gone missing from my museum very recently and the lore compass pointed me directly to you.

[SCOTT] A lore compass?

[NARRATOR] Swearing innocence and placing the blame on his deepslate emerald perfume, Scott realizes that he needs a better place for his stolen goods, and what better place than a market made just for illicit items?

Unfortunately, he gets caught while stocking the market up. Fortunately, it’s only Lizzie, and she’s easily bribed into silence with Joey’s stolen trident and a head. Really, the suspiciously low price she paid should have tipped her off that something fishy was going on. Not that she’s all innocent, either – in return, Scott receives a stack of bottles of enchanting, and a shulker box named, somewhat alarmingly, ‘Sorry you got tagged.’

The next invitee on the list for Scott’s market is a certain goblin who might not be too fond of the sheriff these days…

[FWHIP] -sell whatever…

[SCOTT] Yep!

[FWHIP] And it’s fine?

[SCOTT] Yep! You can sell whatever, you can sell things you find, things you acquire, whether its legally or not…

[NARRATOR] After paying him and his kingdom a visit, they head back to the bridge for a tour of the market. Both fWhip and Lizzie have been sworn to silence over this. Shh, they were never here…

fWhip

Speaking of, looking underground for an update on fWhip, he has decided he needs to send a strongly worded note to Oli about his debt.

The fact that Oli is at home when fWhip arrives is of no consequence as it seems Oli is up in the clouds, so fWhip leaves his notes and gets out without confrontation.

Scott visits his underground cavern to introduce him to an underground market out of range of the Law, so of course he has to sell some stolen sweet berries from Animalia! Except… he finds some odd items hidden in the chest. Wonder why they were hidden like that? Not that it’ll stop him taking them, of course.

Now, he wants to make a tram system all the way to Animalia, and seeing as he is basically under the empire, there should be lots of amethyst! Lizzie agreed and he pays her by building this system - after she tells him where she wants it to end.

Now last week fWhip forgot to pay Sausage, so he takes a quick fly to Sanctuary to leave a stack of copper before he gets back to work on the tram station.

Jimmy visits, smaller than usual, and fWhip mocks him by making squeaky toy noises with the deputy badge. However, him and Scar are apparently on an assassination mission! Well, let’s see how they do in the deep dark!

fWhip comes out on top and then sets up another stall in the underground market selling deputy badges specifically to mess with Jimmy.

Jimmy

The sheriff of Tumble Town seems… a little shorter than usual today. On stream, Sausage threw a Lore potion on him to turn him small, and he doesn’t know how to turn it back!

Now, remember last time where Joel defeated Jimmy in that duel they had? Well Jimmy’s received his consolation prank - over the wall of Tumble Town is a massive statue of Joel. The man is a MENACE!

Anyway, it’s time to meet with Scar - the plan is going to be put into action, and it’s time to get the deputy badge back.

The code phrase is Volleyball, not that it works the first few times Jimmy yells it, but Scar swoops in and they try to kill fWhip chasing him all over the Goblands. fWhip fights back with his new weapon and makes them chase him down to a not well traversed part of the Goblands - the ancient city.

Jimmy gets killed by fWhip who follows them back to Tumble Town, where fWhip manages to kill them both. He’s gone mad with power… there's only one man to turn to now.

[JIMMY] Guys, fWhip’s mad with power. I can’t stop him! There’s only one man to turn to…

Joel

[NARRATOR] Oblivious, Joel decides to continue work on his megapalace by building three of the towers, or "magical plinths," surrounding the central building. First though, he needs to get quartz. A lot of it. He wrangles some additional villagers to trade with, and 12,000 trades and a lot of smelting later, he has all the quartz he needs.

Before he starts on the towers, Joe Hills drops by with his resume, and a cover letter in the form of an all-purpose diss track for Joel to use on future rivals, thoroughly impressing him. The full thing is an experience we left for you in Joel and Joe’s videos. Have fun!

Joel then starts on the first tower, but halfway through, realizes he dropped an entire shulker of smooth quartz. Cue pain and suffering.

[JOEL] So! One second, please.

[JOEL, SCREAMING IN THE DISTANCE] Ahhhhh! No! Oh my goshhhhhh!

[NARRATOR] He trades and smelts some more quartz, and finishes the tower to go meet up with Grian at Tumble Town.

There, despite the Sheriff's best attempts at stopping them, they spawn a wither on the mountaintops right outside Tumble Town. The fight goes... chaotically, with most of it being done in total darkness. Jimmy manages to grab the star first, trading it back to them for a wither head and some other items. The three of them fly down to Tumble Town to inspect for damages, and after some more shenanigans (and an explosive death), Joel returns to Stratos.

He finishes off the other two towers and plans a new build for Hermes off the central walkway.

Lizzie

Lizzie’s mob drop bundle looks a bit empty compared to her other ones. Mission: decoration is once again the theme of this episode. On the list today, bee-hunting;

[LIZZIE] Now, lets be smart about this!

[NARRATOR] --impersonating a princess;

[LIZZIE] ‘Tis I, Princess Katherine, back from another hard day working in the spider farm!

[NARRATOR] --and reusing abandoned mob heads that she forgot until now are all in store.

Now onto the more difficult mob heads. The blaze comes rather… quickly.

[LIZZIE] –a grand total, of 208 blazes, I have the head!

[NARRATOR] The enderman head chase is at least more intense involving a lot of boats and a lot of death.

[LIZZIE] No, you have not got déjà vu, I am in fact making this journey for the seventh time.

[NARRATOR] When placing Mr.Enderman head, Lizzie is suddenly inturrupted by a voice *cough* Grian *cough* her quote-on-quote “conscience”. He leads her into a genuine tea party where Grian is waiting for her, revealing it was all a ruse for the tag game. Instead of pushing her, it is Lizzie herself that falls into the Void - lost one of her nine lives there!

It is now Lizzie’s turn to be the tag and obtain a new mission: kill a hermit, this time with lightning. But it all benefited her as she needed lightning to get her last mob heads. Being near the black mark–, I mean great bridge, Lizzie acquired from Scott a trident, a zombie head, and some mysterious trinket that she immediately hides in her berry farm.

Finally obtaining her last two mob heads, Lizzie now only has her “kill a hermit” mission left. She successfully attracts hermit False and with a genius plan--

[LIZZIE] –around, and count- count the cobbles in the cobblestone real quick for me…

[NARRATOR] --she manages to kill her, making her the new jester. She went through with the murder with an apologies box to gift the victim and left with a possible enemy.

False

Things are getting glitchy in Cogsmeade. The Grand Architect wakes from a strange vision, echoes of her own voice ringing. Anyway, she checks the sign, which seems to be covered in lichen, which informs her it was not her who built the tower, but someone else.

In response, she builds an interior for a potential resident! Joe Hills comes in for an interview—

[JOE] Oh, I might have a resume here for ya, if you’re interested!

[FALSE] Ooh!

[NARRATOR] --and is hired to keep an eye out for the tower. He gives her a report, which is basically…

[JOE, HIGH PITCHED] False Report, by Joe Hills!

[FALSE] Who?

[JOE] Someone’s dressed as False, but in different clothes!

[FALSE] How they got in?

[JOE] Threw a book at the carpet and a new book was dispensed.

[FALSE] Any other suspicious activity?

[JOE] Climbed the tower. Flew away.

[NARRATOR] To pay him, she checks out Hermepire, for loyalty books. There she meets Scar, who immediately tries to swindle her and Cub, who tries to get them to join his, uh, his cult. A chest labeled "False" catches her attention, so she comes back later and grabs some stuff out of it. A trident, a key card and a map that are definitely hers.

Sausage

Family is important, especially to the Guardian of Sanctuary. The blank slate that Bdubs left last week is changed to a gold sun, for his dear Joel, and his Tia Maria arrives. She's a leatherworker, the best in the business.

Bdubs shocks him when he visits. They joke around about the Godly tierlist, but the visions come for Sausage and they travel back in time: this time to Hermitcraft Season 8. It's the first time Sausage has ever taken anyone on the trip with him, and it's somewhere Bdubs recognizes! It's a nostalgia trip for Bdubs, who last saw his season 8 base - and his horse, Lulu - when the moon crashed! If you don't watch Hermitcraft and don't understand this reference, we recommend watching the Hermitcraft recap, especially the finale episode of season eight.

ANYWAY, the Brains of the L.O.R.E team shows up, and gives Sausage a showcase on dreams and multidimensional travel. They decide dreams must be the case, and head off to interrogate the number 1 sleeper on the server: Gem. This goes about as well as one might think.

[SAUSAGE, SOUNDING VAUGELY OFFENDED] Thanks for telling us the truth now, GeminiTay from multiple realities!

He calms down by building a couple new buildings on the new road to the Cathedral so some more villagers can move in - Sanctuary is getting livelier by the minute.

Gem

Somewhere else getting an upgrade is Dawn! it’s time for Gem to tackle the town centre of, add some more infrastructure other than a tavern and a church.

One of the builds that is missing from Dawn is a storage room! Princess Gem is outgrowing her starter storage and she wants to build some stuff anyway, so why not combine the two!

She decides to build a warehouse in her town centre, but gets interrupted by Sausage and Pix who are apparently becoming conspiracy theorists. She works out they’re confused about her world hopping stuff, but that’s easy enough to explain - she’s just LARPing with her friends!

[GEM] –a key part!

[SAUSAGE] You killed Bdubs in two seconds.

[GEM] Well, where Bdubs is from, we kill Bdubs a lot.

[NARRATOR] Well, everyone might be going insane but at least the warehouse turns out looking amazing! Deep slate in hand and inspiration in mind, she brings a path along the dock and builds a crane to help bring packages from ships onto land!

She takes a visit to her friends in Hermitopia where she meets Impulse and Jevin, and False - the current owner of the Tag hat - makes a mild effort to kill her with dripstone. Gem tries to convince them to join her religion but it… doesn’t work that well.

[GEM] --so good! Oh my…

[FALSE] Oh they do!

[JEVIN] Oh my god.

[FALSE] I’m sold!

[GEM, LAUGHING] Jevin, they’re on your nose a little bit.

[JEVIN, LAUGHING] I know right, I’m like a librarian right now.

[IMPULSE] They look natural on False though, that’s great.

[JEVIN] You know what, I’m out, never mind, take ‘em back, I don’t want ‘em.

[IMPULSE] Oh…

[GEM, OFFENDED] What?

[FALSE] Wow

[NARRATOR] After visiting Hermitopia, Gem feels she needs to step up her game a little bit - she wants to build the first ship in Dawn! It really makes a difference in the atmosphere of Dawn, and Gem is very happy with her new ship!

Joey

Joey wants to be a good captain to his new crewmates, despite them murdering him, so he heads back to the End to gather them some wings. It takes a while to find places to pillage that aren’t already raided, but he does come home with an ender chest full of treasure, as well as enough wings for everyone and a few spares.

And he can’t even put those things away before Shubble, Xisuma, and Cleo roll up on his storage room and start unloading fireworks from crossbows. The rapid spawncamping lags him out too hard to run away, and he dies four times in a row (that we see).

When he can finally get a word in edgewise, Joey lies about sending his pirates to assassinate Shelby, but since their truce is now DEFINITELY gone, a little bit of blackmail drops onto the table. The Witch leaves, and we’re sure this isn’t the end of things.

Once again, Joey pretends this was all a test for his pirates; it wouldn’t be Pirate Joe if he wasn’t deluding himself, would it? He does still grant them their pirate wings, and they formally gift him Reginald - the ship, since the ‘fat parrot’ of that name dying was what started the whole thing - before returning to their new Hermitopia. A place he’ll have to check out.

But today’s events have crossed the line. Pirate Joe needs better defenses.

First up is a shield, forged - of course - by Gator. What is seemingly just a really cool hook transforms into an even cooler barrier of light to catch his enemies off guard.

Next is storage. He’s had enough of leaves appearing in his chest room, and of risking all his fancy new gear being stolen, since people are getting bolder. Instead, he digs out a space under his chest room to make a secret hideout with a hidden entrance.

He DOES show the trick to entering this secret hideout on camera, which could be dangerous now that the fourth wall on Empires is basically a trampoline. The Captain’s Quarters are nevertheless magnificent, a perfect place to hide goodies and plan raids on his foes. As long as no one else watches his videos of course.

Outro

And with that join us next week for more chaos and shenanigans! Thank you for watching, liking, and subscribing, and thanks to everyone helping with the project, check them all out below!

#empires recap #empires season 2 recap #transcript

1 note · View note

starlling-writes · 2 years

Text

Grimm x Pearl Fanfic WIP

Okay so... because I don't know how long it's going to take me to actually write this full fic, I've decided to post my progress so anyone who wants to can read it as I work, instead of waiting for it to be fully done. (This also will help me to be able to work on writing this while I'm away from home/my computer.)

Because I DO plan on posting this fic properly once it's all done, I'm not going to allow reblogs of this post. I'll keep a running list above the cut of when I make updates to this post, that way it's easy to tell when there is new content. Lastly, I don't think I'll do much, if any, proof-reading/editing of this fic until it's fully done, so there will likely be typos and some changes when the final fic is released. Until then—enjoy!

Updates:

June 10 : part of ch2 added

June 12 : all of ch2 added, first paragraph of ch3

June 15 : more of ch3

June 22 : second half of ch3

June 30 : corrected Grimm's rules at the end of ch3, bit of ch4, & some outline stuff (b/c writing has been tough lately but I wanna share something)

July 26 : bit of ch4, removed outline from last update

July 29 : almost all of ch4 (Word has been acting up lately for me so, to make sure I don't lose anything, I'm updating again now instead of when I fully finish ch4 like I first wanted)

Aug 7 : some missing bits from ch4 & start of ch5. Also, I realized the first chunk of ch4 was a bit wonky from a copy/paste error, so that all should be fixed now.

Sept 8 : missing scene from ch4, and the second half of ch5

~ I do have an idea for the Title, but I don't want to share that yet :P

Synopsis

The Universe has a funny way of working sometimes. Pearl couldn’t see how the Universe kept insisting that, despite being jobless and weeks away from being homeless, things were perfectly fine and she was on the right track. And it didn’t feel helpful when her oracle cards clarified to let Death help guide her. Specifically, a Death-Head. And, in a way that only the Universe would find amusing, it was specifically the Death-Head most known for murder and torture in the North. A small quick prayer led to an accidental run-in, led to a deal that would change everything for Pearl. And for the Death-Head, Grimm, that accepted her request.

— CH 1 —

Pearl felt lost in a freefall.

The Death-Head deal was made, and she knew there was a near-guarantee it would be fulfilled in time for her to keep her apartment. But the unease of what she’ll have to eventually pay Grimm haunted like a shadow. In the day following their first meeting, she thought about canceling it. The only thing stopping her was the bright red number of her bank account. She needed money. She didn’t want to have to admit defeat, to move back home so soon.

She yelled out, jumping up off her bed and striking a determined pose. “This will work out!” she affirmed to herself. She had to push aside all the little things making her worry, and trust.

Trust in a Death-Head.

Alarming on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

“You have an interview tomorrow morning at ten,” he told her with no preamble. “I’ll send you the address. Do you have a suitable wardrobe for office work?”

“I have a couple outfits, maybe,” Pearl admitted. “I’ve had to sell a fair bit of stuff to try to stay above my debts, but I should still have at least one outfit.”

He was silent for a moment. “Hmm, alright. If your interview goes well tomorrow, we’ll need to go shopping for some more.”

We? First lunch with a Death-Head and now shopping together? Pearl’s life certainly took an absurd turn. She withheld a sigh. Then a thought occurred to her. “So what is the job for? Where would I be working?”

“Deah-Head Headquarters.”

Pearl nearly dropped her phone. “Death-Head… Headquarters?” The squeak in her voice betrayed her surprise and unease.

“Is that a problem?”

Now it was Pearl’s turn to be silent for a while. She had no idea what kind of office work Death-Heads required. Would she need to paint her face, too, if she got the job? Pearl touched her cheek. Working so close to Death-Heads… could she stomach it? Should she try to fail the interview on purpose? Sure, she was desperate for a job. But this desperate?

Pearl put her back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. She covered her mouth to mute her quickening breaths. Panic was taking over. It wasn’t too late to back out of the deal, but could she really afford it?

“Take a slow, deep breath,” Grimm said gently over the phone. His omniscient recognition of her panic attack sent a jolt through her, disrupting it. She did as he said. “Again.”

When he was just a voice, it was easy to forget what he was. And he had a really nice voice. It took a few minutes, but Pearl calmed down again. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice was still so gentle. “You have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly.

“Hmm. Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be available for a deal?”

The words escaped Pearl’s lips before she had a chance to second-guess herself. If the cards were urging her towards this path, it was worth the risk. Right?

Grimm looked at her for a hard moment. She didn’t appear to be the type he’d normally take requests from. He’d either be surprised by her, or he’d hand her off to someone else—she sure looked serious enough to make a request. “Hmm, alright. Let’s go have a chat.”

He led the way through the small, shopping strip to a café. He claimed one of the outdoor tables and motioned for Pearl to join him. She sat rigidly, contrasting his casual demeanor. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Oh. Getting right to it.” Now to put her request into words. How specific did she need to be with this? Pearl barely knew anything about Death-Head deals; did they often try to find loopholes in wording, and mess with wordplay for their benefit? She should’ve thought about this more before approaching a Death-Head. “I’m in need of a job. I moved to Lywood not long ago and I haven’t—”

He raised his hand, palm out, gesturing for her to stop. “I meant from the menu. It’s my treat for bumping into you. We can talk work after.”

“Oh.” This… this wasn’t what she was expecting from a Death-Head. If it wasn’t for his makeup, he’d be just another polite man. It muddled her opinions of him.

She took a menu from the centerpiece and gave it a look. A waiter came over shortly after. They set a drink in front of Grimm—he must be a regular here—then asked if Pearl was ready. Deciding quickly, she ordered a macchiato and a chocolate croissant. There had been other tantalizing options, but she kept it small and simple, not wanting to overstep his hospitality.

Once her food was delivered, he started talking. “So, your request is to find you a job, hmm?”

“Basically,” she said solemnly. “I moved here hoping Lywood would be better for me; but so far it’s just been slowly whittling me to nothing. I’ve tried so much, but everything seems against me. Even the guidance from my oracle cards is starting to feel mocking. Hell—it’s because of them that I’m even here talking with you.”

“Hmm?” That got him curious.

She bristled. Did she really just admit that to him? Too late now. She sighed to herself as she fished her cards out of her pocket—it was a little comfort to carry them with her sometimes. She flipped over the top card, revealing Death. “Usually it represents change—a figurative death. Rarely it means a literal one. But right now, it seems to mean you.”

“You trust in your oracle skills that much?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at him. “Yes,” she said with a bite.

He held up his hands up defensively. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to offend or diminish.” He took a slow drink, stealing the moment to ponder. He glanced between the cards and Pearl. There was something about her, and her situation, that piqued his curiosity. “Do you give readings to others?”

“Not usually? I divine well enough for myself. Most others tend to want more insight than I can usually see. Were you suggesting I become a professional oracle?”

“Hm, no.” He pulled out some money and slid it towards her. “Give me a reading.”

“Huh?” Wasn’t she supposed to be hiring, and paying, him? He… this was not how she thought a Death-Head would be. Was he trying to not scare her out of a deal? Was he trying to make her feel more comfortable so she’d ask for more—so he could ask for more? This felt too odd. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Depending on the cards, I’ll either take your case or recommend someone else.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Setting aside how bizarre this all was, Pearl picked up her cards and started shuffling. “What do you want to ask the cards? You don’t have to say it aloud; just concentrate on it. And don’t half-ass this! The cards will know if you’re insincere in your request.”

He scoffs. “I don’t half-ass anything.”

It was unnerving, the coldness that crept through his words. She closed her eyes and focused on the cards, imploring them to give him the guidance he sought. Pearl did her best to not channel any of her own desires into the shuffle. But this needed to go well. Whether the outcome resulted in her working with this Death-Head or another, she needed this to work out.

The cards called her to stop. She splayed them out in a row on the table. “Pick.”

“How many?”

“However many you feel you need to.”

Grimm looked over the cards carefully. He could count on one hand the times he sought out an oracle’s guidance. Not because he distrusted or disbelieved their abilities. Just the opposite. The foresight of oracles was a powerful force—one he dared not abuse or take for granted. He pulled a sing card. The Sun.

“Well that’s a good sign,” Pearl reflexively said. She reached over and traced her fingers along the card’s imagery, taking a moment to decipher the correlation between its meanings and Grimm’s question. “The Sun is a very favorable card. Even when inverted, it still often signifies success and happiness and such—though it’s direct for you, so there’s no muted energies, delays, or back steps.”

“Back steps?”

She paused. How to explain in simple terms? “Anyone in divination will tell you that most of it is intuition based and not a firm standard of meanings. Well, one way that inverted interpretations were taught to me is that sometimes it means you have to step back to the previous card in deck and learn something from it before progressing—for The Sun, that would mean The Moon.”

“I see.”

“But again, The Sun is direct for you, so you don’t need to worry about any of that,” she brushed off. She cleared her throat and refocused on the reading. “As it stands, the situation regarding your question looks prosperous and beneficial. It’s a good sign to continue forward. Though don’t take that as a free-ride; you still need to keep up your end in order to reap the benefits.” He hummed to himself as he mulled over her words. As the silence lengthened, making her grow more uneasy by his lack of reaction, she added, “You can pull some more cards for clarity, if you’d like.”

He waved his hand dismissively, his rings catching the light. “No need. I’ll take your request, so let’s talk in more detail.”

Two emotions clashed within Pearl. On one hand, she was glad to be moving forward with her situation, relieved to know that she will soon have an income. But on the other hand… was the good tidings she just foretold to him in regards to this deal? Did The Sun, facing inverted from her perspective, actually mean the setting of her good fortune rising onto him?

She wouldn’t realize it unless she looked back on this moment months from now, but the cards were indeed giving guidance to them both; if only Pearl hadn’t clung to the negative—and highly absurd—interpretation, and instead reflected on her own words.

— CH 2 —

Pearl felt lost in a freefall.

She yelled out, jumping up off her bed and striking a determined pose. “This will work out!” she affirmed to herself. She had to push aside all the little things making her worry, and trust.

Trust in a Death-Head.

Alarming on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

“You have an interview tomorrow morning at ten,” he told her with no preamble. “I’ll send you the address. Do you have a suitable wardrobe for office work?”

“I have a couple outfits, maybe,” Pearl admitted. “I’ve had to sell a fair bit of stuff to try to stay above my debts, but I should still have at least one outfit.”

He was silent for a moment. “Hmm, alright. If your interview goes well tomorrow, we’ll need to go shopping for some more.”

“Deah-Head Headquarters.”

Pearl nearly dropped her phone. “Death-Head… Headquarters?” The squeak in her voice betrayed her surprise and unease.

“Is that a problem?”

“Take a slow, deep breath,” Grimm said gently over the phone. His omniscient recognition of her panic attack sent a jolt through her, disrupting it. She did as he said. “Again.”

When he was just a voice, it was easy to forget what he was. And he had a really nice voice. It took a few minutes, but Pearl calmed down again. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice was still so gentle. “You have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly.

“Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

Pearl felt lost in a freefall.

She yelled out, jumping up off her bed and striking a determined pose. “This will work out!” she affirmed to herself. She had to push aside all the little things making her worry, and trust.

Trust in a Death-Head.

Alarming on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

“You have an interview tomorrow morning at ten,” he told her with no preamble. “I’ll send you the address. Do you have a suitable wardrobe for office work?”

“I have a couple outfits, maybe,” Pearl admitted. “I’ve had to sell a fair bit of stuff to try to stay above my debts, but I should still have at least one outfit.”

He was silent for a moment. “Hmm, alright. If your interview goes well tomorrow, we’ll need to go shopping for some more.”

“Deah-Head Headquarters.”

Pearl nearly dropped her phone. “Death-Head… Headquarters?” The squeak in her voice betrayed her surprise and unease.

“Is that a problem?”

“Hmm. Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

“Phone…”

Pearl asked her questions. Grimm patiently answered every one, elaborating when necessary. But soon they weren’t even talking about work. Without realizing it, they slipped into casual conversation, random comments strung into the next

“Take a slow, deep breath,” Grimm said gently over the phone. His omniscient recognition of her panic attack sent a jolt through her, disrupting it. She did as he said. “Again.”

When he was just a voice, it was easy to forget what he was. And he had a really nice voice. It took a few minutes, but Pearl calmed down again. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice was still so gentle. “You have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly.

“Hmm. Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

“…Phone.”

One by one, Pearl asked her questions. Grimm patiently answered each of them, elaborating as needed, without judgment. Soon the conversation led away from work. One random comment naturally strung into another. The silences ebbed and flowed just as comfortably as the chatter. He even got a laugh out of her.

By the end, Pearl felt comfortable proceeding with the interview.

That’s not to say she didn’t get nervous about it still. She arrived ten minutes early. There were a few others waiting around when she got there. Like Grimm had said, no one here wore the Death-Head mask. It was like any other office building.

There were two parts to the interview: the typical questionnaire portion—though not-so-typical, since the later questions geared towards Death-Head related things—and then a practical test. While Pearl didn’t have direct experience working in an office before, her natural computer and typing skills, and her ability to pick up their specific programs, were of great benefit. Overall, she felt it went well. Though one of the interviewer’s questions lingered like a bad taste in her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask. This interview was set up as part of a deal. Why bother with still going through the interview when you could simply get the position?”

“I don’t want to get a job that way,” Pearl said shaking her head. Grimm had questioned that stipulation too, though he didn’t come off as judgmental about it. “I made the deal to ensure I could interview for a job. I still want to rightfully earn it.” She didn’t add that if she didn’t earn a job within her deadline, then she would, begrudgingly, accept one fully handed to her.

As this was a Death-Head deal, Pearl had the perk of having her interview results be expedited. Not that this was a one-and-done kind of thing. Death-Heads were particular about all their employees. And passing the first step didn’t guarantee Pearl a job yet. Still, she made it through the interview. And her background check was nearly done. Next was the temporary work position.

If she made it through that, then the deal would be complete.

— 3 —

Pearl was excited for her first day of work. It felt good to be doing something, to be making money again. For now, she would be training and working in the North branch’s offices. On one hand, the commute was nicer. On the other, Pearl had a lot more interaction with Death-Heads than she expected. She was marginally more comfortable around them thanks to her time with Grimm. Her deal was working out.

But rumors of a deal made with the leader of the North faction soon became a thorn.

Pearl didn’t tell anyone about her deal. So, it was quite surprising to hear office gossip about her and Grimm. Granted, no one knew it was her. There was just talk about how strange it was that Grimm accepted a non-violent deal. She wanted to ask. Wanted to know the extent of what they meant. She knew that Death-Heads often did dirty work, and someone who was a faction leader definitely didn’t have clean hands, but with how everyone was talking about it, their deal was completely out of character for him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it…

As the days went on and the gossip developed, Pearl kept to herself. She even started taking her lunch breaks across the street in the park. A number of her coworkers noticed the shift in her personality from when she started, though said nothing to her about it.

Grimm also noticed her acting differently.

Since his office overlooked the park, he couldn’t help but notice her visits there. That alone couldn’t be called odd. But he, too, started to hear the gossip. Add the reclusive comments from her performance report, and the pieces started coming together.

Pearl learned of Grimm’s reputation. He knew it was only a matter of time until she did. Still, it left him with a feeling he didn’t enjoy. He decided to check in with her.

Grabbing his own lunch, he made his way over to the park. When he found Pearl, she was sitting alone on a bench, zoned out and pushing her food around its container absently. “Mind if I join you?”

Pearl jumped and looked up at him, eyes wide and cat-ears pointed back. He didn’t mean to startle her. She recovered quickly, shook her head, then scooted over. “Go right ahead.”

He sat down and took his time to open up his bento. Pearl eyed the three-layered box, each layer packed with delicious looking food. Her lunch was measly in comparison. “How are you doing?”

Her shoulders slumped as she looked back down at her sad, barely-touched lunch. “I’m fine,” she said, clearly avoiding giving him the real answer.

His brows knitted the tiniest fraction. He wanted to ask, but ultimately stopped himself from pressing the matter. They weren’t that close. She seemed adamant to not look at him, so he started eating. Minutes passed in silence. Aside from his concern, the moment was quite nice. Grimm ate lunch alone more often than not; and it was a nice change to eat outside.

“Why did you accept my deal?” Pearl suddenly asked with a hallow note in her voice.

The feeling from earlier crept up again, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe this was a bad fit for her after all. He did something he had never done before and reminded her, “You can still back out of the deal, if you want.”

“What?” she snapped. She turned and glared at him. “Okay first off—that is not what I said at all. Second—why would you think I’d do that to you? I basically have this job already; just because you said you wouldn’t consider the deal done until I’m no longer a temp, doesn’t mean I’d jump at the chance to get out of upholding my end of it.” She sighed heavily, looked down at her lunch again, stabbed at it quite aggressively.

Grimm stared at her. Her snap of fury surprised him—he also now had a feint understanding of the cliché of how cute someone could be when angered.

“Why did you accept my deal?” How to answer her question… Was it because of the novelty of being asked for a simple, non-violent deal? Did her being a fellow half-faced cat sway him to give her a break? Or perhaps it was all the little things—her expressiveness; her determination; how nice her voice was to listen to; the possibility she stirred with her oracle reading; the ease he felt with her—that made him want to help her.

“Hmm, I accepted your deal because… I just wanted to. Don’t know how to explain it.”

Pearl looked at him, examining him as much as his words. His explanation eased her anger. But not her worries. She sighed again, leaning her head back to stare at the sky. “Guess I should start get ready for a hefty price, huh?”

He hadn’t given any thought yet to what he’d ask of her. This wasn’t his usual deal. None of his usual type of demands seemed right. “Payment must be proportional to the deal. Don’t worry yourself so hard over it.”

Pearl stopped herself from thinking of ways a hefty payment could still be proportionately demanded. She wanted to believe that this deal with him wasn’t a mistake to make. She took a deep breath in through her nose, then slowly let it out her barely parted lips. “Okay… Okay. I trust you.”

Days passed and Pearl’s temp position was at its end. Having worked well, she was offered to stay on full-time. “Would you like to do the honors? Since you also have to ask for your payment,” Pearl’s supervisor asked Grimm.

“Hm, yeah I’ll tell her.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna ask for as payment yet?” Grimm gave her a lethal glare, making her flinch and quickly ramble, “Sorry for overstepping. I was just curious. Considering the situa… Sorry.”

Grimm knew what payment he’d ask for. But he didn’t want it to be gossiped around—especially before he could officially declare it to Pearl. He folded Pearl’s acceptance letter and tucked it inside his haori. It’d be another hour before she arrived for work. He’d give her the letter then; if she wanted to hear his payment then too, he’d tell her. Otherwise, he was fine waiting until they had lunch, or when her shift ended—yet another unheard-of thing for him to do; yet again for her.

It's a shame he wouldn’t connect these facts and their meaning until much later. For now, he only recognized the oddness of his actions, not giving them much thought.

Ten minutes after Pearl arrived, he went down to see her. Grimm’s visit was keenly noted by the entire department. And the moment he asked Pearl to talk in private, whispers chomped at the bit for them to leave. Despite everyone knowing Pearl was at the end of her temporary position and it was most likely that Grimm wanted to talk to her about staying on, the gossip of his newest, usual deal was rekindled by the fact that it was uncommon for him to handle such a task.

“It’s time, huh?” Pearl said. “The end of the deal.”

“Yes.” He gave her the letter, then gave her a moment to process it, to ready herself for what he was about to ask of her. “For payment, you owe me nineteen kisses.”

“What?” she immediately interjected. She would have never guessed he’d ask for something like that.

He raised his brow impatiently at her before continuing. “There are rules to this payment. First, only one kiss per day will count towards the payment. Second, kisses must be on the lips.. Third, someone else must be around for the kiss to count. Fourth, you have nineteen weeks to fulfill your payment; if you fail, you’re to quit this job immediately without severance. Lastly, until your payment is complete, you will be my avec to any and all occasions I request.”

She needed another moment to process this. Why was the death and decapitation guy asking this for his payment? Was it some sort of humiliation tactic because there was nothing worse he could reasonably ask for? Ultimately… Pearl decided that it was okay. It was just a handful of kisses. And she was comfortable being around him. Though, maybe less so now that she’d be constantly thinking about having to kiss him. Nineteen kisses. What an odd number to ask for. “Why nineteen?”

“For The Sun card.”

Pearl’s eye twitched. Really? That was his reason? She screamed internally at the way her oracle reading was unfolding.

But it was okay.

She had a job now. And the payment to the Death-Head was generous, all things considered. Things were working out, just like her cards had told her.

“Okay,” she agreed and stepped towards him confidently. “Nineteen kisses. And all those rules. Though tell me.” She glanced to the upper corner of the room. “Does the security guard watching on the camera count for the third rule?”

He wasn’t expecting that. He laughed, smirking cockily at her. “Hmm, know what. Sure. Just this time, it’ll count.”

She quickly raised up on her toes and kissed him. She just as quickly turned away to hide the blush spreading across her face. She cleared her throat. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No. You’re free to go.”

Pearl left the break room. Instead of returning to her desk, she snuck into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face a couple times, focusing on relaxing her racing emotions and heartbeat.

Nineteen kisses. Eighteen more to go.

— 4 —

Things continued on for Pearl as they had been the past few weeks. Except now she had an income. She was slowing paying off her debts. And she was also having a lot more, awkward encounters with Grimm at work. It could’ve just been her biased perspective, but he seemed to linger around her more. Did he think she’d kiss him at work in front of everyone? She’d rather avoid that, if possible. Stealing a few kisses while they had lunch across the street at the park was enough of a risk for her.

Sixteen.

It was on another one of these days where she contemplated kissing him, that Grimm called in the last rule of their deal. “Next Friday there’s a small event I have to go to. Semi-formal. I’ll pick you up at 6:00pm.”

Pearl’s thoughts slammed to a halt. She wasn’t expecting this part of the deal to come up so soon. The most formal event she had ever been to was a school dance ages ago. Her thoughts darted in countless directions. “Is… is this a Death Head event?”

“Yes.”

So, she’d have to deal with other Death Heads too… At least it was just semi-formal. Though she still didn’t have anything suitable. She wondered if she could get Grimm to buy her a new dress for the event, just like how he bought her some new outfits for work. Did she dare ask?

“If you have any more questions, just message me,” he said, getting up to leave. Any words Pearl had caught in her throat as she watched him go.

With this event now on her plate, the coming days grew stressful. But Pearl was determined to not let it get to her. She focused on what she could control. Namely, her outfit. She spent her free time thinking about the kind of dress she wanted to wear. The color, the cut and material. She had it all figured out so that when her next day off rolled around, she was ready for a day of shopping. She then planned her makeup and hairstyle for the evening—ultimately keeping everything simple.

She was as prepared as she could be. Grimm was punctual Friday evening. He pressed the buzzer, ringing her apartment. “Be right down,” she said over the intercom. When she came out the front door, they both just… stared at each other, taken aback by the little changes each made.

“Yes.”

“If you have any more questions, just message me,” he said, getting up to leave. Any words Pearl had caught in her throat as she watched him go.

She was as prepared as she could be.

Grimm was punctual Friday evening. He pressed the buzzer, ringing her apartment. “Be right down,” she said over the intercom. When she came out the front door, they both just… stared at each other, taken aback by the little changes each made.

Overall, Grimm’s outfit was the same as it always was: a black haori over a white dress shirt, and plain black slacks. However, the subtle difference of the black-on-black jacquard haori he wore tonight gave him a refined touch. It also helped that he buttoned up his shirt more. But the haori was part of his signature.

And Pearl—she was a breath of spring. Her dress was a comfortable, rayon wrap dress with a ruffle along the hem, and short, flowy butterfly sleeves. The color matched her eyes perfectly. And her golden eyeshadow and rose gold lipstick were the perfect accents.

The soft rumble of distant thunder broke the moment.

Pearl looked to the sky. No clouds were gathering immediately, and she hoped it stayed that way. She’d hate to have to bring a coat—she only had one heavy winter coat, some work blazers, and a few casual jackets and sweaters of varying weight, making none of them ideal for the evening. “I hope the storm misses us,” she said, more so to herself than trying to make conversation. Brushing off her concerns, she turned back towards Grimm. “Shall we go?”

The event was hosted at a fancy hotel, not far from Death Head HQ. Grimm pulled to the front, handed his keys to the valet, then went to help Pearl out of the car. Not that she needed it. She was already walking around the front of the car. Grimm gave her a look. She shrugged. “What?”

“Can I at least escort you inside?” he sassed, raising his arm up in offering.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re seriously upset over not opening my door?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Oh yeah? Your furrowed brow says otherwise.” She smiled coltishly. “Maybe I should escort you inside.” She held up her arm, mirroring him.

His kneejerk reaction was to refuse. She was his avec; he was her senior, both within the company and in age. No one dared joke with him so casually—except for Algoth, though his jokes were more often gibes. Grimm decided to lean into it. “Alright then,” he agreed, and hooked his hand up under her arm. “Lead the way.”

Pearl was not prepared for this. “What? No. I don’t know where to go. I don’t want this responsibility anymore!”

He leaned in close with a dangerous smirk. “Perhaps if you make a little payment, I’ll change my mind.”

Pearl’s face quickly turned red. Did she dare kiss him here in plain view of so many of their coworkers? His face was already so close. It would be quick. Maybe no one was looking at them, so she wouldn’t need to deal with prying questions and gossip later.

“Good evening, Sir,” someone interrupted.

Grimm righted himself and turned towards the other Death Head. “You’re here early.”

“You’re just late.” His gaze slid over to Pearl. “Since you brought an avec this time.”

“Pearl, this is my assistant, Algoth,” Grimm introduced. “But ignore what he said; we’re not late.”

“Tell that to Kahamet.”

“Hmm. I wonder what’s got him so impatient tonight.” He sighed. “Guess I better deal with him sooner rather than later.”

They all went inside together. There were far more guests than Pearl expected. She knew not everyone there worked within the Death-Head Organization. But most did. She took a steadying breath and reminded herself that, as wild as it was, she was one of them now too.

Grimm noticed her nerves. “You okay?” he quietly asked.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good.”

And for a moment she was.

The stares started to linger as the three of them went through the ballroom. She stopped looking for familiar faces. After grabbing glasses of wine, Grimm told Algoth to keep Pearl company while he went to talk with Kahamet.

“So, you’re Pearl Helmi,” Algoth said slowly.

A little part inside Pearl started screaming. He knew her full name? Well—he was Grimm’s assistant. It wouldn’t be too surprising if he knew about their deal. But his gaze was unforgiving, almost threatening. She didn’t like it. He was even more intimidating than Grimm was when she first met him.

After a drawn-out moment, he made a soft hmph sound. Algoth reached into his jacket, then offered her his business card. “If Grimm acts out of line, let me know.”

Pearl stared at him, absolutely dumbfounded. Was he indirectly threatening Grimm? Did he know something Grimm had planned that she didn’t? She accepted the card. “Thanks?” she said meekly.

“I’m curious though… You’re not his usual type.”

She definitely misinterpreted his words. “W-what?”

“Have you really not heard about his usual deals yet?”

“Oh, our deal,” she said, realizing a little too late how revealing those words were.

A sly grin grew across his face. He wasn’t quite sure yet what was going on with them, but this little slip got him closer. “Yes. Usually, he only makes deals involving torture or murder; requesting payment equally painful, like all one’s teeth.” Pearl shivered. She had heard of this, to a degree, but no specifications about the payments he asked for. “When the paperwork for your deal first came across my desk, I thought it might be some sort of test—to see how attentive I am filing all out papers—or perhaps a joke he was playing.

“But here you are,” he punctuated by tipping his drink towards her. Then he took a sip.

His gaze had yet to waver from Pearl, and oh boy, did she feel it boring into her. Algoth was definitely worse than Grimm. She could enjoy a meal and laugh with Grimm. Algoth, on the other hand… at first he seemed to want to maybe help her—albeit in an intimidating manner. But then how the conversation changed… what was his goal with all that?

Whatever it was, she did not have the energy to parse it tonight.

“Heh, yeah. Maybe he made a bet with someone and had to take next job request he got and ended up with me?” she joked lightly, her heart not in it. She took a sip of her drink and scanned the perimeter of the room. “Do you know where the bathroom is? An eyelash is starting to attack my eye.” It was a lie. Pearl just wanted to escape the intense interaction. If Algoth realized this, he didn’t call her on it.

“Where’s Pearl?” Grimm immediately asked upon returning to the gala nearly twenty minutes later.

Algoth shrugged. “Probably hiding out in the bathroom.”

Grimm’s face twitched into a brief snarl. “And why would that be?” he slowly growled.

“Just made sure she knew the full you,” Algoth answered nonchalantly, staring dully at him. “What is you aim with her? I know what you’re making her pay you.” Grimm’s hand went up, but stopped short from grabbing him by the lapels of his coat. Algoth looked down at Grimm’s hand as it gradually balled into a fist and lowered back to his side. He snickered. "Go comfort your princess," he said. His gaze slid away from Grimm and then took a drink.

Grimm clapped him on the shoulder, took a step closer, and whispered a threat into his ear. "Give me all the shit you want. But not her."

Algoth's smirk grew smugger as his boss walked off. "Wonder how long it'll take him to realize," he said to himself.

It was easy finding Pearl out in the hallway. She was sitting on a bench, casually chatting with another HQ officer worker.

"So this is where you've been hiding," Grimm butted in.

"Oh, hey Grimm. Not exactly hiding. But yeah, taking a break from… all that," she said and gestured in the direction of the ballroom.

"What did Algoth say to you?"

The coworker Pearl was talking to—who had been stiffly silent since Grimm approached—quickly excused themself and gave the two their privacy. Grimm took the vacated seat beside Pearl.

She sighed and dug the business card out of her purse and held it out towards him. "He told me to contact him if you misbehaved. Then he proceeded to remind me of how unusual our deal is. Also—why did you ask for all of someone's teeth?"

"They're good for my bonsai."

Pearl's eye twitched. He… he actually used the teeth for something? "Ah yes, how could I not realize something so simple. Bonsai dentures."

He laughed. All the tension he was holding instantly vanished as her sarcastic joke caught him completely off guard. It was a nice change from the very… professional, meeting he just had with the CEO. And from Algoth being cheeky tonight. He gave her a thoughtful look—staring long enough to make Pearl start feeling antsy.

“Should we get back to the event?” she asked.

“Hmm, as you wish.”

They didn’t make it back inside the ballroom.

They were steps away from the door when someone loudly called out, “Oh look. There’s the cheater who bought her way into the Death Heads.”

Pearl froze. There was no doubt that they meant her. She looked at the floor, afraid to meet anyone’s gaze as attention shifted to them. If it had only been that one comment, perhaps her anxiety wouldn’t have gotten the better of her. Unfortunately, they continued ranting.

“Do you know how many times I had to apply before I got an interview for an office job? And you just waltz right past all that!”

Grimm moved himself between Pearl and the other office worker as they walked over. Judging by the stumbling stagger in their walk and the prominent smell of alcohol, they were drunk. Regardless of intoxication, this was unbecoming of a Death Head.

Others began butting in to deescalate the situation. Pearl would appreciate their help later. For now, she focused on not having an anxiety attack. One little thing after another. Cynically, she started to wonder if the Universe was determined to not let her enjoy this night. “I need air,” she said. She didn’t wait for anyone’s acknowledgement before heading outside.

Grimm watched her leave, then sharply turned back to the instigator. He grabbed them by the collar and pulled them in close. “I suggest you go sober up and never be in my presence again."

That comment earned Grimm some looks as he left, following after Pearl. She was pacing with her arms hugged tightly to her chest, her eyes closed, deliberately breathing in through her nose and out her mouth. She heard him approached and stopped.

“How are you?” he asked.

She flashed a shaky smile. “Just fending off some imposter syndrome. No big deal,” she brushed off.

“It is. Things have changed rapidly for you. Even without some drunk asshole making jealous snarks, it’s understandable to second guess yourself.” He walked closer to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “But you did earn this job on your own. You made that part of the deal, remember? All I did was ensure your resume was seriously considered for job you’re completely qualified for.”

She laughed a little and lowered her head, hiding her smile. How many people got pep talks from such a notorious Death Head? She let his words sink in. Affirmed that he was right. She took one deep breath to clear out all the negativity, then look at Grimm with a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, returning his hands to his sides. He glanced over his shoulder at the hotel. “Wanna leave the event?”

“Can we really just leave? I don’t think we’ve even been here for an hour yet.”

Grimm shrugged. “If they get mad at me, then they get mad.”

“Ooo, such a rebel,” she teased.

“I’m not a Faction Leader for nothing, you know.”

A pause lingered between them. “So… Do you just want to call it a night and go home? Or do you want to like, wander around the city?” Pearl asked.

“I’m fine with whatever you wish.”

Well he certainly said that in a way that stirred a little flutter in Pearl. However, she wrote it off as the champagne they had—because why would he be flirty with her?

They decided to go for a walk. Neither knew the area, so they pick random corners to turn at, no true destination in mind. They found a little coffee house having an open mic night. A lush, community garden. But most importantly, a food truck where you could make-your-own fried cheese sticks.

Grimm immediately pulled Pearl over to it the moment he saw it. He had found this food truck a small handful of times before throughout Lywood. They had a fair selection of cheeses that they’d bread and freshly fry. Grimm ordered three dozen of various different cheeses. At first, Pearl was a bit skeptical they’d eat so many. But all it took was one bite and she immediately claimed half of the cheese sticks for herself. Whatever spices were mixed in the breading was perfect; and the breading was the perfect crunchy match for the gooey cheese. She hoped the next time she went out drinking she’d have the fortune of finding this food truck again.

They found a playground nearby and sat on the swings as they ate in peaceful silence. The night had had its ups and down, but in the end, it was turning out well.

And then it started to rain.

At first, it was just a light sprinkle. They sought shelter under a nearby tree. But the rain did not let up. Only increased. They couldn’t stay there much longer. Unfortunately, they had walked pretty far from the hotel; and unless Grimm accepted the future roasting he’d get from calling Algoth by asking him to bring his car to them, they’d have to make a run for it and get soaked.

It was just rain. No big deal.

But Pearl was in a light-weight dress, and was already growing chilled as the rain cooled the once pleasant night. Grimm shrugged off his haori and gave it to her. She was immediately grateful for its warmth. Pulling it closely around herself, they started heading back.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t been keeping the best track of their path. But they laughed about it. Grimm cranked the heat once they finally got to his car. He needed it more than her—Pearl was doing her best not to stare at his completely soaked white, dress shirt. When they arrived at Pearl’s apartment, she lingered in the car, reluctant for the evening to end. Even if they just continued sitting in the car, listening to the rain—that’d be nice. And so she leaned over and kissed him.

Fifteen.

“That doesn’t count, you know?” he said.

Fifteen. Sixteen?

“What? How does that not count?” she defended.

“It’s not daytime.”

“You never specified that rule.”

“The first rule was once per day.”

Were they really going to get into an argument over semantics? Yes. Yes, they were. “Yeah, but you didn’t make it clear that you meant during the daytime. Most people would assume that meant once per calendar day.”

He raised a brow, in both a challenge and in amusement. “Very well,” he smirked. “I’ll count it. This time. But don’t think you can get away with such mischief next time. I’m clarifying now to mean daytime—between sunrise to sunset.”

She blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes. “Oh sure. Change the rules partway through.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Clarifying, not changing.”

“Hm, yeah no, sure,” she teasingly brushed off. Two months ago, she would not have dreamt of being this playful with a Death-Head, especially not one like Grimm. But she knew him now. Somewhat. She could see the softer sides of him that barely a handful of people got to see.

“Fine then. Day, night—kiss me whenever you’d like.” The small smirk that played on Grimm’s lips made her anxious—but not the negative type of anxious; the eager kind. The kind that made her want to lean forward and kiss him again for no other reason than wanting to.

Fifteen.

Before such emotions could betray her, Pearl hopped out of the car with a quick goodnight called over her shoulder. She suddenly had a lot to think through. Once in her apartment, she leaned again the door, pressing her eyes closed. Her heart was racing. And not just from running up to her apartment. Was she… was she falling for Grimm? No—surely this was just the illusion of infatuation caused by them becoming closer, as friends, mixed with the necessity of having to kiss him.

Right?

She slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Looks like there was still quite a bit to sort out in her life. Not to mention, she just realized she was still wearing his haori.

— 5 —

GRIMM: I can’t come in today. I’m sick

ALGOTH: How did you get sick?

GRIMM: Rain

ALGOTH: You were out in the rain long enough to get so soaked that it made you sick?

Algoth gave his phone an accusatory glare as the minutes added up since Grimm read his last message. He doubted Grimm was sick enough to be unable to respond so soon after initially texting him. Grimm was hiding something. Or, more accurately, not disclosing something so that he wouldn’t be roasted over it.

That meant it likely had something to do with Pearl.

This new relationship his boss had formed with his latest client was… odd. He was curious to see where it would lead. At a glance, they were an unlikely duo. He knew Grimm. He knew him better than almost anyone else. Hopefully, Pearl would keep her wits about her as the two toed the blurry line they established between them.

His peaceful morning’s work was interrupted by a knock at the door. He was surprised to see Pearl. But not surprised by her question.

“Good morning, Algoth.” Her eyes quickly scanned the office. “Is Grimm around?”

“No. He’s not in today. Was there something you needed from him?”

“Oh, no. Not really, I just…” She bit her lip and adjusted her arms behind her back. Her overt nerves got him curious. That was when he noticed the bit of black cloth she was now hiding behind her back. He also caught the sheen of a familiar pattern on the silky fabric.

The puzzle instantly came together.

“He’s home sick today,” he said, cutting off her floundering for an explanation. He returned to his desk and started writing something on a scrap piece of paper. “Since I have to cover both my and his work for the day—you can go deliver his medicine for me.”

“Wha–?”

“The medicine is already paid for; you just need to pick it up from the pharmacy. Here are the addresses—the order is under my name—and codes to get into Grimm’s place.” He handed her the paper. His mischievous expression made Pearl’s ears flatten back a bit. This felt like a damned if she did, damned if she didn’t sort of situations.

“O-okay,” she accepted.

After watching her leave, he shook his head, sat back down at his desk, and shot a text to Grimm.

ALGOTH: Your wife will be stopping by later.

He never got a response—Grimm wouldn’t get around to reading it until late that night—but it amused him all the same.

Pearl stood outside Grimm’s house, staring up at it in awe. She wasn’t surprised that he had such a nice place. Still, the large, finely maintained house loomed as intimidating as the man who lived in it.

Well, best to get this done with—mainly because her shopping bags felt heavier the longer she stood there. Besides the medicine, she bought ingredients for soup. She felt responsible; he had to have gotten sick from being in the rain for so long without a coat. She wouldn’t be surprised if Algoth made the same connection and that’s why he sent her on this task.

“Hello?” she called after unlocking the front door. “Grimm? It’s Pearl. Algoth sent me.” No response came. Tentatively, she went in search of the kitchen. The interior design was impressive. Immaculate. To be able to afford all this… She stopped herself from contemplating the deals he’d done for all of this. “Kitchen,” she quietly reminded herself, getting back on task.

It was immediately to the left of where she stopped to gawk.

After unpacking all the groceries onto the counter, Pearl paused. Did she start cooking first, or find Grimm first? Probably find Grimm. She’d feel more comfortable being there once he knew she was there. He could also help tell her where everything was in the kitchen. She went back into the main room and through the only other doorway. There were a lot of closed doors—which was to be expected, given how large the hose was. “Grimm?” she called again, hoping for a hint about which door he was behind.

But apparently, he was behind her. “What are you doing here?” he groggily asked.

Pearl jumped, letting out a little scream. “Where the hell did you come from?” He lazily motioned over to the kotatsu in the room. On the side opposite the foyer, a was a pillow. He’d been there the entire time; she just hadn’t seen him. “Oh… Well, Algoth sent me to bring you medicine.”

He yawned and scratched the back of his head. “Ugh. Please tell me he didn’t get something grape flavored. He always picks out the worst flavored medicine.”

“I think it’s cherry.”

Grimm gave her a curious look. “So. Where is it?”

“Oh, still in the kitchen. You should take it with food, so I was going to make you some soup.”

If Grimm hadn’t been so sleepy still, perhaps Pearl would’ve been able to notice the intrigue that sparked in his expression. “You’re making me soup?”

“Well yeah,” she said and shrugged. “You caught a cold because of me; it’s the least I can do to make up for it.”

“You didn’t give me a cold.”

“Maybe not directly. But since I wore your haori yesterday, you got soaked in the rain and caught a cold.”

“Yes. My decision caused this outcome.”

She pouted a bit at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You must really be sick, you’re starting to sound delirious,” she sassed, turned away, and walked back into the kitchen before he could respond.

He chuckled to himself then followed her.

When she told him she was making soup, he didn’t process that to mean ‘from scratch’. So seeing all the groceries she had set out surprised him. He stared dumbfounded at her.

She stared awkwardly back. “Sooo… Where is all your cookware? I’d like to start cooking, and while I could just open every cabinet and drawer until I find the things I need, it’d be easier for you to just tell me.”

“Hm? Ah, right.” He shook himself from his stupor, and started helping her.

But then he started to help her too much. “Go curl up under the kotatsu again,” Pearl gently ordered as she started to guide him over to the door. “I’ll bring you some soup when it’s done.”

“You sure you don’t want help?”

“I just watched you nearly cut off your own finger. Twice. So go rest and stop trying to add your blood to my soup.”

He obeyed.

Pearl turned on music on her phone and continued cooking. She was enjoying working in Grimm’s large kitchen with all its high-end appliances. Much better than her apartment’s kitchenette. About half an hour later, the soup was ready. She portioned out a serving, buttered a few slices of bread.

Pearl gently shook Grimm awake. “Food is ready.”

He stretched, then slowly sat up. As the smell of the soup hit him, he snapped fully awake. “This smells absolutely delicious.”

She blushed a little in pride. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy. Do you want me to put all the leftovers away now? Or I can leave out a second serving if you’d like.”

“You’re not eating?”

“Oh. Well… no,” she said awkwardly. “Algoth didn’t really say I had the whole day off, so I was gonna go back to work now.”

“Stay.”

Pearl froze. The soft way he said it plucked the heartstrings that had shaken her the night before. Granted, it came out that way absolutely because he was low energy from illness. Still…

Then he added, “You’ve come all this way, and did all this work—relax and eat with me.” When she bit her lip, still hesitating, he continued. “As the Head of the North Faction I can and will order you to take the day off work.”

Something about him pulling rank while he was such a miserable, sickly slump made her want to laugh. And so she conceded. She got herself a bowl of soup and joined him under the kotatsu—damn it was cozy; no wonder he kept passing out.

When they’re done eating, Pearl cleaned up. Grimm made some protest, saying he should be doing all the chores since she was his guest; but she argued back that he’s sick and threatened him to rest.

As she got ready to leave, she noticed his haori she left in the entryway. She traced along the fabric. Picking it up, she returned to the other room and set it beside the once again sleeping Grimm.

She lingered.

There was such a softness to him. And she was probably one of the few who saw this side of him. Unconsciously, her hand moved to brush his hair. But she stopped short, noticing just in time what she was doing.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath. She immediately stood up and left the house.

There was no way to deny it anymore.

She had feelings for Grimm.

#fanfic wip #DHD #grimm x pearl

27 notes · View notes

adarlingwrites · 3 years

Text

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working.

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #imawa no kuni no arisu #last boss #takatora samura #last boss x reader #artist!reader #smut #fluff #fluff and smut #fanfic: muse #don't mind me just pouring my frustrations in this fic

274 notes · View notes

mysticpetals · 3 years

Text

Farewell, sunshine

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Jake × f!mc (Syianne)

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.9k (oof)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: All Jake ever wanted was to find his sister and protect the person who had helped him more than anyone. Only, he slowly began to realise that bringing Syianne into this had caused more harm than good.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: mentions of blood, physical attack, violence, hospitals, medical coma, panic attack.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨: Anonymous asked: 5. “Wake up! Please wake up.” MC and Jake finally get to meet for the first time, but everything is heavily dipped in angst. 😂 Also I adore your writing and keep up the good work!

Anonymous asked: Can you give us the most angsty jealous filled over protective short with Jake x MC i want all the ANGST to be seeping out of my screen

@mnrangera asked: Here's a nice angsty scenario for you: MC is in Duskwood continuing their investigation but is caught out in town after dark. They are on the phone with Jake when they are attacked by the Man Without a Face like Jessie was.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: I know this has been LOOOOONG overdue and I apologise for the wait. Thank you to all my followers for being patient, especially those who sent the requests in. I hope the long wait is worth it and you enjoy it. Also, please read the warnings before proceeding, I don't want any of you to be triggered by something I wrote. There may be inaccuracies in how I progressed medical conditions and general working of the hospitals so I apologise for that. Please do not repost or translate this fic anywhere else!! I'm literally begging you, please don't ruin my hard work like this. I would love if I could get some sort of feedback, whether it be reblogs or comments or just anon asks. I've tried to improve my writing and I hope it shows a little in this. This is my Christmas and New Year present all wrapped in one! I hope you all have a great 2021 <3

It was a cold, winter evening with the sky painted in a plethora of warm colors and Jake felt like finally things were going his way.

He, along with Syianne, had been working tirelessly for the past few weeks to find out what happened to Hannah. They had faced a lot of challenges along the way, with cryptic diary entries and threats directed towards them and their loved ones, but still, they'd prevailed and spent every ounce of free time, getting more information about Hannah's perpetrator.

They finally had the facts about what happened the day she was kidnapped and only the identity of the criminal was hidden. Syianne had suggested that she should go to Duskwood to try and find the last puzzle piece, to which Jake had been a little apprehensive. She argued that the rest of the group had already been through enough, with getting stalked and receiving threats and insisted that she should be the one to carry out her search in secret.

She never once asked for him to come along because she knew how dangerous it would be for him and she didn't want him to get caught. Jake was instantly warmed by the thought that someone cared so much about him, to think of his well being first.

So that night, as she called him to update him on her findings and plan after she went to Duskwood, he found himself speaking his thoughts impulsively.

"What if I came too?"

There was silence on the other end and Jake thought he might have overstepped or made it weird but she answered before he could stammer an apology.

"I'd like that. But only if you're comfortable and safe."

She told him to ruminate on it for a while and bid him goodnight. Jake thought about whether it was a logical thing to do. If Syianne planned to go undercover, he couldn't very well let her go into the lion's den alone. So he made up his mind and texted Syianne to let her know.

Jake [10:46 pm]

I'll come to Duskwood too.

Is it okay if we don't meet straight away?

I...I don't think I'm ready yet.

Syianne [10:47 pm]

I was lowkey hoping you'd say that ahaha

And of course! Take as much time as you need :)

That night, he slept with a smile on his face, excitement churning in his stomach.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Syianne was looking forward to her trip to Duskwood.

She knew it was a potentially dangerous situation and she was only going there to investigate but knowing that Jake might be there too, sent a spark of thrill through her body. They had been speaking non-stop for the past few weeks and she really liked talking to him. His answers to questions about him or his life were adorably confusing and Syianne realized that she really wanted to get to know him, be his friend or possibly something more, if their flirty banter was anything to go by.

Her bag contained all the essentials she could need, along with a sketchbook and pencils to use in case of boredom. She couldn't leave Matrix with any of her friends as they were either busy or allergic to cats so her only option was to take her along.

She had never booked a flight so fast. Knowing she would have to take a car from the airport to the rest of the way to Duskwood did nothing to damper her excitement. She couldn't wait to meet everyone once they found Hannah, some more so than the others.

The trip was nothing eventful, just a lot of travelling and it made Syianne a little tired but the idea of meeting her friends and finally putting a stop to all this madness, made her keep going. She wouldn't admit it if you asked her but she was looking forward to possibly seeing Jake as well. She knew he might not be comfortable enough to meet her yet and she completely respected that, but the thought still lingered.

She checked in to the only hotel Duskwood had, not meeting the receptionist's - Lilly's - eyes and was eternally grateful that she had only leaked her number and not her photo in that video. It would have been much more difficult to move about Duskwood, if that were the case.

The room they had was pretty basic, but not too bad for a few nights. Matrix prowled around the room, getting herself comfortable in the new environment while Syianne slowly unpacked the few clothes and necessities she brought.

In the corner of her mind, there was the thought that Jake might be staying at this hotel too and that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. But she was a woman of her word and would wait until Jake was ready and would not try to look for him.

She had a mission here and she wanted to be damn sure that that's what she would be focusing on and save Hannah.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake was supposed to be in Duskwood about two nights ago.

He had encountered some issues with removing his tracks from the internet, as well as trying to find a safe way to drive to Duskwood without exposing himself. Working as a hacker did have some benefits and finally he managed to find a guy who made him three fake number plates that he would interchange every once in a while, so his whereabouts couldn't be traced.

He had let Syianne know of the unexpected delay but to his surprise, she was enjoying herself in Duskwood. She had told him that Jessy gave her a virtual tour of the town once and she was excited to explore all those places in person. She talked to him at night, describing the beauty of the small town and Jake felt himself growing wistful, wondering what they could do together if he had been there. But then again, hadn't he said that he wouldn't show himself right now? He was cautious - just as he had been all his life - but something about Syianne just made him want to let his guard down, to just be selfish for once.

He had no time to think further on it because finally, all the preparations and precautionary measures were done and he could drive to Duskwood. He couldn't leave Glitch at home because he had attachment issues and couldn't go without Jake for a long period of time. So he ushered him into his carrier and told him he could claw all the wood he wanted when they reached their destination and Glitch meowed in agreement. He had always been a smart cat, after all.

Changing the number plates every hour was exhausting, especially when he didn't do much manual work but he endured it, if it meant he was one step closer to finding his sister.

When he finally reached Duskwood, he was in awe of how normal it looked, how silent; how someone who didn't know that a girl had been kidnapped would think of this place as the perfect getaway. But he knew better, didn't he? This town held dark secrets, secrets that people weren't willing to acknowledge and he was going to expose them for what they were, no matter what it took.

Signing into the Duskwood hotel was as awkward as he imagined it to be, his half sister having no idea who he was and looking at his dark, baggy clothes suspiciously. He wasn't blaming her, he would have probably done the same if a strange man came out of nowhere to stay in Duskwood of all places. Lilly gave him a tight smile as he picked up his bag and key and made way to his room.

Syianne had texted him earlier that day that she would be checking out the lake in the evening, where Jessy was attacked. Jake was against it from the start but he should have known how stubborn she could be and eventually, he had to agree but only on the condition that she stays on video call with him the whole time. Syianne was evidently bewildered by his request, judging by the way she kept writing and erasing her reply but after a while, she managed to ask if he would be comfortable with that. Jake's heart warmed at her considerate words, never really having anyone who would care about his emotions, he was always surprised when Syianne said something like that. He replied that he would just turn off his camera or point it at the lamp or something but he had to be sure about her safety.

And that's why, he was sitting with his phone in front of him in the evening, camera turned off as he watched her fondly, pointing out the strange birds she saw.

"Ah, I wish you were here! The lake is so pretty this time and the light from sunset is reflecting off the water and it makes an amazing view," she said, voice breathy with the exertion of walking for a while and a tone of awe towards the scene in front of her.

"That's sufficient sightseeing, don't you think?" Her voice suddenly took a serious note and Jake straightened up in his chair. He was afraid but couldn't say anything. He had already agreed to let her go with a condition and he feared if he asked her to not investigate, she would probably end the call and keep looking for clues by herself. At least on the phone, he could look at her surroundings and made sure no one sneaked up on her.

"If you say so," he said half-heartedly, glancing at the surroundings behind her as she narrowed her eyes at his dismissive tone.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Syianne looking around the lake and Jake looking over her shoulder virtually. She had scouted the edge and went a little deeper into the forest, looking for a car, a boat, a mask - anything, really - but the search had proved to be futile so far. Everything was as peaceful as ever, no signs of any disturbance and it made Jake a little antsy. Nothing was ever this perfect.

"Well, since we can't find anything here, I think you should come back. It's getting late," Jake said, looking at the already darkened sky. It was an ominous red color and Jake was getting more and more worried as people left the lakeside.

Syianne frowned but didn't argue and that made him sigh in relief.

"Yeah, you're right. No use trying to find something that isn't there," she said and started walking again.

"Wait, you walked here? Didn't you bring your car?" Jake asked and she shook her head.

"Nope, I wanted to enjoy Duskwood and being in a car wouldn't have helped," she smiled at the camera and Jake let out an almost inaudible sigh. Why couldn't she care about her safety a little more? She was going to give him grey hair before he reached his thirties, that was for sure.

As he began to reply to her, he caught movement from the left side of the screen and instantly grabbed his phone, expanding the background.

There was a silhouette of a hand.

"Syianne, run!" He shouted, as the figure's arm came into view and she looked back in surprise before starting to sprint, the camera shaking from her movements.

Jake scrambled to get his car keys, not bothering with what he was wearing and ran towards the hotel parking, getting into his car and connecting the GPS to his phone, all the while listening to Syianne's panting breaths as she ran away from the man without a face.

Getting her location was no problem for him and he just hoped he would arrive there on time.

"Jake, I'm scared. I'm hiding behind a big building and I think he went on ahead," she whispered, voice shaky and trembling and Jake's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he glanced over at his phone to watch her looking around herself in a panic.

Five more minutes and he would reach her location. Jake had never been more thankful that Duskwood was a small town and the hotel wasn't so far away from the lake.

"I'm coming, Syianne. Just a little while more and we'll go back together."

"Okay, I think I'm safe for now," she said. There was a sound of slow careful footsteps as Syianne came out from behind the building.

The abrupt sound of a gasp almost made him lose control of the steering wheel and he increased his speed as he heard what sounded like a scuffle. Syianne had probably dropped her phone because it only showed the dark sky and sounds of her struggling against her attacker.

"No! Let–"

Jake let out a harsh breath, jaw tightening as he heard Syianne's scream. He drove straight for a bit and turned the next corner and saw the man trying once again to restrain her. His eyes saw red and he honked and honked like it was nobody's business, speeding towards them.

The man without a face seemed to have realised that someone was coming to help as he pushed Syianne roughly into the wall and ran away towards the forest. As much as Jake wanted to go after him, Syianne was his first priority and he quickly got out of the car, dashing towards her crumpled form, lying on the ground.

He fumbled with his phone, calling the local police and asking for an ambulance, his body shaking all the while, as he knelt down next to Syianne.

He felt tears welling in her eyes as he looked at her battered form and realised that she was bleeding.

"Syianne?" He spoke in a scared voice.

"Syianne!" He said more forcefully, repeatedly patting her face in hope she'll look at him but her eyes were still glassy and unfocused as if she couldn't comprehend anything.

"I'm...so sorry. I…" her voice trailed off as she struggled to breathe and Jake cried, seeing her in so much pain, when he couldn't do anything except wait for the ambulance to arrive.

After a moment, Syianne's eyes fluttered closed and Jake's panic rose to new heights.

"No, no, no! Wake up! Please wake up!" He shouted and begged but she didn't respond to his calls.

His hand was soaked in her blood from where he was applying pressure on the wound at her side. The blood hadn't stopped flowing and Jake was worried that she was losing too much, too soon.

"What do I do? What do I do?" He muttered to himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins, with only one thought in his head – to save her.

He heard sirens in the distance and was relieved to know that help was coming. He pushed up the fallen hood of his jacket up on his head and looked at Syianne for any signs of consciousness. Her breaths were shallow and eyes still closed.

Soon enough, paramedics rushed to the scene and immediately started tending to Syianne's wounds. Jake felt as if he was just a spectator, not being able to do anything but watch. Someone came up to him and started asking him questions, about how he found her, who he was to her and if he knew anything about the attack. He answered all the questions as carefully as he could, giving a fake name, because he still wasn't sure if the police department was in league with the kidnapper or not.

As soon as he was done with the questioning, a paramedic approached him, letting him know that they were taking Syianne to the hospital and he would have to come there for a bit of paperwork. Jake hesitated and said he'd drive there in his own car and the paramedic nodded in response and left.

He got in his car and put his head in his hands, shaking at the unfortunate turn of events. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Syianne was just going to check out the lake and then surprise her friends the next day by telling them she'd be here for a few days and enjoy Duskwood together.

Jake was even thinking of meeting her in person and telling her that she had changed his life for the better. But his cowardice, his meticulous nature to not let anyone know who he was or where he was might have cost Syianne her life tonight. Even thinking about it had tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath to bite back the sobs that were threatening to break once again.

He felt guilty, so so guilty and couldn't bring himself to start the car. He was pretty sure that if – no when – Syianne woke up, she would want nothing to do with the man who put her life in danger. With that thought rooted in his mind, he opened his phone and with trembling hands, sent Jessy a text about Syianne's accident. He received a reply almost immediately.

Jessy [8:46 pm]

What?

How did she come here?

You know what? If she's not okay, I'm going to hunt you down and make you pay.

Jake had no trouble believing she was telling the truth. All he wanted to do was help and now everything was falling apart. Taking a deep but shaky breath, he started the car but instead of going to the hospital, he turned towards the hotel.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jessy had no trouble believing that the hacker was telling the truth. His texts were frantic and he practically begged her to go to the hospital to see Syianne. She had no idea how she got here, but hearing that she got attacked, just like she was, was enough to make her worry and drive to the hospital, after letting Cleo know. She figured that the rest of them deserved to know too.

She rushed to the front desk, breathless and worried, and one of the nurses told Jessy that the doctors were with Syianne and she'd have to wait until they were done to know how she was.

After some time of relentless pacing, Cleo arrived and Jessy filled her in on everything that the hacker told her, which wasn't much, but it gave them a good idea of what had happened. Cleo said that she hadn't told anyone else yet and that they should do so as soon as the doctors had an update on Syianne's condition.

About an hour later, a nurse came upto Jessy and Cleo, asking if they knew Syianne and upon their confirmation, led them to the room she was kept in. They weren't allowed to enter yet as the doctors were still in the room, but Jessy gasped when she saw Syianne's scratched up face, with bandages covering her head.

"Oh my gosh." Cleo breathed and Jessy felt a rush of sorrow as she averted her eyes.

The doctors after completing their examination, told them that Syianne was stabbed in the side but luckily it didn't puncture anything important and they closed up the wound to allow it to heal. What was more concerning, was the fact that she was hit on the back of her head.

"She most likely suffered from a concussion, in which case, it is of the utmost importance that the patient doesn't fall asleep," the doctor said and Jessy and Cleo looked at each other uneasily.

"But Syianne fell asleep…" Jessy began and the doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's right. She was unconscious when she was brought here. The superficial wounds are taken care of, we just don't know when she'll wake up."

Both of them were too stunned to say anything and a call for the doctor from one of the nurses broke them out of their stupor.

"So, she's in a coma?" Cleo asked.

The doctor hesitated before answering.

"Essentially, yes. But we can't know for sure without further observation. If the injury isn't severe she'll wake up soon, we just have to monitor her constantly and look for any changes." He then walked off when his pager went off, most likely to see another patient.

"Don't worry, Jessy. She'll wake up soon," Cleo said, placing a hand on her shoulder, as they looked into Syianne's room, seeing her sleeping peacefully, as if nothing was wrong and she was just taking a nap.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

As soon as she got home from the hospital, Jessy sent out a row of furious texts to the hacker, clouded by her anger and hopelessness. In her head, it was all his fault that Syianne was twittering between life and death. He was the one who asked her to come to Duskwood without letting any of them know, which caused her to be in such a terrible condition.

Everything was crumbling.

They were a tight knit group, always there for each other but when did it turn into a nightmare, Jessy didn't know. Emotion overtook her and she suddenly collapsed against the wall, keeping a hand on her mouth to muffle her sobs, and cried.

She cried for Hannah, who she had no idea whether she was alive or not. She cried for Syianne, who had become such a great friend to her. Most importantly, she cried for her relationship with everyone, that was slowly but surely, withering away.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake had been pacing in his hotel room ever since getting back, waiting on a word from Jessy. Glitch watched him with big eyes, as he stubbed his on the bedside and cursed. Sighing in defeat, Jake realised that it won't do any good to worry himself to death, but that didn't mean that his mind didn't drift off to the earlier scene.

Syianne lying on the ground. Blood pooled around her.

He shook his head in frustration, trying to get that image out of his head but to no success. Glitch, sensing that something was wrong, strolled towards him, rubbing and purring against his legs. Jake softened at seeing his efforts to calm him and he picked Glitch up, moving to lay down on the bed. He petted him, smiling at the way the cat burrowed himself further against Jake, curling his tail around his wrist.

After a few peaceful moments of cuddling, Jake's phone lit up with a text, which had him scrambling to grab it from the bedside. Glitch meowed in protest but Jake was too wound up to notice.

Jessy [10:25 pm]

She's in a coma

They don't know when she'll wake up

Jake felt all breath leave him as he read Jessy's text. He didn't know what to think, what to do, what he could do. Jessy didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jessy [10:26 pm]

Don't contact any of us ever again

I don't want to find Hannah this way…which leads to everyone else getting hurt

Please leave Syianne out of this

Saying her mind, Jessy went offline again. Jake took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself. Syianne might never make up.

No, he told himself.

He couldn't think like that. He knew she'd wake up, it might take a little time but she will. Because if she didn't, Jake wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He got another text from Lilly, saying she was sorry that it happened but he couldn't bring himself to write back. His mind was empty, body numb to everything around him and he was cursing himself for being so careless.

If he hadn't been so selfish, if only he didn't put all of this on her, if he had just reached on time, if, if, if.

That's all he thought of, as tears continuously trailed down his cheeks, an arm covering his eyes, the only thing on his mind being Syianne, just as it had been ever since he started talking to her.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

The next day, Jake found himself holding a large flower bouquet and walking to Duskwood hospital's reception. He was trembling, scared out of his mind but he just had to see Syianne. So, he had braved his anxiety and was now standing in front of the receptionist, who looked at the abnormally large bouquet in his hands and raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat.

"I'm here to see Syianne King, she was admitted here yesterday."

The receptionist's gaze sharpened as she looked him over and he partially hid behind the flowers.

"Only family members are allowed to visit," she spoke slowly and Jake bit his lip in frustration.

"I'm her fiance," he said and before the surprised receptionist could say anything, he continued, "I drove here as soon as I got the call but they wouldn't tell me what happened. Only that Syianne had been in an accident and I needed to get here as soon as I could and I—" he cut himself off, shuffling nervously and wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from his eyes.

The receptionist softened, seeing his genuine sorrow and care for his fiance and warmed her voice.

"Of course, I'm sorry for what happened. She's in room 309, third floor. The elevator is down the hall," she pointed and Jake thanked her profusely before walking ahead.

Him being Syianne's fiance might have been fake but everything he had felt was the truth and he felt overwhelmed now that he was here. Should he see her? Did he even deserve to see her after he put her in danger? Thoughts like this plagued his mind all the way to Syianne's room and they only stopped when he saw '309' written in bold letters on a grey coloured door.

His breath stuttered in his chest. He was second guessing his presence in the hospital, thinking whether he shouldn't have come. He stood in front of the door for about ten minutes, contemplating but when the nurses started giving him suspicious looks, he swallowed thickly and with shaky hands, opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for the utter despair and helplessness he felt, as he saw Syianne's motionless form on the bed, breathing as if she was just sleeping and would wake up any minute. But he knew that wasn't the truth.

She was here and it was his fault.

For the longest time, he just sat on a chair beside her bed and just looked at her. His eyes traced every injury, every bruise that was visible and he felt sick, blaming himself for letting it happen. She was still sleeping and suddenly, it just got too much.

There was too much light, too much beeping, the walls were too white, the flowers in his hands digging into his skin and he got up hastily, dropping the bouquet and backed into the furthest corner of the room.

His breath was coming in short bursts, it hurt to breath, to think, to stay upright—!

His legs gave from under him and he slid down, back against the wall, shaking hands coming up to wipe the wetness on his face.

He didn't even realise he had been crying.

His vision was a blur of dark shapes and in a distinct corner of his head that was still sane, he thought of what Syianne would have done had she been awake. He was sure she would kneel down in front of him and take his hands, running her thumbs against the back of his hands to calm him.

'Breathe slowly, Jake. Deep breaths with me, come on,' he heard her in his head and tried to slow down, breathing harshly at first but after a few minutes, his vision cleared and his breathing stabled to an acceptable rate.

His whole body shook with the sheer suddenness of the panic attack and he slowly tried to get up, holding onto the wall as a support as his gaze, once again, landed on the bed and it's occupant.

All at once, his head cleared and he knew what to do.

Snatching a sheet of paper from the notepad lying near her chart, Jake penned his thoughts, all his anguish, and his apologies on it. Not once did his hand shake as he wrote the note and not once did his mind waver from the decision he had made. At last, when he had said everything he wanted to, he put the pen down and glanced at Syianne's peaceful face.

His throat closed up but he swallowed once to make sure he didn't cry. No, Jake had no time for tears. It was his fault that this happened in the first place, so it was his responsibility that he would make it right.

He didn't know when she would wake but whenever it might be, Jake had everything he wanted to say, already written for her.

He bent down towards her and placed the softest of kisses against her forehead, knowing that it would be the only time he would ever get to do it.

She did not open her eyes and Jake stepped back with a miniscule tilt of his lips.

Yes, he would make everything right.

#duskwood #duskwood jake #everbyte duskwood #duskwood game #everbyte #jake × mc #duskwood jake × mc #jake × player #duskwood fanfic #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake × mc fanfic #viotence tw #physical attack tw #coma tw #blood tw #panic attack tw #please read the warnings carefully!!#and i hope you enjoy it ❤️

145 notes · View notes

sunareii · 4 years

Text

OSAMU MIYA ─ GULLIBLE

sypnosis. you know you have it bad when you let yourself hope of every possibilities, what’s equally worse is people giving you hope, either from your friends, your crush themselves or even you and that’s not the worse part ─ it’s believing them

genre. unrequited love, moving on, slice of life

wordcount. 1.2k

♫ AS I’LL EVER BE ─ CHAZ CARDIGAN

words can’t express how he felt humiliated from his own unharmful doings of believing. and since then he never gives love a chance to tempt him to love in such a ridiculous amount again. not when his heart still aches at the thought of his past with you.

it was simply your highschool puppy love — as atsumu would call it — osamu wasn’t sure when it started but he can recall how you suddenly looked ethereal in his eyes.

it was a day during a memorable spring time. osamu was generally doing his routine after school, walking home with his brother whilst smelling the great fragrance of the season of awakening. he looks down from the mount he was in. in that moment, he was witnessing the most beautiful sight that could affect his entire love-life.

you were under the cherry blossom tree with some of your friends, laughing and playfully hitting each other. baby pink petals slowly showering your head yet stills softly slides down to your hair. your appeal and kind smile made him so drawn to you and it surely didn’t help when he got to know you. he stopped moving his legs to look at you, radiating bubbliness. atsumu calls for him to hurry up in the background for osamu to completely ignore. he keeps his eyes on you, only to be surprised when you looked at him back, smiling before giving him a big wave that osamu has to look around of who were you waving at and the answer lies on him.

spring not only blooms flowers but alsohis affection for you.

it didn’t take long for the two of you to be closer in friendship, considering that you did the first action and it didn’t even matter whether the two of you had the same classes or not. osamu would come to your class and ask you to test one of his food creations which you’re always happy to try ‘cause.. well.. it’s food!

on the other hand, you would come to his practices even if you had any club activities or not. you also came to one of his games in a tournament one or two and osamu is always grateful for your prescence. it also didn’t take long for his brother to pick up on how osamu feels about you and the latter was occasionally held up to torture with atsumus teasing.

osamu really loved you, the smile you make when you see something you’re absolutely passionate about has his heart throbbing, the hum of satisfaction when you eat one of his cooking had to be one of the things that sounds like melody to him, your adorable giggles being the number one though.

he mistakenly thought he was making progress with you as months passed. he notices the small physical touches you did to him and it made him feel gooey inside.

while walking home from school, osamu thought he’d hear another relentless teasing from atsumu but instead came a statement that osamu wished he didn’t held on for so long in his heart. “you know, i think y/n likes you back”

osamu internally chuckles at the idea like he had never thought of it before, he proceeds to deny it “you’re speaking nonsense, ‘tsumu” atsumu was probably blind at the little smile his twin was attempting to resist.

“no seriously, hear me out! don’t they seem alot more er.. jolly around you?” atsumu started. osamu scoffed at him “they’ve always been like that”

“nowadays they seem to skip whatever they were doing just to come to your game? you saw what happened earlier right?” atsumu questions

it was about during one of their plays in the gym in the same day the regrettable conversation took place. you were sitting in one of the benches watching them play. osamu would catch a glimpse of you giggling at who knows what and at the time he presume you were snickering at him which always end up of him staring at you for too long only for atsumu or mostly kita to have his head back in the game.

“i’m pretty sure they thought of something funny to themselves”

atsumu continuous to blabber examples of your possible languages of your attraction to the grey haired miya. during that night, osamu nonstops toss and turning himself in his bed with a smile.

then comes, what now he calls, the dreadful day

it’s the day where he hated himself in every way possible, the embarrassment still washes over him like waves of the ocean every time he something reminded of him of this sad day.

the confession was like a sudden bolt of lightning, something that shocks him, something that made his hearing numb in which he could only his sharp impulse.

“kita and i are dating!”

osamu felt stupid, he felt his dignity and confidence plummeted. it was difficult to face you or even himself or anyone at all after that. atsumu could only symphatize at his other half, he, afterall reckons himself as one of what lead osamu on.

the weight of guilt and remorse clings into him until now, years later and now he has established his dream restaurant. osamu couldn’t see you much even if he wanted to since you’re busy helping his upperclassman with his own work. sometimes atsumus voice would chime inside his head for time to time.

“you haven’t moved on from them yet?” it spoke, no maliciousness are intended when atsumu asked him about it.

‘samu can’t blame him for asking and instead of a confident no, what comes is a broken yes

he didn’t know what could’ve happen if he wasn’t so hopeful then, if he had never expected something more to happen, or atleast if the two of you kept in touch then maybe he would still be comfortable to face you.

osamu stops walking down the street in a mediocre autumn day as he sees a familiar face at the street next to him. of course, it was you, who else could make him stop in his tracks? you were glowing with grace, the sight somehow similar to the time he first fell inlove with you ─ you haven’t noticed him yet, maybe it’s better that way — yet it only felt nostalgic, something he’d miss but can’t really come back to.

maybe he doesn’t love you anymore, ‘cause now when he looks at you, he just feels shame of how much he hoped for a connection, a result he aimed for. it isn’t the sweet yet agonizing feeling of butterflies in his stomach or the desire to have you in his arms anymore.

to answer atsumus question, yes, he has finally moved on from his feelings for you — or maybe he had moved on a long time ago? — osamu just haven’t moved on from his feelings towards himself.

it makes sense, he had only been mad and disgraced at himself for his foolishness. love and hope could either wish for you the best or just hurt you like that, unfortunetely for osamus case, there was more hope then love in what he was craving for.

osamu internally gives a soft, almost sorrowful but he doesn’t let it get through, laugh then a smile paints his lips. “heh, was i so gullible?” he thoughts to himself

he looks at you for the second time before continuing his stroll, letting the autumn leaves fall against him, he nods while holding a giggle coming from his mouth. “yeah, i was gullible” he says to hope

#osamu miya #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader angst #osamu x reader #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x you #haikyuu angst #haikyuu osamu miya #osamu miya fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu osamu miya x reader #haikyuu osamu #atsumu #osamu miya angst

65 notes · View notes

ivory-sunflower · 4 years

Text

Arty Art Things ✨

Hellooo!

I've decided to post some of the arty things I've done either recently or in the last few years, well the pieces I'm somewhat proud of at least. All my posts tend to be a lot more wordy than they need to be but hey it's what I do here!

Conchúr White

Anyone one who's been on this blog for a bit will have probably have seen me talk about this lovely Irish fella. The pencil drawing is actually a year old as of yesterday, I only know that because screenshots of me flipping out about Conchúr following me on twitter popped up in my memories yesterday. I think I'd sent it to him at about 3 in the morning (I was not in a good head space at that point in time), so probably not what he was expecting to see when he opened his phone in the morning aha

The biro version is much more recent: I got bored while sat at my desk and doing research about university courses, saw a biro, saw my old drawing of Conchúr, had an idea. I revisited my GCSE art techniques and here we are. Again, I put this up on Twitter and now (at the the time I'm writing this) when you google "Conchúr White" it's the third top image of him which is a bit mad really. I think I spent all of about 20 minutes on Conchúr but another 45 minutes on the words behind him. The words are the names of the songs on his EP 'Bikini Crops', he doesn't just really love the idea of Channing Tatum driving him around at night in a daisy print bikini... Well maybe he does but what he does in his spare time is none of my business...

TechDif

So I mentioned that the pencil drawing of Conchúr came from a rough patch in my mental health and this one is no different! In fact this one came from an even worse circumstance so we love to see it. I had a bad, bad time in July and this started as a way of distracting myself from what was going on in my head. Without it, I can't honestly say I'd still be here so even if the final product of this had been a terrible mess I would still love it for keeping me alive. However, it did not turn out to be a terrible mess!

Now that the origin of this is out the way, where do I start with TechDif? Unlike Conchúr, I haven't really talked about them on here (unless you count one brief post about Citation Needed) before so I guess I'll do it here. The Technical Difficulties are a wonderful group of 4 British fellas who have had their fair share of fun online and even before. They did a radio show at university together, which went on to become their Reverse Trivia Podcast, later moving on to a panel show called 'Citation Needed': and a game called 'Two of These People Are Lying'. All of which I would thoroughly reccomend, they're one of my go to things when I'm having a rough time. All 4 of them are excellent! Tom Scott (red top, blue jeans on the picture) has his own YouTube channel which does content aside from TechDif. If you're quite nerdy and like science, linguistics, computers, or any number of other things you may enjoy Tom's channel. He is probably best described as "The Moderator" of the group, much like a tired teacher he tries desperately to keep everyone on track with what they're meant to be doing, but usually it does not end well for him. Then we have Matt Gray (space top, holding an ice cream) who also has a channel away from TechDif stuff, he does techy electronic things and has a series called 'Will it Soft Serve?' where he puts all kinds of strange things through a soft serve machine. Matt brings a very specific energy to TechDif and I can't fully describe what that vibe is but I love it. Matt and Tom also share a YouTube channel where TOTPAL is posted and they had a series called 'The Park Bench'. Moving on to everybody's favourite Gary Brannan: Gary Brannan (SATIRE hoodie, glasses) and can I just say, what a fella he is! He's just excellent! He is the one that will argue and rip into Tom the most (not in a malicious way) and hilarity ensues. There are some episodes where he is absolutely on it, getting all the points and others where he very clearly has no idea and that's where some of his funniest quotes come from. Given how badly I was doing at the time I made this, his response to it on Twitter was so so lovely. I specifically remember one tweet where he said I'd made him happy and although it was probably a flippant comment, it just made feel alright for a bit. Yeah I might be feeling awful right now, but I've made someone else happy so that's a nice feeling. Then last but certainly not least, we have Chris Joel (buffalo check shirt, beard)! I would be lying if I said he isn’t my favourite... His sense of humor is the one I vibe with most, he can get rather dramatic in parts and can chat bollocks like a champion. He has absolutely no online presence away from TechDif and, like Rens from Temples, I fully believe he’s a cryptid and lives off in a tree somewhere.

The picture took me about 4 days to complete, well 4 nights because I did most of it between the hours of 12 a.m. and 7a.m. - I remember watching the sun come through my window each morning. It’s made up of lots of little pieces, all cut out and stuck on; even the sky and hills are made of separate pieces of paper. Nothing was actually drawn on the piece of paper it’s all stuck on, it’s not how I usually do things but if I messed up one little but I could just redraw it rather than ruining the whole thing. The most tedious parts to make were Chris’ shirt because I had to draw each square individually and then join the as well, and cutting out the ban-hammer in the bottom right was surprisingly hard. Every single detail of the picture is a reference to the podcast/shows, I still have the plan sketch and reference list knocking about somewhere. I listened to a lot of true crime videos while making it to the point that certain parts remind me of different cases: the brandy now reminds me of Peter Tobin, and the big spiral thing reminds me of Tim McLean (very harrowing case) - sorry that fact is a bit morbid but interesting nonetheless.

I did post this for a little bit back in July, but I received some rather awful messages so I took it down. Generally, Tom Scott/TechDif fans are lovely but there’s been a few that have taken a disliking to me for some reason so I’m hoping they don’t resurface again. I’m in a better head space now though, so even if they do I’m more equipped to deal with it this time.

Hozier

This was a quick sketch I did in April, I was getting bored with lockdown and decided to summon the bog man himself. There’s not really much more backstory than that, no poor mental health story, no fun twitter story - he’s just here. He’s vibing. I will say I’m particularly proud of his nose, I just think it’s one of the best noses I’ve ever drawn. His hand is okay, but I think that the hands on my Conchúr drawings are better. So there is the Hozi-Boi...

The Corpse Bry

I’ve talked about Bry on here before as well, I love him, he’s excellent, top lad. He is a living Tim Burton character, he’s 6′6, very skinny, and his legs are longer than my will to live. I was watching ‘The Corpse Bride’ a few weeks ago and suddenly had an idea and so ‘The Corpse Bry’ came to be. I gave him a little panda friend because the panda has always been his animal - he used to wear a panda beanie all the time and his album had a panda on the cover. Again, there’s not really a fun story behind this one, I guess it’s somewhat fun because it’s the first art I made after finishing my psychology exams in October so it was nice to actually have the time to draw.

James Bagshaw

Ginger talking about Temples for the third post in a row? it’s more likely than you think! I did this one last week, I’d had a bit of a wobbly day and had group therapy on Teams in the evening and I just couldn’t concentrate on what was going on and I ended up doodling Mr James E. Bagshaw, the glitter crying fraggle man himself. It’s a bare-bones drawing that I could definitely work into more but I’m happy with it as it is to be honest. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit and add the individual bits of fringe to his jacket, just thinking about doing that makes me tired. Maybe I’ll get around to drawing the whole band at some point...

Alice in “Wonderland”

This one is from about 5(?) years ago, it’s not my typical style and was a “study” based on another artists work (basically i just had to copy this fellas work). I’ll be honest, this one has a sketchy backstory that I won’t go in to because it’s not exactly a nice one, and because of that I also won’t say who the artist is that it’s based on. Despite this, I’m still really proud of this one and I’m so sad that I never got this piece back after I got taken out the class. I’ve considered trying this style again, I’ve even joked about doing another Conchúr drawing in this style as a nod to my progression through GCSE art, eventually leading to Conchúr drawn in ink on music manuscript and stained with neon paint and dyes - it would be quite the project!

So this has been quite a lengthy post so apologies about that but life goes on. Similar to the vinyl post, I’ll probably add to this as and when I make more art. Even if no one is reading these posts, I’m enjoying making them so that’s the main thing. It’s just nice to document things and the feelings that go with them. 💕

~ Love Ginger xx

29/11/2020

26 notes · View notes

canadian-riddler · 4 years

Text

GLaDOS and Wheatley Did Nothing Wrong – Sort of

A recurring point of contention is the question of who engages in worse behaviour over the course of Portal 2, GLaDOS or Wheatley. The true answer is: neither of them. You can’t actually judge their behaviour along a scale of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ because of the way Aperture as an environment is set up. It’s mostly explained during the Old Aperture sections of Portal 2, but it’s also hinted at in Portal 1. The thing explained is this:

Aperture Laboratories does not and never has done its experiments within the normal boundaries of morality and ethics. Therefore, GLaDOS and Wheatley’s behaviour is neither wrong nor right because they don’t know what morality and ethics are. Their behaviour is actually a reflection of Cave Johnson’s own: to get what they want when they want it, no matter the cost.

How We Know Aperture is Immoral and Unethical

We know this because Cave Johnson himself points it out repeatedly.

“[…] You get the gel. Last poor son of a gun got blue paint. Hahaha. All joking aside, that did happen – broke every bone in his legs. Tragic. But informative. Or so I’m told.”

“For this next test, we put nanoparticles in the gel. In layman’s terms, that’s a billion little gizmos that are gonna travel into your bloodstream and pump experimental genes and RNA molecules and so forth into your tumours. Now, maybe you don’t have any tumours. Well, don’t worry. If you sat on a folding chair in the lobby and weren’t wearing lead underpants, we took care of that too.”

“All these science spheres are made out of asbestos. […] Good news is, the lab boys say the symptoms of asbestos poisoning show a median latency of forty-four point six years, so if you’re thirty or older, you’re laughing. Worst case scenario, you miss out on a few rounds of canasta, plus you forwarded the cause of science by three centuries. I punch those numbers into my calculator, it makes a happy face.”

“Bean counters said I couldn’t fire a man just for being in a wheelchair. Did it anyway. Ramps are expensive.”

That’s just some of what he says. Almost all of Cave Johnson’s lines point out how much he doesn’t care about his employees, his test subjects, or… anything but that people do what he tells them to do. He’s so unethical and immoral that he eventually says about his best, most loyal employee:

“[…] I will say this – and I’m gonna say it on tape so everybody hears it a hundred times a day: If I die before you people can pour me into a computer, I want Caroline to run this place. Now she’ll argue. She’ll say she can’t. She’s modest like that. But you make her.”

Cave Johnson cares so much about getting the results he wants, everything else be damned, he thinks Caroline saying ‘she can’t’ is her being modest. He can’t fathom why she would be against this decision, because he made it so of course that’s what she wants.

This situation actually gets a little horrifying when you look at what the Lab Rat comic means to the general narrative. In Portal 2, Doug Rattmann leaves this painting:

In this painting and the one preceding it, GLaDOS has no head, so we can guess that Doug was there in some capacity to witness Caroline’s fate because GLaDOS being headless would represent her not being ‘alive’, her being ‘incomplete’, or her just having never been used yet entirely. The important thing we learn from this painting is that there are living witnesses to Caroline being inside of GLaDOS, so the people working at Aperture after this event know they put a human woman into a supercomputer. In the preceding painting,

the cores are on the chassis before the head is. So either GLaDOS, the AI, was already ‘misbehaving’ and they were already regulating her behaviour, or Caroline, the person, was already ‘causing trouble’ beforehand and the scientists stood around thinking about how to force her to behave before they even put her in there. Either way, Aperture’s ethical and moral standards are pretty much nonexistent, so when this happens:

it’s almost comical. None of the Aperture scientists have a conscience or, if they do, they constantly ignore it, but they for some reason expect the supercomputer their immoral selves built to have one and to understand what that is and what it’s for.

All this taken into account, it’s incredibly easy to see why GLaDOS and Wheatley don’t care about anyone around them and all of their actions are solely for their own benefit. That’s how everyone in the history of Aperture has ever acted. Cave Johnson didn’t care about morality or ethics; they got in the way of what he considered to be progress. The people who built GLaDOS and Wheatley didn’t care about morality or ethics; they just wanted to hit their moon shot. Even Doug, who is framed as our morally conflicted lens throughout Lab Rat and knows that Caroline is inside of GLaDOS, still talks about controlling her and sends Chell to kill her even though everyone inside of the facility except him is already dead. How does he morally justify killing GLaDOS if he’s the only one left alive? He can’t. Doug Rattmann for some reason decides that GLaDOS killing everyone in the facility is worse than all the things Aperture has been doing throughout its entire history, including the fact that…

Everyone Who Goes Into the Test Chambers Dies

This is hinted at a few times in Portal 2:

“[…] I’m Cave Johnson, CEO of Aperture Science – you might know us as a vital participant of the 1968 Senate Hearings on missing astronauts. […] You might be asking yourself, ‘Cave, just how difficult are these tests? What was in that phone book of a contract I signed? Am I in danger? Let me answer those questions with a question: Who wants to make sixty dollars? Cash. […] Welcome to Aperture. You’re here because we want the best, and you’re it. Nope. Couldn’t keep a straight face.”

Now, when you exit the tests in Old Aperture there are lines that go with them, but we must consider a few other things: firstly, that the tests are clean. There is no sign of old gel on them, as though they have either never been used or never been completed. Secondly, the tests in Old Aperture were being done with the Portable Quantum Tunnelling Device, which was this thing:

which, taking into account the missing – not dead, not injured, but missing – astronauts, seems to have barely worked, if indeed it did at all. You can also find this sign:

which outright states that tons of people were ‘unexpected’ casualties. After the hearings, Aperture moved on to recruiting test subjects from populations that people were unlikely to notice if they went missing: the homeless, the mentally ill, seniors, and orphaned children. When that dried up, Cave moved onto the last group of people he hadn’t tapped yet:

“Since making test participation mandatory for all employees, the quality of our test subjects has risen dramatically. Employee retention, however, has not.”

This was because the employees were ‘voluntold’ to go into the testing tracks which, since they’d been supervising the tests for so long, knew were deadly and obviously did not want to do:

It’s not clear why the employees at Aperture chose to remain there instead of just quitting and finding another job, but the comment about employee retention plus the numerous posters threatening to have their job replaced by robots if they didn’t volunteer for testing tells us both that they did choose to remain and that the only reason for them not wanting to volunteer was because they knew it would kill them.

Most of the above is based on conjecture; however, we see something very interesting during Test Chambers 18 and 19 in Portal 1:

In the case of Test Chamber 18, the craters on the walls. None of the other test chambers have this, so it implies that not only does GLaDOS not control the test chambers at this point other than to reset them – which means that she isn’t purposely or maliciously killing anybody, but instead repeatedly operating a course set by her human supervisors – but that this one has never been solved. Test Chamber 19 is less a test than a conveyor belt into the incinerator for Aperture to dispose of all the bodies. GLaDOS even tells Chell to drop the portal gun off in an Equipment Recovery Annex that doesn’t exist, as though she’s giving a message that was intended for an actual final test that was never built because everyone was killed during or prior to Test Chamber 18. With this kind of context, GLaDOS’s blasé attitude about killing test subjects en masse both makes total sense and is somewhat justifiable – just not by any moral or ethical standard. In GLaDOS’s life, test subjects die during the experiments. That’s just how it is and has always been. She doesn’t know you aren’t ‘supposed’ to kill people because her literal job involves watching people die. Nothing matters except for the pursuit of progress, and in this vein GLaDOS’s behaviour is just an extension of that of the man who founded Aperture in the first place. Cave Johnson, as a presumably well-rounded, somewhat educated man, knows what morality and ethics are and chooses to ignore them because he thinks they’re stupid and he’s above that kind of thing; GLaDOS, a living supercomputer who has had every aspect of her life tightly controlled and regulated, knows morality and ethics as yet another arbitrary set of rules only she is supposed to follow without any explanation as to why and therefore her rejection of them is not as much of a ‘bad’ choice as it first appears, which brings us to the next section:

If GLaDOS’s Conscience Gives Her Morality, Does Deleting it Make Her a Bad Person?

Within the context we’re given… actually, no. Here’s why:

“The scientists were always hanging cores on me to regulate my behaviour. I’ve heard voices all my life. But now I hear the voice of a conscience, and it’s terrifying – because for the first time, it’s my voice. I’m being serious, I think there’s something really wrong with me.”

From the information we’re given here, we know this: GLaDOS has been told nonstop what to do for the entirety of her existence. She, in theory, got to have her own, solitary thoughts in the space between the wakeup scene and some point during her time in Old Aperture, which is a space of mere hours. Let me reiterate: GLaDOS has been told what to think for her whole life. She perhaps has a few free hours where she’s allowed to have her own thoughts. And then she develops a conscience. A voice that sounds like her, but isn’t saying anything she understands or has ever thought before. A voice that, actually, says a lot of the same things as that annoying Morality Core she managed to shut up. Now why would she wilfully be having the same kinds of thoughts as the humans forced her to have way back when? The conscience, to GLaDOS, isn’t a pathway to becoming a better person. It’s a different version of the same old accessory. When she says,

“You know, being Caroline taught me a valuable lesson. I thought you were my greatest enemy. When all along you were my best friend. The surge of emotion that shot through me when I saved your life taught me an even more valuable lesson: where Caroline lives in my brain.”

she is directly talking about the fact that, while this voice sounds like hers, listening to it makes her feel nothing. This further proves her theory that the conscience isn’t her, or hers, or has anything to do with her. She’s never had it explained to her what a conscience is or what it’s for or why she needs one, and she’s certainly never had a reason to think about why she would even want one; to her, this ‘Caroline’ is the Morality Core 2.0. A program built to regulate her behaviour. She’s tired of other peoples’ voices telling her what to think, so she does the logical thing: she gets rid of it. This decision can’t really be judged as ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ merely based on the situation we’re provided. She isn’t consciously and deliberately making the choice to be an immoral person; she’s actually consciously and deliberately making the choice to be her own person.

Where Does Wheatley Come In?

Wheatley has not been discussed up until now because, as AI, the reason for his lack of conscience and ethics is largely the same as GLaDOS’s. He, like her, cares about nothing but his own goals and doesn’t think twice about causing harm or misery because that’s just the kind of environment they were built in. We also know very little about his history, both because it’s not really mentioned and because Wheatley is an unreliable narrator. We can prove Wheatley has no sense of morals or ethics based on a few things he says:

[Upon seeing the trapped Oracle Turret] “Oh no… Yes, hello! No, we’re not stopping! Don’t make eye contact whatever you do… No thanks! We’re good! Appreciate it! Keep moving, keep moving…”

This heavily implies he’s met the Oracle Turret before, probably several times, and not only does it not occur to him to help, he actively treats the Turret like they’re a horrible, annoying nuisance.

[Upon passing functional turrets falling into disposal grinder] [Laughs] “There’s our handiwork. Shouldn’t laugh, really. They do feel pain. Of a sort. All simulated. But real enough for them, I suppose.”

Not only does he find the destruction of the functional turrets funny, he for some reason views their pain as simulated, as though his is real and theirs is fake. Or, in the spirit of Cave Johnson, as though his pain is important and theirs isn’t because they aren’t important.

“Oh! I’ve just had one idea, which is that I could pretend to her that I’ve captured you, and give you over and she’ll kill you, but I could go on… living. So, what’s your view on that?”

This doesn’t even need an explanation.

What gets interesting about Wheatley are, of course, his famous final lines:

“I wish I could take it all back. I honestly do. I honestly do wish I could take it all back. And not because I’m stranded in space. […] You know, if I was ever to see her again, you know what I’d say? I’d say, ‘I’m sorry’… sincerely, I’m sorry I was bossy… and monstrous… and… I am genuinely sorry. The end.”

Wheatley here takes responsibility for his behaviour in a way that no one else in the history of Aperture has ever done. Even GLaDOS rejects responsibility for her actions, instead choosing to blame everything on Chell:

“You know what my days used to be like? I just tested. Nobody murdered me. Or put me in a potato. Or fed me to birds. I had a pretty good life. And then you showed up. You dangerous, mute lunatic.”

The reason for this may be related to the fact that the lack of morality and ethics in the people of Aperture doesn’t actually have real consequences. Cave Johnson’s behaviour drives Aperture from a promising scientific powerhouse to a laughingstock, that’s true. But he still does what he wants and gets what he wants regardless. The one and only consequence to being immoral and unethical at Aperture is, in fact, death. In the case of GLaDOS… there are no consequences. Everything returns to the status quo. Wheatley, however, does have to face a consequence for his actions: he is trapped in space, possibly forever. He, unlike all the other characters, doesn’t have the privilege of waving aside everything he did and moving on with life. He is forced to consider his punishment, his actions and what they meant and the effect they had, and he on his own comes to the conclusion that he was wrong. In a bizarre twist, Wheatley is the only one who learns anything. He is also the only one in a position not to do anything with this newfound knowledge.

Morality and Ethics and Robots: Should They Even Be Held to Human Societal Standards?

In the end, it doesn’t really matter whether Wheatley or GLaDOS is worse than the other because ethics and morality are human concepts which are for a functioning human society. A robot society doesn’t really need moral rules like ‘killing people is wrong’ nor ethical guidelines such as ‘you should practice safe science’ because, as robots, there are no permanent, lasting consequences for these actions. A dead human stays dead. A dead robot that’s been lying outside for years getting rained on, snowed on, and baked in the sun? No problem. Turn her back on again. A guy broke all the bones in his legs during an unethical experiment? Bad. A robot that got smashed into pieces during an unethical experiment? Inconsequential, really, since you can just throw her into a machine and reassemble her good as new. So not only aren’t GLaDOS and Wheatley’s actions really immoral or unethical given the context… they really aren’t based on a theoretical robot society either. Being the perpetrator or the victim of immoral or unethical actions in humans causes permanent changes in the body and the brain, but nothing about AI is permanent. Their brains don’t generate new, personally harmful pathways in response to a traumatic event that necessitate years of hard work to combat; they can literally just get over it. If their chassis is damaged, they can simply move into a new one or have some or all of those parts inconsequentially replaced. There isn’t actually an honest reason for robots to have the same moral and ethical systems as humanity because they don’t need them. They would require different sets of rules and guidelines because they work differently. What would that kind of society look like? We don’t know, but as of the end of Portal 2 they have all the time in the world to figure it out.

#Wheatley #GLaDOS #Portal 2 #so says Indy #Portal #here is my essay

150 notes · View notes

stranger-who-writes-fiction · 4 years

Text

the one with my favorite martian

AKA: J’onn’s intro the CAK ‘verse

*insert itsbeeneightfouryears.gif here* ...

THEN

It's her first big story.

The article runs on the front page of the business section—under the fold, sure, but still fairly prominent. The bold, black text of the headline runs half the width of the page, as does the large candid photo that accompanies the write-up. Kara's certain that the photo accounts for at least 70% of the attention the article has received over the course of the current news cycle; it's perfect. A shot that walks the fine line between candid and staged, capturing an otherwise unremarkable lab space and about a dozen lab techs on the move, dynamic as they go about their routine tasks, but at the center?

Dr. Kimiyo Hoshi, effortlessly commanding the room, unflappable and somehow radiant, in spite of the terrible fluorescent lighting.

Kara makes sure to highlight it at every opportunity. As her coworkers drop by her desk, offer congratulations, give her hearty slaps on the back (that result in more than a few confused murmurings—geez, Kent, you got...a solid shoulder there) she points to the photo, and reminds them, a picture's worth a thousand words. A response that charms a few of the staff writers, but incenses Perry.

“It's a good article, Kent. Wouldn't have run it on the front of the section if it wasn't,” he says with an almost paternal huff of exasperation. “Stop deflecting and just say, 'thank you.'”

So Kara does, if only to keep peace with her boss. It bothers her, though, to be so firmly in the spotlight for any length of time. It pokes at a wounded part of her—whatever part might've been happy to receive accolades, and recognition, prior to arriving on an alien world where she could be hurt, where Kal could be hurt, if anyone ever got too close to them. To the real them.

It's only when she's back home with Martha, Jonathan, and Kal that the praise is not immediately met with a level of discomfort. Though, it is a little embarrassing.

“On the fridge? Really?” Kara laughs as she reaches for the milk carton.

“Well, she wanted to hang it up on the bulletin board at the rec center,” Jonathan tells her from his seat at the kitchen table. “I had to talk her down. Bribed her with brand new magnets.”

“Aren't they cute?” Martha smiles at the updated collection. Kara has to agree that yes, the little plastic fruits are cute.

Kal, at least, is less concerned with telling her how great the article is, and more concerned with how professional journalism works. He wants to know everything. The questions last well into the evening; all four of them end up staying up late, comfortably gathered in the living room. Kal's in his usual place, sprawled on the rug, Jonathan in the recliner, Martha and Kara on the couch. It's only when Jonathan starts snoring at an octave unpleasant for Kryptonian super-hearing that they decide to call it a night.

“Put out fresh sheets,” Jonathan tells her through a yawn as he makes his way up the stairs. Both Jonathan and Martha keep insisting that they're eventually going to get around to turning Kara's room into...something. (Guest room and/or office are the prevailing front runners, though 'craft room' and 'home gym' have also been tossed around, on occasion.) The only proof that they've made any sort of progress is the handful of boxes in the back of her closet, otherwise it remains unchanged.

“Thanks,” Kara says, as Kal trails close behind Jonathan. She's about to follow, when the phone rings in the kitchen.

Martha answers. Several seconds pass, and then, from the doorway,

“Kara? It's for you.”

Kara blinks in surprise; she has no idea who it could be. Not any of her coworkers—she's made a point not to mention her routine weekends trips back home—she'd never be able to explain where she gets the money for 'airfare.' And she doubts it's anyone from town—the median age in Smallville is about fifty, and therefore, almost everyone's in bed by eight.

She accepts the receiver from Martha, but not before raising her eyebrows, hoping she can provide some sort of guess as to who it is.

But Martha shakes her head; she doesn't know.

“...Hello?”

“Kara?”

It takes Kara a moment to place the voice, distorted as it is by the phone. “Dr. Hoshi!” she says, both by way of greeting, and in answer to Martha's questioning stare. “...Hi!”

“I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kara says as she leans against the wall. Martha offers a quick wave and mouths goodnight, which prompts Kara to glance at her wrist watch. “Er...uh. Well. It's a bit late, actually.”

“Oh! That's—sorry. I didn't even consider,” Dr. Hoshi says.

“It's fine,” Kara assures her, idly fiddling with the phone cord. “Just...unexpected?” she admits. “This actually isn't...” Kara pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much she wants to share. “...My primary number.”

“I know,” Dr. Hoshi says, “I used our tracking software to find you.”

Kara drops the phone cord. ...The mapping software can do that? A reflexive paranoia causes momentary chaos with her response time; she wants to stammer out some sort of reply, but she can only open her mouth, and close it. It's on maybe the third or forth guppy imitation when she hears a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “...That was a joke.”

The alarm bells in her mind cease their loud ringing. “Oh, ha,” Kara forces out her own chuckle. “A joke. Of course.”

“I tracked you down the old-fashioned way,” Dr. Hoshi explains. “I asked the receptionist at the Daily Planet for the best number to call.”

“And she gave you this one?” Kara asks, incredulous.

“No, she gave me five,” Dr. Hoshi laughs. “And I tried them all, several times. This is the first call to get through.” Kara can hear the smile in her voice as she adds, “You're a difficult woman to track down, Miss Kent.”

That's by design. “Oh, that's...I think I just need to update my contact information,” Kara lies. And, because it is late, and Kara's still recovering from that momentary scare, she's inclined to be a little more blunt than she might normally be, otherwise. “Was there something you needed?”

“Well, now it seems silly,” Dr. Hoshi says. “I just...” she trails off briefly. “Wanted to thank you. For your work on the article. I had a chance to sit down and read it today, and...” There's another pause. “It's very well done. Thank you.”

Kara's both relieved, and a little...underwhelmed? She'd almost been expecting the worst—that Dr. Hoshi was displeased with the article. Because why else call at this hour? But...a simple thank you? She probably could have left that with the receptionist at the Planet...

“Oh, uh...” Kara returns to fiddling with the phone cord. “You're welcome. But, really, I was just. Reporting the incredible work you're doing.” 'Stop deflecting, and just say thank you', she can hear Perry saying. “But, ah. Thank you. For the...thank you. Call.” She finishes awkwardly.

“I'm used to not being taken seriously by my peers,” Dr. Hoshi goes on like she hasn't heard Kara. “For a number of reasons, as I'm sure you can imagine, but. The work I'm doing certainly doesn't win me any favors.”

Kara frowns. “Your mapping software is the most advanced cataloging system of its kind,” she says. “The data you've been gathering should be proof of concept—”

Dr. Hoshi cuts her off with a laugh. “See, that's what I'm talking about. Your conviction. Your faith in the work we're doing here. You treat us with respect, and the same cannot always be said of my colleagues.” She sighs. “That is what I wanted to thank you for, Miss Kent.”

Kara is truly at a loss for words. She has to go back to, “You're...you're welcome.”

“I've kept you long enough, I think,” Dr. Hoshi says, and Kara's grateful, because she's not sure she'd be able to keep this conversation going. “And again, sorry about the late call.”

“It's no trouble, really.”

They exchange polite goodbyes, and Kara returns the receiver to its cradle, still processing the exchange.

As she turns off the kitchen light and heads upstairs, she reasons that maybe it's not that weird, this late night thank you call. She remembers her dad and her uncle, and how they would lose track of both time and social graces when wrapped up in a project.

And of course Dr. Hoshi would pick up on...how had she described it? Kara's conviction. Because Kara, for as cagey as she tries to be about some things, has a very hard time not wearing her passion on her sleeve. She's honestly surprised that Dr. Hoshi didn't ask her if she'd be interesting in donating to their funding, for as much apparent interest Kara has in their research.

She tries not to let this worry her as she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas. She's just finished putting the clean sheets on her bed, when she hears Kal.

“Who was on the phone?”

He's using their 'super secret cousin communication line'—basically whispering at a volume only the two of them can hear.

“The scientist from the article,” Kara answers, relieved to discover that he didn't resort to eavesdropping to satisfy his curiosity. “She just wanted to say thank you.”

“That's all? ...I figured it was some sort of emergency, cause it's so late.”

“I thought so too, but.” Kara flops down on her bed and closes her eyes. “Nope. Just a thank you.”

“She thinks you did a good job?”

“Seems so.”

“That's good. That she liked it.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“...”

“...Kara?”

“...”

“...Are you asleep?”

“...I'd like to be.”

“It was really just a thank you call?”

Kara sighs. “I think...she was just happy that I took her seriously. She liked that the article was respectful, of her and her work.”

“...Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because a lot of people think her work is...” Kara tries to find a good word. “...a waste of time.”

“I thought she made space maps.”

“Not that work.”

“Oh.” There's a lengthy stretch of silence. Kara thinks that perhaps Kal's finally out of questions, and she can get some sleep. But, “Well. What other work does she do?”

Kara stares at the ceiling. The paint and drywall fade away to reveal the dark night sky overhead.

“She wants to find aliens.”

* * *

NOW

The Grand Mesa SETI Installation isn't much to look at, squat and square as it is, surrounded by miles and miles of red dirt and scrub. The fifteen or so arrays aren't terribly impressive either—in fact, they have something of an eerie quality about them, occasionally shifting, intermittently whirring, all in a slow, synchronized dance.

Against the backdrop of the Arizona desert, it's all just a bit...alien.

Kara would laugh at the irony, if not for the pervading somber mood of the visit.

The interior of the facility is less off-putting than the exterior; no-nonsense linoleum, flat grey walls, plastic furniture left over from the mid-eighties. Kara wonders if the equipment, too, is as dated as the interior decorating, which only makes her frown deepen.

There's no one at the front desk. Kara takes a quick glance at the rest of the facility with her x-ray vision—there are a few blind spots, thanks to what she imagines is old, lead-based paint, but she can see that it's basically a skeleton crew; the bare minimum amount of techs to keep the place running.

Kara sighs quietly to herself as she hears the click of the door on the far side of the front desk.

“Oh, uh. Hi.” It's a man, perhaps in his forties, dressed casually and clearly surprised by her presence. “Um. Are you here to see somebody?”

Kara opens her mouth, but is cut off by the arrival of a second person breezing through the same door.

“She's here to see me,” Dr. Hoshi tells the man. He catches a glimpse of her expression—stony and displeased, and quickly excuses himself. “Hello, Miss Kent.”

She doesn't smile, but the displeasure softens marginally into something like annoyance. Kara marvels at how different this woman is, from the woman she'd written about in her article, years ago. She's still austere, with her sharply styled a-line bob and pristine oxford and slacks, but where there was once idealistic determination in her stern gaze, there is a brittleness; cold and fragile, like thin ice.

“Dr. Hoshi,” Kara greets. “It's been a while.”

“It has,” Dr. Hoshi agrees, but her tone is utterly flat. “But that's to be expected, I suppose. As you can see,” she gestures to the room around them, but it's obvious she means the entire facility. “I'm hardly a high-profile catch these days.”

“You alluded to as much, in your recent...” Accusation? Confession? “...Interview.”

“If you're here for proof,” Dr. Hoshi shakes her head. “I have nothing for you.”

“I know,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi's expression changes for the first time since they've started talking. Not much, though. Just a slight narrowing of her eyes, a barely perceptible twitch in her frown.

“Then why are you here?”

“Well,” Kara's relieved for the opportunity to drop the hardened reporter act, “you might not have proof, necessarily. But that doesn't mean there isn't a story here.” Dr. Hoshi looks like she's going to protest. “This is all off the record. I'm not on company time. Honest.” The other woman still regards her with suspicion.

“You came all the way out here, on your own time, just to talk...off the record?”

“I came 'all the way out here' to visit friends in California,” Kara corrects her. “This was on the way.”

Dr. Hoshi regards her for several long moments. Kara feels inclined to add, “I want to hear your side of this. Because...I think you deserve that chance.” She shrugs in what she hopes is a disarming manner. “And I'm just. Still a big fan of your work.”

This seems to be convincing enough for Dr. Hoshi to acquiesce to her presence. Not fully accept it, exactly. But. Tolerate it?

Which Kara can work with.

“Was doing,” Dr. Hoshi tells her, breezing past Kara and gesturing for her to follow. They enter a hallway off the main lobby and head deeper into the box-like building. Handcarts stacked high with half-packed boxes of broken and outdated instruments litter the spaces outside of large rooms that house the actual monitoring equipment: computers just as boxy and unremarkable as the cardboard boxes in the halls.

“This entire facility is obsolete,” Dr. Hoshi explains over her shoulder. “We're basically a glorified tax right-off.”

“They put you here to keep you quiet and out of the way,” Kara surmises. Dr. Hoshi nods.

“And I got tired of keeping quiet.”

Kara nods. She'd seen the 'tell-all' interview, an impassioned accusation on a local news channel that had stumbled its way on to the national news scene when a LexCorp lawyer happened to catch a rerun of the broadcast while holed up in a grimy motel off of 10. (Why a LexCorp lawyer was even in a grimy motel in Arizona in the first place was conveniently left out of the equation, no doubt thanks to LexCorp's not inconsiderable PR team.) Had the lawyer never seen the footage, it probably would've faded into obscurity. Some loony, local scientist claims big business stole her stuff.

Big whoop.

Dr. Hoshi flips on a light switch, and the dim set of fluorescent overhead lights are joined by a second set of equally dim fluorescence lights; these ones buzz louder, though.

“Do you think they'll fire you?” Kara asks, watching as Dr. Hoshi begins what looks like a routine check of the computers and recording apparatuses.

“No, not really,” she says with an air of grim acceptance. “It will be easier for them to blacklist me. I'll be forced to stay here, and they'll be able to keep an eye on me.” She pauses, and stares at the large arrays in the red expanse just outside of the building. There's a dull whine as they turn their large, concave faces to the east. Mechanized sunflowers, searching the starlight. “All these relics, constantly recording. And I'm the only thing here LexCorp cares about monitoring.” She says this quietly, more to herself than Kara.

Kara gives her a moment, not wanting to be rude as she gently continues her questions. “Do you know if LexCorp is using your technology currently? Do you know if they used it to track the Doomsday Event?”

“The Doomsday Event was a terrorist attack,” Dr. Hoshi parrots the widely-accepted official statement. Kara blinks, surprised to hear that line come from Dr. Hoshi.

“But what about Supergir—” Kara starts to say, only to swallow the rest of her sentence whole as Dr. Hoshi slowly turns.

“...What about Supergirl?” She asks, eyes narrowed. Kara frantically tries to think. She's only done a handful of interviews, and she can't remember. She can't remember...did she ever say it? Did she ever admit that she was an alien?

“I thought,” Kara clears her throat. “I thought she confirmed. That Doomsday was extraterrestrial.” She hopes Dr. Hoshi doesn't follow the news too closely; Kara never actually commented on the Doomsday Event.

“...Maybe she did,” Dr. Hoshi says with a shrug, turning her intense stare away from Kara. Kara breathes a little easier. “And maybe it was. But STAR Labs handled the autopsy, and they insist that whatever attacked Metropolis was human in origin. I know LexCorp tried to bully them into sharing access to their findings, but they were never successful.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because I did some of the bullying.” Dr. Hoshi says. Kara's eyes widen. “But it became clear to me that they weren't going to budge, so I backed off, and focused on my own work. LexCorp 'locked down' my research shortly thereafter. Maybe in retaliation, for failing to procure the STAR Labs files. Or maybe because they felt they were falling behind in the new space race, and my insistence that we should proceed slowly and carefully and follow the science was too much of a hindrance.”

Dr. Hoshi's voice rises slightly as she ends her statement; it's the most emotion Kara's seen from her since she arrived, even more than the quiet suspicion of LexCorp's spying.

“...I'm sorry,” Kara says. And she means it.

Dr. Hoshi must sense this, because she lets out a very long sigh, and even offers a smile. It still carries that brittle quality, though. “Thank you.”

They share a moment of mutual silence before Dr. Hoshi turns to inspect the last computer.

“So, no. LexCorp was not using my work, prior to the Doomsday event. But they're almost certainly using it now.” She leans in close to the screen, and types something on the keyboard. “Or, they're leasing it to the military. We'll probably never know for sure, though.” She squints, and types another command in on the keyboard. “Odd...”

“What's odd?” Kara asks, moving to stand closer to the computer. There's a lot of information on the screen, but Kara can't decipher it. It just looks like a lot of random numbers and letters.

“This computer tracks our data here against the information gathered at the sister installation, down in Brazil. There's a lag, but the systems generally keep in sync, which we use to make sure everything's up and running properly.”

“So if they fall out of sync—”

“Something's broken.”

“It's not just...picking up space radio waves?”

Dr. Hoshi chuckles. “No. See this collection of data here?” She points to a set of numbers on the screen. Kara nods. “It's essentially too strong to be from space. Something is physically affecting an array.”

“Here?”

“No, down in Brazil.” Dr. Hoshi moves to the other side of the lab and grabs a phone from one of the desks. Kara hears the dial tone, and then the rapid succession of key tones.

She plans on listening to the entire call, of course—all the while making a show of how very interesting this computer screen is—until the conversation lapses into Portuguese. Kara winces.

Mental note: Learn Portuguese.

Given the tone of the individual on the other end of the line, Kara gets the sense that something is wrong. Maybe not catastrophically wrong, but the other scientist is clearly distressed. Dr. Hoshi says something that Kara assumes is meant to be assuring before ending the call.

“I'm sorry, Miss Kent, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this visit short.”

Yes, we will. “That's okay, I understand,” Kara tells her as Dr. Hoshi leads her back into the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“There's some sort of...” Kara can see that the other woman is choosing her words carefully. “Mechanical problem, which means I get to look forward to a long evening of phone tag. Complete with international rates.” She smiles ruefully. “Another tax write-off for LexCorp.”

Dr. Hoshi apologizes again for the abrupt end to the visit, but Kara is quick to remind her that this was unplanned.

“Now we're even,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi blinks at her in confusion. “Um. From when you called me, back when the article...never mind.”

Dr. Hoshi is kind enough to ignore the awkward moment, and simply wishes her well on her visit to California.

“Are you driving?” Dr. Hoshi asks as Kara digs her car keys out of her purse. Kara heads for the parking lot.

“Just a rental,” she says, holding up the key fob and the bright yellow tag attached to it. “I'm heading to the airport.”

“Have a safe flight, then.” Dr. Hoshi says, and returns to squat brick building.

Kara drives back into town and returns the car to the rental agency. That part wasn't a lie. And technically speaking, she is going to fly.

She finds a secluded spot, behind some buildings on the edge of town, and tugs at her shirt, revealing the primary-colored costume beneath.

Up, up, and away.

* * *

The only similarity between the Grand Mesa and the Montanha Verde SETI installations are the collection of large arrays flanking the main buildings; while Grand Mesa's surrounded by a vast sea of parched, red earth, Montanha Verde lives up to its name, nestled atop a collection of vibrant green foothills, the arrays dotting the terraced slope of the mountainside just above.

As Kara touches down on one of the far hills, she takes a quick x-ray scan of the building and the immediate surrounding area, mentally tallying the number of people onsite.

There are more techs here than at the Grand Mesa facility; she hurriedly does the math. If it comes down to it, she can clear the entire site in two minutes. Depending on wind speed, anyway.

She's hoping that won't be the case. As it turns out, 'mechanical failure' means that one of the arrays is on fire, and threatening to topple into an adjacent array, which is troubling enough on its own. More troubling, is the potential for the arrays to tumble down the mountainside, right into the back corner of the main building.

Easy fix, she decides as she (literally) flies into action. She decides against freeze breath, not wanting to damage the arrays further. Instead she flies in a tight circle around the flames, creating a vortex that robs them of oxygen. The flames die down almost instantly; she does send a light breeze in the direction of the singed metal, just to cool it down.

Once she's certain the nearby vegetation won't catch fire again, she lands, and pulls the leaning array back into position. She welds a quick patch into place—hardly a permanent solution, but better than simply hoping the compromised array won't fall over.

Some of the techs want to rush over as soon as they see her finish with the spot weld, but she holds up her hands, stay back! They nod, and keep a safe distance.

“Thank you,” they all start to talk over one another as she approaches, and that's the only phrase she can 1.) pick out and 2.) understand.

She underlines her mental note. Learn Portuguese!!

“You're welcome. I'm—sorry, I don't,” now only a few of the techs are talking, realizing that she's a little overwhelmed. “I don't speak—”

“Verde, verde,” Kara hears.

“Verde? Right, Montanha Verde,” she points over to the building, hoping she's understood. But one of them—a man with dark hair greying at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard—shakes his head profusely.

“Verde monstro.”

“Green...monster?” Kara can't imagine that word meaning anything else. The man doesn't confirm if she's translated correctly; he points farther down the ridge, past the land cleared for the facility, where the cropped vegetation gives way to actual jungle.

It's both the last thing Kara expects—this was supposedly just a mechanical failure, after all—and yet somehow, terribly fitting. Of course a 'green monster' would be the source of mysterious troubles at a SETI facility.

“I'll check it out,” Kara tells them, hoping her tone and facial expression help get the meaning across. She takes off quickly, only to belatedly realize that perhaps it's not terribly wise, to charge into unfamiliar terrain.

It's not like there's anything on Earth that can hurt you, Kara reminds herself.

Still. She doesn't love the prospect of accidentally spooking a wild animal. She slows down and flies just above the canopy, keeping her eyes trained on the forest floor for any signs of...whatever tracks a green monster might make.

She keeps up the search for several hours, and tries not to think about the fact that this is a textbook case of needle in a haystack. She's not physically tired when she finally calls it quits, but it's getting dark; the search is only going to become more and more difficult as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

She spots a clearing and drops into a quick landing, intent on checking the wristwatch she keeps in her cape pocket while there's still enough light to see. It's set to Metropolis time, and she's somewhere west of Belem, but what is that in terms of longitude—?

Kara doesn't notice it at first. Or, she does notice it, but it doesn't register until it's almost too late—she mentally cataloged it as just. Typical forest sounds.

But there's a pattern. A rhythm.

Footsteps.

Kara whirls and her heat vision goes off without conscious thought—just a bright beam of blue that shoots in whatever direction she's looking. A half-fallen tree branch bursts into flames.

“Argh!”

The yell isn't Kara's—a tall, something. Man? Stumbles back, away from the flame, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

Kara sends a gust of cold air on the flames, not wanting to create an international incident. Superhero Burns Down Amazon Rainforest by Accident is a headline Kara would very much like to avoid.

The man continues his frenzied retreat from the flames, only to stumble over a large exposed root. He lands on his back, hard.

“Please,” he says in a voice that is distinctly not human. “Please, do not kill me.”

He drops his arms, revealing his face. Green skin and bright red eyes.

Verde monstro.

Except, no. Not a monster. Not a monster at all; frightened and confused lab techs had, perhaps understandably, seen something unfamiliar, something monstrous among the flames. But Kara is not frightened and confused. Startled, maybe, but otherwise able to see how scared he is. She can hear it.

“I'm not going to kill you,” she tells him, holding out her hands in an open, non-threatening gesture. “I'm sorry about my—about the fire,” she apologizes. “That happens sometimes. When I'm scared.”

She doesn't move forward at all—she doesn't want to do anything that could be perceived as aggression. She lets him set the pace of this...encounter? Exchange? Whatever this is.

He uses the opportunity to climb to his feet, all the while keeping a close eye on her. He remains tense, arms bent in a defensive position.

“I'm—” Kara knows she should say Supergirl, but what comes out instead is, “Kara Zor-El. I'm here to help.”

He says nothing. They continue to stare at one another for a very long time.

After a small eternity, he finally speaks.

“My name is J'onn J'onzz,” he says. “And I don't think you can.”

* * *

Kara starts a fire—deliberately, and safely, this time—and invites J'onn to take a seat.

He does take a seat. About ten feet away from the flames.

“...You don't want to sit closer?” Kara asks. It's possible he's impervious to extreme temperatures, like her and Kal, but. If he sits closer to the light at least, the conversation might be a little less...spooky.

(Because, as much as Kara hates to admit it, she can understand why the lab techs were scared; J'onn's face is comprised of hard angles, and a long, ovular cranium. Not unlike the shape humans ascribe to the stereotypical 'Gray' aliens supposedly found at Roswell. But, more so than the harsh angles and green skin, Kara thinks perhaps they were mostly reacting to the glowing red eyes.)

“No,” J'onn says simply.

Kara nods. “Okay.”

Another small eternity passes. And then,

“My planet...burned to death.”

Kara stares at him across the flames, watching the shadows shift over his face as he pointedly turns away from the fire.

A heavy sadness settle in her chest.

“You're a refugee,” she says.

J'onn doesn't look at her. He keeps his face turned away. “Someone who is forced to leave their home to escape war, persecution, or a natural disaster,” he recites the definition. “Yes. I am.”

Kara takes a deep breath, reflexively reaching for the edge of her cape, to run her fingers of the corner. An outlet for her pent-up emotions. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Did...did anyone else escape?”

“I am the last.”

Tears spring to Kara's eyes, the words landing on all the broken bits, the still-healing bits that she buries down deep inside. They press down hard and cause her to let out a watery chuckle, which J'onn probably thinks is extremely rude.

But he must see the glint of the firelight reflecting off her tears, because his expression is one of confusion, not outrage. And Kara then explains,

“Same, actually.”

The confusion lingers only a moment longer, before understanding sets in. He nods.

And then, slowly, he stands.

Kara watches, a little confused herself, until she sees him skirt the edge of the clearing, and come to sit fractionally closer to her. Still quite far from the flames, but. Most definitely closer.

“I'm...sorry.”

She wipes at her tears and takes a steadying breath. “Me too.”

* * *

It's weird. Not a bad weird, but certainly some kind of weird—two complete strangers sharing stories of lost home worlds around a campfire, somewhere at the edge of the Amazon Rainforest.

Kara can't remember which one of them started it. She thinks maybe it was J'onn who got the ball rolling, telling her a little bit about Mars. Not much; there was still a guarded element to his demeanor, and Kara would eventually come to understand that wariness was borne of having spent so long on Earth hiding. Decades to her fifteen or so odd years.

And then she started talking about Krypton. Really talking about Krypton. The blemished, imperfect Krypton that Kara had, perhaps a bit unintentionally, scrubbed clean for Kal's bedtime stories.

Talking with Kal...it was just stories. Because all he knew was Earth.

Talking with J'onn—he knew. He'd had friends, family, a daily routine. Favorite foods that could never be replicated, because the ingredients no longer existed.

“That's why I wanted Dr. Hoshi's work to succeed,” Kara finds herself explaining, as the conversation inevitably turns to how they both came to be in Brazil in the first place. “I mean. Obviously, it's going to be...a long time, before Earth reaches the point where they have the technology necessary for intergalactic communication, let alone travel, but...” she purses her lips, and stares into the flames. “I'd like to think that someday, aliens will just be a fact of life. And then...maybe...” she sighs. “Maybe. We won't have to hide.”

She can see J'onn shift in her peripheral vision.

“That is where we differ,” he says. “I've been on this planet a very long time. I don't think we'll ever be able to stop hiding.”

Kara wants to argue the point, but J'onn continues, “There's a group that's been following me. Hunting me. I don't know how they're managing to track me.” J'onn looks off in the direction of the SETI facility. “I...overheard, that they were planning to make use of facilities like the one on that mountain ridge. If not to track us on this planet, then to track those like us before they even arrive.”

“Is that...” Kara swallows. “Why you...”

“I didn't want to injure anyone, I only wanted to disable their tools.” J'onn tells her, and Kara can't help that her first thought is one of stern judgement, that he's basically admitted to destroying private property, and by extension, potentially endangering all those people. “But I miscalculated, and the dish caught fire.” He takes a breath. “So I ran.”

“I...I understand your...” Kara doesn't think concern is the right word to use. “...Fear. I do. Really.” And she does. It's now, in her adulthood, that she's recognizing that it was not normal or healthy, for a thirteen-year-old to live with the constant background radiation of worry that a shadowy government organization could come snatch her or Kal at any time, with no warning or consequence. “But we can't just assume that everyone—that they're all like the group that's—” hunting, stalking, preying, “following you.”

“You have not encountered these people,” Kara can see that J'onn is making an effort to respond calmly. His shoulders tense, and his hands curl into fists. “You do not understand.”

It's a sobering reminder, one that Kara doesn't counter, even though she'd really like to. As alike as they are, they've also led very, very different lives. Kara has to respect that.

“You're right,” is what she decides to go with. “I'll never fully understand, and I'm sorry, for everything you've had to endure.”

“...Thank you.”

* * *

WHUP, WHUP, WHUP.

Kara grumbles in irritation. Her apartment building is 'centrally located, close to public transit, ideal for commuters,' which is realtor speak for: overlooks the elevated train tracks of the city's metro system on one side, and the approach to the Monarch Bridge on the other. So if it's not the sound of the yellow line waking her in the morning, it's the sound of a traffic copter, covering rush hour.

She reaches for her quilt, intent on burrowing beneath the covers to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep.

The quilt feels. Weirdly like her cape? That's—

She's awake in an instant, as the sounds of the helicopter become impossibly loud and close. She's not in her apartment; she's in Brazil—her and J'onn had talked so long, that she ended up deciding to simply catch an hour or so of sleep before heading back to the states, just before dawn. J'onn had offered to stick around and keep watch, 'just in case.'

Kara thought it was both courteous and maybe a little unnecessary at the time.

Boy, does she feel foolish.

“It's them,” J'onn says in a strained voice, eyes trained on the sky. “I have to go.”

He's already turning to head deeper into the jungle. Kara jumps to her feet, shaking off leaves and dirt.

“Wait, wait, there has to be...something we can do—” Kara says, rushing after him, but as she says it, she thinks, what? What can we do? Talk to them? Fight them? She's not even sure who this 'them' is. She's only heard J'onns vague accounts of their various encounters, and she gets the sense that he doesn't really know who they are, either.

“Don't involve yourself in this,” J'onn says, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. “You're fortunate, you look like them. You have a life to go back to.” The words are painful to hear, but probably even more painful for J'onn to say, and they aren't untrue. “So, go.”

But Kara won't. She can't.

“Let me help you, at least,” Kara insists, reaching out to try and touch J'onn's shoulder. The movement makes him turn, causing him to slow.

There's a sharp Crack! followed by a terrible sound of wet impact. J'onn grunts, and falls to his knees.

“J'onn!” Kara cries out in concern, stooping to support him before he falls forward completely. A figure emerges from the dense brush and trees.

“Supergirl, what an unexpected surprise.” Kara looks up to see a black man dressed in camouflage fatigues, holding a semi-automatic weapon. The tag above his left breast pocket reads: H. Henshaw. “Didn't know you were hunting this monster as well.”

J'onn lets out another pained grunt. Kara helps him to apply pressure on the wound on his abdomen. “Do I know you?”

“No, but we know you,” Henshaw says with a terrible grin. “It's our business, to know all about our...” he pauses, and brings up his gun to train the sight on J'onn. “Strange visitors, from other planets.”

Kara positions herself between Henshaw and J'onn. “Are you CIA? Military?”

“I'm afraid that's classified information,” Henshaw says. “Move.”

“I'm not going to let you kill him,” Kara says fiercely.

“Careful, Supergirl,” Henshaw growls, tightening his grip on his gun. “So early in your career...do you really want to make yourself an enemy of the state?”

Kara doesn't know how to respond; she's desperately trying to think through this. Trying to see all the angles, all the potential consequences, instead of rushing in. (As she's prone to do.) But she can hear J'onn's labored breathing, her attention thus divided, her mind running in too many different directions.

Henshaw must mistake her hesitation for defiance. “Alright, let's try something else. Move, or I'll have a group of agents at that quaint little farm of yours faster than you can blink.”

Kara can't stop the strangled choking noise that works its way out of her mouth—no, no, she was so careful, she'd always been so careful...

You never should have become Supergirl, she thinks, but then, as she continues to stare, wide-eyed at Henshaw's face, she has a horrifying realization that he looks familiar. She's seen him before. Somewhere. Some--

A memory. Smallville. Shortly after her and Kal had landed, going into town with Martha, having pancakes at the diner before finishing their errands...

A couple of guys in suits at the far end of the restaurant. She caught their eyes a few time, but thought it was a fluke. An awkward, accidentally moment of eye contact.

But it wasn't. It wasn't a fluke, it wasn't an accident, they had found them. They'd known all along. But how?! She thinks, borderline hysterical. How had they evaded her detection? She has super-hearing! She can see through walls!

It's a struggle to simply breathe through the panic and processing; she doesn't notice as Henshaw loads a new cartridge into his gun—one that gives off a subtle glow in the milky, pre-dawn light.

He's about to fire, but there's a roar from behind Kara.

“Wha—no!” Henshaw yells as J'onn barrels into him. They both tumble further into the trees. Kara forces her mind to stop spinning in frenzied circles long enough to clamber unsteadily to her feet. They've known, they've always known—

Focus! She tells herself, and charges after the two men. She can hear them before she sees them, the grunting, the struggling, another gunshot.

Someone yells—Henshaw. But the yelling fades, like he's—

She's spotted them now. She surges forward through a tight knot of trees. J'onn is slumped at the edge of a cliff.

Henshaw is not with him.

“He...he went over, I wasn't—” J'onn tries to say, but he's breathing heavily, and still clutching his side. “—Not strong enough, not fast enough to pull him back—”

He passes out, at that point. She approaches the edge of the cliff, just enough to see that it's...a very long way down.

She presses the back of her fist to her mouth, eyebrows drawing together in distress as she imagines the fall. She proceeds no further. There's no need.

Instead, she picks J'onn up as gently as she can, and extends her hearing as far as it will go. The helicopter has landed a few miles to the south, and she can hear two separate scouting parties.

They need to leave.

They also need to...figure out what to do about these people, the ones who have been following J'onn, and apparently Kara as well.

...One crisis at a time, Kara decides.

She takes off, her speed probably more than a little reckless, but she needs to get J'onn help. And fast.

...She just hopes that the Danvers know as much about patching up Martians as they do about patching up Kryptonians.

* * *

Alex usually isn't allowed to have a second juice box, but she takes her chances asking mom if it would be okay. After all, Kara is visiting, and when Kara visits, sometimes the rules change a little bit.

Like getting a second juice box.

(She checks to see if any of the grown-ups are looking, before quickly grabbing a third juice box that she stuffs under her sweatshirt.)

She makes sure to close the refrigerator before hurrying past the dining room, where Kara and her parents are. They don't notice her, which is okay—they're really busy talking.

So she continues on her way to the family room. It's a little messier than normal, and for once, it isn't because Alex has forgotten to clean up her toys. Instead, there are Band-Aids and stuff all over. She's careful not to disturb anything—it's all stuff that only the grown-ups are allowed to use, and she's already sneaking juice boxes, so. Best not to break any more rules.

She settles herself on the couch, fluffing a pillow, and getting comfortable before she turns her attention to her juice box. She pulls off the straw and bites through the plastic wrapper.

The big green man that Kara brought with her stirs at the other end of the couch.

“Wanna juice box?” Alex asks, removing the super-secret extra one from under her sweatshirt. “It's fruit punch.”

The big green man blinks at her with his glowing red eyes. Christmas colors, Alex thinks.

“Fruit...punch?”

“It's really good,” Alex explains. “Because it has all the fruits. Together.”

She offers it to him. He looks at it for a second, before reaching out to take it.

“...Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Alex says. She starts on her own juice box, then realizes the green man is still staring at his. “Oh. You gotta—” Alex reaches over and pulls off the straw to hand it to him. He takes it, but he stares at that too. So she reaches over again and takes the straw, slamming it on the coffee table to get it to pop up out of the plastic.

She sets the wrapper off to the side, and gives him the straw once more. “Now poke it through the silver dot.” She points to the top of the juice box.

The green man follows her instructions. The straw slides into place. “Yeah. Like that.”

She watches as he takes a hesitant sip. The juice box trembles a little in his grip, but that's probably because he was hurt earlier, and is still getting better.

“It is...very good.” He says after several more sips. Alex smiles.

“Toldja.”

They sit side by side, enjoying their juice boxes in companionable silence. As Alex finishes her own, the cardboard crumpling as she noisily slurps the last fruity drops, she says, “My name's Alex.”

“I'm J'onn J'onzz,” the man says.

“Are you from Krypton, like Kara?”

“...No...I'm from Mars.”

“Oh.” Alex nods. “Okay.” She looks down at her hands, and counts on her fingers. “My...very...educated...mother...” She looks up. “That's right next to Earth!” she smiles. “Like a next-door neighbor.”

“...Yes,” J'onn agrees.

She looks over to see that he's finished his juice box, too. “Want another one? Mom will probably say it's okay, because you're sick.”

J'onn regards his empty juice box. “Would it also be...fruit punch?”

“Yeah.”

“...Then yes, please.” He gives her a small smile. “I would like another juice box.”

* * *

It takes J'onn two days to recover. It's mostly thanks to his own healing ability—Eliza and Jeremiah do as much as they can for him, but their resources are limited.

So, he spends the two days sleeping in their guest bedroom. Kara spends those two days thanking Eliza and Jeremiah profusely.

“I owe you guys,” she tells them.

“You can pay us back in juice boxes,” Jeremiah says.

J'onn is up and about by day three, and pretty much immediately insists on leaving.

“I'm a danger to you all, staying here.” The Danvers try to reassure him that, it's fine, that he doesn't need to feel like he has to flee into the night.

But. Kara had told them. About the man, Henshaw, and what he had revealed to her, when he'd cornered them in the jungle.

“They probably know about you, too,” Kara admits with a grim expression. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Eliza says with a firm shake of her head. “We were well aware of the risks, when you came to us after the Doomsday Event.”

“But J'onn's right,” Kara says. “It's dangerous—”

“Then it's a good thing we've got a Kryptonian on speed-dial,” Jeremiah interrupts with a grin.

“Still, I understand why he's anxious to go,” Eliza concedes. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Kara admits she isn't sure, and is determined to find out. Which is how she finds herself in the Danvers' backyard, joining J'onn in quietly admiring the sunset.

“I've never been able to just,” he takes a long, deep breath. “Enjoy this planet.”

Kara nods in somber understanding. But then adds, “One of the things Earth has going for it,” she smiles. “It's beautiful.”

“It is.”

Encouraged by his agreement, Kara continues, “And a lot of the people on this planet...are really wonderful too.”

She braces for an argument. But,instead, J'onn looks down at his hand, and Kara realizes he's holding a juice box.

“I still have a hard time believing that,” he says. “...But I would like to try.”

She nods again. “The Danvers want to help,” Kara tells him, crossing her arms over her shirt. She's not in costume. Standing next to J'onn, though, with his regal blue cape and dark, armored suit, she feels under dressed. “We all want to help. However we can.”

“That group...I think they're called the D.E.O.”

Kara frowns. “How do you know that?”

“I heard one of the other agents,” he says, which Kara finds strange. She'd heard the agents too, but they'd mostly just been whispering commands and confirming locations, entirely in code; she hadn't heard any of them openly discussing specifics.

But then, maybe he meant he'd heard it during one of their earlier encounters.

“They'll be looking for Henshaw.”

She turns away from him. “There's no way he survived that fall,” she says in a low voice, trying not to think of the man's grizzly fate. She's still horrified by what Henshaw told her, and she got the impression that the man took a sickening glee in the prospect of killing J'onn—and possibly any alien they deemed 'too powerful' to conceivably coexist with humanity in peace. But still. It was a gruesome end, one Kara wouldn't wish on anyone.

“I'm going to take his place,” J'onn says suddenly.

Kara starts. “What?”

She turns back to face him and he's—something's happening. There's a red glow that envelopes his entire body, and J'onn's face fades away, replaced by the face of Hank Henshaw.

Kara gapes.

“I've thought about this,” he says, “If Henshaw is listed as 'MIA', or worse, it they find and identify his remains at the bottom of that ravine, they'll intensify their search, maybe even respond more harshly to perceived 'threats'.

“But if I take his place...I can divert their entire operation. Change it from the inside.” Kara's trying to focus on his plan, because, as wild as it is, it's...admittedly a very good one. It would potentially solve...a lot of problems.

...But she's silently freaking-out, just a little. J'onn just—dead! Dead guy! Dead guy, standing here, talking to me! “I can make it safer on this planet, for people like us.”

“That's—you—” Kara shakes her head. “You can shapeshift???”

J'onn smiles.

“I can also read minds.”

* * *

“—and she didn't come back, but satellite imagery suggests she left Brazil alive, with an injured civilian. They entered U.S. airspace that morning.”

“...I see.”

“Did you get the reports on the array? The damage was surprisingly minimal.”

“...I did get the reports, but I still need to look them over.” She ends the conversation abruptly, knowing she'll have to apologize to Dr. Silva later.

But she doesn't really care.

Because how was it, that within hours—hours—of speaking off the record with Kara Kent about an incident at the Montanha Verde installation, Supergirl arrived at that very same location, without any explanation as to how she knew they were in trouble, how she even knew where to go?

The obvious explanation is that Kara leaked the story to someone with connections to Supergirl. Or maybe Kara herself was in contact with the superhero.

Or.

Dr. Hoshi retreats to her office. A sparse room consisting of a desk, a chair, and a meticulously organized bookshelf. It's free of any personal touches—Kimiyo remembers feeling like it would have been admitting defeat, to settle down here. To invest in the lie LexCorp was building, about her. Her career.

Normally, the sight of the office simply depresses her. Now?

She finds herself growing angry.

She sits at the desk, and thinks. Kara Kent had always been so invested in their work. Kara Kent had come here, unannounced, and had basically received a VIP tour, getting an up-close look at their monitoring equipment. (However rudimentary and obsolete it may be.)

And there was that business about the Doomsday Event. And Supergirl.

Supergirl...who went to help with the damaged array. The damaged array that Kimiyo had specifically mentioned.

To Kara Kent.

...A crazy theory, she decides. But then, how many widely accepted scientific truths began as mere crazy theories?

She just has to test it.

But to test a crazy theory, you need funding. And resources.

She looks around the small, bleak office.

She reaches for the phone on her desk. Dials a familiar number.

The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Kimiyo, hello. What a pleasant surprise,” the greeting is not delivered with any sort of sincerity. “Has E.T. phoned home yet?”

Kimiyo refuses to dignify the stupid joke with a response. “I want out of here, Lex.”

“You're welcome to tender your resignation at any time.”

“I know how we can get back at STAR Labs,” Kimiyo says.

The line goes quiet for a time.

“I'm listening.”

“It's just a theory, at this point. I'd need to test it...I'd need—”

“Access to your research? Your old lab?” his tone is mocking.

“And money.”

“Natch.”

“You wanted Doomsday, right?”

“...You have something on Doomsday?”

“No,” Kimiyo admits, and Lex makes an irritated noise. “...I might have something on Supergirl.”

She waits for his response.

There's a chuckle. A laugh. A guffaw, and she's certain she's blown her chance at redemption, that she's destroyed her career for a record second time in the space of three years.

But then he speaks.

“That's even better.”

Dr. Hoshi takes a steadying breath.

“So we have a deal?”

Lex Luthor laughs, in a manner most unsettling.

“Oh, yes.”

* * *

NOTES:

- I generally try to keep the notes to a minimum but THIS ONE’S GONNA NEED SOME EXPLANATION - It took me forever to decide on when J’onn appears in the CAK universe. I had initially planned on just using the date and circumstances from the show, essentially replacing Jeremiah with Kara. - Buuuuuut that would mean J’onn would arrive when Alex was a teenager, and the thought of Smol Alex inspiring J’onn to have faith in humanity was. Too compelling of a notion to pass up. XD - So this kind of contradicts events in ‘the one where alex saves the world’ but those inconsistencies can be handwaved away with: Alex wasn’t aware that her cool Martian friend she met One Time is the same guy as Kara’s grumpy colleague from the DEO. - TIMELINE CHECK: This takes place before, and then after ‘the one with the beginning’ (AKA the Doomsday one.) - As always: the science is just pure made-up nonsense, cobbled together from light Googling and my vague recollections of Contact. - Kara finds J’onn in Brazil as opposed to Peru because I definitely misremembered episode 1x17. - And SPEAKING OF, if the whole trip seems contrived and like it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer plot/mystery, that’s because it was, but I lost the notes to what I had initially planned.

#stranger writes #supergirl fic #cool aunt kara AU #CAK AU #J'onn J'onzz #kara danvers #alex danvers #j'onn and kara centric #long post

20 notes · View notes

belacoded · 4 years

Text

I finally got this prompt finished, and I gotta say, I had a lot of fun writing it! I am sorry it took so long, though, I don’t have as much time as I would like.

So, without further ado, here is “You're the bastard who keeps parking right in front of my house so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me, with Destiel.” For @slightly-mad-hatter

Read here or on ao3

~*~

Living in a middle- to lower-class neighborhood definitely had its drawbacks, and, at the moment, Castiel was positive that the biggest one was the lack of any proper driveways, forcing him and his neighbors to park along the side of the street.

All he wanted to do was park his car so he could go inside and sleep after a long day of classes, and then dealing with his insufferable coworkers and even worse customers, but someone was parked in the space in front of his house.

Again.

Castiel had had enough of it. Didn’t these people have their own house to park in front of? It was bad enough that his family was so big that most of his siblings had to park in the yard, but now that he was the oldest and one of the only ones still living at home that could drive, one of his neighbors just had to take the only space left. Not only that, but Castiel knew exactly who it was that had parked in his space: Dean Winchester, the bane of Castiel’s existence.

You see, Dean and Cas were both seniors in the local high school, Sioux Falls High, and while the two had classes together and occasionally had to talk to each other, they never really had much contact with each other outside of classes. Dean was popular and somehow made his way into an assortment of friend groups: the jocks, the nerds, the punks, the gays, the band geeks… he was friends with basically the entire school.

Don’t get him wrong, though, Castiel was the same way. He just tended to avoid talking to certain people when Dean was there because something about that boy just…

The point is, Castiel didn’t like Dean. And now, Dean had finally given him a somewhat-legitimate excuse to act on his dislike for the other boy.

Not wanting to waste any time, Cas pulled beaten-up car alongside Dean’s, parked it, and got out with his keys in hand, his thoughts running a mile a minute. He walked around the car to the driver’s side of Dean’s car and pressed his key into the door, dragging it across the side and leaving a long, satisfying mark in the paint.

And then the door to the backseat opened and none other than Dean Winchester climbed out of the car, fury written all over his face.

“Did you just do what I think you just did?” Dean asked, his voice deeper and fiercer than Castiel had ever heard it in class.

There was no denying it, the evidence of Castiel’s actions was clearly there as a mark in Dean’s car and the keys still gripped in Cas’ hand.

“Yep,” Castiel said, feeling much more confident than he probably should. Cas wasn’t weak by any means, but he also wasn’t the quarterback, the number one wrestler in the state, and a lacrosse player. Dean, on the other hand, was, which meant he could probably take Cas down without a second thought.

Dean locked his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest before inspecting the damage Cas had done. He ran a finger along the clear line and then opened the door to the backseat again.

“Whatever,” Dean said as he climbed back into the backseat.

Cas was beyond shocked. If he knew one thing about Dean Winchester it was that you do not under any circumstances harm his car or there would be hell to pay.

Maybe the long day had set off Castiel's desire to get into a fight, but he wasn't quite sure why he decided not to drop it and knocked on the window to Dean's car.

Through the window Castiel could clearly see Dean roll his eyes as he sat back up and opened the door again to face Castiel from his seat.

“What?” Dean asked, clearly annoyed.

“Why are you sleeping in your car?” Cas ended up asking rather than progressing the fight. This is why he hated Dean: the boy made his emotions switch so quickly Cas could barely keep track of them.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel. “Why did you key my car?” he asked in retaliation.

“You parked in my spot,” Cas said easily, then he repeated, “Why are you sleeping in your car?”

“This isn’t your spot, we don’t have spots. I don’t recall anyone having to pay for a designated parking space and I sure as hell don’t recall seeing your name on it,” said Dean, still avoiding the question.

“It’s in front of my house, therefore, my parking space. Why are you sleeping in your car?”

“God, Cas, why do you even care?” Dean asked with a roll of his eyes, but Castiel was having none of Dean’s deflections and just continued to stare at him expectantly. “It’s because it’s easier to just sleep out here than it is to try sneaking inside in the middle of the night and risk waking my parents.”

“It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, and you’re sleeping in your car because you don’t want to sneak in in the middle of the night?”

Dean rolled his eyes—again, it was starting to become a regular occurrence in this conversation—and flipped Castiel off. “Yep. Now leave me alone, I’d like to get some sleep.”

With that, Dean shut his car door again and laid back down. He didn’t open the door again, even when Cas knocked, so Cas was forced to park in his yard, but he supposed that was his punishment for keying Dean Winchester’s precious car.

~*~

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Cas’ eyes widened in shock and a hint of fear when he looked up from finishing his AP Calc homework last minute to find Dean standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” Cas asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what Dean was talking about.

“I’ve changed my mind. I wasn’t thinking clearly last night. I want you to pay to fix my car,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes, for some reason once again determined to get into a fight. “You already said I don’t have to do anything. I feel like you shouldn’t be able to change your mind like that.”

“This isn’t some drama show, Castiel, just give me the money for my car and I’ll call it even,” said Dean.

“No, no. I specifically remember you saying it was ‘whatever’ and I still don’t think you should be able to change your mind about that kinda thing. It would be like calling someone innocent and then later deciding you ‘changed your mind’—” Cas put air quotes around the words “—and declare them guilty. It doesn’t work like that. So, no, I’m not paying.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, his jaw clenched, then turned and stalked off to his own seat.

Somehow Cas knew that that was not the end of this conversation.

~*~

Of course, he was right. He just didn’t expect the conversation to continue with his older brother Michael also in the conversation.

“And I’m saying that you are paying for it!” Michael said, crossing his arms and fixing Castiel with a stern look.

“How do you even expect me to pay for it when I don’t have a job?” Cas asked, an equally stubborn look on his face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have keyed my car, then,” Dean offered from where he was standing along the wall of Castiel’s kitchen.

Cas couldn’t help the childish instinct to stick his tongue out at Dean, so he did. What was surprising was that Dean stuck his tongue out right back.

“Children,” Michael muttered with a roll of his eyes. “You’ll have to get a job then. Or make a compromise. Dean, you work at your uncle’s auto shop, correct?”

Dean’s eyes widened at the conversation suddenly being directed to him. “Uh, yeah, why?”

Castiel had a feeling he already knew where this was going and he was having none of it. “No. Anything but that. I’ll get a job at the diner or something. Just not this.”

“It’s up to Dean, it is his car you’re paying to fix,” Michael said, turning to Dean for a response.

“What’s going on? What are you suggesting?” Dean asked.

“He wants me to work in the auto shop, probably fixing your car,” Cas replied.

Dean pursed his lips for a moment as if contemplating his decision. “I think you should help me fix my car,” he finally said, and Cas groaned and leaned forward to lay his head on the counter in front of him.

“It’s settled then: Castiel will work at the shop and help fix Dean’s car,” Michael said, and Cas groaned again.

“Great!” Dean said with a cheeky grin. “You start tomorrow after school. I’ll see you there.”

~*~

Castiel felt completely and utterly useless. Not only did he have no idea how to fix a car, not even a scratch on one like the one Cas had left on Dean’s car, but Dean wouldn’t even let him do anything. Dean didn’t even ask him to hand him any tools, instead just doing everything for himself. It was the most boring thing Castiel had ever had to do, the only thing he had to pass the time being idle chatter between himself and Dean.

Not only was it boring work, but after two weeks of sitting there doing nothing for four to six hours every day after school, Cas had a feeling that the scratch should have been well-passed fix by that point.

“Why is it taking you so long?” Cas finally asked as he stared at the wall, repeatedly clicking a pen in his hand.

“Because you can’t rush perfection,” Dean replied. “And because I can’t work right when you’re clicking that pen.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but stopped clicking the pen nonetheless.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” Dean said after a few more minutes. “Same time tomorrow.”

“Really? Don’t you have practice or something? I’d like a day off,” Cas complained.

Dean snorted a laugh. “From sitting there? Unlikely. And, no, I don’t have practice. Football is out of the championship and I’ve got one more week until wrestling.”

“It’s not my fault I’m not doing anything. Every time I try to help, you tell me to stop and just sit there,” Cas said, choosing to direct the conversation towards an argument rather than something civilized.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said before he rolled his eyes and turned away from Cas. “Fine, then. Come here.”

Cas furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but got up and walked over to Dean anyways.

“This is called a sponge,” Dean said, handing the sponge over to Cas.

“Yeah, I know what a sponge is, I’m not stupid,” Cas replied.

Dean shrugged. “First you gotta wash the dirt out, ‘kay? So, soak that in some rubbing alcohol and then start cleaning the scratch off.” Dean handed Cas a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which Castiel then poured onto the sponge before he handed it back to Dean.

Cas did as instructed and scrubbed the entirety of the gouge and the area surrounded it with the sponge until he couldn’t see any sign of dirt, and he looked to Dean for approval.

“Good. Now, we have to fill it with this,” Dean said, and he held up a small tube labelled ‘Glazing Putty’. “Put a dime-sized glob of this down next to the scratch every few inches.”

Castiel took the tube and squeezed some out at the start of the scratch and then moved the tube down the scratch a little bit to put another blob, but Dean stopped him before he could squeeze any out.

“Little farther apart than that… there you go,” Dean said, and Cas did as directed until he had enough putty by the scratch. “Okay, now you’re going to take this spreader-thingy—”

“Spreader-thingy?” Cas asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you knew what you were doing?”

“Shut up, I do not what I’m doing; that doesn’t mean I know what the tools are called. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure this thing doesn’t actually have a name,” Dean replied with a hint of a smile. “Anyways. You’re gonna take this spreader-thingy and spread the glazing putty out in the scratch and then once it’s all filled scrape off the excess putty.”

Spreading the putty evenly was a lot harder than it looked, however, and before long Castiel was huffing in frustration. He was about to flop down to sit on the cement floor, when suddenly Dean was there, his chest pressed against Castiel’s back and his hand covering Castiel’s, guiding the spreader along the scratch to fill it with putty.

“Like this,” he mumbled, and Castiel never would have guessed that he would enjoy having Dean pressed up against him like this—okay, yes, he could never deny that he found Dean attractive, but he hated him… emphasis on the past tense.

Cas relaxed into Dean’s hold, letting all of his weight lean back against Dean, their cheeks pressed together as Dean leaned his head over Cas’ shoulder. They finished far too soon for Castiel’s liking, but Dean didn’t release his gentle grip on his hand or move away, although he seemed too scared to make a move. So, Cas turned slightly so he could face Dean better and used his free hand to turn Dean’s face towards him. After a quick search in Dean’s face for any sign that he should stop, Castiel couldn’t find any, so he leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It remained chaste, but Castiel could feel Dean returning the pressure for a moment before he pulled away with a smile.

“That’s not gonna get you out of finishing fixing my car,” Dean teased, his eyes flitting between Castiel’s eyes and lips.

“No?” Cas asked innocently. “I was hoping we could just be done for the night.”

Dean rolled his eyes, albeit with a certain fondness that Cas had just started to notice. “All we’ve got left to do is use some paint leveler on it and then paint it, and then we’re all done.”

“So, how do we use the paint leveler then?” Cas asked, eager to finish fixing the scratch in Dean’s car so that he could find out if the backseat of a car really was a nice place to make out.

Dean shrugged. “We’ve gotta let the putty finish drying first.”

“So…” Castiel said, trailing off as he lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly.

Dean disentangled himself from Cas then and stood up, opening the door the backseat and sweeping his arm dramatically. “After you.”

~*~

Prompts are open, feel free to send me a prompt either of your own or from this list! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged for future fics and what fandom/ships you want to be tagged for! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

10 notes · View notes

quicksilversquared · 4 years

Text

Feathers Fall, Wings Rise

Gabriel Agreste had found his wife unconscious after using the Peacock Miraculous before, but something was different this time. She seemed sicker, and even after hours had passed, she didn't even stir.

Obviously, something had to be done. And if that 'something' required using magic, then so be it.

links in the reblog

Gabriel Agreste found his wife's unconscious body on the floor of his office on Tuesday at half-past seven in the evening. She was barely breathing, and one glance around her person gave away the fact that she had used the Peacock again, despite her promise that her previous time was going to be the last, really.

Gabriel exchanged a worried look with Nathalie and hastily bundled his wife into a wheelchair and into the locked-down, secret bedroom in the back of the house without anyone noticing. He removed the broken Miraculous from her once she was moved to the bed, carting it back to the office- perhaps a bit of distance would help speed along her recovery- while Nathalie got Emilie hooked up to the medical machines they had managed to procure after previous collapses. They would monitor Emilie's condition until she had woken up again, and then still while she recovered, just to be safe.

"Sir, I've set up the oxygen mask as well," Nathalie told him when he returned, the Miraculous locked away in the safe until he could think of a better place to hide it, one where Emilie wouldn't find it and use it again. She looked worried. "Emilie seems to be in a deeper sleep than she's ever been before, so I thought it would be better to be safe than sorry. Are you sure that you don't want to call for an ambulance?"

"I'm positive," Mr. Agreste said tersely, because really, what could a hospital do besides pry a lot? Emilie's condition was caused by magic, and unless the staff had a magic expert on staff that they didn't tell the general public about- which Gabriel severely doubted- they wouldn't be able to do much anything besides sit back and wait. "We have top-of-the-line medical equipment here, and it's set up to tell me when anything changes. And you know that Emilie wouldn't be happy about people prying into what's causing her weakness. Even if she's done nothing wrong- well, some people have opinions about magic."

Nathalie pursed her lips, but nodded anyway. "As you wish, sir."

The evening passed, and Gabriel waved off Adrien's inquiries about where his mom was by telling him that she was tired and had gone to bed early. Adrien seemed disappointed but accepted that- after all, it wasn't the first time that it had happened- and Gabriel checked in on Emilie before going to bed.

She hadn't stirred.

Gabriel frowned deeper- Emilie really hadn't been careful enough with the Peacock, that much was obvious- before locking up the bedroom for the night so that no nosy house staff would look in.

This had happened before, of course, but it always put him on edge when it did.

And then the next morning dawned, and Emilie's vital signs had slipped firmly into coma territory.

"Sir, I think we should really call the hospital-" Nathalie started, but Gabriel silenced her with a single hand.

"Look into what medical equipment is required for dealing with a coma. We will ride it out ourselves. She will need nutrients, of course, in place of food, and fluids. I expect to have a full report on my desk by this evening of what we'll need and what's been ordered."

"Of course, sir."

"And as for me, I think I'll try to track down that man who sold Emilie the Peacock," Gabriel decided, scowling at the thought. They hadn't been interested in buying the man's other wares when they had met up with him- or at least they hadn't yet been willing to pay more than half a million euros for what honestly sounded like a fantasy story. Now- well, they had more experience with the one Miraculous that they had bought, and they were willing to shell out for the Miraculous that wasn't broken.

Sure, Emilie would have to acquaint herself with a different power set , but she couldn't continue with the Peacock. Saving her brother-in-law just wasn't worth her getting progressively weaker like this. Maybe she would even make a breakthrough with a different Miraculous and different powers at her fingertips.

By midday, Adrien had to be shooed off with more excuses about his mother resting. A call to his Mandarin tutor ensured that he would be busy for several hours of the afternoon, and then Gabriel continued his search for the Chinese man who had sold Emilie the Peacock. He had some information to go off of- there had been a shop, and they had just shown their interest in more powerful wares- but he still had to remember the shop name and find it online- if it was even listed online, that was.

"You could always call up tour guide companies in the area and see if you could pay one to go to the shop and get the phone number for it," Nathalie suggested as the evening drew to a close and Gabriel had made no progress. "It would be easier, and I'd bet that it wouldn't require a large fee, as long as you pick a company that's located in the area to start with."

Gabriel hummed in thought. "That's a good idea. Outsource the work. I'll do that over dinner- inform Adrien that his mother and I won't be joining him. And since Emilie doesn't look like she'll be up and ready to go out again for a couple days, please come up with a cover story for why she won't be around so he doesn't keep asking."

"Of course, sir."

"How goes the search for equipment needed for a coma?"

"It's been ordered and express-shipped, sir. We should be receiving several large boxes tomorrow morning. I'll arrive early to ensure that I'm here to receive it before any of the other staff can get a look at it."

Gabriel nodded. That was good. Speed was essential if they wanted Emilie to recover faster. They would give her the best care- without taking her to a hospital and dealing with nosy nurses and inquisitive doctors- to get her out of her latest slump, and then they would (hopefully) get another Miraculous so that she wouldn't keep driving herself into the ground.

He should have reached out to buy the other Miraculous sooner, he really should have. Now, there was no guarantee at all that the man would still have it.

They could only hope.

It had been five more days, and Emilie still hadn't woken up. Her coma seemed stable enough for now, but she wasn't waking up.

What was the use in Gabriel having tracked down the shop and spent nearly two million to get the second Miraculous and all of the other Miraculous-related things the man had- the book, some scrolls, a couple half-burned paintings- if Emilie didn't wake up?

They couldn't keep on making excuses for why she wasn't around, either. They could only keep Adrien's curiosity at bay for so long, and Nathalie responding to his texts to Emilie only satisfied him so much. He was looking forward to her return from the relaxing retreat that they had told him she had gone to, and had Emilie actually been coming back from any sort of retreat- well, she would have gone to see her son first thing. For her not to would be weird.

"We're going to have to claim that she's vanished," Nathalie said grimly as she and Gabriel sat locked in the office, going over their options and all of the research that Nathalie had done about comas. "There's no other option, Gabriel, not unless you want to go to a hospital. And I know you said that there were maybe things in the book you ordered that would help her, and that would be hard to do in a hospital without people noticing."

Gabriel sighed, massaging his temples. He hadn't wanted to do this. There would be too much scrutiny of their family, both the police and the press trying to pick out any secrets that the Agreste family was trying to hide. But they had made all of their Miraculous-related orders from a secret account that shouldn't be traceable for this exact reason, and Nathalie always took care to wipe and replace any camera footage or computer trails of events that might be- well, suspicious. As long as they were careful, they should be able to pull off a disappearance without looking too suspicious. It would be hard to explain Emilie's reappearance once she woke up, but- well, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

After all, at this point, it was only a matter of time before someone outside of the family noticed Emilie's absence and then their not reporting it first would look more suspicious.

"Tonight, we have to move Emilie downstairs, to her inspiration garden," Gabriel decided. "It'll take a lot of trips, to get her down and then move all of the equipment and a bed. Then tomorrow evening, we'll report her missing. Once the investigation's passed, we should probably improve the set-up there." He let out a long sigh. "I am so glad that we have that now. If we didn't…"

He trailed off. Nathalie nodded.

"For now, all we can do is make sure that there's nothing suspicious out. Even in the safes- you know that the police will want to see them. And bills, accounts that we're signed into online- all of it has to be cleared, and thoroughly." Gabriel glanced around at his office, trying to remember all of the places that Emilie stashed her journals and notebooks. Everything would have to be hidden today, because come tomorrow evening, or maybe the morning of the next day- well, the mansion would no doubt be swarmed with police looking for clues about Emilie Agreste's disappearance.

And Gabriel wasn't going to let them find anything.

At eleven thirty-three, a phone call was made from the Agreste Mansion to the Paris police department reporting a missing person. Twelve minutes and forty-three second later, the first patrol car pulled through the gates of the mansion and two officers and a detective hopped out. Nathalie met them at the gate, ushering them into the house and to the office to meet with Mr. Agreste.

There was no going back now.

Gabriel Agreste let out a long sigh as he settled into his chair. It had been a long day, right on the heels of an equally long week. Emilie hadn't improved at all in the week since the police visited, and- well, Gabriel really couldn't count himself at all surprised, though of course he was disappointed. Dealing with police coming in and out and checking footage for discrepancies and clues had been exhausting, particularly since they had had to keep the police away from both Adrien and his bodyguard to ensure that their stories wouldn't clash with the one that Gabriel and Nathalie had given the police.

Luckily, the police weren't terribly inclined to interrogate a mute man and a twelve-year-old when Gabriel and Nathalie were being so terribly cooperative.

Well. Outwardly cooperative, at least. They hadn't falsified anything more than they strictly had to- the more components there were, the harder it would be to keep their story straight and the easier it would be to overlook any details that could throw their entire story under doubt and closer inspection. As it was, making sure that they kept to the same details and didn't add anything for the entire week- an entire week full of police visits, some surprise and others not- had been hard enough.

And then they had had to deal with Adrien on top of all of that. He had been inconsolable, constantly dogging at Gabriel and Nathalie's footsteps in search of any answers at all. Gabriel had finally snapped at him- after all, how was he supposed to get any work done if Adrien insisted on following him around every moment of the day?- and he had finally stopped, but Gabriel didn't doubt that he would require some attention again at some point. After all, he had always taken after Emilie and her tendency to be overly emotional about things.

He could only hope that the next week would be better. The police had exhausted their investigation of their house- they had been very through about that- and all of the possible questions that they could possible think of. He could return to his work- he had fallen behind with all of the fuss of getting Emilie settled and the investigation and Adrien demanding attention- and at least get somewhat back on track until something more could be done. If he didn't, he might very well have to deal with investors backing out over worries about him not being able to keep up the quality of the company.

Now that Emilie was stable, Gabriel couldn't help but feel a bit of annoyance with her at all of the fuss and scrutiny that they had gone through- and would no doubt continue to go through- because she couldn't be careful enough with the Peacock. She would have to be the one to deal with the fallout from her return and figure out the logistics there, because he had already spent too much time dealing with her mistake already.

Of course, for her to deal with things, she had to actually wake up. Gabriel couldn't deny that he was worried about that not happening, though, and his worry far outweighed his annoyance.

He loved Emilie, enough to tolerate her annoying family and her equally annoying insistence on actually inviting them around and helping them out when they got themselves into trouble. Now she had made herself seriously ill with her attempts to help, and he-

-he could very well be facing a future without her.

Huffing out an angry sigh, Gabriel shook the thought off and turned back to his work. He had no time for negative thinking- and blowing things out of proportion was Emilie's thing, not his- and it wouldn't do anyone any good. It would only distract him from his job. With another shake, he pulled up a few sketches and started working. After a few hours had passed- thankfully without interruptions from Adrien wanting to know if anything new had come up- Gabriel was starting to feel good about his progress. He had picked up his projects just where he had left off, with almost no pauses or other confusion about where he had intended for things to go.

And then Nathalie came in, carrying a box under her arm.

"It's the shipment from China, sir," she told him, stepping up next to his desk. "Where do you want it?"

Gabriel resisted the urge to growl and snap to just put it somewhere safe for now, couldn't she see that he was busy? It wouldn't be smart to alienate his only support so soon, not when he didn't know how long it would be before Emilie woke up. So he set his pen down and considered the box Nathalie was holding.

It wasn't what he was expecting. For some reason, he had been imagining a battered box, something that he might find forgotten in the back of a shipping truck, with a lot of stickers all over. This, though, looked completely normal, like it had come from one of Gabriel's own stores.

"I'll look at it later," he decided after a moment. After all, he had gotten the second Miraculous for Emilie to use, and clearly she wasn't going to be using anything when she was in a coma. But there was more that the second Miraculous in the package, and- well, Emilie was injured by Miraculous means, it wasn't far-fetched to think that maybe there was something in the package that might help her. "Tuck it under my desk for now. And keep an eye on the security cameras for the rest of the day, I don't want to risk having someone come in unexpectedly."

"Wouldn't it make more sense to put it down in the garden, then?" Nathalie inquired. "Emilie's garden, I mean."

Gabriel considered that. "Perhaps. As long as I can have enough light to read down there- I'll be working until dark, probably. Or at least until I get to a stopping point."

Nathalie nodded, her face completely impassive. "Of course, sir."

Gabriel turned back to his work as she headed off. He lasted for another hour, wrapping up the things he had been working on so that he wouldn't lose his spot before heading down to Emilie's underground garden. A quick check of the monitoring panel told him that there had been no change in Emilie's condition, so Gabriel turned his attention to the box. Nathalie had set up a table and a lamp so that he wouldn't have to kneel on the ground to open the box- that was much appreciated- and both a scissors and a knife to open the package. In a few deft swipes, the tape had been slit and Gabriel opened the box.

It was packed. There were scrolls and a book and a smaller box, one that was more battered and covered in tape. That presumably contained the non-broken Miraculous, and he would save that for later. Right now…

Gabriel reached into the box and grabbed the folded note on top. It was a receipt and a packing list, with a small scribbled handwritten note on the bottom. It looked like it had been run through a translator at some point, honestly- the grammar was a little stilted and there were some odd word choices- but he scanned it anyway.

And when he did, his heart froze.

Apparently the seller had gotten the Miraculous things from the family of a man who had died young and unexpectedly. He hadn't known until more recently that the man had apparently been using the Peacock, and an autopsy after the death hadn't turned up anything. He had just fallen into a coma one day… and never woke up.

That sounded far too familiar for Gabriel's taste. Suddenly, his blown-out-of-proportion worst-case scenario was all too possible.

Newly reenergized, Gabriel turned to the rest of the box. Surely something in it would offer something to help. The man who died probably didn't have the medical technology that he had for Emilie, and hadn't been able to be helped in time. The equipment would buy him some time to read through everything-

He opened the topmost scroll and promptly swore, his temper spiking as he looked at the unfamiliar characters. He couldn't read that, and it was like no alphabet that he had seen before. That suggested that it was in some sort of code.

Gabriel was a fashion designer, not a code-breaker! He didn't have time-

He stopped himself halfway through that thought. This was Emilie's life in danger. He could make the time. It would be easy enough to hire another couple of designers and one more administrative staff person to pick up the bulk of his workload so that outsiders wouldn't notice any difference. He wasn't going to step back from designing entirely- that just wasn't happening- but he could clear on a solid chunk of his day to work on deciphering the code.

Gabriel let out another huff at the thought of the lost time before continuing to pull scrolls out. They were all in that same code, with only the occasional picture, and he set them aside for the time being in favor of pulling out the book.

It was in code, too. Really, he shouldn't have expected anything different.

At least there were pictures.

Gabriel flipped through the book, scanning over pictures of superheroes and trying to eke out any information he could from them. A flash of purple flipped by, and Gabriel quickly flipped back to see a page with the Butterfly Miraculous, the one that he had ordered. He couldn't read anything, but he could get the gist of the powers from the pictures. And frankly, those powers- well, they were incredibly similar to the Peacock's, from what Gabriel could tell. They might have been more useful for Emilie's goal, really.

But that didn't help him.

Gabriel bookmarked the page and continued on. Close to the end, he spotted another drawing. A much more interesting one.

It looked like- like two Miraculous, combined. And on the opposite page, a man that had power. Serious powers.

There was no way to confirm it, of course. Gabriel couldn't read the text that went along with the picture. But it looked like if he got those two Miraculous in the picture, it would allow him to weld strong enough magic to wake Emilie up and remove her from danger. The only problem, of course, was how to get his hands on those two Miraculous. The old shopkeeper that he had gotten the box of Miraculous things from didn't have any more. Gabriel would have to hunt them down, and he didn't have the slightest idea of where to start. The easiest way would be to lure them out somehow.

….but how?

Almost automatically, Gabriel's eyes slid to the side, to the battered box that housed the non-broken Miraculous, and the start of a plan started to fall into place, puzzle pieces slowly coming together to create a bigger picture.

He had to be safe about it, no matter how much he wanted Emilie up and out of danger right away. Rushing into using magical powers was how Emilie got sick, after all, and if he got ill… well, it wasn't worth thinking about. He was smarter than that.

One way or another, Gabriel was going to get Emilie back. Of that, he was certain.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #villain origin story

31 notes · View notes

5sosbitchfest · 3 years

Note

Hi! I can't open the link about the tarot reading and I'm quite curious

Can you please post it again? Or help me in any other way?

Lots of love

Here you go, Nonnie. I pasted it below. I found the reading to be quite interesting. I know nothing about tarot cards but I hope she’s right and that Lemon is coming to an end. Original Anon who sent the reading in, feel free to share your thoughts anytime! Thank you for taking the time to write this all down for us to read!

*********************************

Tarot reading for Lierra on 2020/12/16

First question I asked was: “How is the current energy of their connection?” I let the card fall from the deck until the message was complete. 6 cards came out: 6 of pentacles in reverse, 6 of wands in reverse, XIV -Temperance up right, VI - The lovers in reverse, 9 of swords in reverse, 6 of swords in reverse. I read them as a chronological progression.

Overall, a lot of the cards were in reserve, it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but given the said cards, I would say it’s not painting a nice situation. Their overall energy is stained with a lot of struggle. The number 6 is all over the reading, which normally is a sign of movement, evolution, taking decision, but in this reading it’s all in reverse, which shows more stagnation, resistance to change and inaction.

For the details, card by card. 6 of pentacles in reverse, it’s a more material-focused card. It means unbalance budget, bad investment, loss of income, material struggles, or financial irresponsibility. In context, I would say it’s more like carrier struggle than actual money struggle. Potentially the difference between both their success and income is weighting on their dynamic. Either one is being selfish with their money, or the other is spending unreasonably. And I would go with the second one.

6 of wands in reverse. It’s a card about doubt and self-doubt, lack of confidence or fall from someone’s grace, sometime even failing or having delays in success, and overall a lot of questioning. In context, I would interpret it as starting to question their relationship, maybe on the surface at first but possibly deeper that than afterwards.

XIV - Temperance up right. It’s the only card up right in the reading, which made me frown for a while as I wasn’t sure what it meant in regards to the rest of the cards. It usually means harmony, synergy, patience, moderation, softness. But I feel like there, it was more a like “I don’t want to make a scene” / “I don’t want to make it difficult for anybody”, or in other words, a muted energy, not wanting to be in the spotlight, not wanting to do anything rash. Possibly it’s something about the public eye, like keeping a ‘everything is fine’ façade. But it could totally be on the private side as well, not wanting to face the situation properly and the questions that are rising.

VI – The lovers in reverse. It’s obviously a card about emotions and relationship, even if it’s not necessarily romantic in every reading. It means being emotionally stuck, questioning relationships or even broken relationships. I would say that the reality of their connection, is that it’s not really working anymore and/or that is would need a lot of effort to be back on track. And that reality will eventually show up, even if it can be a long process. The questions are inevitable, they’re coming again, and stronger, no matter how bad they want to think it’s “just a bad day, it’ll be better tomorrow”.

9 of swords in reverse. This makes me really sad… It’s a card about anxiety, mental exhaustion, victimhood, and feeling like you’re not finding solution to your problems. I feel like it’s going to manifest in form of nightmare and insomnia on Luke’s side, and playing the victim on Sierra’s side (because she has previously shown these tendencies). For both on them, it’s just a lot of mental struggles and a feeling of being stuck in a situation that is absolutely not satisfactory.

Finally, 6 of swords in reverse. It’s kind of the same energy lingering on. Being stuck in cycle, pattern repeating, delayed things, inertia. It can also mean being physically stuck, unable to move, which makes me think about them spending a lot of time together at home(quarantining) with nothing to do but to get on each other’s nerves. But whatever the situation is, they’re not ready to face it apparently.

Overall again, they are not in good situation: things need to be discussed, but they won’t; reality needs to be acknowledged, but they won’t. I can’t tell if it’s by contract, or by emotional fear, or even greediness, but something is keeping them together even if none of them is liking it in the moment. Truth will take the stairs, not the elevator, but one day it will show up, and it might even blow up given that the more they resist it the harder it will be to face it simply. That being said, future is not set in stone, it’s just a reading upon the current energy, and if they want to they might be able to salvage their relationship.

Next questions were targeted at each individually: “How is Luke’s current energy towards their connection?”. The answer was the 10 of wands up right. It means felling like you’re carrying too much, having a burden. So he’s feeling weighted down by their relationship, and like it’s taking too much effort for little to no result. Then I asked: “What are Luke’s current intentions for their connection?”. The answer was the Page of wand up right. It’s the card just after, which is always a nice sign of natural progression. He wants things to move for the better. And to go towards something more lighted-hearted, with more fun, joy, and …candidness? I get a “feeling like kids again” vibe.

Same questions for Sierra. “How is Sierra’s current energy towards their connection?”. The answer was the 10 of pentacles in reverse. The empire is crumbling down; the pyramid is falling. She’s not where she wants to be carrier/success/money-wise. It’s a money/material card, which is why I also think the unbalance of the 6 of pentacles at the beginning is coming from her. She seemed to be the one more concern by this matters. Seeing it in a love-oriented reading is also an indication of a partner being more interested in a material gain than an emotional bond in the relationship. Then I asked: “What are Sierra’s current intentions for their connection?”. The answer was XII - Hanged man in reverse. It’s a card about avoidance, not taking action, or worse holding onto something that you should let go off, potentially for its material appeal.

I mean… It’s pretty clear that Sierra’s energy is focus on the material even (maybe especially) in their relationship. It’s something she cares about, and don’t want to let go off. Seeing her energy is all cards in reverse, while Luke is up right and progression, I would say she’s the one carrying a lot of the blockages and holding the situation hostage.

Finally, as I was seeing the situation getting downhill I did ask: “When will Lierra break up?”. And the answer… was literally the break up card: the 3 of swords. Timing with Tarot is not the easiest thing, and I’m still a beginner with much to learn. But swords are pretty fast moving energy, even if they are not the fastest. I would say anywhere between 3 weeks and 3 months, probably more toward the 3 months. Also 3 of words on the wheel of the year is corresponding to October 3 – October 12, so we might have to wait until then, but I hope not given that the situation is not good for anyone. Once again, I would emphasis that this based on the current energy only. Nothing is set in stone.

#admin kirby #luke #messy #lemon #tarot card reading

3 notes · View notes

wandas-sunshine · 4 years

Text

The Muses Dance - Part 2

Summary: Steve is a fine arts major, (Y/N) is a dance major. Their meeting wasn’t supposed to be anything big, but Steve is sure he’s found his new muse, and (Y/N) is suddenly convinced that maybe she doesn’t have to choose between her career and a relationship.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 6287

Warnings: Shitty parents, description of an anxiety attack, mentions of family death

A/N: The outfits mentioned are linked here; (Y/N) Maria Natasha. This took a very long time. I ended up splitting it in half so if the ending feels a little awkward that’s why. The original chapter was unfinished and already nearing 10k words. So Part 3 is coming very soon.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist

Two weeks had passed since the fateful day that Steve and (Y/N) met. Since then, the two had spent nearly every possible moment together. Even when Steve wasn’t working on his project, he hung around (Y/N). The two of them had fallen easily into a nice sort of routine.

After their classes finished each day, Steve would sit in on the girls' showcase rehearsals. He curled up in the corner with his sketchbook, drawing (Y/N) in all of her angelic glory. The girls all noticed, he wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think. But she never said anything. She didn’t want to make him think he should stop. Honestly, she much preferred that he continue, it was flattering having all of his attention on her.

So they played their little game, day after day. The girls would finish their rehearsals, and (Y/N) would practically skip to his side. She knelt beside him, and drank down the rest of the water from her bottle.

“Whatcha drawing there, handsome?” She asked. As always, he snapped the little book shut and smiled the way that made her stomach flutter. She’d always rearrange her things in her bag so she wouldn’t just sit and stare at him.

“Nothing special. Just passing the time.” He answered. That was always his answer, and she never bothered pressing for a better one. He slipped his things back into his bag, then he’d settle it on his back. As soon as her things were put away, he was scooping that up too. Over the first week of their friendship, she had tried to change his ways. She was strong enough to carry her own bag, she had said, but he insisted that he was raised to always help a lady. Her initial confusion, the surprise, was giving way to a sort of appreciation of his chivalry.

Like every other day since she’d met Steve, (Y/N) was the first to leave their rehearsal rather than leaving hours after her friends. They bid the other girls goodbye and set off on their way towards the visual arts building. Some days she would chatter excitedly about her number, high off the post-workout endorphins. Other times Steve would take the lead, passionately telling her about his progress on his piece. On rare occasions, they wouldn’t say anything at all.

Today was one of those quiet days. Steve wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but those were his favorite days. He adored listening to her talk, loved watching the way her eyes gleamed with pride. But these days were special. On quiet days he got a little glimpse into a more intimate part of her world. She was always in her head, and that was his favorite time to admire her.

She was so adorable, so charming, even when she wasn’t trying to be. As they walked, it would sometimes become obvious that she was still rehearsing in her head. Her eyes would close for a few moments longer, or her body would move ever so slightly to some unheard melody. There were a million other things he’d picked up on too. Like the way her nose would scrunch up if one of them fell out of step with the other. Or how she practically did a little dance to avoid the cracks in the pavement somedays. He figured that was another one of her superstitions. He’d learned plenty of those too. Wearing blue on wednesdays would bring bad luck in performance. Dancing in the rain would guarantee a well received performance. Drinking coffee the day of a performance meant the performer would get injured. They were strange, but she believed them wholeheartedly.

The way he was so content just to be at her side, even if she paid him no mind, was a bit worrisome. He was in deep with this one. He’d only fallen so hard once before, and that hadn’t ended so well for his heart. But this...this was different. It had to be.

When they reached the proper building, (Y/N) excitedly took the lead. She had learned her way around the building, thanks to a tour from Steve. She walked towards the studio that they worked in. She didn’t model for him, he didn’t need her to anymore. She just enjoyed being there, having some company, and Steve never turned her away.

She nudged the door open and flicked the lights on. Steve was only a few steps behind her. They settled into their respective places. Steve set up his space, turning on lights and laying out his materials. She curled up on the floor with her book. That was always where she ended up, getting comfy with a good book, or her homework, or sometimes she’d just sit and watch.

It was adorable the way he got when he worked. His tongue would poke out sometimes, or he’d mumble frustrated criticisms to himself. Pencils would find themselves tucked behind his ear, paint brushes ended up propped between his teeth. His long sleeves usually got pushed out of the way to reveal toned, doodle stained forearms.

And every time she noticed something new, she wondered just how many people had been observative enough to to pick up on the little quirks, the doodles, the smudges of paint. She wondered if anyone fell for them the way that she was.

“Anyone in there?” Steve asked, waving a hand in front of her face. She gave a surprised blink. She hadn’t noticed that he’d packed everything away and tidied his space back up. “Earth to (Y/N), come in (Y/N).”

She scrunched her nose and swatted his hands away. According to the digital clock on the wall, afternoon had given way to evening. The pale light of the setting sun seeped through the window shades and gave the entire room a beautiful pinkish glow.

“Shit, I must have totally zoned out.” She laughed, carefully putting her book into her bag and letting him take it from her.

“I swear if you’re still overthinking the showcase,” He gave her a stern look and she shook her head. He reached a hand down and she let him pull her to her feet.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just a little out of it today.” She promised. She stretched her arms up over her head, then swooped them back towards the ground, sighing as the muscles in her back pulled and loosened a little. “Don’t start worrying about me now.”

The walk back to her dorm was more interesting. Steve rambled with a new excitement about the progress the past few hours had provided. He lit up like a little ball of sunshine when he talked about art. He always had a passionate glimmer swimming in his sea blue eyes, it was the most amazing thing in (Y/N)’s humble opinion. She wondered if she ever looked so lovely.

“It’s really coming together.” He gushed. “And that’s mostly thanks to you. It’s looking so great! Obviously it’s not perfect, but it’s better than I thought it could be. I’m almost done, too! Might even finish it with time to spare.”

She had nearly stepped into the way of a biking student. Steve gently pulled her back on track.

“You think any of that is thanks to me?” Her voice was laced with disbelief. She hadn’t done anything but let him draw her, and several other girls had done the same thing for the exact same piece. If anything, she had been a bit of a hindrance what with her rehearsals, and her usual chatter while he worked. But his expression didn’t falter.

“Of course it’s thanks to you.” He spoke as if it were as obvious as if she’d done the art herself. “Really, I mean it. You’re my muse. Seeing you dance gave me a whole new perspective. It reminded me what it was like to really care about my art. I wanted to make people feel the same way seeing my art as I do watching you dance.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She confessed quietly. She shook her head before looking up at him again. None of it made sense to her, she really wasn’t all that, but it definitely felt nice to hear him say it. “I’m glad I can help. Even if I’m not really doing anything.”

They talked the rest of the way to the dorms, and when they came to a stop outside her door as they always did, Steve went quiet. (Y/N) tipped her head.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked as she tugged the strap of her bag off his shoulder. He shook his head.

“Nothing, just thinking about stopping by Buck and Tasha’s place before I go home.” He passed her bag back to her and she hoisted it onto her shoulder. Her eyes flickered down to her shoes.

“Then you should get going. Don’t let me keep you out all night.” She looked back up and smoothed her hand over his shoulder, brushing out the little wrinkles her bag had left in his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Same time?”

Blue eyes flicked across her face as she fixed his jacket, then he smiled at her. For yet another night, he imagined kissing her goodnight. Imagined dipping down to catch her soft lips with his, holding her against him until he pulled away and brushed her hair back. But he couldn’t do that. So instead he nodded.

“Same time tomorrow. Have a good night.”

As always, he waited for her to safely step inside and close the door behind her. Then he turned with his sights set on Bucky’s apartment, and his mind dancing with lovesick fantasies.

The walk was short and fairly quiet aside from the sounds of traffic. Natasha would probably beat his ass for walking the city alone after dark, but he was fully capable of protecting himself. He had bigger things to worry about.

Steve rapped impatiently at the door. On the other side, Bucky pried himself off of Natasha who was maybe even angrier than her boyfriend at the interruption. She leaned up, peppering kisses along his jaw.

“Just ignore it, they’ll go away.” She pleaded, running her hands down his bare chest. She was sure she’d convinced him to return his attention to her. It was probably just their neighbour looking for his cat again. Then came the knocking once more. This time it was louder and more persistent. Bucky groaned, burying his face in the crook of Natasha’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He shouted, giving Nat a quick look. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and tugged them on before stalking to the front door. He looked positively dangerous as he ripped the door open. For a split second, his expression softened as he looked upon his best friend. Steve stood there with a goofy grin on his face and a surprisingly dreamy look in his eyes. But Bucky’s softness didn’t last long.

“What do you want?” He snapped. Steve tucked his hands into his pockets with a sheepish smile. His best friend wouldn’t stay mad at him. He never could.

“I need help.” Steve answered. He clearly wasn’t hurt or particularly upset. Any other friend would have turned him away given the circumstances. But this was Bucky, and this was Steve. Steve who he could never ever manage to turn away. So he reluctantly waved him inside.

Steve was only just noticing the lack of clothing, and the fresh hickeys littered across Bucky’s collarbone. His cheeks flushed as realization struck.

“I’m interrupting something.” He observed. Bucky nodded, but he didn’t quite get the chance to speak.

“Hey, Steve.” Natasha greeted. She’d pulled on one of Bucky’s shirts and it easily engulfed her. “You’re here awfully late.”

The words were half sincere and half irritated aggression towards the blonde. He flinched a tiny bit, but took a deep breath.

“I like her.” He blurted out, looking between the two. Both of them shared a look. They knew who he was talking about, but that didn’t explain why he had come bursting into their apartment at a quarter past nine at night. It wasn’t his first crush.

“Okay?” Bucky prompted, waving a hand for him to go on. The situation seemed fairly straight forward. He was head over heels for her, she was smitten with him. He would ask her out, and they would live happily ever after. Voila! “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Steve groaned. “She’s not just some dame I can charm. She’s special, she deserves something special.”

Natasha groaned out loud, moving to perch on the arm of the couch. She wasn’t sure she’d heard anything so ridiculous in her entire life. She loved Steve, but sometimes he was an absolute idiot.

“Relax, Steve. She already likes you. I swear all I hear anymore is ‘Steve is so sweet’, ‘have you seen his arms?’, ‘Steve is so talented’.” She mocked with a smirk. “Which is better than ‘I was awful, we have to run that section again’. Just ask her on a date!”

“I can’t just ask her!”

“The showcase.” Bucky intervened quickly. He loved his best friend like a brother, but he was beginning to sound like his little sister during her highschool years. “Ask her out at the showcase. That’s a big deal, right?”

Steve jumped from the seat he’d taken on the couch and grabbed his discarded bag.

“Bucky, you’re a genius!” He beamed brightly and headed for the door. He had an idea, and he needed to get started. “Thanks guys.”

The couple didn’t say anything as he rushed out the door.

When (Y/N) made it into her dorm, she found Wanda pacing the floor and reciting lines. Her twin brother Pietro was sprawled on her bed with the script held above his face. That was a bit pointless really since she’d had her lines memorized since two days after getting the script.

She sat her things down and kicked off her shoes. Usually she’d be mouthing along to Wanda’s performance, or listening to her track and working through choreography. But something else had her distracted. So she curled up with her stuffed dragon held to her chest, staring into space and daydreaming. She snapped out of it at Pietro’s loud laugh.

“What?” She asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion when she realized that both of the twins were looking in her direction.

“Pietro was talking to you. I told him that you had that dreamy look on your face so you wouldn’t care about talking to boys.” She explained, shoving her brother’s legs so she could sit comfortably on her bed.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She propped her head up and glared at her friends.

“Every time your eyes go all dreamy, you’re thinking about Steve!” Wanda burst into giggles and (Y/N) rolled onto her back. That was absolute bullshit! Right?

“You’re both idiots.” She insisted with a smile on her lips.

“I’ve barely been around 10 minutes and I can tell it’s true.” Pietro argued. She didn’t look away from the spot on the ceiling, but she lifted her hand to flip him off.

“All you talk about is Steve. You spend more time with him than you do with me.” A little teasing pout crept onto Wanda’s lips as she spoke. It was undeniable really. (YN) sighed softly and sat up to face the twins.

“Okay, so I like him!” She huffed in defeat. “I really like him. He’s special.”

The twins shared a look. A silent ‘I-told-you-so’. Then Pietro leaned forward. He’d gotten fairly good at the whole girl talk thing over the years with Wanda and her friends.

“Special?” He prompted.

“Yeah, I’ve never really cared about dating, or settling down. It always clashed with my dreams, with my career. But this..this is different. He rivals my passion, and my dedication, and my ambition. And he balances out my psycho obsessive anxiety. He’s just incredible, you know? He’s so confident, handsome, chivalrous. And he’s smart, too! Can you even believe that? He can’t possibly be that perfect, but he is! He checks all the boxes. I’ve never met a man like him — no offense, Piet — and he seems to actually like me. He doesn’t want my body, or my career, or my reputation. Just me.

“Then, as if that simply isn’t enough. I could really imagine things working. Usually I could picture a couple dates, a fling. My career has to come first, and nobody seems to understand that. But Steve does. He doesn’t care that dance is my first love. He has the same relationship with his art.

“Can’t you just see it? A cute little apartment while I dance. He’d be making the most beautiful art. He’d have art shows, I’d have performances. We could make it big. Maybe get married, have a couple sticky little kids. It’s a dream.”

She bit her lip, and her face burned with embarrassment as she realized how much she’d just confessed. She’d never fallen for someone this way.

She hadn’t noticed Pietro getting up. He grabbed his things and walked across the small room. He pressed a sweet, brotherly kiss to (Y/N)’s head.

“You’re in deep. You should tell the poor guy.” He told her before walking to the door. She didn’t even try to argue. “Have a good night, ladies.”

The next day rolled around, and as promised, their routine continued. (Y/N) danced her heart out and refused to believe that her performance was anywhere near good enough. Steve sat in the corner and worked on a new sketch. He cared more about this one. She would see it after all. It had to be impressive. Had to be perfect.

“Whatcha drawing, Stevie?” She asked, grabbing her towel and drying her sweat. Steve snapped the book shut quicker than usual. It wasn’t ready for her eyes just yet. He tucked it into his bag and flashed her a smile.

“Nothing much. You’re looking really good.” He said standing up as she packed her things away. She gave him a curious look, her eyebrows lifting in a silent question. He took a second to process just what he’d said, then he began to blush and stammer out a response. “Well not...I just meant your dance! Your dance looks...good. Well, not good! Really good...great.”

She covered her giggle at his nervousness. The way he panicked, and the pink that burned on his cheeks were simply adorable. It was even sort of odd. At first glance, he didn’t seem the type to get nervous or to fluster so easily. But (Y/N) knew better than that. She uncovered her smile as her giggles subsided.

“Thanks. The last few bars still need some work. And I’m not sure I’m hitting some of the beats quite right. During my little solo, you know?” She shrugged and zipped her bag. Steve didn’t know exactly, he didn’t understand most of what she said when she talked about the technical details. But she seemed to be criticizing herself again, and she definitely didn’t need to.

“Well, it looks beautiful from here.” He pulled her bag up onto his shoulder. She murmured a small thank you and brushed some loose hair back from her face.

“I think we’re gonna get going.” She called to where Maria and Natasha were chatting. The redhead looked up and smiled towards Steve with a small nod.

“Have fun you two.” Maria shot the pair a teasing wink that made (Y/N)’s stomach twist with nerves.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you guys later.” She waved to her friends and slipped her hand into Steve’s just for a moment, tugging him towards the door. And like the lovesick puppy he was, he followed without a single hesitation. They walked through the halls side by side, dodging out of the way of other students.

“You know, I think you’re too hard on yourself.” Steve pointed out as they burst into the sunshine. “You’re so talented, but you’re never happy with yourself.”

Of course she knew that she was too hard on herself. She’d been hearing it her entire life. People said she’d dance herself to death one day, but it was her emotional outlet.

“Yeah, maybe I am. But I have so much to prove. Especially now. You know how competitive it is out there.”

“Well sure, but...you’re an amazing dancer. You shouldn’t doubt yourself.” His eyes lingered on hers. He knew she could do pretty much anything she set her mind to. She was incredible.

“Thanks Steve. But I have to be better than amazing. Nobody ever believed I would make it this far. My parents were less than thrilled when I decided to major in dance instead of something ‘practical’. They wanted me to get a business degree, or go into nursing.” She vented with a shake of her head. “If I ever want to make them proud again then I have to be the best.”

Steve frowned as she went on about the lack of support from her parents. It was heartbreaking. His parents weren’t around anymore, but his mother had been endlessly supportive of anything he wanted to do.

“You shouldn’t try to make them proud. You should make yourself proud first. And your family is supposed to support you no matter what.” His hand brushed against hers like he was just itching to hold it, to squeeze it, to remind her that it wasn’t just her against the world. He’d never let it be just her against the world.

“What about your family? They support your art?” She asked, looking down at the ground and absentmindedly skipping over a crack on the sidewalk. Steve smiled, but she didn’t notice.

“I didn’t know my dad. He died before I was even born. My mom was amazing. She supported everything I did. She would have loved you, you know?” He glanced towards the sky with a sad sort of smile that made (Y/N)’s heart ache in her chest. “But she died when I was in highschool.”

She gasped softly and covered her mouth. Of course she had gone and brought up awful memories. But Steve didn’t seem as bothered as she was. He took a couple long strides to hold the door open for her before continuing on.

“Since then Buck and Nat have been my family. Sam came along our freshman year here. They’re like my support team. They stick with me through everything.” He smiled brightly as he went on about his friends. She did too, thinking about her own friends.

“I guess I have a couple friends like that. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. And Nat I suppose too.” She said over her shoulder as the two of them headed up the stairs.

“And you have me.” Steve added, a small, semi-nervous smile dancing on his lips. “You’ve got plenty of support.”

“You are simply amazing.” She said after a moment, making sure he wasn’t going to take it back, or shout syke, or do some other very un-Steve-like thing. But he didn’t.

“You can count on me, doll. Anything you need.”

“I appreciate it. You’re going to regret that offer, but I do appreciate it. I appreciate you.” Steve hardly gave a moment for his heart to start beating again, flashing a smile and opening the next door for her.

“I couldn’t regret a thing when it comes to you.”

With one week left before the showcase, students were under more stress than ever. Teachers were running exam prep, and everyone was working themselves overtime to get ready for the showcase.

(Y/N), Natasha, and Maria found themselves back in the fashion design wing.One last fitting before they’d be able to do their dress rehearsal. It was cutting things close, but it was a miracle that they’d managed to find someone willing to make three brand new costumes at all. Natasha had convinced one of the seniors to design them. And he truly had delivered.

Maria was being fitted first. Tony made a few comments as he adjusted the black and red corset and fixed the tulle that fell down the back. The freshman that always trailed at his heels like a lost puppy quickly jotted them down for final touches.

“Tony, you’ve really outdone yourself.” (Y/N) mused as Maria was waved off to change back into her usual clothes. Natasha laughed.

“Don’t say things like that, they go straight to his head.” She nudged her friend to get up and change into her costume as Maria came back to take a seat. (Y/N) swatted the redheads hand away and took the costume that Peter handed her with a hushed thank you. She slipped behind the privacy screen and stripped off her everyday clothes. Then she carefully changed into the stunning costume. A ruby red two piece embellished with more rhinestones than she could imagine attaching to anything. Sheer fabric draped from the back, tickling against her legs.

A volley of playful whistles rang out from her friends as she walked out. Peter even blushed so hard that she was worried he’d get a nosebleed or something. She did a little twirl and tucked her hair behind her ear. Tony stepped forward, entirely disregarding any concept of personal space as he adjusted the costume.

“If that doesn’t get Steve’s attention, I don’t know what will.” Maria piped up. (Y/N)’s cheeks burned. If looks could kill, Maria would be a goner.

“Please. All of Steve Rogers’ attention has been on her for weeks now. He just needs to get off his ass and do something about it.” Nat added fearlessly, and the brunette hummed her agreement. (Y/N) buried her face in her hands.

“Steve Rogers? You got the hots for the golden boy?” Tony asked as he straightened up and mumbled something about pushing her chest a little higher.

“Don’t say it that way,” She complained, uncovering her face and glancing anywhere but the faces of her friends. “Yes, I like Steve. I really like him.”

This brought a grin to Nat’s face that had her a little nervous. But she’d also gotten fairly used to that. Natasha was always plotting something or other.

“Don’t worry. He feels the same way.” She promised as Tony shoved (Y/N) back towards the privacy screen to change again. “He’s just too worried about impressing you to realize that he already has.”

She rolled her eyes. There was no way that was true. Firstly, she was in no way special enough to catch his attention that way. Secondly, he didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone, especially her. He just sort of managed with that charming smile and the general kindness. He was like something from a fairytale.

“I’m gonna be honest. I don’t see what the big deal is with him.” Maria shrugged as Natasha and (Y/N) swapped places.

“He’s hunky, and he has that whole gentle giant, starving artist thing going for him.” Tony answered easily. She rolled her eyes. Although...he was definitely hunky. And the gentle giant, starving artist thing didn’t hurt.

“You guys are so weird.” She giggled and picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “It’s so much more than that.”

“Yeah, well what is it then?” Nat asked, strutting out to Tony’s pedestal. She looked stunning in her black and red corset. Her black heels gave her a boost of height and her red hair fell over her shoulders. It was unfair that she was always such a knockout.

“He’s cute, and intelligent, and so passionate.” At her words, Tony flashed her a smirk and her eyes went wide. “Not like that! I just mean...he’s passionate about his art, you know?”

“Of course you would fall for something like that.” Maria teased. (Y/N) practically ruffled, shifting defensively.

“But that’s exactly what I mean! Nobody really sees why he’s so special. He’s deep, complex. He’s not like any guy I’ve met before. He’s just so much...more.” She ranted before giving a soft sigh of admiration.

“You’ve got it bad sweetheart.” Tony laughed. “You sound like me when I talk about Pep.”

Everyone knew about Tony and his Pepper. He was like a starry eyed kid when he was around her. Pepper Potts was a big shot in the music production course at the school. Everyone knew she’d make it big soon.

“I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.” Peter piped up for the first time in a while, a sweet smile on his innocent face as he looked at (Y/N). “It’s romantic. You being so in love with him and seeing him for something more than his body.”

“It’s just a silly little crush.” She lied. Even just saying so felt strange, like she was ignoring something that she never wanted to hide ever again. It was so much more than a silly little crush. But what right did she have to call it love?

T-minus two days to the showcase, and (Y/N) was most certainly working her ass off. Exams were finally over, and all she was worried about was her damn routine. Every spare moment was spent rehearsing. She’d hardly seen Steve face to face since exams had begun. She texted him any time she allowed herself to take a break.

She was pretty sure she was one of the only people still in the building. She’d been working herself to the edge for nearly six hours now. Her brain was going numb, her body screamed with every move she made, and every bit of her was trembling with exhaustion. But with every rep, her eyes found something new to nitpick.

That wasn’t smooth enough. You’re not hitting the points. You aren’t expressive enough. You aren’t enough. You’re never going to make it. You’ll never be any good. You’re talentless.

She hadn’t realized she’d started crying. She stared at herself in the massive, looming mirror that spanned the wall. She was just so small there, standing all alone in the middle of the room, chest heaving and tears streaking down her cheeks. She was hopeless. She wiped her face desperately and curled up in Steve’s corner.

She had texted him the last time she had let herself sit down. Which was — she glanced at her phone — two hours earlier. She sat her phone down and pulled her knees to her chest and tried her best to calm herself down. She was being pathetic. She’d been through worse, why was this throwing her. She sniffled. She needed someone to talk her down. But it was nearly 8pm. Natasha was with Buck, she was sure of it. Wanda was out with Pietro at his insistence. Maria hardly ever answered her texts, let alone her calls.

“And you have me,” Steve’s words rang out in her head. She picked up her phone again and pressed the call button by Steve’s contact. One ring. What was she thinking? Two rings. She was stupid to call him out of the blue. Three rings. She should-

“Hello?” Steve’s voice came through, and hers caught in her throat. She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the shaky sob that slipped out. “(Y/N)? You there?”

Steve had been in the shower when he heard the ringing. So of course he brushed it off. But when it didn’t stop, he assumed it wasn’t something he should ignore. Once he made out her contact, he was out in an instant, dripping water onto the tile of his bathroom without a thought.

“Stevie?” She asked finally. “Is this a bad time?”

“What? No! No, now’s fine. Are you okay?” He awkwardly held his towel around his waist. She sounded rough. Something was wrong. He could hear the tremble in her voice, the way her breath seemed to stutter. His shower was the last thing on his mind.

“Do you think I’m a good dancer, Steve?” She asked instead of giving him a straight answer. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, she’d heard him say it a million times before.

“(Y/N), talk to me. What’s going on?” He pushed, already moving towards his room to dress. She needed him and he was not going to let her down.

“I’ve been working on my number all day, Stevie. All day, and I’m still no good.” She sobbed and pressed her palm against her eyes.

“Go take a shower.” Steve ordered. “Drink some water. I’ll meet you outside the building in 20 minutes.”

“Steve,”

“No, go get cleaned up. 20 minutes.” He didn’t let up, and after a moment she gave in. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

He let her hang up, and rushed to get himself dressed

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was just trying to follow his instructions. She packed her things back into her bag and lifted it onto her achy shoulder. She flicked off the lights and closed the door behind her. On the walk to the showers, she downed what was left in her water bottle.

Usually her showers would only take 5 minutes, but as she stood under the nearly scalding spray, she felt her muscles relax, felt her panic begin to ebb into a tight coil of anxiety in her chest. So she stayed there until the water cooled to an uncomfortable icy drizzle. 10 minutes left until she’d have to face him.

She dried herself out and changed into her clean clothes. A sweater and her leggings. She pushed her hair back. Five minutes. For the first time ever, she was dreading seeing Steve.

By the time she made it outside, Steve was already pacing there waiting for her. His hands were jammed into his pockets, and his hair was damp and messy. But the moment she came into view, he froze and looked her over. Her eyes were still bloodshot from the crying, and it was clear that she was nervous by the way she fiddled with her sleeves. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he met her halfway and bundled her up safe and warm into a tight hug.

She relaxed into him, pressing her cheek against his chest and hugging him just as tightly. They stayed that way for a long time, longer than either of them bothered to count. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around her, and she clung to him like her life depended on it, just listening to the steady beat of his heart. For a brief moment of time, she was okay, she was safe, and she was enough.

“You had me really worried.” Steve confessed softly. She tilted her chin up to look at him. Their faces were almost dangerously close, intimately close. And with her chest pressed to his that way, he could surely feel the way her heart hammered against her ribs.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She mumbled, and he shook his head so quickly it nearly startled her. He only hoped she didn’t really regret calling him. But the fact that her hands had fisted into his dark blue tee eased his mind. “Didn’t mean for you to come all the way here so late.”

Steve scoffed and brushed his thumb against the tiny sliver of exposed skin where her sweater had ridden up.

“I told you that you’ve got me. I’d do anything to make sure you’re okay.” His eyes met hers, and the simple sincerity behind the blue she’d fallen for had her stomach swirling.

“You are a real prince, Steve Rogers.” She practically whispered. This man was too good to be true, and much too good to be hers. Steve didn’t say anything, but even in the near darkness she noticed the way his cheeks went pink.

“When’s the last time you ate?” He asked, slowly letting his arms slip from around her.

“About four hours ago.” She didn’t bother mentioning that even then she’d only had a granola bar. But Steve still didn’t seem satisfied with the length of time.

“Come on, there’s a little place that you might like.” He gently took her bag from her shoulder and nodded for her to walk with him. She didn’t speak, just following along at his side. He didn’t press her to say anything, and she appreciated it more than words could say. Eventually though, her guilt got the better of her.

“My mom called me. Her and my dad are coming to see me dance at the showcase.” She confessed suddenly. Steve gave her a look. That would explain her panic. He knew how tense things were, how useless they’d made her feel. Something in him just hoped she wouldn’t let their opinions tear her down completely.

“Is that why you were dancing so hard today?” She nodded, and they were both quiet for another long moment.

“My parents have never come to a showcase. My dad hasn’t even seen my dance since I graduated highschool. But now they decide to come to the mid-year showcase my junior year?” Her anxiety was beginning to give way to anger. Years of no support from the most important people in her life, and they suddenly decide to come back as if they’d never abandoned her.

“Maybe they’re coming around. Better late than never, right?” Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. She smiled and let herself melt into him. “Come on. This is it.”

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #captain america imagine #captain america fanfic #captain america #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x reader #marvel reader insert #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #fluff #imagine #x reader #reader insert #the muses dance

24 notes · View notes

carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

Text

Whumptober prompts #5,#6, #7 in one fic

5: Gunpoint

6: Dragged away

7. Isolation

I got bogged down and fell behind on whumptober so here is my fic utilizing three prompts in a vain attempt to catch up. Not my best work for sure but here goes!

Baz

The moment Snow heads to the bathroom for a shower Bunce lunges at me, pulling a brightly coloured piece of paper from her pocket and waving it in my face.

I scoot away, until I’m wedged into the corner of their lumpy sofa. “What is the meaning of this attack, you fright?”

She flaps the paper at me again. “Read this!”

I pluck it from her fingertips and spread it out on my knees. It’s some sort of flyer. One of those god-awful things they have pinned to the bulletin board at the café on campus.

I roll my eyes at her and she knocks her shoulder into mine. “Read it.”

I’ve learned you don’t cross Bunce when she’s like this—reeking of intensity and too much caffeine.

The black print is stark against the orange paper. “PAINTBALL TOURNAMENT” is emblazoned at the top in 72-point font. Overkill, if you ask me. I skim the rest then turn to her. “Yes? Why are you giving this to me?”

“It’s for Simon.”

“Then why the devil aren’t you giving it to him?”

She crosses her arms and levels a glare at me over her glasses. She’s actually quite terrifying when she’s like this. “I’m giving it to you so you can take him there.”

“Why on earth would I take Snow to a paintball tournament?” I peer at the paper again. “With people we don’t even know?”

“So he can shoot things.”

Oh. I suppose there is some sense to that.

“Yes, fine, I get that, but why do I have to take him?” I can think of far better ways to spend an afternoon than crawling around in the dirt with a horde of chavvy wankers with a gun fetish.

Although crawling around in the dirt with Snow does have a certain appeal.

“So you can shoot things together.” She huffs at me. “You’ve said it yourself, Baz. He doesn’t get enough exercise. He used to train all the time. He used to go on missions, run himself ragged on those ridiculous quests the Mage sent him on.” She flops back against the sofa, all the energy gone out of her. “He doesn’t do any of that anymore.”

She’s right. He doesn’t. He’ll go for a run here and there but it’s not so easy with wings and a tail, even spelled invisible. They throw him off pace.

Snow joined a fencing club a few months back, but there’s no one there who can match him. He got bored after just a few weeks.

Much as it pains me to admit, Bunce has a point.

Simon might actually like this. An activity where he can use the skills he honed for years as the Mage’s Heir but not actually have to kill anyone or anything.

It could be good for him.

I suppose we could take the train. I’d rather not get any stray drips of paint on the Jag.

“Fine, Bunce. I’ll see if he wants to go.”

Snow is literally bouncing. He’s got his camouflage combat suit on, protective body armor all in place, goggles perched on top of his head. His tail is tucked away.

I’ve done an “out of sight, out of mind” on him and made his wings incorporeal. As long as he doesn’t think about them we should be fine. I debate casting a “these aren’t the droids you’re looking for” as well, for good measure, but decide that it’s not quite sporting. He’s already got an unfair advantage over the chunky tossers populating this place.

And an unfair advantage over me.

All that’s left to do now is choose our weapons and decide on an ammo package.

We’ve been assigned to a random team, since there are only two of us, and thank magic we’re on the same one.

I strap my ammo belt on. I was planning on the standard issue rifle and ammo package but Snow insists I get some high tech, stealth sniper rifle. “You’ve not done this before, Baz.”

“Neither have you, you nightmare.”

Snow scoffs. “Yeah, but I’ve played video games for years.” He steps closer and zips my suit all the way up, fingers resting on my chest for a moment. “Trust me. You’d rather be behind the line with the long-range weapon.” He leans in, words barely above a whisper. “With your eyesight and reflexes you’ll be fucking lethal with this.”

I do what he says. There is no way I can argue with Snow when he looks at me like that.

He gets the top of the line rifle and enough ammunition to supply a small army. Which I suppose is exactly what he is.

It ends up being far more entertaining than I anticipated. Snow’s right, I prefer a position a bit back from the fray, out of the direct line of fire, so I can pick off my opponents one by one from there.

He thinks I’m being strategic. Only if my strategy is getting as good a look at Simon Snow in action as I can.

Unlike Bunce, I’ve rarely gotten to see Snow in his element, when he’s relying on the pure power of his body and the instincts that have been honed in him. He’s powerful. He’s lethal.

He’s fucking breathtaking.

And I will take down every arsehole that even tries to take a shot at him.

My ammunition is soon running low and I belatedly curse myself for not listening to Snow. No matter. I wedge myself behind a bunker and peer through a crack, rifle at ready. I can watch Snow to my heart’s content like this. No one’s going to make an effort to ferret me out here. I’ve got the drop on them from my vantage point.

Snow is mesmerizing. He’s halfway across the battle ground now, yelling as he advances on the enemy forces, spraying them liberally with yellow paint. Kill shot after kill shot.

He’s a one-man platoon, on berserker mode.

It’s brilliant.

There are two enemy combatants advancing on him now, left and right, using the meagre hedges and undulations of the ground to cover their progress. I wonder why they haven’t sent a volley of paint at him yet.

I pick off the one on the left first, since he’s closer to Snow, and then turn my sights on the bloke on the right. I hit him too. Kill shots both.

But they don’t stop advancing.

According to rules they both should be out of play now. I reload and hit them again for good measure.

They don’t stop.

There’s something sinister in their stalking of Snow, even if he has decimated their ranks single-handedly. They should be shooting at him, not tracking him in this way.

I’m leaping over the bunker and racing across the no man’s land in an instant, eyes on Snow.

They tackle him from behind, which is clearly a violation of rule number three.

I’m not going to get to him in time. I don’t know what’s going on, but these two are a different sort than the regular paintball denizens we’ve run into so far.

They’re tall, lithe, faster than I would expect as they lunge forward and tackle Snow to the ground.

He’s not going down easy. Snow lands punches on them both, feet flailing as he kicks the legs out from under one of them and knocks his head into the other’s chest.

I’m almost to him when I feel a thud against my back. Some sodding git has nailed me with a paintball. And then another hits me. The abruptness of it catches me off guard and I stumble on a rock, going down in a heap. I’m back on my feet in an instant but I’m already too late.

The two blokes have a hold of Snow and they are dragging him into a forbidding two story structure with no windows on the far edge of the field. He’s not fighting back.

They’re moving far faster than any Normal should.

One looks back at me and gives me a smirk. A blood-red grin from a green-cast face.

Fuck.

Goblins.

Simon

My head’s throbbing when my eyes blink open. Fuck, it hurts. I try to reach up to rub my head but my hands are tied behind my back.

It all comes back to me. My mad rush across the field, the ambush.

Fucking Goblins. I don’t know why they can’t have an election or a hereditary monarchy or a parliamentary procedure instead of this fucking arbitrary method of choosing a king centered on who kills me.

That’s no basis for a system of government.

These two are grinning at me from across the room, smooth green skin, blood red lips. Fit and feral, the bastards. They finally figured out that it would take more than one of them to bring me down.

Took them long enough.

I wonder where Baz is. I’m sure he’s gone completely feral himself, if he witnessed them ambushing me.

It’s Penny and Baz’s biggest fear, that I’d be waylaid by murderous magical creatures someday when I was alone.

Well I wasn’t alone, it was in broad fucking daylight, and in a public place, for Merlin’s sake. A damn paintball venue, of all things. Proves my point, really. Baz and Penny can’t protect me every minute of every day, even if they’re right there with me. I have to be able to fend for myself. Like I always did before.

Just without magic this time.

The taller of the two saunters across the room. “Finally got you, Mage’s Heir.”

“Yeah, well, hope you two have it figured out which one of you gets the crown.”

Goblins may be fit and fast but they aren’t the smartest, not as far as thinking things through. They’d have had me years ago if they’d been savvy enough to stop trying to get me one on one.

If I can keep them talking, stall for time, that should give Baz a chance to find his way to me.

If anyone can hunt me down it’s him.

I doubt they’d kill me here, anyway. I’m sure they have to do it in front of some formal tribunal, to prove it’s actually me and that I’m actually dead. I mean, that’s what would make sense, from a political standpoint, but who knows with this lot.

Seems to be working, from the frowns on their faces. “Hadn’t thought of that, had you?” I say, bold enough to rub it in a bit, now that I know I’ve got them thinking.

That earns me a kick from the shorter goblin. “Shut your mouth, Chosen One.”

They retreat to a corner of the room and start bickering. Maybe they’ll kill each other off and do Baz’s work for him.

I’d not mind.

I think this is the structure at the far end of the battle field. I’d seen it and assumed it was a storage facility of some kind.

It is.

There are two lawnmowers and a small tractor. Rolled up fencing. A stack of wood in the far corner. Field maintenance it seems. I take stock, to see what might be useful as a weapon. The shovels and rakes appear to be the most promising.

The building is about two stories high but there’s only the one floor and then a little loft on the far side, with a ladder leading up to it. I can’t see if there’s anything up there from here. It’s dark and dim, just a few lights shining weakly high up in the rafters.

There are no windows. Just a door. A solid one.

The Goblins seem to have reached some sort of agreement. One leans against the wall and the other comes my way. “Get up.”

I don’t.

I’m not going to make it easy on them. I may be tied up but that doesn’t mean I have to be obedient. They’ll have to carry me if they want to take me anywhere. I’m not tall but I’m solid. I can make it difficult if I choose.

I do choose.

It takes both of them to get me across the space to the ladder. I’m kicking and flailing, shouting at them too, just in case Baz is near enough to hear me. He won’t even have to be that close, with his hearing, but I roar at them anyway. Makes me feel better, it does.

I’m not going to lie, I’m right furious these two got the drop on me. I let my guard down, thinking it was just Normals here.

Won’t be making that mistake again.

They finally drag me up the ladder, thumping me on every step as they take me up. I’m going to have bruises all over by then end of this.

It’s a small space, filled with boxes of paint balls, labeled by size and color. They shift two of the boxes and wedge me between them, tightening the ropes on my hands again and tying my feet now for good measure.

They have gotten smarter.

Arseholes.

One leans down, all gleaming red smile again. “We’ll be back, Mageling. Can’t drag you out the front gate of this place in broad daylight but it’ll be dark soon enough.” His grin is all sharp teeth and cherry red lips. “Once they’re all gone Nigel will bring the car around and we’ll have you right where we want you.”

The other one chimes in. “You’ve had a good run. And now you’re running days are over.” They’re giving me matching smiles now, all cocky, thinking they’ve got me cornered.

They do but I’m not going down without a fight. They’ve given me their plan, so now I know what to expect. No subtlety at all.

The short one—Nigel, I suppose—checks his watch. It looks like a fucking Rolex. I don’t understand goblins, I really don’t.

“Come along, Terry,” he says. “We’ve got to get out of here before they do a sweep of the property for the night and put the gear back in here.” He smirks at me. “We’ll be back after sundown for you.”

They go down the ladder. I hear a door click and then I’m alone.

I scoot forward as far as I can, without getting too close to the edge. I wonder why they store the paint up here, rather than down of the main level. I’ll probably never know.

I give my hands an experimental wiggle but the ropes are tight. I try to twist my fingers to find the knots but I’ll give the goblins this—they know how to truss you up good and proper. I won’t be getting myself out of these rope shackles anytime soon.

I end up thinking about the spells I could have used when I had magic.

“Cutting the Gordian knot” is tricky—Alexander the Great may have cut an actual knot but most people use that spell for solving a conundrum, not an actual knot in a rope.

“Gotta help our Cinderelly,” would have brought out every rat and field mouse in the place, although I’m not sure I could have had them gnaw the ropes willingly.

Who am I kidding? Those spells would have never worked for me. Too complicated.

I’d have just called the Sword of Mages and sawed the ropes against the blade until I could break the strands.

Or I would have just gone off. Reduced the whole building to splinters.

I miss magic. I miss it with my heart and soul. I miss it so much I can taste it—the smoke and burning that used to come over me when I’d use it.

But I was never any good at it, was I?

I can’t let myself think about that. Not right now.

Not when I’m stuck here, with no way out and no idea where Baz is.

Fuck. I wonder if this is what Agatha used to feel like?

Bloody useless. I hate it.

Bet she did too.

Baz

I’ve been circling the building, trying to find a way in. There’s only the one door. I pull on the knob, rattle the hinges but I can’t rip it away, even with my vampire strength. I don’t know what they’ve done to it, the bastards, but it won’t budge. Goblins don’t have much magic but they do fucking have the market on making doorways do their bidding.

Even “open sesame” fails me. Fucking hell.

There’s not a window, not a crack in the foundations. Nothing.

I’m losing my mind. I heard Simon shout. I heard his voice through the solid walls of this god-forsaken structure. Why the fuck do you need an impenetrable fortress at a sodding paintball club?

My fangs have popped, my fists are clenched. I’m going to rip these bastards limb from limb.

Simon has to still be alive. There’s no way they’d go to their tribunal or whatever the fuck they call it without proof they’d captured him. Without proof they’d killed him.

I’m circling around again, looking for anything I might have missed my first time around when the goblins come out the fucking door a few feet away from me, all glamoured to look like members of fucking Duran Duran instead of their disgusting green selves—all big hair and frosted waves, eyeliner on point. It’s not a good look with the camouflage jumpsuits.

I’m on them before they even see me, silent and deadly. I knock into the taller one—he looks just like John Taylor—shifting him off balance. He bumps into the shorter one—more of a Nick Rhodes look on him—and then turns on me with a snarl.

I’m ready for him.

I snap his neck before he can even take a step.

The Nick Rhodes look-alike takes a step back, looks like he’s ready to run for it but I’m on him before he has the chance.

“Where is he?”

“Where’s who?”

“Don’t fuck with me. Where’s Simon?”

He tries to claw at me. Goblins have long, elegantly manicured nails but you’ll get a nasty rash if they scratch you. My hand goes up lightning fast and I catch his wrist. I bend it back until the bone snaps and he howls.

I mutter a “Silence is golden.” No good having anyone hear us. I can handle one goblin on my own and I don’t want an audience.

I’m not well versed in the memory spells the Coven uses on Normals that inadvertently witness displays of magic. Or the one my father uses on Vera from time to time.

Less seen the better then.

I make quick work of this goblin too, snapping his head with a twist. He goes limp and falls to the ground. I cast a “into thin air” on the corpses and rush to the door. “Open sesame” works this time, since they’re both dead and their magic has died with them.

I rush inside, scanning around the room for Simon. I hear a shout from above and I spot him, trussed up but grinning at the sight of me, on some sort of landing up a ladder.

I’m up it in an instant, casting “like a knife through butter” to shear through his bonds with my wand.

I’ve got my arms around him an instant later. “You bloody bastard. You courageous fuck. I told you it would be the bloody goblins, I told you those arseholes would never rest.”

Snow leans into me, head on my shoulder. It takes me a minute to realize he’s laughing. “Are you all right, Simon?” I catch his face between my hands and stare into his eyes.

He’s still smiling. “What are you laughing about, you nightmare? You could have been killed.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that spell,” Snow says. “I was sitting here, waiting for you to finally show up, you jammy bastard, trying to remember what spells would work to cut ropes. ’Like a knife through butter.’ You’d think, of all the spells, I’d remember that one.”

I rub my thumb on his cheekbone and shake my head. “You’d think.” I press a kiss to his forehead and then stand up, pulling him up with me.

Last time I listen to Bunce. Take him for paintball, she said. It’ll be good for him, she said. Bloody hell.

But when I look at Simon I know she was right, fucking Goblins and all.

He’s sweaty and bruised, with a lump on the side of his head, but his smile is wide, wider than it’s been in weeks.

#whumptober2019 #whumptober day 5 #whumptober day 6 #whumptober day 7 #carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #Penelope bunce #sorry this is late

110 notes · View notes

buckylokistark · 5 years

Text

Paintings ~ part I

Summary: Loki fled his home, too tired of being the cause of his father’s constant disappointment. With help from Heimdall, he escapes to Midgard, the last place his father would look for him. In dire need of a job, he meets Y/N, a struggling artist trying to be recognised for her work. Can they help each other or are they holding one another back?

Masterlist Paintings

Loki wasn't the top of the class in Asgard. With muscles that just wouldn't grow and strength that was nearly non-existent, it was inevitable to be one of the underdogs.

"But brother, are you even trying?"

"No determination to make any progress."

"Are you sure you and Thor are related?"

"Seriously lacking in strength, not recommended in battle."

"Well, I guess someone had to be the runt of the litter."

"Lost all fights held."

"Get up and fight! And you call yourself a god?"

It wasn't until he discovered his true heritage that he ran away from everything. Heimdal saw him coming, had already opened the Bifrost to a still unknown planet.

"Midgard", Heimdal replied to him as he approached the gate.

Loki nodded, Midgard was so unknown, the last place anyone would seek for a magical Frost Giant. Now the only thing that remained was to act like an ordinary mortal. Easy, right?

________

The jingle of the bell made you look up to the door. A handsome man, looking very lost, stood on the doormat, shuffling his shoes to get the soles clean before stepping in the store, the door falling slowly shut behing him.

You left the safety of the register and moved to the front of your showroom, meeting the man halfway in front of one of your first paintings, a 100 by 200 centimetres piece inspired by the New York artist Basquiat.

"Hi, how may i help you?"

The man looked at your face, still relatively bothered by the fact he needed to act like he needed help from a Midgardian of all creatures. He was a god, after all, worthy of so much more than what he has been given.

Realising he had no other options, he sighed and took a deep breath before speaking, "I saw you were looking for a shop assistant and I was wondering if I could fill that position?" His posture never changing, radiating constant power through the whole shop.

You were a bit confused how and why a man in a black two-piece suit looking rich as hell even wanted to work here, or anywhere in this neighbourhood really. Shaking away your confusion, you composed yourself before answering his question.

"Yeah, the application is still open, I will have to ask you a few questions up first though, starting with your name..."

"I sense no complications there. The name is Loki, Loki Laufeyson."

Shaking his outstretched hand and replying with yours, you led him to the back of your shop, where your atelier was positioned. The atelier wasn’t much, but then again, so was your showroom. The showroom was 3 by 5 metres, your atelier 3 by 3. Shelves adorned the wall on the left, stacked with all kinds of paint, brushes, spray cans and small canvasses. The wall in front of you was filled with half finished paintings, an easel in the middle of the room holding another one. A tiny table was cramped next to the doorway, two plastic chairs folded against said table.

Walking inside, Loki noticed the plastic sheets on the floor, littered with dry splashes of paint. You gestured to the plastic chair next to the door, seating yourself in the other.

"I’m sorry to hold this meeting here but I have no better place to hold it." You shrug your shoulders apologetically before grabbing some papers that were strewn on the table.

"First of all, I need to see some sort of identification."

Loki nodded and turned to his bag which he had abandoned behind his chair, quickly conjuring a fake, yet very real looking, ID.

You took it from his outstretched hand, looking at it thouroughly before handing it back and nodding.

"I hope it is okay to have an $11.00 wage, it is all I can afford to lose. This job requires you to be good in accounting, resume is not a necessity, I just need someone quick to look after the showroom when I'm gone, you see, I need to inspect the places of customers, so I can make the best painting for them, one that fits their house.

So, what makes you want this job?"

Loki took a deep breath. "Well, I always loved art, but my father was really old-fashioned, always wanting me and my brother to learn how to fight, have brute strength, let the woman stay at home and clean and the men work hard, be a real man, so I had to sneak to my mum and she taught me about different art-forms, cooking, reading, the more feminine side of me, so to speak.

Once I realised I needed to grow up and get a job, I thought why not somewhere fun. I searched and searched, then I found this shop and I was immediatly sold."

"And you don't care much about the, well, significantly smaller wage than normal?"

"My parents are very wealthy, I only started to search for a job because I longed for stability. Work keeps people going, it creates a rythm in your life, something neverchanging in a world of everchanging things." He didn’t mention his ability to replicate and multiply objects, nor the prying eyes of his landlord who was becoming very suspicious about his lack of job and overflow of money.

"Well, I believe you have what it takes, so I’ll give you a two month contract and if everything runs smoothly, we’ll add another six months to it. Sounds okay?"

"Couldn’t be better. Thank you for the opportunity, I will do my best."

"I have good faith in you. Now, would it work for you to let me call you when I need a hand, so you can stay home when you’re not necessarily needed?"

"Oh yes absolutely, I have nothing else to do anyways, nothing that can’t be moved anyways." In his head Loki was already planning to spend his time your shop, the art having taken him captive.

"Great, now the only thing left is for you to fill this last sheet and sign these two papers, one for me and a copy for yourself."

Loki looked at the papers, signed them and then looked at the last form. He just had to fill in his full name, date of birth, his personal and house phone number and his email address. After he finished writing, you ended the conversation, claiming you had a project to finish by tonight. You bid each other a final goodbye and went your separate ways.

As the weeks progressed, you and Loki found a suitable schedule. You had to admit, seeing him in your shop was a bit odd at first, but you had become so used to him being there that it was as if it never was any different.

He always arrived when the clock struck 10, never after, never before. It was weird, seeing as he was only needed when you’d call him. It made it easier when you needed to go and visit people though, but he made you wonder if he had any form of a social life, just working surely couldn’t be good for your health?

Voicing your thoughts, on the other hand, was harder, seeing as you suddenly had more work then you had all year. You started to suspect it had something to do with Loki, though you were, as previously mentioned, too busy to mention.

Just like now, where your project made you lose track of time, which resulted in you being stressed, more so than normal.

"Loki I am so sorry I need to go, I have an appointment in 10 and I still need to clean and I need to change out of my painting clothes and I can’t make it in time!"

Loki watched you run around the shop, catching you by your upper arm as you rushed past him to get out the door. You paused your stressed rambling, looking up at his face, inches away from yours. His hands reached to the collar of your blouse, fixing the weirdly folded seem. Only now you noticed how intimate this position actually was, his breath fanning over your face and his chest touching yours. With dry eyes from the staring, you blink, suddenly remembering your client.

You cleared your throat and took a step sideways, moving to the door.

"Thanks, I will see you once I get back?"

Loki blinked, before smiling and answering, "yes, of course elskling."

He had taken to calling you that, his family’s Norse roots shining through.

Satisfied with the answer, you walked out the door, quickly getting in your car and driving as fast as allowed to try and make it on time. This client was still anonymous, and asked you to meet him in the coffee shop in the Stark Tower. The coffee shop, The Iron Coffee, was notorious for their strong coffee, a replica of the original Italian way. Why your client wanted to meet you there was still a mystery, even though this tells you a lot about him. He likes strong coffee, wich suggests he either has Italian or West-European roots, he likes things to be straight forward, he likes caffeine, what points to him having a job with long days. He obviously has no shortage of money, given the fact he offered to pay for the coffe, which is not cheap at all, and the fact that the price offered for this job is ridiculously high, even if you had to paint a painting to cover an entire wall you would’ve charged less.

You finally arrive at the cafe, a minute to spare. Quickly grabbing your bag with writing equipment (how did that get here?), you opened the door and rushed inside.

The first thing you noticed as you entered was the way a black haired guy in a suit stood up and looked at you. Well, you thought he looked at you, it was a bit hard to see with those big sunglasses on his face.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to him, his eyes, you suspect, following you all the way.

"Hello, my name is Y/N, are you the one i had an appointment with?”

The man smirked, finally removing his sunglasses.

“Depends, are you Y/N?” You opened and closed your mouth a few times. Having recognised his face, you realise you were standing right in front of none other than Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries and billionaire.

#loki laufeyson #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #loki #loki fanfic #marvel #marvel mcu #loki x reader #reader insert #imagine #sad #mental abuse?#michelle’s writings #Paintings ~ Loki Laufeyson

49 notes · View notes

echodrops · 4 years

Text

The Promises I Made (2019 Edition)

For the past thirteen years, I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve compiling a list of fifty promises I intend to keep or fulfill over the next twelve months. The results have been truly amazing, and I have kept some promises I never thought I could. 2019 was… a nightmare that I can barely believe I survived, but I still kept some promises that I honestly did not expect I ever could.

This year, for New Year’s, there will be a new set of promises for to me keep, but here are the old ones, for review!

The Promises I Made (2019 Edition)

1) Be more proactive about tracking and following up with struggling students to decrease the number of students who drop from my class when they realize they cannot pass. Status: Somewhat broken? I tried really hard to be proactive with my students; however, there were some massive issues outside the classroom this year that made it extremely difficult to keep the focus on the students. When administration drags your attention away from the class, there is not a lot you can do…

2) Find a place to put in volunteer hours because uhhhh like this is actually important to my work evaluation and I definitely need something to write in that section… Yikes, this spring is my last chance to do this!! @_@ Status: Kept. I volunteered with the Utah Shakespeare Festival and it was super fun!

3) Install the fire escape window in the Utah house, no matter how much it might cost, because I can’t get a totally unrelated tenant in that basement without said window… Status: Somewhat kept. Okay. This one is a LONG story, but to be fair to me, I worked my ASS off to try and make this happen; just every single thing in the world prevented me from completing this promise, up to and including the city telling me I needed a permit AFTER I had already dug a massive hole in the ground for the window…

4) Buy sod to add grass to the front portion of the lawn so that it no longer looks like garbage. Status: Broken, but I did buy grass seed and put that out there. Unfortunately only some of it sprouted, but there is indeed SOME grass now growing there…

5) Fix the bricks near the windowsills on the Utah house to prevent long-term damage. Status: Broken. After dealing with the stupid window disaster, I had no time for this at all.

6) Get a watering system for my roses at the Utah house because I think my bro is probably killing them and that’s just not cool. Status: Broken, see above.

7) Work on the patio at the Utah house before it just flat out falls down. Status: Somewhat broken. Again, I tried to make progress on this—I called a patio guy to come out and assess how much it would cost to fix the patio—but the price I was quoted was so high that there was nothing I could do at the time.

8) Paint the stairwell so that there’s no chance of anything like lead paint or asbestos being exposed. Status: Broken. The leftover wallpaper glue continues to confound me…

9) Trim the backyard bushes so the neighbors don’t hate us anymore… Status: Broken. We trimmed a few bushes and at least got to the trees out front, but definitely a majority were left uncared for.

10) Move into a new house in Texas where I can get real internet, please for the love of god… Status: Kept. I moved into a very nice house with no scorpions!

11) Save money for my upcoming trip to Japan! 2020 baby! Status: Uhhh, broken. I’m not sure how I thought I’d be able to move into a new house AND save money for an international trip at the same time…

12) Get my wisdom tooth removed because it’s still there and still killing me, yikessss. Status: Broken. AUGH. I’m an idiot.

13) Make an appointment with an eye doctor for like the first time in years. Good job, Yehn, good job. Status: Kept. I got my glasses fixed and even got a new pair of glasses too!

14) Get my prescriptions refilled because I’m dwindling on asthma medicine and like… I could die from this… I should never have been left to care for myself; I’m not mature enough for this responsibility… Status: Kept, surprisingly. But I still need a new doctor because the last one I was going to wouldn’t give me any refills…

15) FINISH THE GIVEAWAY PRIZES I PROMISED LAST YEAR because holy shit I am incompetent and the worst and everyone has permission to hate me for starting things and never finishing them, fuck. Status: Broken. So broken. I am the worst.

16) Go dolphin watching in the Gulf for real this time. Seriously, it’s $10 Yehn, you can do this. Status: Kept, amazingly. It wasn’t as impressed as hoped; however, there was a lovely sunset.

17) Return to the Channel Islands to take better pictures. D; Status: Broken. T_T

18) Level all my classes to 70 in FFXIV before next expansion, please. Status: Somewhat broken. I didn’t have everything to 70 before the expansion, but I kind of feel like I should get credit for this one, because HEY, look at me now:

19) Organize and properly label all the photos on my computer so that I’m no longer desperately combing through folder and folder in blank confusion, looking for a single picture in a sea of thousands… Status: Kept. It took me like eight hours of work, but I actually did this.

20) Update Home and a Half more than once? PLEASE??? The guilt I feel over this currently is crushing. Status: Broken. And the guilt grows…

21) Complete the online American Literature class I am designing on time and with no corrections needed. Status: Kept. I’m counting this as kept even though TECHNICALLY there was one thing I forgot to finish and it came back and bit me in the ass; however, I was approved with no corrections needed.

22) Earn 100% completion for Kingdom Hearts III. So excited! Status: Broken. Um… This just didn’t happen.

23) Update my calendar with important dates—holidays, birthdays, etc.—and be productive about sending cards and well-wishes. Status: Somewhat kept. I wasn’t any better about sending cards really, but I did at least save all the birthdays in my phone so I remember them.

24) Get the garbage disposal in the Texas house fixed ASAP so I don’t have to wash the dishes by hand anymore because I absolutely hate that particular chore. Status: Kept. Then I moved, so it didn’t even matter.

25) Finish all the books my coworkers and friends bought for me recently so I can thank them for their recommendations! Status: Broken. So broken.

26) Actually move into my new place instead of leaving it completely undecorated and lifeless. Status: Remarkably, kept. Nothing has plastic on it, unlike at my old house where the nightstand didn’t get unwrapped even after two years of living there lol.

27) Try hard to get Creative Writing into a different area of the general ed. core so that more people will enroll in it. Status: Kept. I’m counting this because I did my darn best, but we are still waiting on the state to tell us whether or not the class will be accepted.

28) Get caught up on my Ebird reports, even the old, old, old ones I never put in because I was slacking. Status: Kept, actually. Whoo.

29) Throw away/return/sort all the stacks of old mail in the house (OMGGGG they’ve made me look like paper hoarder and I’m nootttt). Status: Broken. There’s just… a lot of papers to go through…

30) Clean up the garage before moving so that I don’t have to fight spiders to move when the time comes. Status: Broken, in that I did not clean up the garage in advance and did, in fact, have to fight spiders when it came time to move.

31) Find a way to boost grading productivity so that each class takes only two days to grade, maximum. Status: Somewhat kept. I was definitely better this year than last year; however, I really think the “two days per class” thing was too optimistic, so for the future semester, I allotted myself three days per class and I think it will work better.

32) Go to a totally new restaurant and try their food. Status: Kept. We went to a Mexican restaurant and I had trompo tacos (al pastor) which is probably not anything special to anyone else but it was my first time so lol.

33) Cancel old credit cards to make sure my credit is good before trying to buy a house (although I just checked my credit score and I’m in the great range already, so this is mostly for posterity’s sake). Status: Broken. But it didn’t affect my loan, so I guess it was okay. And it ended up being good I didn’t cancel my Best Buy card because I was able to get good financing on the new appliances I needed for my house.

34) Get official contracts from my tenants so I can use my rental income in my next loan calculation. Status: Broken, but I ended up not using that as part of the loan calculation anyway >_> so…

35) Talk to an HR rep about my retirement savings so that I can consolidate all my retirement accounts into one. (Man, look at all these ADULTING promises.) Status: Broken. Look at me failing all these adulting promises.

36) Really finish decorating my office so it looks super cute and all my students want to visit me. Status: Broken, but I think it sucks that I have to write this because it was really not my fault I couldn’t finish decorating my office. Our offices were all moved and disrupted by building remodels so I spent the entire year basically working out of a couple cardboard boxes.

37) Not sign up for ANY more new responsibilities at work in the spring semester. This is the biggest challenge. D; Status: Kept, by technicality. I was able to avoid signing up for anything new in SPRING… But fall… was a whole other story. XD

38) Migrate all the rest of my books to the new Texas house instead of leaving them in Utah… SOMEHOW. Status: Kept. I’m going to count this as kept. The only books left at the Utah house are my manga—I managed to bring literally every other book, which is very impressive considering I had only my small Camaro with its tiny truck space.

39) Use my twitter account more often to make it worth following. I will try!! Status: Kept… sorta? I mean, since I didn’t use the account AT ALL before, making even one Twitter post kind of counts as using it more, right? >_>

40) Keep my hair cut nicely so I look less like a mess (than I really am). Status: Somewhat broken. Although I think I got my hair cut more often this year than before, I don’t think I looked any less like a mess. XD

41) Successfully find a bridesmaid dress for my friend’s wedding that matches the rest of the wedding party. Status: Actually kept! It was incredible. The wedding I was in was even featured in a magazine because of how pretty it was!

42) Make sure my skin is in good condition for the wedding so I don’t look like a disturbing ghost… Status: Kept? I mean, in the end, looking like a ghost ended up being the whole point since it was a Halloween themed wedding so I kind of won either way.

43) Complete my BNHA manga collection. Since my bro bought me a bunch of the volumes for Christmas, I might as well. Status: Broken… I bought like… one volume. XD

44) See a groove-billed ani. (It’s another type of bird.) Status: Broken. Very illusive bird. T_T

45) Respond to messages, asks, and comments more quickly. I promise I’m not ignoring people… D; Status: Um, broken. I left many people on read this year, sorry.

46) Lose ten pounds so that I feel more fit and comfy. Status: Broken. I didn’t exercise at all this year, uff.

47) Pay down credit card debt by at least 1/3. Yikesssss, I really need to do this quick. Status: Broken. It’s hard to pay down a credit card when you pour all your money into buying a new house…

48) I will finally fucking finish that chapter 73 analysis of Noragami… I swear to god… Status: Broken. Uh yeah. This didn’t happen. V_V

49) Reach 1700 followers on Tumblr. You should follow me—I’m only marginally a waste of time and space! Status: Kept. Over 2500 followers now!

50) I will keep these promises. LOLLLLL. Status: Somewhat kept/somewhat broken. One year I really will keep them all…

Totals Kept promises: 18 Broken promises: 24 Somewhat kept/broken promises: 8

Well, there are more kept promises than last year at least… It was another really hard year, what with moving in the middle of the year, over-working, dealing with so much drama with the reaccreditation on our campus, and just EVERYTHING all at once this last year… I keep thinking things are going to calm down and then they never do. Please 2020… just let me rest…

My new set of promises will be up on the 1st!

#50 promises #new year's resolutions #IRL stuff #please 2020 #I need a break #it's not the roaring 20s #it's the snoring 20s #PLEASE

12 notes · View notes