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lilacxquartz · 20 days

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Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 3

Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader x Suguru Geto

warning: this is a dark yandere fic that will feature upsetting themes in the future and it is canon divergent

About:

You moved to Tokvo over the summer to take a teaching job. As you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

Chapter Summary:

You didn’t bring all that much with you, thinking you’d probably lay low for the summer. Your new friend wants to get you something though, it’s on the house he claims.

Previous Chapter

3. Worn Out

With the laundry finally done and dried enough to pack into a bag, you made a comment half joking about this being the second time you were doing laundry this week because you didn’t pack so much and then didn’t really think it through by the time you got here.

“Oh?” Shoko nodded along, idly watching you get dressed as she drank her second cup of coffee of the day in bed. She had an anatomy textbook opened up on the mattress that she was lazily reading. “Guess you didn’t wear so much in town, huh?”

“I guess not, no.” You added along, intending to wash her home clothes next at the accommodation before you gave them back to her. “There was the uniform, my inside clothes and then not much else. I didn’t really get out much as a teen.”

“That’s not so bad though, I think,” she considered it some more, setting the cup on her bedside table, “you had a reason for it, I mean. Guess you never developed your style then?”

“Not really, I guess, I liked some styles on blogs before as a teen but never dressed that way before,” you considered, you had a style you always liked but felt too exposed for it in the town, “I guess that must mean that you have, right?”

Just as she was about to say answer something in response to your question, Satoru stumbled from outside of the bedroom and through the door before smoothly recollecting himself, patting and brushing down his clothes as if nothing had ever happened.

“Oh, this is more boring than I imagined…” He said in a disappointed and resigned tone, taking a look around the room to see both you and Shoko just talking to each other casually. “You’re really both just doing nothing here? No comparing bras? No… what do girls do when they’re alone?”

Shoko rolled her eyes in response and threw a pillow at him as her eyes trained on the thick textbook next, ready to chase him out if she needed to.

“H-hey, I’ll knock it off, I swear-“ He replied, genuinely fearful of being whacked on the head with the book, “I came in here with good intentions-“

“—Spying on women isn’t a good reason” She said as she shut the book with her palm, getting a good grip on it.

“No, I’m serious, I was simply eavesdropping for good reasons,” he tried to backtrack, warily eyeing the book, “[name] doesn’t have enough to wear, right? Well, let’s just say I’m feeling generous and-“

“—It’s f-fine technically,” you stammered, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of being shopped for, “the first paycheck is at the end of the month right? I’ll just get some basics when it’s cashed in.”

“It’s the first couple of days of summer vacation, newbie,” he replied as he pointed something out, “you’re gonna be doing laundry all week and washing your clothes into nothingness in this heat.”

“You could say yes and give him a chance to spend some money.” Shoko added to his offer, seemingly relaxing now that he was acting normal again.

“I could?” You nervously asked, seeming afraid of that implication. You didn’t really like the idea of people spending money on you. Did it mean you would have to owe him? Maybe you were being too quick to judge, though.

“He’s stingy when it comes to spending money on himself, but he acts like he’s made of money when it comes to spending it on others.” She explained.

“I am made of money.” He grinned.

“Just don’t let him take you into any stores with shady low lighting.” Suguru said from the hallway, apparently listening in.

“How lowly do you think of me? I’m not taking her to a lingerie shop.” Satoru replied, acting offended in an overly dramatic and facetious way.

You blushed a little at the prospect, feeling a little uncomfortable as such a thing was joked about so casually around you. You did your best to not make it show and you didn’t want for people to walk on eggshells for your sake just because you grew up more sheltered than they did.

“I suppose that it would be nice to have more to wear.” You nodded along, feeling encouraged.

“Then we’re going~!” Satoru beamed, seeming thrilled about the idea as he reached out to grab your arm.

“D-do you mean now?” You warily asked while staring towards the bathroom, thinking it would have been another day or at least when your clothes were dry. The concept of going outside currently seemed incredibly daunting.

“We can wait a little, but nobody should care that you’re wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants in the summer.” He said, thinking that’s what you were worried about.

“It’s not that, it’s uh, my scar it’s kind of…” You back-pedalled, hiding your arm a little more as the sleeve failed to cover it fully.

To all of their credit, it must have been visible at least somewhat before and they never said a thing. The sleeves to Shoko’s t-shirt were long but they cut at the elbow.

“It’s really not that bad.” Shoko assured you.

“Nobody cares so much out here.” Suguru added along to her words.

“You coming then or?” Satoru waved you forward.

You sighed, the hangover was a little better by now and didn’t feel so bad. You weren’t looking forward to being in a crowded area, but you also did want to get to know the group a little better so why not?

***

The bare minimum that he allowed you to do back in Shoko’s apartment was to brush your hair as well as borrow a pair of trainers because your sizes were similar and there was apparently no way that you were to be walking through the city in sandals.

Apparently that’s how you’d get blisters walking in the summer. Socks and breathable trainers were supposedly ideal. The more you know, you supposed.

The only thing that they were all right about was that nobody, not a single soul seemed to care that you had a scar.

“So, what’s your usual style?” Satoru asked you at some point as he led you through the city. By now it was the early evening and it was relatively crowded but the summer air wasn’t as thick anymore.

“I’m not sure, I guess I never really had a chance to explore it.” You admitted it. You liked fashion, but you never thought about it.

He paid close attention to you as you walked, keeping an eye on what seemed to catch your eye when you glanced at the windows of shops on your walk. Shoko and Suguru had both stayed behind otherwise, deciding to both watch a movie as you and Satoru went further off into the city.

“You technically won’t have to worry about what to wear when the classes begin,” he spoke up after a short while, swinging his arm around your shoulder in what you presumed was a platonic way—he did so with his friends, so it shouldn’t be so different here, “jujutsu teachers unlike regular school teachers have a uniform, but we can get you enough just to last through the summer.”

You nodded along, even if it was different when you were a student. Your teacher wore her own clothes to the school but it was relatively relaxed back home. You did like that idea though as it meant that you could focus on getting just the essentials instead.

You found that you liked his non-joking and considerate tone for a change. It left you wondering if he played up that side of him for certain people because it was something that was expected of him.

Shoko did mention that he didn’t get that much of a childhood either, so maybe he reserved his playful side for those who could handle it.

Your mind suddenly felt anxious; were you making him feel uncomfortable with the way that you were?

Just as you were overthinking though, he pulled you off to the side and yanked you into a store that had impossibly bright fluorescent lighting.

Maybe your headache wasn’t gone after all…

“Here we go,” he announced as he looked around, the clothes being similar to what caught your eye when you walked on the street, “try to choose something that you like, something that you can see yourself wearing often. It’s summer so it gets painfully hot if you live in the city but the nights can be quite cool, so you can get away with wearing something light with sleeves if you really want to.”

You nodded along, feeling a little comforted about wanting to hide your scar if you really had to go down that route. You didn’t want that one incident to define you though, so you were going to try to be different for a change.

“Gotcha.” You finally said as you stared at the large space in front of you. There were so many options in designs that you liked, but where would you even start?

You didn’t want to abuse his kindness too badly though, so you settled on seeking out the essentials instead. Just as you had planned to before.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready to check out.” Satoru said as he took out his phone, seeming not bothered at all about having to wait around.

You decided upon a few bottom staples like some trousers, shorts, a long flowy skirt and then a shorter skirt. For the top options you opted for options that were simpler, but they would work no matter how you would style them.

He paid for you, just as he promised when you bought your pile of clothes up to him, seeming a little embarrassed at just how much you managed to have gathered. He pretended not to notice your reaction when you saw the total price at the tills, but in reality he thought that your reaction was endearing because you would actually appreciate what he had gotten you.

On the way back to Shoko’s, he spoke to you a little more after a while of silence, saying that you’re stopping by a takeaway place to get some food, that it’s a tradition for someone to sponsor something greasy and heavy after a night of drinking out, so that’s something you’re both going to do to really become a part of the group.

He had you carry that bag of food as he carried everything else upon insisting, prompting you to bring in the food into the apartment as you quickly kicked off the shoes by the front door.

You settled the bag on the coffee table in his pointed direction as the other two suddenly perked up at the sight and at the smell alone.

Shoko reacted by calling you her saviour, knowing fully well that Satoru sponsored this part of the trip as well. Suguru leaned forward a little, grabbing something immediately.

Satoru finally set the bags of clothes down by the door before settling into the sofa, pulling you down along with him as you sat between him and Shoko on the crowded sofa, but nobody really seemed to care as their bodies adjusted in strange ways to make it all work.

A box of takeaway rice was promptly then shoved into your hands with breakaway chopsticks along with something else to go with it.

You sat and you ate your food along with the rest of them and couldn’t help but feel comfortable for once despite in a situation so loud and so cramped.

Were you finally part of something for once?

***

You were back at your accommodation on the campus the next day. Satoru and Suguru were also off to their own apartments as well, as you now understood that everyone lived separately.

Shoko’s place was the easiest to get to in between everyone else’s. She supposedly intentionally chose a place like that to be close to convenience shops because she wasn’t always up for cooking, her job being a tiring one—which put her close to the station.

Suguru lived closer to the busier parts of the city and kept relatively vague about his space when the conversation was ongoing, not giving you much room to figure him out.

Satoru lived in a place that was otherwise sponsored by his clan, choosing an area that was surprisingly quiet. Maybe even he needed a place that was peaceful to retreat to.

You on the other hand just had the campus accommodation, nothing too special just yet but you couldn’t complain too much as it was free.

You sighed as you collapsed back into the bed at your residence, staring at the ceiling as you did so. Things were quickly looking up for you now that you weren’t so isolated; you had a group of people to talk to, who even gave you their numbers to talk to or text and yet—it felt like something was off.

You couldn’t quite place your finger on it though, so you decided just for now to let it go.

This was fine.

You were fine.

(If only you knew just how wrong you were.)

***

Next chapter.

End note:

Scenes are finally set up, expect it to take a certain direction from chapter 4/the next chapter onwards.

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mywhitetennisshoes · 2 years

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You’re Sweet Ice Cream - Robin x Nancy

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Couple: Robin Buckley x Nancy Wheeler

Word count: 1.8K

Tags: fluff, Stranger Things 3, bisexual Nancy Wheeler, lesbian Robin Buckley, Robin is bold tbh

Description: It’s the summer of 1985 and Scoops Ahoy becomes Nancy’s favorite place to go. She develops a crush on the cute girl behind the counter, Robin Buckley.

A/N: heyyyy I got bored and wrote this! It’s really short and basically is Nancy having a crush on Robin. Enjoy! -h

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Summer of 1985

Nancy Wheeler hates the mall. I mean, can you blame her? It’s big, noisy, and it drains your money. Starcourt is also the main cause of every small town store closing down, which means she has to hear all of the men at her newspaper job discussing the mall for hours on end.

Yet, when Mike drags her to the mall so he can buy something D&D related, she doesn’t hate it. He ditches her the moment they walk in, which leaves her to wander alone by herself. Walking past stores like The GAP, Claires, and RadioShack, she spots something across the mall.

Its called Scoops Ahoy. It has a big teal sign that is outlined with red neon lights. It’s packed, as in like, the line is out of the door. This peaks her interest as she joins the back of the line.

She realizes they sell ice cream almost immediately. She should have known considering the name is Scoops…Ahoy. Regardless, she gets up to the front and sees none other than Steve Harrington working the counter.

“Nance, hi, what can I get for you?” She’s thrown off guard as she hasn’t been called Nance by him in a while.

“Uhmm-“ she peers off to the left and the right to look at the different ice cream flavors. “I guess I’ll go with one scoop of…USS Butterscotch.” The end of her sentence sounds like there’s a question mark because what even is USS Butterscotch?

“Ah shit, yeah we just ran out so uh…wait just a second…” he is running towards the back door and opens it as he yells for someone. “Robin, could you hurry up with the USS Butt please?”

Robin? Who’s Robin?

A tall, lanky girl pops her head out of the doorway. She has caramel colored hair that pairs well with the freckles that dot her face. She’s decked out in the same tacky uniform that Steve is wearing, it makes them both look like they work on a really lame ship. Her eyeliner covered eyes pierce Steve’s existence with just one look that says ‘how dare you ask me to hurry up?’ Nancy tracks Robin’s eyes as they lead up to where Nancy is standing. Her eyes immediately soften once they hit Nancy’s face. Her gaze lingers for a moment too long before she ducks inside the back of Scoops Ahoy once again. A few moments later she comes back hauling a huge container of what looks like USS Butterscotch. She gives Steve a nod after refilling the ice cream and retreats back into the room she was in before.

“One scoop of USS Butt, coming up.” He flips the ice cream scooper in an attempt to impress Nancy, and a flashback plays in her head. The night she went to Steve’s house for the first time. The night Barb went missing. All of the possibilities of what could have happened replay in her head at all times. Nancy knows she died in the upside down, but what happened leading up to that? If she thinks about it too much she’ll spiral. She still wishes it was her.

Steve snaps her out of her thoughts by handing her the ice cream cone and saying it’s on the house. She musters up a small smile and sits down at one of the tables.

People watching is fun for her. Maybe that’s a pro of the mall. She likes to watch people work, shop, or walk around with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The entire time she’s eating her ice cream (which is surprisingly really good) she’s got her eye stuck on one person.

Robin.

She can only assume that her break was up because she came out from the back and switched with Steve. Robin is not the most graceful person Nancy has ever watched, but she is the most interesting.

The way her eyebrows crease when Erica continuously asks for more samples. The way her eyes darken when she sees a stereotypical jock join the end of the line. The way she scoops the ice cream with no regard for cleanliness-spilling it onto the floor occasionally. The grunt of frustration that escapes her throat is hard to miss as well.

Nancy doesn’t know why she’s so fascinated with her, but that was not the last time she went to Scoops Ahoy that week.

A day later, she walks in again. This time, it’s just Robin at the counter. No sign of Steve.

“Hi, what can I get for you?“ Robin has a slight blush on her freckled cheeks as Nancy peruses the ice cream flavors.

“I will have…one scoop of mint chocolate chip please.” Robin’s face flushes even more as she struggles to stifle a smile. “What?” Nancy is more curious as to why Robin is smiling so hard about her ice cream choice than she’d like to admit.

“Mint chocolate chip is the best flavor of ice cream…and Steve and I have been arguing about if it’s good all week. He thought you’d agree with him, he’s going to be so mad when he finds out he’s wrong.” Her face is crumpled as she starts laughing, and admittedly it makes Nancy laugh too.

“Shame on him for ever thinking I’d agree to such a monstrous opinion.” The right side of her lips form into a smirk as she shifts the top half of her body to lean just a little over the counter, closer to Robin. There’s a flicker of flirtatiousness in her tone that makes her stomach turn.

“I know right. Absolutely barbaric.” Robin’s eyes have softened into a light shade of caramel, and the harsh light makes her look pale, so it doesn’t hide her growing blush easily.

Suddenly incredibly confused and uneasy, Nancy gives one more little laugh and grabs the ice cream out of the girl’s hand. She goes to sit down at the same table as yesterday, ready to some more people watching.

She tries to steer her eyes away from the counter, but she catches herself instinctively staring at her. It’s almost the same as it was yesterday, except something new happens.

She looks back. Robin looks back at Nancy, with a knowing gleam in her eye. Maybe she knows Nancy has been staring? Maybe she thinks Nancy’s weird? Maybe she-

She’s smiling now. She’s smiling at Nancy. Her big bright smile is for Nancy and Nancy only. Her eyes threaten to look into Nancy’s soul, but she won’t let her. The corners of Nancy’s mouth tug upwards, threatening to let a smile shine through. A small one escapes her mental grasp, which turns into an ear to ear grin. The girls both get into fits of giggles soon after, breaking their strong eye contact. Another costumer walks in and Nancy mentally curses them for not letting her and Robin share the same eye contact anymore.

She looks down at her table and realizes her ice cream has been finished for at least five minutes now, so she has no more excuse to sit and stare. Getting up and leaving, Nancy takes one final look at Robin. She’s bent over, scooping what looks like chocolate ice cream. She won’t see this, but Nancy does a small wave as she walks out.

Its the thought that counts.

Later that night, the moonlight illuminates Nancy’s room as she tries to rid her thoughts of a certain someone. Robin’s smile and freckled cheeks take over her mind. Their last interaction plays through her head on a loop. Their smiles, the shared eye contact, the way Nancy’s heart seized in her chest when they locked eyes.

Nancy has known she’s liked girls for a while now. It’s not like her and Barb’s friendship was anything more than that, but Nancy thought about it from time to time. She just never thought she’d like someone this much. Enough to go back for ice cream even though she doesn’t even like ice cream that much. Enough to be the only thing on her mind.

So, while Nancy is trying to lull herself to sleep, pictures of Robin flash through her head like a movie.

She spends the next week and a half going to Scoops Ahoy everyday. She goes at the same time everyday, so Robin is always at the counter when Nancy orders ice cream. She gets something new everyday, whether she likes it or not, she will eat it while sharing secret looks with Robin.

On this particular day, Nancy walks in, orders Chocolate Fudge ice cream in a cone, smiles too hard at Robin, and sits down at her spot. All of this is normal, except when Robin sits down at her table.

“Hi.” Robin’s smile is from ear to ear as she slides in the seat across from Nancy.

Nancy’s face flushes, a shade of bright red spreads across her cheeks as she realizes what Robin is doing.

“Hi, Robin.” Her smile is equally as large. Both of the girls feel as if they’ve lost their train of thought.

“So, you must really like ice cream, considering you’re here everyday.” Robin says as she cocks her eyebrow.

Nancy blushes harder at the obvious flirting going on between them. “Yeah, I mean…ice cream has got to be one of my uh…my favorite things.” She’s flustered because she knows that’s not true. It’s all Robin, Robin is one of her favorite things honestly.

Robin laughs and shifts in her chair, getting closer to Nancy’s face. “So, how about we go somewhere that’s not an ice cream shop in the mall. I don’t know…how about Enzo’s?” Robin’s voice cracks when she suggests the restaurant. She’s nervous.

Nancy’s heart rate picks up as she’s trying to decipher if this is a friend thing or a date thing. “As in like a…like a…” she’s struggling to say the word.

“Like a date.”

Oh.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows shoot up as she takes in what she just heard. Robin, the girl she has been eyeing for about two weeks now, just asked her on a date. Nothing about this feels real.

“I-I mean unless I got…this all wrong“ Robin’s hands gesture in between the two girls. She starts mumbling and all that Nancy can hear is “I really, really hope I didn’t.” Her face is twisted in pain and she can’t even make eye contact with Nancy.

“No! No, you didn’t get…this…wrong at all. I would love to go to Enzo’s with you.” Robin perks up at this, the same big smile from before has come back to her face. Both of the girls are beaming.

Nancy’s ice cream has melted, it’s been completely forgotten about and Nancy couldn’t be happier.

#ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #ronance fanfiction #mywhitetennisshoes

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aeoki · 1 year

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Grand Slam - The School’s Ghost Stories: Chapter 7

Location: Yumenosaki Garden Terrace Characters: Hiiro, Aira, Mayoi, Hitsugi & NEGI

TL Note:

A Test of Courage (肝試し) is a Japanese event (usually held over the summer) where people in pairs or small groups explore scary locations to build courage.

< The next day during lunch break at the Yumenosaki Cafeteria (Garden Terrace). >

Mayoi: Ugh, I feel dizzy.

Aira: I’m really sorry, Mayo-san. I’ve been inconveniencing you and Tattsun-senpai ever since we first met.

Mayoi: On no, you’re not being an inconvenience at all… We’re helping you because we want to, Aira-san. It makes us happy. Fufufu ♪

Hiiro: You can inconvenience me more too, Aira! I’m tough, after all!

Aira: Huh? Who’s inconveniencing who? Oh my, I’m terribly sorry for making you experience something oh-so-unpleasant!

Hiiro: Aira, how come your attitude towards me is so blatantly different from everyone else’s?

Mayoi: Fufufu…♪

Hiiro: Anyway, you look really exhausted, Mayoi-senpai.

I don’t really know the details since I wasn’t contacted, but was the “Broadcasting Accidents” thing last night that tiring?

Mayoi: No, umm, the work itself isn’t that difficult. We simply had a good time chatting and wandered around the school at night.

You could say we just had a Test of Courage[*]…

Nothing happened at all and I felt somewhat bad for everyone, so I took them to see a special place.

Hiiro: A special place?

Mayoi: It appears we were investigating one of the Seven Mysteries, “The Blood-Vomiting Beast”, so I took them someplace related to that…

It would be dangerous to go too far in so it was just the part on the surface.

Hiiro: ……….?

Mayoi: Everyone seemed to be overjoyed with that so I suppose it was a successful work night. Compared to “MDM” in the summer, it was far more comfortable and simple.

However, due to my not knowing many of the people there, it took quite a toll on me mentally.

Aira: I know what you mean… I’m glad I came back to school but everyone already has their own groups it’s kinda hard to squeeze in. I’m always by myself and it feels like a bed of needles.

That’s how it feels for you too, right, Mayo-san…? I’m really sorry for making you go in my stead.

I can’t call myself a professional for cancelling my work last minute.

Mayoi: Fufu. It couldn’t have been helped since you weren’t feeling well, Aira-san. …Were you feeling all right afterwards?

Aira: Ah, there’s no need to worry because I’ve made a full recovery. I can't believe how lifeless I was yesterday. It looks like the medicine you brought me helped a lot ♪

Hiiro: Hmm. Mayoi-senpai is also an excellent shaman, isn’t he?

Mayoi: ? ? ?

Aira: You be quiet, barbarian. That just confuses things. In the big cities, we have doctors who heal our illnesses, not shamans.

Hiiro: I learnt that some time back so I know. But yesterday, Aira, you seemed–

Hm?

Aira: W-What’s wrong, Hiro-kun?

Hiiro: Hmm. I felt an odd presence. That’s the, umm, “producer”, isn’t it? Her name’s Anzu-san, right?

Aira: Whaa, I’ve gotta apologise for cancelling last minute last night then! It’s only proper to do so!

Umm, Anzu-san~? Hello! I’m really sorry about yesterday!

NEGI: “Shh~...♪”

Aira: Huh?

NEGI: “Sorry. Keep it down.”

“Anzu has finally fallen asleep.”

“She’s always pushing herself too much. It’s really worrying.”

Mayoi: Ah! You’re Hitsugi-san the “producer”, aren’t you? It was a pleasure to work with you yesterday ♪

Aira: (Hitsugi… He’s the “producer” in charge of “Broadcasting Accidents”, right? Hm? He was wearing a male uniform when he came to see me yesterday though?)

(H-He’s actually a girl? No way. Uuu, there are so many people with confusing ages and genders in this industry!)

NEGI: “Ah~... Sorry. Looks like that was directed to me but I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.”

“Hold on a second. I’ll switch over.”

Aira: …………?

Hitsugi: Good moOOORNING ☆

Aira: Woah!? You just told us to “be quiet” but you’re the loudest one here!

Hitsugi: Mmm~☆ I sure slept like a log! I slept so much I could melt! That was a refreshing way to wake up!

Wait, why am I at Yumenosaki? What’s going on~?

Hmm~? It looks like my big sister got me to school on time because I stayed up the entire night and overslept?

Oh! Ayase-senpai, thanks so much for yesterday! You really saved me!

Are you also feeling okay, Shiratori-san? I was worried about you!

Aira: Umm, uhh?

Hiiro: I’m here too!

Hitsugi: Huh, who’re you!?

Hiiro: I’m Hiiro Amagi, a second-year student in Class B from the “idol course” at Yumenosaki Academy! I’m also in the same unit alongside Mayoi-senpai and Aira called “ALKALOID”!

I’m still not yet familiar with how things work in the big cities, so during lunch, Aira and Mayoi-senpai teach me about common knowledge while we eat!

Aira: Actually, I just don’t have any friends to eat lunch with… But eating by myself is pretty tough so I’m just getting Hiro-kun and Mayo-senpai to keep me company.

Hiiro: Fufu. It’s nice to meet you, um, Hitsugi-san? -Senpai? Let’s shake hands! I heard this is how idols greet one another in the big cities!

Hitsugi: Okay…? Uh, let’s shake on it~...?

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂ Next Chapter →

#grand slam

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lisutarid-a · 11 months

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[Gakuen K] Totsuka Tatara Route Translation

No one is allowed to say it’s hot

LIST OF CHAPTERS

[Translation under the cut]

Saya: Hello-o.

Kusanagi: Welcome. Oh, summer clothes!

Saya: Yeah. I'm going to wear this clothes from today. Is there anything wrong with it?

Kusanagi: No, there's not. It suits you.

Saya: Thank you. You also look great in that outfit, Kusanagi-san.

Kusanagi: Thanks. As soon as the month changed, it suddenly got hot. I changed my clothes in a hurry this morning.

Saya: Oh, I see. I need to change my casual clothes too...

Kusanagi: According to your state, you didn't do it yet?

Saya: My mother did this for me at home. I accidentaly forgot it.

Kusanagi: Haha. It can't be helped. You better do it soon, okay? It'll be troublesome if it's put off until later.

Saya: Troublesome...

Kusanagi: Tell me that's not a bother to pull out the clothes you're going to wear only to mixed it with winter clothes.

Kusanagi: Spaсe for clothes is limited, right? So you start leaving them in all sorts of places and end up in a cluttered room.

Saya: I'll try not to let that happen...

Kusanagi: Uhm. Change your clothes as soon as you get home today.

Saya: I will. You're kinda like a mother figure, Kusanagi-san.

Kusanagi: I am a "mother"?

Saya: Yeah. You're caring and know everything.

Kusanagi: Haha. I don't know everything, I speak from experience.

Kusanagi: Last year I was buried under an avalanche of clothes. I won't make the same mistake this time.

Yata: Hi, Kusanagi-san.

Kusanagi: He-ey. Yata-chan, Kamamoto.

Yata: Summer has just begun, but it's already that hot. Is it going to be extremely hot this year?

Kusanagi: I don't know much about the weather. But it's all the same every year. It gets hotter and hotter in an instant.

Kamamoto: I lose my appetite when it's hot like this.

Kusanagi: When I hear Kamamoto say these words, I really feel like summer has begun.

Yata: That's right. Ahhh...it's hot.

Saya: I wonder if it's going to be hotter today.

Yata: Don't be an idio-

Saya: What's wrong?

Yata: D-don't talk to me so casually! W-who do you think I am?

Saya: Yata Misaki-kun.

Yata: Don't call me by my first name!

Kusanagi: Yata-cha-an, you're saying nonsense. And quite with "It's hot, it's hot". What are you going to do about it when it's going to get hotter?

Kusanagi: Today you are forbidden to say "hot”. You must do 50 sit-ups and 50 backbends for every one time you say it. Got it?

Yata: Aggh... seriously?

Saya: That's pretty tough...

Kusanagi: It's easy, while you don't break the rule it's okay. Well, game on!

Totsuka: Yaaah, it's so hot today! I feel like melting.

Saya: Senpai, hello. ...Em.

Saya: What happened to your uniform?

Totsuka: Eh?...Is there something wrong with it?

Saya: Starting from today, the uniform changes to summer clothes, right?

Totsuka: Summer clothes... Oh, I see. So that's what that uncomfortable feeling was.

Saya: Uncomfortable feeling?

Totsuka: Uhm. I was wondering why everyone forgot their jackets.

Totsuka: I see. Summer clothes. Haaa, it's a little cooler now.

Totsuka: Yesterday it wasn't that bad, so I was surprised because it became hot suddenly. I guess it is what called an abnormal weather.

Totsuka: Just because the season changes doesn't mean it has to get hot right away, don't you think? Ahhh, it's hot, it's hot...

Saya: Totsuka-senpai...I think it would be better for you not to say "that" word anymore.

Totsuka: "That" word? Which one?

Yata: ...The word that's starts with "H" and ends with "T".

Totsuka: That's starts with "H" and ends with "T"...Hornet? I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about how it is hot today. (Actually what he said was the word "anteater" (arikui) which starts and ends with the same letters as the word "atsui" (hot))

Totsuka: Hornets have nothing to do with this hot weather, right? Or maybe they do? Maybe the hornets are controlling it?

Kusanagi: That's enought, Totsuka. If you say anything else, your sins will only increase.

Totsuka: Sins? Did I do something bad?

Saya: Not that there's anything bad with that, but...

Kusanagi: We're playing a game where you have to do 50 sit-ups and back-ups for every time you say "hot". It was just for explanation, so it doesn't count.

Totsuka: Eeeeh, that's look fun. I want to join in...too.

Totsuka: Wait-wait. You can't include me in your head count, because I didn't even know the rules.

Kusanagi: That's unacceptable. You've already joined the game, so receive your punishment.

Totsuka: I disagree. It would be Kusanagi-san's fault if I die from doing so many sit-ups and back-ups.

Kusanagi: There is no such a way to die, you idiot.

[Prev chapter] [Next chapter]

#k project #gakuen k #gakuen k wonderful school days #totsuka tatara #kusanagi izumo #yata misaki #kamamoto rikio

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leaderoffestivals · 2 years

Text

Orient: Good Night, Virtual World Chapter 5

Kanata: Ufufu. I have been waiting for you to ask that question~... … Ahem.

The item that you dropped—was it a ‘Golden Leo’? Or, was it a ‘Silver Leo’?

Season: Summer Author: Yuumasu Characters: Midori, Leo, Madara, Shinobu, Kanata EN Proofing: @ryuseipuka

Midori: You say you’re ‘The Spirit of the Hell Pond’, but no matter which angle I look from, you are Shinkai-senpai, aren’t you?

Even your clothes; what you’re wearing is obviously Ryuseitai’s unit costume…

Kanata: Fufu~ This is a ‘Spirit’ ‘uniform’... … ☆

Midori: What’s a Spirit uniform even supposed to be for, I don’t get it at all… …

Wait a minute—if Ryusei Blue is designated as the ‘Spirit of the Hell Pond’, what kind of Spirit would Ryusei Green be? I can’t help feeling a little curious about that… …

Kanata: That would be the ‘Spirit of Algae’.

Midori: … …? ‘Algae’?

Kanata: Yes. It is a species of ‘water plant’.

Midori: Aaa~ ‘algae’... … That’s way too drab; I’d honestly consider myself fortunate if I never had to come into contact with any… …

Kanata: Fufufu~. It is not something you should look down on, you know? ‘Algae’ is able to carry out ‘photosynthesis’ and is an excellent source of ‘oxygen’.

It is a wonderful ‘living thing’ that can be used as both ‘food’ and ‘fuel’ ♪

Midori: Haa~ So, algae can be amazing too, huh… … By the way, Shinkai-senpai—

Kanata: —Nope~. I am the ‘Spirit of the Hell Pond’.

Midori: … … ‘Spirit of the Hell Pond’-senpai. Have you seen Tsukinaga-senpai anywhere? There was a splashing sound, right around when he disappeared just now… …

Kanata: Ufufu. I have been waiting for you to ask that question~... … Ahem.

The item that you dropped—was it a ‘Golden Leo’? Or, was it a ‘Silver Leo’(1)?

Midori: I didn’t drop him anywhere. He just went and disappeared on his own. He isn’t made of gold or silver, either; he’s just an ordinary Tsukinaga-senpai.

Kanata: Huh? ‘Ordinary’? What do you mean by ‘ordinary’?

There are ‘one hundred and eight types’ of ‘Leo’ in this ‘pond’. If you are unable to provide any of his characteristics, we will not be able to identify which one he is, you know?

Midori: Uwa~h. That’s the exact same number as the troubles and anxieties as I have, that’s terrifying…

Tsukinaga-senpai’s characteristics, uh… … He’s a member of Knights, and he ties his hair back… …

He goes around writing music notes on places like the walls and floor as he pleases… And then, errr… …

… … He’s… a member of Knights…

Kanata: *Giggle, giggle* You already described him as “a member of ‘Knights’” right at the start, you know?

All the ‘characteristics’ that you gave just now were pretty much based solely on appearance, huh?

Midori: Uu~gh… … I just can’t help it being like that, you know… We just aren’t familiar at all, so nothing comes to mind besides what I’d just said…

Kanata: That is right. If you are not close to the other party, you will end up judging them based only on ‘what you see’—

—However, you cannot correctly comprehend the value of a ‘person’, their essence, simply by looking at them from the outside. Even you should be able to ‘understand’ that much, right?

Midori: I… …

Kanata: It is the truth. When you spend time together with someone, you get to observe many things about them. Both their good points, and their bad…

That is their ‘personality’. That is the ‘brilliance’ that makes that person who they are.

You are a ‘sensitive’ person, and that may be why you will find it exhausting to do so; but even so, you should still make an effort to interact with as many people as you can, and discover just as many ‘brilliant things’ out there as possible, you know?

It would be a waste to simply stay put, drifting about in a tiny, little ‘pond’. The ‘ocean’ is such a very vast place, after all… …

Midori: … … … …

… Ah. You mentioned the ocean just now, didn’t you? Just as I thought, you must be Shinkai-senpai after all… …

Kanata: *Giggle, giggle* I am the ‘Spirit of the Hell Pond’, you know~ ☆

In any case, I ‘understand’ what you mean by an ‘ordinary Leo’ now. As a reward—

Kanata: —you will now receive an invitation to ‘The Dragon Imperial Palace’. (2) Fufu!

Midori: EH~? The Dragon Imperial Palace?

AH! M—My entire body is being forcefully sucked into the hot spring… … *Glub, glub, glubglubglub~!?*

Midori: … … … …

Uuuu… … Thank goodness, I’m still alive… …

(Hm? Where in the world am I now… … First the Pond of Hell, now Sci-Fi? The surroundings are changing way too drastically, it’s making me feel giddy… …

… …? I can hear some electronic sounds… … They seem to be coming from the room over there…

There’s a crack left open in the door. I’ll just sneak a peek at what’s inside… …

… … Ah…)

Leo: ~ ♪ ~ ♪ ~ ♪

Midori: (Tsukinaga-senpai is inside. But then, more surprisingly than that… …)

Wow, this is amazing… We’re in an actual spaceship right now…

Leo: Hm? Who’s over there! Are you an alien!? Uuchuuu~ ☆

What the—it’s only Midori, huh~? My expectations have been totally crushed.

Midori: Eehh. Would you really have preferred that I were an alien?

Leo: Yep. It’s been such a long time since I’ve been able to meet one, since I’ve been so busy with work and all~

Midori: (Has this guy really met an alien before… … I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking at all…)

Erm. I’m sorry for not being an alien… …?

Leo: Well, then again, the fact that it turned out to be Midori is pretty great, too. I found myself all alone in this place, and I’ve been absolutely bored out of my mind!

I even tried going outside to see what outer space was like, but then I got tired of it quickly and came back.

Midori: Eh? You went out to see what it's like, you say… … In this world, one can actually go out into space as easily as taking a walk, huh… …

Leo: Yup, looks like it~. It’s all VR in the end, anyway~. If you get too hung up on the petty details, it’s your loss ♪

And, since there’s been nothing to do, I’ve been playing with this panel by pressing around on it, like so. It’s entertaining cos’ it gives off so many distinct tonal sounds, see, Pi-Po-Pa-Po-Pi-Po-Pi… … ☆

Midori: Er. That’s the pilot’s cockpit you’re poking around in, you know… … Don’t you think it’d be better to stop messing with it so recklessly like that… …?

Leo: Hahaha! Relax~ it’ll be fine! This isn’t something that’ll be wrecked just by having this much done to it. Have some faith in Japanese technology! ☆

Midori: Japanese… …?

Leo: Look over there; there’s a metal plate with the kanji characters, ‘Miyagi’ (Imperial Palace) (2), stamped on it, see? That’s definitely the name of this ship, so I reckon that means this is surely a Japanese-made spaceship ☆

Midori: You’re right. I wonder how this spaceship came to be named the ‘Imperial Palace’. That’s just way too spot on, isn’t it?

… … Ah, that’s right. Er~m, I really have no idea on how to go about asking this, so I’ll just get straight to the point, okay—

Senpai… you are the ‘ordinary’ Tsukinaga-senpai, aren’t you... ...?

Leo: Hmm? What do you mean by that?

Midori: Just now, after Tsukinaga-senpai disappeared so suddenly, a being calling itself the Spirit of the Hell Pond appeared and started asking me questions. Like, “Was the Senpai that I had dropped a golden Senpai, or a silver Senpai,” for example… …

Leo: AHHH! You mean to say that such an interesting event took place when I wasn’t around~? I’m so jealous!

And, and~? What happened next? How did you reply? Go on, I’m listening!

Midori: I said that you aren’t made of gold or silver; that you’re just an ordinary Tsukinaga-senpai.

Leo: Ehhh~! That’s so boring~! You should have given a much more out of this world answer, like I was a ‘Super-Alloy Tsukinaga-senpai’ (3) or something like that!

Midori: Please do not try to compel false testimonies from me… … We may not be close at all, but even I know enough to say that Senpai isn’t made of metal, at least.

Leo: No, no. It’s not cool at all to be so judgy based on appearances, y’know? It’s entirely possible that I might actually be a robot, after all?

In fact, I will now perform the very best robot dance for you! We~ are~, aliens~ ♪ (4) ... … ☆

(—The deck starts shaking, with a loud, rumbling noise—)

… … WhoaA! The whole spaceship’s shaking all of a sudden!

Midori: Uh? That was a really big tremor. Could it be that we’ve run into a star… …?

Leo: Haha! Could it be that it has been drawn in by my dancing? How exciting, to think that we’re literally dancing with the stars!

Come, Midori! Join in the dancing too! Shall~ We~ Dance ♪

Midori: Uuu~, even me, too? But, whyyy… …

Shinobu:——Mikejima-dono, this room looks sound!

Midori: WAH~! Shinobu-kun…

Shinobu: Midori-kun! I’m so glad to see that you’re alright~ ♪

By the way, why are the both of you doing the robot dance in this place?

Midori: Eh? Ur~mm, the reason for that is—

Madara: The idle banter will have to wait. Watch out, everyone. “They” are coming!

—————-To be continued——————-

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

Translator’s Note:

Prolly adapted from the Aesop’s fable, the Honest Woodcutter. The River God gave the woodcutter a choice of 3 axes only, though; a gold, silver and an iron axe. The number 108 is not part of the fable though (but it is considered a sacred number in Buddhism).

i) The Dragon Imperial Palace 竜宮城 ‘ryuuguujou’ is from the Japanese fairy tale, The Tale of Urashima Tarō (浦島太郎). He is a fisherman rewarded for rescuing a turtle, and carried on its back to the Dragon Imperial Palace beneath the sea. There he is entertained by the princess Otohime as a reward. He spends what he believes to be several days with the princess, but when he returns to his home village, he discovers he has been gone for at least 100 years. When he opens the forbidden jewelled box given to him by Otohime on his departure, he turns into an old man… Basically, an isekai fairy tale. ii) In the spaceship, the plate that Leo points out to Midori as having the ship’s name has 宮城 (Miyagi; lit: palace city) written on it. 宮城 Miyagi, is a well-known name in Japan, since it’s a) the name of a large prefecture in Tohoku (think Karasuno/Aoba Johsai from Haikyuu), b) a common Japanese surname, c) a class of Japanese warship. d) 宮城 (pronounced ‘kyoujou’ here) is also the historical term for the Imperial Palace of Japan.

超合金 or ‘chogokin’ is Japanese for "Super Alloy". It is a fictitious material which first appeared in Go Nagai's Mazinger Z manga and anime.

Leo is singing “ワレワレハ、ウチュウジンダ” (warewareha uchuujinda) which translates to “We are, aliens”. It is part of the lyrics from a Vocaloid song, titled ★HOPSTEPA★. <-- Please watch it, it is such an experience. It's so Leo-core.

#Ensemble Stars #enstars translation #Takamine Midori #Tsukinaga Leo #Shinkai Kanata #Sengoku Shinobu #Mikejima Madara #Orient #Good Night Virtual World #Ryuseitai #Knights #MaM #Double Face

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lesbian-deadpool · 2 years

Text

They’re The Man

Part Two: Babies First Day At School

Words: 4,758

Warnings: The reader embarrassing themselves a few times, kinda ooc Wade, objectifying women... yay.

Summary: For all your confidence you never expected to get such cold feet, lucky for you Thor was there to push you into playing out your plan. I mean, how hard could your first day possibly be?

A/N: I’m not the most knowledgeable on binders, so the length of thime that you’re allowed to wear them may not be accurate in this fic. But it’s fiction so.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not my pics)

---

You had a lot of wishes in life, the main one as of right now being for your swift escape without bumping into your mother.

But, as the saying goes.

You can't always get what you want.

It was only when you were a few feet from the front door that you heard Maria's voice behind you.

"Uh, where do you think you're going?"

"Fuck," you hissed to yourself before turning around to face her, "Mom, I told you. I'm going to stay at dads house for two weeks."

You tried to turn to leave, once again, but were stopped by the blonde woman.

"No, you didn't. And you're not going."

"Listen, mom-"

"We've hardly spent any time together this summer. So, march upstairs and unpack."

"Yeah, I wonder why," you mumbled, so she wouldn't hear. Hastily clearing your throat, you continued, "Mom, listen, I had a good long think about what you said. And I know Christine is gonna be there the whole time with Tony because he can never get rid of her. So, I was just thinking, that maybe she could show me the ropes on the whole debutante ball thing. Y'know, how to act all "proper" and stuff." You couldn't help but use air quotes, but that didn't matter. She ignored it, too busy beaming at you in excitement from where she sat at the dining table.

"This is so exciting!"

"Isn't it?" you exclaimed with a fake smile and false happiness to go along with it.

"You're gonna have so much fun." Thanks to your tailored lie, your mother now led you to the door herself. All the while, rambling on, "There's the formal ball, of course."

"Oh, of course."

"And the Luncheon. And, oh, did I mention the fundraiser next week? It's gonna be a carnival!"

"No way!" you yelled, trying to convey great excitement.

"Now, your brother promised to be there-" You'd have to make up some bullshit story for that, too. You'll probably just tell her that he was behind on his studies, or something. "-So, remind him when you see him."

"I will." You nodded.

'He's not gonna be there.'

"Oh, my baby." You drew back slightly when her palms held your cheeks, moving your face side-to-side lovingly. "You're finally growing up and becoming a well-rounded member of society."

You had to bite back the fiery retort that sat upon your tongue at her words.

And with that, you took your leave.

---

For a man as large as Thor was, no one expected him to drive such a tiny car. Which only made it harder for you, as you had to get changed within the crammed Volks Waggon Beatle on the way to "your" new private school, disguised as your brother.

Only for the nerves to hit you as soon as you stepped foot from the car, in full uniform, peering up at the large school.

"Wait. Wait, hold up," you husked, quickly spinning on your heel to speak to Thor over the roof of his car, "Are you sure I can do this? Because I don't think I can anymore."

"Yeah." Thor nodded, with his hands upon his hips. "Absolutely."

"No, I can't. You're lying."

"I'm not lying. Now grab your bag."

Doing as told, you reached down and scooped up your packed duffel. Unseen to the unconvinced look occupying Thor's face.

"What's up?" a random student asked in greeting as they walked by.

"Oh my, God, he knew," you said to Thor, voice full of panic, before the man swiftly followed, mimicking your stance of bending half in his car, "I wanna go home."

"Chill out. He was being friendly."

"This was a bad idea!"

"No. We are not going home!" he argued back.

"I wanna go home, right now!" You pointed a single finger at him. "If you don't take me home, so help me, Thor!"

"No. I did not spend all of this time-"

"This is your fault!" you yelled irrationally.

"My idea?!"

"Drive! Home! Now!"

"You asked me! I was a good friend! I did your hair and everything!"

"Reverse the car!"

"And that was not an easy thing to do-!"

"I want to go!"

"You're being a baby!" Thor began pushing you out of the car. "We're not going. Go! Get your butt out of my Beatle."

"Just drive the car!"

The blonde man crawled through the car, following to make sure you didn't try to hop in once more.

"He was just being friendly, Y/N."

"Okay!" you hissed.

"Now, let's run through it one more time." His large hands came to hold your shoulders, dusting any lint or fluff off of your blazer. While also simultaneously straightening it out for you. "Gimme the voice."

You cleared your throat and spoke, "Hey. Sup? I'm Tony," in a notably deeper tone than your usual voice.

"Okay. Now show me the strut."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, now, walk," he replied sternly, pointing towards the few feet in front of you.

For the second time that day, you did as the burly man told you and walked for him, his shoulders swaying with your movements.

"Now, hawk a loogie."

You gave no hesitation to do that, pulling back up to the man with a bright, proud smile on your face.

"I'm so proud!" he gushed, pulling you into a bone-crushing bear hug.

That's when you remembered where you were and what you were doing. Smacking the man with the 'Welcome' booklet. You hastily pulled away.

"Get off me! Toxic masculinity, remember?"

"Hey, inside every person, there's a boy."

"God, I hope not," you cringed.

"Oh, you know what I mean." You gave Thor a fake smile, making your way from him and towards the school, when he called your attention back to him, gesturing your dirt-stained rugby ball. Throwing it to you with a final goodbye of, "Be a good boy."

It felt like you were a new attraction in a zoo, with the way it felt like almost everyone had their eyes on you. You tried to tell yourself that it was just your mind messing with you. But more than a few times, you caught your fellow students watching you. Some with eyes filled with judgement, others curiosity at the presence of this "new kid". You even found a few of the girls looking at you with something looking akin to attraction in their eyes.

Even the Goddamn teachers regarded you curiously, their eyes following you as you passed one another down the open space where booths were set up, promoting their clubs, extracurricular activities, and everything else the school had to offer.

That.

That's when you heard it.

Looking behind you, you spotted the presence of a red and gold marching band heading right towards you.

Let's just say that running through a large marching band, trying to make your way to your on-campus dorm room was not the way you wanted to start your day at school.

Finally, you made it.

'Carter Hall'

Speedily checking your room number on the booklet you were given, doing your best to avoid the rowdy guys as you meandered through the halls. All the while chanting a pep talk to yourself.

"I can- I can do this. Yeah. I can do this. I'm a dude! I am a hunky dude. I'm a badass, hunky dude!"

Oh, God. What have you gotten yourself into?

After almost being hit in the face by a plethora of sports equipment, you finally made it into your room.

Turning, you jumped out of your skin at the presence of three men already residing within.

"Jesus, fuck! You scared the life out of me." You cleared your throat, remembering "the voice". "Hi! Sup? You must be my roommates. Shit," You finished in a hiss when your keys slipped from your fingers and landed on the carpeted ground.

You threw your bags onto the spare bed just as the beefy blonde asked.

"Wait. What's your name?"

"Tony Stark."

God, it felt weird using your brother's name.

"Steve Rogers." The blonde gestured to himself before pointing to the other two playing video games. "This is Sam and Bucky. They live next door."

"Nice meeting ya." You nodded to the two after shaking Steve's hand. Trying -and failing- to do a random secret handshake with him.

"Yeah, Freshman dorm's that way, kid." Bucky removed a hand from his controller to point in the dorm's vague direction, allowing Sam to pass him with his car.

"Seriously, how old are you?" Sam asked, glancing at you from the screen.

"I, uh, skipped a couple grades," you chuckled awkwardly through your lie, "I'm brilliant. Shh."

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at yourself. With Steve Rogers, watching as you awkwardly manoeuvred in your seat upon your bare bed.

"Anyho, do you know when rugby try-outs start?"

"Noon," the blonde informed, "You play?"

"Absolutely. You know it, bro. Have since I was a kid. So, uh." You moved to start unpacking your duffel. "You play the beautiful game... bro? Brothers? Brethren?" You spoke aloud, your contemplation.

"Yeah. So do Sam and Bucky."

"Aces!" you exclaimed, just as your boot tipped over and revealed the contents within.

"Uh, why do you have tampons in your boot?"

Your eyes widened.

'Fuck!'

"Uh..." 'Think of a lie quick.' "I get really bad nose bleeds," you almost questioned.

"So, you stick them up your nose?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah," you spoke as if they were stupid, "What? You've never done that?" All three of them shook their heads cluelessly. "Seriously? All the best players do it all the time."

"Really?"

"Yes. Look, I'll just show you."

Okay... maybe you're going a bit too far with the lie now.

Scooping up the menstruation products with haste, the boys jumped back and away when some flew out and towards them.

"Oh, grow up," you remarked, "They're not gonna bite ya. Look, you take this off," you instructed, as you unwrapped the tampon, "Whatever this plastic shit is. And..." Oh God, here we go. "You stick it right up."

You shoved the tampon up your nose.

Up! Your! Nose!

This was so not how you thought this day would go.

... it was a pretty good fit, actually.

With a shrug, you finished, "It absorbs the blood right up."

The three boys burst out laughing at your actions.

"You kidding, bro?"

"That's disgusting."

"Oh my, God, your roommate's a weirdo." Bucky slapped Steve's shoulder.

The blonde reiterated his pint once more as you returned to your unpacking, still with the tampon securely up your nose.

"That's so disgusting.

Your eyes widened once more at the realisation that just occurred to you. 'They were your girlfriends.' That's what you could have said. 'She must have accidentally packed them in my bag when she was leaving.' That's all it would have taken.

With a great sigh, you bowed your head at your own stupidity. Thinking how stupid it was that you even had to excuse having tampons with you, considering some men used them just like how women did.

---

Noon.

The sun was shining down upon the sports field as you stood in a long line of men. As the one-eyed rugby coach evaluated the line-up of the year.

"All right. Just like last season, we'll start this one sharp! And with new tryouts." The man repositioned his eyepatch to be more comfortable. "Okay, we have our work cut out for us. Shirts and skins."

'Oh, shit'

Clearing your throat, you gained the man's attention.

"Excuse me, sir. But I have to be a shirt."

"Run that by me again," he said gruffly, wanting further explanation.

"I'm allergic to the sun."

"You're allergic to the sun?"

"Yes, sir." You nodded. "Very, very, very deathly, murderously allergic, sir."

"Well, we like to accommodate her at Shield. So, how about I follow you around with an umbrella, baby face?"

Man, this guy was scary.

He checked his notes on the clipboard in his hand, notifying you of what he found.

"You're a shirt."

"Thank you, sir."

"Okay, guys, let's go!"

With the sharp blast of his whistle, set off the long gruelling training session ahead of you.

After a mammoth amount of training circuits, you were left exhausted. Practically rolling around, with your face pressed into the grass. As Coach Fury had everyone do one last set of push ups.

There was no wonder why Hydra couldn't beat Shield if you could beat the boys back at your own school with great ease, and this had left you almost dead on your feet.

"At ease, gentlemen," Fury spoke, bringing the session to a close, "There was a lot of energy and commitment out there today. And that makes a dedicated coach proud. Now, for the tough part. Four you. I'm going to split you up into first and second-stringers. Second-stringers, don't take it too hard. You're just as much a part of this team as the first-stringers. Apart from, of course, playing the game, if they can't play, part."

He gives a real good pep talk, doesn't he?

Fury began to list off names, and you felt as if it were almost inevitable.

"Lang. Parker. Quill. Barton. And Stark."

He handed you a bright yellow shirt, to which you gave him a tight-lipped smile and a single nod in thanks. "Second string. Congratulations to everyone else. You're all first-stringers. Now hit the showers!"

You were in a disappointed daze as you followed the group of boys into the building, only being brought out of it when a fellow second-stringer, Quill if you remember rightly, spoke in a relieved breath as he passed by you in the locker room.

"Shower time."

"Hold up. What? Shower time? Nope." You backed up when you saw the men getting undressed. Only to bump into Bucky and Sam, wearing nothing but towels wrapped around their waists, heading towards the showers. "Oh, sorry, bro... s."

One of the coach's assistants handed you a rolled-up towel, and dread filled you tenfold.

When, to your immense luck, in strode Fury.

"Stark! No shower for you."

"Okay." You had to battle to keep the relieved smile off your face whilst also stopping yourself from leaping towards the man and wrapping him in a hug.

"Principal Wilson wants to see you in his office."

"Okay, cool, thank you." You thrust the fluffy towel into his chest, swiftly exiting the room, practically at a run, while thanking your lucky stars.

---

Surrounded by objects of red and black, you sat in the principal's office, a sense of newfound dread filling you.

There was only one reason the principal would ask to see you in his office.

"That's it. It's over. I'm done. They know," you ranted nervously. Rocking slightly in one of the comfortable chairs at the front of the desk. Then your eyes latched onto a large filing cabinet. Your rocking stopped, and your back straightened up in intrigue. "Tony's file."

With quick movements, you reached the cabinet, pulling the very top drawer open and leafing through its contents. Reaching a thick, multi-coloured file in the masses of thin grey ones, secured with a large elastic band.

"Could it be any bigger?"

Before you had the chance to snoop through your brother's wrongdoings, in waltzed the principal, holding a plunger.

"Mr Stark!" he greeted, turning to you just as you closed the draw, accidentally getting your second-string shirt caught within it.

With your elbow resting upon the top of the filing cabinet, your fist up by your temple, the other half of your second string shirt laying over your shoulder, and a forced bright smile, upon your face. You saw your scarred principal for the first time.

"Wade Wilson," he introduced himself. Giving a bow, "Headmaster. Very pleased to meet you. So very, very pleased."

"Hello sir, I heard that you wanted to see me," deciding to keep up with the act for as long as you could, you shook the man's rough hand.

"I'd like to say 'welcome'." Wade mirrored your position against the filing cabinet. Then he started singing. "Welcome to Shield. Welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome to Shield. I just wanted to have you in to say welcome. See how you're doing."

You would have been doing great. Relief would be filling you right about now if you weren't so preoccupied with sneakily getting your shirt untrapped from the filing cabinet before you got caught out for snooping through it.

"Uh, yeah. I'm doing great, y'know? Just bust being a guy."

"Being a guy. Yeah." He chuckled lightly, eyes taking on a glimmer of someone remembering their teenage youth. "Well, let's take a look at your file, huh, Tony?"

He tried to tug the draw open, rattling it in its place from the force of his pulls. Not releasing, thanks to your caught shirt. "Seems to be... stuck a bit here." That was until you reached over and slapped the front of the metal draw. It popped open instantly. Managing to pull the shirt away before the principal could see.

"Oh, thank you," he called over his shoulder as you finally walked away from the cabinet.

"It's no problem."

"Okay, you're busted." Your mouth opened in a cringe, quickly pulling your face back to neutral as you turned to face the man. "I know you don't wanna sit in here and talk to the principal. But I won't take no for an answer. Now, have a seat in the headmasters' chair."

"What?" you asked, mildly confused.

"You heard me, now sit. Sit it."

"Okay..." with your drawn-out word, you moved to sit in his black office chair, the man patting you on the back as you passed him.

"So, Tony Stark." Principal Wilson sat in front of you on the edge of the desk. "How are you liking the campus?"

"Oh, it's beautiful, sir."

"You've been inspired? By the charcoal black and candy apple red?" a plaque was pulled towards you, the school's insignia and colours upon it.

"You know it." You smiled, tapping against the plaque.

"Hey" Hey, hey. Don't touch it. Ever. Ever. Do not do that."

"Right. Sorry."

"You know, Tony. I was a transfer student myself... once upon a time," Wade joked, hopping up to crouch on the seat you were previously residing in. After he had returned his treasured plaque to its original place, "Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. So, I like to keep a special interest in the transfer students that come to this school. Act as a... unofficial big brother, of sorts. Don't be surprised if I don't just pop in randomly unannounced from time to time. To check up on ya' and see how everything's going."

"I'll keep an eye out for you then, sir."

"I'm glad. Now scoot!" He pointed towards the door.

"Nice meeting you, sir."

Thankful to be relieved of that situation and the risk of being caught by your headteacher. You hastily exited the office. Not looking where you were going as you closed his door, which caused you to bump into someone.

"Oh, fuck." You looked down to see a pretty red-head dressed in the school uniform, sitting upon the ground below you, "I'm so sorry."

You swiftly crouched down to help her with her many books and filed scattered across the floor between you. Unbeknown to the intruded looks she was giving you.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"It's my fault," you said, taking full blame for what just happened.

"What is-?" the principle's question dies on his tongue at the sight of you and the red-head crouched on the floor, gathering her dropped work. You both turned to peer up at the man at the same time. "Oh... getting to know the opposite sex, are we? Male-female dynamics. All that sexual tension."

"What?"

"It's all part of the experience we call high school."

You peered over to the girl beside you, sharing eye contact, silently noting the man's strange words. Her green irises remained upon you as you turned back to the headteacher, cocking your head at him in confusion with slightly squinted eyes.

"So, continue. Continue. Please. But, uh, let's, uh, keep it clean, though, yeah? Okay. 'Cause, remember abstinence is key. Abstinence is- The best way to not. Is to not."

The man chuckled awkwardly as the red-head by your side glanced the side of your face up and down. Looking as if she were about ready to throw his whole speech down the drain for you.

Not that you noticed, of course.

"Uh... hmm?" the man looked back into his empty office as if someone had just called to him from within, just to escape the situation, "Yes."

The office door shut in your face.

"The hell?" you whispered to yourself, the red-head turning back to you, giggles pouring from her mouth. "He always that friendly?"

"Are you kidding? That's him being rude."

"Wow," you remarked to the girl.

Manoeuvring to your feet with the unknown girl following in your lead, you looked down at her stuff in your arms. "Right. Well, this is mine." You untangled your second-string shirt from around the binders and books, as she was left holding only a single book titled 'biology'. "And these are yours."

"Thank you."

"It was the least that I could do, considering I bumped into you."

"We bumped into each other," she corrected with a soft smile, the lights in the hall making her green eyes sparkle more than they did from just looking up at you.

"Hey, at least you were looking where you were going." Clearing your throat, you jabbed your thumb at the open glass door. "Well, I, uh. I guess I'll, uh. Y'know, go take care of some guy stuff."

"'Guy stuff'." She nodded with a smile. "Okay."

"Well, see you around."

"Bye."

'Guy stuff', you mouthed to yourself. Rolling your eyes at your words.

---

You were still grimy from your try out earlier in the day.

But it was dinner time, and you were positively starving.

Surprised to find your principal chipping in to help the cafeteria workers when he took your request for your meal.

"Here you go! Have a great apple and sandwich."

"Thank you, sir."

As you were walking away, a tall man wearing a purple shirt and what seemed to be gemmed rings upon each of his fingers and thumb and another gem-adorned the bracelet, on the same hand, began to ask the principal for his own food.

"Hi! I would love 1-"

"No." Wade shook his head in denial.

"But-"

And that was all you heard, the rest of his sentence trailing off the further away you got.

"Sup, dudes? You don't mind that I join, right?"

"Well, actually-" Steve started but soon stopped when you sat in the open seat between Sam and Bucky.

"Thanks! So, those rugby try outs were bullshit, huh? I mean-" You gestured to yourself. "'Second-string'? That's ridiculous, am I right?" Silence followed your words, the boys obviously not agreeing with you. "So, the game against Hydra. That should be interesting, huh?"

"Why would that be interesting?"

"Well, my sibling goes there, and they used to be best friends with that douche Brock Rumlow."

The three burst out laughing at the name.

"I know him," Steve nodded, "I made him cry once during a game."

"Woah, that was you?"

"Absolutely." He smiled. "Now, don't get me wrong, him crying isn't the funny thing. The reason he did was."

"Because you scored a goal past him."

"Yep. Now, that was funny."

"Is your sibling hot?" Sam asked suddenly, turning to you,

"Uh... I don't know? It'd be weird if I looked at them that way. But that doesn't matter. They wouldn't go for you, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They're gay. They don't like men."

"Ha!" Bucky laughed obnoxiously, throwing Sam a shit-eating grin. "You're shit outa luck, bro."

"Hey., shut up!" Then Sam coughed suddenly while speaking, "Incoming."

"What's this now?" you asked, following their line of sight. Only to see the red-head you bumped into earlier in the day, along with a black-haired girl.

Well, this was your chance.

Time to objectify some women!

Ugh, God.

"Oh, damn. You seen the ass on the red-head?" you asked the table.

"Uh-Oh." Sma turned to Steve, hands open as if waiting to catch him before he pounced at you.

"Don't talk about her like that."

"Oh? That your girlfriend, Mr Lover-Boy?" you teased.

Sam laughed. "He wishes." Looking away awkwardly when Steve turned to face him.

"She was dating this college guy, Matt something. They recently broke up," Bucky explained, "Well, he dumped her. And apparently, she's a total mess right now. Like, really vulnerable. Confidence and self-esteem are way down."

"In man words, now would be the time to pounce." Sam and Bucky high-fived.

"That's right!"

"Okay, wow," you whispered to yourself.

Just then, another boy, still suited up in his school uniform, practically made a show of walking to sit next to the red-head, solely for your table.

Steve grunted, clenching his straw between his fist. "I hate that guy."

"He seems like a creep," you notified as you watched him lean into the girl's space and handle her -thankfully wrapped- food. Before she swiftly took her sandwich bach from his hands and made eyes with her friend on her other side, "He your competition?" you asked Steve, nodding back to the boy.

"It's just bruce," he replied, as Sam scoffed at your words.

"Total geek," Bucky said.

"And not in the good way."

You were too busy looking at the red-head to reply to the guys at your table. Her green eyes connect with yours across the room.

"She looks so sad. She must be heartbroken."

The three looked at you like you had grown a second head.

Quickly rushing to explain, you said, "It's just... it's understandable, y'know? It must suck having your heart stomped on like that. Thinking that you know someone and then the whole thing just turns out to be some giant lie to them. Every touch. Every kiss."

Chairs scraping signalled you to their sudden exit. Leaving you at the table alone.

You called out to the retreating trio, "Plus, Y'know, you can never get chicks to shut up. Dammit," you whispered to yourself, "Okay, guys, catch up with you later."

---

You were in your pyjamas when you jogged into the empty bathroom later that night.

Wait.

Empty. Bathroom.

Empty.

You know what that means!

"I get to take a shower!" you celebrated to yourself quietly, whipping off your shirt. Moving to try and remove the compressing tank-top from your body. "Jesus Christ, why are these things so tight?" You, of course, knew the reason why. "Man, Thor was right. I should have practised more with it," you said as you finally got the binder off. Which proved unnecessary when you heard footsteps coming closer.

'Fuck!'

There was no time to throw the binder back on. Instead, you pulled your pyjama shirt over your head just before the boy you recognised as Bruce walked through the door.

With his dramatic gasp, you had thought, for sure, that you had been caught out for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"Uh. Bruce Banner, Dorm Director," he introduced himself before violently jabbing his finger towards your bare feet, "Shower shoes are to be worn in the bathroom, at all times, except when in the actual shower." You rolled your eyes at the uptight man. "Did you just not read your 'Dorm Life' pamphlet?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"Yes. I..." He regarded you with a glare. "It was in your cubby."

Steve walked through the door just then and whipped the boy over the back of the head with the towel that was previously sat around his neck.

Bruce exclaimed in pain.

"Man! You got him good," you shouted as the brunette fell to the tilled ground with a yelp, "Sup, dude?"

"Yeah, I'm doing good, "homie"," he finished with air quotes.

You needed to get out of there. And fast.

You gathered your stuff in your arms and nodded once to Steve.

"Later."

"Hey, you forgot your tank top." He threw it for you to catch, "Coolio."

"Word, broski."

A sigh left your mouth when you exited the room.

You had never known a first day of anything to be as long as this one.

---

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

you belong with me

Day 11, story #1 is by @accio-broom

Title: you belong with me Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur Weasley / Molly Prewett Prompt: Soulmate AU Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): None, unless Arthur Weasley trying to enjoy his birthday offends you.

When Arthur Weasley woke on the morning of the 6th February, nothing was out of the ordinary. He took his time, easing out of sleep like a man with nothing to do. He stretched out his body with a loud yawn, then pulled back the curtains of the four-poster bed, ignoring the attack of the winter air that filled the dorm room.

He was going to have a perfect day.

Wiggling his toes on the plush rug next to his bed, he greeted his fellow dorm mates.

“Morning, Ry.” Arthur tipped his head towards the Gryffindor on the bed opposite him. “How’s it hanging?”

Ryan was not a morning person, and he grumbled at Arthur before snuggling further under the duvet. Arthur chuckled and joined in the conversation about the latest Quidditch scores, trying his best to not lament too long on the disappointing Cannons scores. He gathered his wash bag, and made sure he had clean briefs with his uniform, then waved a cheery goodbye as he wandered off to the bathroom, whistling as he moved.

Today was Arthur Weasley’s birthday, and the day he came of age, although the notion was rather peculiar to him. He didn’t feel all that more responsible than he did yesterday, but according to Wizarding Law, he could now leave school, get a real job and get married, should he wish.

He scoffed as the thought of getting married flitted into his head, disappearing as quickly as it came. That would mean actually landing himself a girlfriend, something he hadn’t yet achieved during his six years at Hogwarts. He hadn’t even come close.

As he showered, Arthur mapped out his day in his head. If it all went to plan, he’d enjoy a big breakfast with the rest of his school friends. His classes today were straight forward—double Muggle Studies this morning, then Potions this afternoon. Between these would be lunch, and a free period, where hopefully, he’d be able to go for a fly, if the weather was okay.

If he survived the day, then he and his friends were planning a night of wizard chess, birthday cake and butterbeer, which hopefully Ryan was going to sneak from the kitchens for them.

Shower done, he dried himself off in front of one of the mirrors. As he did, he examined his body. He didn’t look any older than yesterday, there were no new lines or hairs on his body. He was still the same gangly lad with violent red hair and far too many freckles to count.

Arthur settled his glasses on his face, then loosened his towel. Without warning, a soft femine voice filled his head, taking him by surprise.

Merlin, I hate red hair.

Tightening the towel around his waist, he looked around the bathroom for the source of the sound.

“H-hello?” he called out, but the only reply came from the echo of his greeting bouncing off the tiles. “I-is anyone there?”

I wish I were blonde or a brunette—anything but this. Nobody fancies redheads.

His heart pounding, he checked all the nooks and crannies in the room, only to find that he was the only one there. The tips of his ears turned bright pink as he turned his attention back to his reflection. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and a frown covered his face. He was tired. It was the only explanation for the voice that was still filling Arthur’s ears with insecurities. There had been a few late nights in the library recently, as well as some early morning Quidditch practices. They must be catching up on him.

He’s no spring chicken, after all.

Hurriedly pulling on his uniform, he combed his hair then carried on whistling, hoping to block out the now persistent voice in his head.

⁂

The girl’s commentary didn’t stop whilst Arthur ate his breakfast. It filled his ears, dragging his shoulders down with negative thoughts and observations.

Everything is so greasy here, the voice wailed. No wonder I’m putting on weight. I’ll get spots if I carry on eating like this. I wish Mary wouldn’t wear so much perfume. It makes me feel sick.

The negativity depressed Arthur and was the last thing he needed on his birthday. He’d hoped for a nice day, full of presents, and easy lessons and time spent with his friends, but instead, Negative Nancy was ruining his time. He didn’t even fancy opening his gifts, which had been delivered by owl mail just as he sat down for breakfast.

Glancing down the table, he tried to work out the source of the interference in his brain, but the Gryffindor table was full of people, and conversations flew around them from every angle. He sniffed, wondering if Mary’s perfume could lead him in the right direction, but all he could smell was baked beans.

With a sigh, he shoved his second sausage into his mouth, letting the taste of his favourite breakfast food cheer him up, even if it was only a little bit.

Muggle studies was Arthur’s favourite topic, but he found it hard to concentrate as his head filled with arithmancy. He hated the subject, there was a reason he didn’t choose to continue the subject after their O.W.L.’s, so it irritated him greatly that the thoughts were disrupting learning more about muggle bridges. They were such beautiful contraptions, too.

Lunch was just as bad. Although the voice was annoying, Arthur was starting to get used to it. However, what was infuriating him was how familiar the voice sounded, yet he couldn’t work out who it belonged to. Whenever it filled his mind, it brought warm feelings and stirred something new deep inside his belly. Whatever was happening to him, he felt awkward that he was getting a very up close and personal look into someone else’s thoughts. Throughout the morning, he’d experienced such a vast range of emotions, and he felt like he might explode.

His birthday was going downhill rapidly.

By the time Potions came around, Arthur was exhausted. He arrived at class before the rest of his peers, and as soon as he settled into his usual seat, he folded his arms and rested his head on them. He was about to drop off to sleep when…

“Good afternoon, Arthur. Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Arthur’s ears pricked up. It was the same damn voice he’d been hearing all day, but this time it was loud and happening outside his head. Peeking over his arms, he watched as Molly Prewett sat down next to him and gave him a warm smile.

It was her, the voice inside his head. How had he not realised this before now?

Although he and Molly weren’t best friends, she had been his potions partner since their first year, and they often found themselves sharing a table in the library late at night. Could she hear his thoughts the same way he could listen to hers? Or was this all one-sided?

“Oh, yes, it’s fine,” he said, finally lifting his head from the desk. “Perfectly spiffing.”

Perfectly spiffing? He’s never spoken like that before, and definitely not to Molly Prewett. He usually chooses his words carefully around her, not wanting to look like an imbecile.

She giggled, and Arthur goggled at her. Was she only laughing at his choice of words, or was his internal commentary amusing her. His pulse started to quicken. There had been many thoughts throughout the day, some that would mortify him if anyone else heard.

Arthur checked on Slughorn, who was distracted writing today’s recipe on the board. Summoning the courage, Arthur took a deep breath then reached out with his mind. He crossed all his fingers and toes that this would work as he thought hard.

“Hello? Molly?”

All of a sudden, Molly sat upright in her seat. Her face turned towards him, and even through the smoke from their cauldron, Arthur could see that her eyes were wide, and her jaw was almost reaching the desk.

“Arthur? Oh Merlin, is that really you? Is it your voice I’ve heard all day?”

“Yes? I mean, I think so. I’ve been hearing your voice since I woke up, and I was curious to see if you could hear the same.”

A red blush crept from Molly’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Arthur was sure it wasn’t from their cauldron or the heat of the dungeons.

“How much did you hear?” Molly averted her gaze from him.

Arthur paused, weighing up his options. Should he lie and protect Molly from inevitable humiliation? Or should he tell her the truth? It was a difficult choice, and both came with a list of pros and cons. But Arthur wasn’t a dishonest man, and if this problem continued for much longer, Molly deserved to know what she was exposing him to.

Plus, if she was experiencing it too, then she probably had a good idea of what he’d heard.

Reaching a decision, he flexed his mind again. “All of it. I’m sorry, Molly. I tried my best to ignore it all, but it’s all I can hear.”

“What’s going on? Do you think we should go and see Madam Pomfrey?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle. The mind-reading was not an illness or spell damage, and they hadn’t been near each other recently, save for right now.

It’s no coincidence that this started on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, and his brothers had mentioned something similar happening to them, although at the time, Arthur put it down to them yanking his wand. They often liked to tease him, as older brothers do.

It was Percival who’d mentioned it, while they were tinkering with a Muggle car in their father’s garage last summer.

“So, this school year is going to be fun for you, Arthur,” he’d said, a smile on his face. “Coming of age, you’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade without supervision, you’ll hopefully get your apparition licence too.”

Arthur had smiled, his stomach lurching with excited nerves. “If I pass.”

Bilius had piped up. “The family record is five attempts.”

“And Dad has never grown his eyebrows back.” Percival smirked at his brothers.

Arthur joined in with the laughter, relishing getting to spend time with Percival and Bilius. Percival had married almost straight out of school, and although Bilius remained single, he was always away on secret missions for the Order of the Phoenix.

Grinning at Arthur, Pervial spoke again. “Of course, apparition isn’t the hardest thing you’ll have to deal with. If the voices start, you’re in for a treat.”

“Voices?” Arthur fumbled with his screwdriver as a frown appeared on his face.

“Yeah, don’t you know?” Percival continued, adding oil to the engine. “When Weasley men come of age, they have a special way of finding their one true love.”

“What? No, you’re making this up. This is all fairy tale nonsense, surely? Bilius hasn’t met anyone!”

“How do think Perce landed his wife so quickly?” Bilius laughed. “Wasn’t his charm or good looks, that’s for sure.”

Percival and Bilius had erupted into giggles again. The tips of Arthur’s ears burned pink. There was no way this sort of thing happened, they were just having him on. But still, the thought had appealed to him. He was so unlucky in love, that the thought of being able to automatically identify his future wife had piqued his interest for sure.

Would he be like Percival or Bilius? Only time would tell.

⁂

Arthur hadn’t thought back on that conversation since it had happened. But if what his brothers had told him was true, then there were worse women in the world to be hearing in his head. Molly was kind and pretty. He’d always had a soft spot for her, but he’d never acted on it for fear of being rejected. Now, he probably didn’t have a choice.

Taking a huge breath, he reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. His grip trembled but felt it pertinent for him to try and be brave, given the enormity of what they were facing. In an attempt to distract himself from her internal panic, he wet his lips before finally whispering in a low voice,

“What do you know about soulmates?”

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #marthur #molly weasley x arthur weasley #arthur weasley x molly weasley

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

Text

A little written-in-the-middle-of-the-night Loki fic snippet that just grew another leg. TVA Loki + Lokane. Rating T.

(First part is here)

Shine a Light, part II

The tempad feels hot and slippery in his palm as he stalks down the hallway, quickly putting distance between himself and the hunter he left unconscious amidst overturned chairs and tables in the canteen.

The mess had already been there, leftovers from workers rushing panicked to man their stations. He had simply added one more touch.

Tiny droplets of sweat bead his brow and blood has started seeping though the tear in his crumbled shirt.

The fabric is clinging wetly to his bicep, but in the mayhem unfolding around him, nobody gives him a second glance.

For the first time, he is thankful at least to be wearing the anonymous uniform dictated by the oppressors.

He reaches the kill me kind of room again and shuts the door behind him.

You were meant to cause suffering and death.

You’re a cosmic mistake.

You were meant to die at the hands of the mad titan.

Lies.

All lies.

Still projected on the wall is the paused image of a lost memory of his unfulfilled fate.

He sees himself, Thor and her on the barren planet with the black soil. The man he never became is lying on the ground, Thor cradling him.

She watches them both in shock.

It resonates in his bones. He has to go there.

He has to reach his brother at this precise, excruciatingly rare moment of heroism. His act of heroism.

Before the scheming and deceit poison their bond once more in an endless loop of disappointment.

In this moment, all is forgiven. Thor will listen and help. A different path will branch.

And he has to go to her.

It is ludicrous, this riddle, yet the truth of it presses hard on his chest.

On the grainy roll of film, he saved her life and her eyes bore into his with such intensity, his acute need still reverberates like an echo between the walls of the kill me kind of room.

The smell of lilacs lingers.

What will happen when he faces his own self on the timeline, he can’t imagine. Also, he gives it little thought at this late stage with universal logic already suspended as it is. Hopefully he can reason with the man he was meant to be.

He has had quite enough of being his own past, present and future selves’ worst enemy.

And so he pushes the buttons on the tempad.

Something is very wrong.

The sky is too blue, the distant sound of waves lapping calmly at a shore is misplaced.

He has emerged from the door onto a quiet gravel road lined with tall grass and low pines. A single, white wooden house stands to his left, surrounded by a lawn dotted with wildflowers. The sun is warm on his back.

This is Midgard, he is sure of it.

How could he shoot past his destination so spectacularly?

He is about to scroll down the list of numbers and names on the tiny screen of the tempad when he notices a man approaching. Old, walking leisurely with a round, short-legged dog much the same white color as the mortal’s own wispy hair.

The latter starts a little when he spots Loki.

And then he does the most unexpected thing and speaks his name.

Loki’s name.

He almost drops the tempad (no! Not again) and the old one grins good-naturedly. “Hold on to your fancy phone there. Far away, were we?”

Loki only just about stops himself from shaking the man by his shoulders. His fists clench uncontrollably.

“What year is this?! How do you know my name?”

His voice sounds shrill, feverish, and unsurprisingly the eyes in the lined face before him go wide with puzzlement and … something else.

“Loki, what on Earth? Are you quite alright?”

Shock washing over him, Loki staggers back. H-how?

But the man is closing the gap between them, oozing concern. “Have you - are you drunk?” he asks incredulously.

He reaches out.

What is happening?

Loki shies away from the touch, his mind spinning.

Forcibly gathering his composure, he straightens and wills his words to come out steady. “No, I’m okay. Apologies. A bad joke”.

He smiles reassuringly. It takes more effort than parting an ocean.

The dog is sniffing insistently at his ankles.

The man looks him over with suspicion but the worry is subsiding. “Okay, then… no harm, no foul. You know, sometimes these peculiar ‘jokes’ of yours can make a neighbor all kinds of slightly worried”.

Neighbor?

“Most understandably, won’t happen again. Sorry to have bothered you”. Loki cuts him off smoothly. “Have a nice day”. He nods and turns before hysteria can creep into his voice.

“In case you need it for your punchline, the year is 2016”, the man calls over his shoulder as he shuffles away, pulling the reluctant dog after him.

Loki’s blood runs cold. 2016. Oh, this is so wrong. Three years wrong.

Did he hit another button at the last minute? He had been clutching the tempad so hard the edges cut into his fingers.

He curses his own impatience. Tech savvy indeed.

Holding up the blasted piece of TVA wizardry, he tries to enter a new series of numbers when his name rings out again.

And again, he almost jumps. But this time, his heart stays in his throat.

“Loki? What are you doing out here? I’ve been looking all over for you”.

Her voice reaches him from the porch of the white house. She is skipping lightly down the steps, the screen doors left open behind her. Music drifts into the garden from somewhere inside.

She is crossing the lawn. He is no longer breathing.

Her long auburn hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she is wearing a light blue summer dress. Her feet are bare.

Absurdly, he notes that she looks more tanned than the last time he saw her through the visor of the destroyer in the desert. A year and a lifetime ago. To him.

His grip on whatever reality he’s been clinging to since New York is seriously faltering.

She is beaming. He cannot move a muscle.

She comes all the way up to him and without pause wraps her slender arms around his neck. He can feel the warmth of her body through his shirt, smell the perfume of her skin. She smells of … -

“Where did you go, handsome?” She smiles playfully.

“Pepper called earlier to say that she actually got Tony out of the door on time, if you can believe it, so they’ll be here any minute. And her and I agreed that you two hotheads are going to play nice tonight, okay?”

She is teasing him but he hardly understands the words she’s saying. It makes no sense.

And then, before he can begin to form a response, she stands on tiptoes and kisses him and the world falls away.

Reflexively, he puts his arms around her, drawing her close to him. She moans happily. He leans into the kiss, not knowing what he’s doing other than that he never wants to stop.

Her mouth is soft and warm and new and familiar all at the same time, and the way her fingers curl in his hair sends electricity shooting down his spine.

It should be all anguish and tragic confusion, like before in the castle beyond time, but it is not.

It feels more right that anything he can remember since before his fall from the Bifrost, more real and yet more magical than his recent journeys into mystery.

Then it’s over all too soon and she draws away.

His arms are suddenly much too empty and he almost reaches for her again, craving her touch.

For a fleeting heartbeat, his soul had no longer felt torn apart to the point of forgetting he’d ever been whole.

The chaos had crumbled in on itself like a bad dream.

He is surprised he still knows what peace of mind feels like after what has happened to him since arriving at the TVA.

But now she looks at him with alarm in those beautiful brown eyes and he is crudely reminded that he is an intruder in her reality.

What she thought she saw, she clearly no longer recognizes.

It takes him all of three stupidly long seconds to remember that she said his name. That he’s wearing his own face and not a disguise.

That she knew him immediately, just like the old man.

She kissed him.

Too many impossible possibilities and the thunderous sound of his own heartbeat (surely she can hear it too) blur his vision.

He’s only vaguely aware that he is stepping towards her, trying to say something without the faintest idea of what’s going to come out of his mouth.

If it’ll even be words.

Her eyes dart over his clothes, his face.

“Loki, what - Why are you dressed like that? Have you been gone? Is that … blood?”

She retreats further, fear building.

“Jane, I-“

Her name rolls of his tongue with a sweet-tasting intimacy like he has said it a thousand times before.

But he doesn’t get to dwell on this, nor gather his thoughts to say anything else before something abruptly lifts him off the ground and hurls his body across the road.

“How dare you touch her, beast?!”

Immediately as his back connects with the rough gravel, someone is there, a knee pushing him down, fingers closing around his throat. A sharp object presses against his chin.

There is a dangerous, unhinged growl as his attacker breathes hotly in his ear. “You will die for this!”

The man is strong and somehow blocking Loki’s own magic, but he still manages to twist his head -

And looks right up into his own eyes, nearly black with rage.

“Speak! What are you??”

The man with a face exactly like his presses the tip of his blade closer to Loki’s left eye. “You will show yourself right now or -“

Gathering his magic tightly around him (focus!), Loki pushes back, hard.

With a surge of energy, their bodies are separated, and the other version of him lands heavily in the middle of the road some meters away.

Both of them are on their feet with the fluid movements of two panthers ready to pounce, the other now in full armor.

He has to leave, right now, even if means leaving her which is a catastrophe that might either kill him or make him try to kill his other self if he stays here another minute.

This timeline is clearly not his own.

It cannot be.

Arm outstretched to ward off his furious twin with a shield of magic, he tries to work the tempad with one hand.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

A booming voice above their heads.

��You know, when Jane pressed the panic button just now, I thought we had an actual emergency. Not that you were preparing a little dinner show for us, Reindeer Games. Gotta be honest though, this doppelgänger stunt was never my favorite -“

“Stark!”

The variant - for he must be a variant - angrily interrupts the man in the metal suit hovering in the air.

Of course, Loki remembers him all too clearly.

What has it been, less than a week since he threw him, or a version of him, out the window of the glass tower?

“This is not my creation”, the variant hisses with venom dripping from every word. “I caught him assaulting Jane. Kissing her”.

“What?!”

Stark focuses all his attention (and one of his iron fists) on Loki. A metallic humming rises steadily from inside the suit.

“A man on a suicide mission then. Boy, did you smooch the wrong wizard’s baby-mama. He may look all domesticated and cute now, but I assure you he’s still all kinds of crazy. In fact-”.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I know it’s asking a lot, of you in particular, Stark, but could we possibly save the personal insults till we have dealt with this right here?”

Wait, just wait.

Damn it, he can’t tap in the destination on the tempad without looking at it.

Green smoke is swirling around the hands of his other self. He knows what’s coming.

“This is your last warning, devil! I will not have you hiding behind my face as I -“

“This is my face! I’m you, you fool! Bigger things are at large here and-“ Loki falters, his silver tongue failing once more with rising predictability within what seems a disconcertingly short period of time.

Although he honestly can’t tell anymore.

“Please, take a minute -“

He can’t help but shout, sounding hopelessly desperate.

In another life, he might have felt humiliated, but letting pride dictate his emotions is no longer a luxury he can afford to indulge.

Still, the silence that follows his outburst is not nearly as long as he needs it to be.

The variant stares blankly at him, mouth slightly ajar, but Stark recovers easily, his voice now icy.

“Yeah, dude, that one might have worked better if you’d put on a clean shirt. Time to fess up real quick or we’ll have to-“

Drawing what might become his last breath, Loki looks away and down at the tempad. He presses the button. No more time to double check.

“What the?!”

Both Stark and the variant visibly flinch as the door appears.

He quickly makes for it. “I - I’m sorry. Truly, I am”. He looks to their stunned faces before turning to his exit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he registers the variant move (he has to be a variant). His mouth twists in an ugly snarl and two familiar daggers are appearing by his sides.

Before the door snaps completely shut, Loki sees Jane run up to the man and grab his arm.

“Love, no, don’t!”

He sees the slight bump under her dress that he didn’t notice before.

And then the scene disappears and he’s gone.

Part III

#loki #loki series #tva loki #loki laufeyson #lokane ff #lokane fanfic #lokane #jane foster #loki x jane #loki fic

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hxwks-gf · 4 years

Text

ㅡ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟹

ʜᴀᴡᴋs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ғʟᴜғғ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜɪɴɢ, ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Weeks passed, and the weather steadily shifted from the end of summer to the beginning of autumn. The leaves began to change, throwing the city into a vibrant mix of red, orange, and brown. The air outside gradually got colder and colder, until you got used to grabbing a coat before you left for work.

Endeavor’s attitude towards you had improved, much to your surprise. He no longer sent you off on ridiculous errands whenever he had meetings with other heroes or with the Hero Public Safety Commission. Rather, he actually had you attend them, sitting beside him at the long conference table, dutifully taking notes.

A particularly boring meeting with a few lower-ranked heroes had just come to an end. It went on quite longer than expected, you noticed, as the sun had already set and the stars were twinkling next to the moon in the sky. The nighttime air was brisk and frigid as you quickly walked down the quiet sidewalk to your apartment. There was no one else in sight.

Or so you thought. You were in your own little world, imagining the hot meal and hot bath that was waiting for you at home. You were too busy daydreaming that you didn’t see the shadowy form slip out from an alley and fall in step behind you. He followed you for a couple blocks, until you started to feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced over your shoulder and saw himㅡbut you couldn’t make out his face.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself, facing straight forward again. Your feet began to move quicker. Just a few more blocks….

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” a raspy, guttural voice hissed. Before you could break into a run, a hand shot out with surprising speed and gripped your upper arm. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Let go of me!” you snapped, trying to wrench your arm free.

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that.” His grip on your arm tightened painfully, pulling you back into his chest. He leaned down to speak in your ear, his breath tickling your hair. “I’ll be gentle.”

Your eyes scanned the street wildly, for anything. Anyone. Where were the patrols, goddammit? You felt yourself being pulled into another dark alley, hidden from view. After coming to terms that no hero was going to save you, you decided to take matters in your own hands. As he dragged you to a secluded spot behind a dumpster, you flexed your hand by your side, careful to keep it subtle. You hardly ever used your Quirk because it took so much to actually get it to workㅡit only ever seemed amplified when you found yourself in danger. Like right now.

You started to cry as his hands began to roughly roam your body, but you forced yourself to focus on your hand, and on the rusted crowbar that was leaning against the opposite wall.

A strong gust of wind caught you and the assailant off guard. He stiffened and shoved you away. You stumbled to your knees, shivering at the lingering feeling of his disgusting fingers dragging across your skin, but you kept your gaze on the crowbar. It was maybe ten, fifteen feet away. This would take a lot out of you if you pulled it off.

“Who’s there?!”

You jumped at the sudden shout, glancing over your shoulder at him. He was standing in the middle of the alley now, looking around wildly. Looking for something. For someone.

There was another gust of wind, but this time you saw a flash of red. You wasted no time stretching out your hand to the crowbar and winced at the painful tug in your gut, forcing your Quirk to activate. The pain in your stomach became unbearable, but you saw the crowbar tremble with energy against the wall. After an excruciating second, it flew across the alley and slammed into your outstretched hand. You had one chance to use it before you gave in to the sudden exhaustion that plagued your entire body.

With a swift, precise motion, you surged to your feet and used the momentum to swing the crowbar at your attacker. The cold metal collided with his jaw with a sickening crunch. He let out a screech of pain and crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth and splashing over you and the brick wall.

You stood over him with the crowbar still in your hand, breathing heavily. God, you were so tired now. This was why you never used your Quirk. Your eyesight blurred, and you stumbled into the wall. You leaned back against it and slid down into a sitting position, trying to keep your head upright. You gripped the bloody crowbar tightly in your hands, resting it between your legs. You knew you needed to get up and get to the nearest police station, but the world was spinning and blackness was creeping into the corners of your vision. Maybe you should just take a nap first...just to rest for a little bit...

Hawks heard the police sirens from a few blocks away. He turned away from the street and stepped into the alley, his avian gaze focusing on the body of the man that had groped you, laying face down and unmoving by the dumpster. Blood had pooled around his head, the metallic stench of it crowding Hawks’ senses. He scanned the rest of the alley.

And there you were, sitting against the wall with the bloody crowbar in your limp grasp. Your head was lolling forward, but he could hear you breathing.

“Jesus, kid,” he murmured, quickly going to your side. He took in the wild splatters of blood that stained your lovely shirt. Hawks looked over at the body of the attacker again, and sighed. This would be a lot to process when you woke up. He lifted his wings up to shield you from the decrepit alley, extending his gloved hands out to gingerly lift you into his arms like a child. The flashing lights from the police cars bounced off the walls and illuminated him as he carried you out, the crowbar still in your hands.

“Anybody injured?” Hawks recognized the chief standing there with a notepad in his hands.

“One,” he replied softly, careful not to wake you up. “I saw it happen. It was in self defense.”

The chief peered around Hawks’ wings and into the alley. He nodded solemnly. “I see. I’ll need the weapon for evidence.” The chief slowly slid the crowbar from your hands, but you didn’t stir. “We’ll get this sorted out, Hawks. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll have Y/N at the station tomorrow to give a statement. I don’t think you’ll be able to get one now.”

“Understandable.” The chief rubbed his chin and studied you, wrapped in Hawks’ arms. “Poor thing. Take care of ‘em, alright?”

“Always,” Hawks replied, shifting you to a more comfortable position. “Thank you, sir.”

After the chief nodded, Hawks extended his wings and with one powerful beat, he launched himself into the night sky, holding onto you so carefully, like one wrong move could strip you away from him.

The first thing you registered was the one continuous ache that stretched over every inch of your body. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to even open your eyes.

But you forced yourself to blink away the blurriness, and you realized you were in bed in your apartment. Maybe it had all been a dream. The door to your patio was cracked open, letting cool air into the room. It was early evening, you noted, the sky a mix of pink, orange, and purple. Which means you had slept all day. You had missed work.

You shot up straight in bed at the realization, and immediately doubled over in pain, nausea coursing through your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your face into the blanket, trying to steady yourself. After a few minutes, you slowly forced yourself into a sitting position. You were still wearing your clothes from yesterday. Glancing down, you noticed strange, red blotches covering your chest and torsoㅡ

And then the sound of metal crunching bone erupted in your mind and you felt bile come up your throat. The images of the crowbar slamming into that man’s jaw flashed behind your eyes over and over again, until you scrambled out of your bed and painfully crawled over to the bathroom, heaving whatever was left in your stomach into the toilet. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. There was nothing in your head except the splatter of blood from the crowbar that you had used. Everything was red.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay! You’re okay, I’m here, I’m hereㅡ” Strong arms were wrapping around you, cradling you gently on the floor of your bathroom. You gulped in great, heaving breaths, trying to calm yourself down. You recognized that voice.

“H-Hawks?” you said weakly, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you back home after last night,” you heard him say. He was so warm. You instinctively curled into him, tucking your head beneath his chin. He smelled good too, just like you remembered. His hands started to softly run over the stretch of your back, massaging the sore muscles. “I’m so sorry it happened, Y/N. I really am.”

“Did I kill him?” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke the words.

Hawks was silent for a moment, but his hands kept rubbing your back. “No. I thought you had, but the chief of police called me a few hours ago and said he’s stable in the hospital. You shattered his jaw and clavicle.”

Painful, wracking sobs came from your chest as you cried. Hawks said nothing. He just held you tightly and rocked you back and forth, his hands never stilling in their comfort. It felt like hours had passed when your cries finally subsided, and you leaned back from his embrace and took in his face.

He wasn’t in his hero uniform. Without his heavy coat, earphones, and eyewear, Hawks looked...younger. His wings were extended and curved around the two of you like a cocoon, keeping you safe and hidden from the horrors of the world. You stared into his golden eyes, eyes that were tired and had dark circles underneath them. He must have stayed up all night and all day to make sure you were safe. But something stuck out to you.

“How did you know where I lived?” you asked.

He blinked and tilted his head. “Your driver’s license.”

“Oh, right,” you murmured, averting your gaze. “Thank you for...taking me home. And making sure I was alright.”

Hawks hummed in response, reaching up and pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “I told Endeavor what happened. You’ve been ordered to take a week off to recover.”

“A week?” you repeated, eyes going wide.

“A week.” Hawks gently slid you out of his arms, getting to his feet and stretching. He looked down at you still sitting on the floor with that dumbfounded expression on your face. “His orders.”

You stared at your hands. What were you going to do for an entire week? Who was going to take care of the reports, the filing? You had already taken off too much time, with missing work yesterday.

“Stop stressing,” Hawks said, leaning against the sink. “You went through something traumatic. You may think you’re fine now, but it’s just going to come back and send you spiraling if you don’t rest and process what happened.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” you said, wrapping your arms around your knees and pulling them to your chest.

When he didn’t answer, you looked up at him again. His jaw was set and he was staring intently at the tile pattern of the floor, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“Hawks?”

“I’ve just seen my fair share of shit,” he said, meeting your gaze again. He squatted in front of you, a hand extending to trace the dried blood on your shirt. “You need to change. And shower. Where do you keep your clothes?”

“I can get them myself,” you said, getting to your feet. You winced at the dull, throbbing pain that seemed to reach every nook and cranny in your body. You weren’t sure if you could walk across the apartment to your closet. A beat of silence passed. “The closet,” you muttered, defeated. “By the bed.”

He nodded and started to leave the bathroom, but stopped and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I want to help you. If you’ll let me.”

You just silently nodded. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and then he was gone. You hobbled over to the door and pushed it closed before turning on the shower. Standing in front of the mirror, you nearly screamed at your reflection. Your work clothes were dirty and disheveled, and covered with blood. So much blood. The room started to spin again as you hurriedly stripped them off your body, kicking them out of sight. The hot water of the shower felt like heaven as it spilled over you, washing away what you had done.

As you toweled yourself off, Hawks knocked on the door. “I have some clean clothes,” he said, voice muffled.

You cracked open the door and peeked up at him. His eyes darted from your face to take in the droplets that slid across your collarbone and disappeared beneath the towel, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Thank you,” you said softly, taking the neatly folded clothes from his hands, not breaking his gaze. You closed the door and quickly got dressed, making a mental note of what he picked out: one of your favorite shirts that was old and worn with use, a pair of soft sweatpants, and a cozy cardigan. It was like he knew exactly what you liked to wear around the house.

He was sitting on your couch, aimlessly flipping through a book. Once you stepped out of the bathroom he glanced up, and his wings immediately puffed and stretched out behind him. “You look...comfortable,” he managed to get out, trying to pull his wings back in.

“I am,” you nonchalantly replied, smoothing a hand over your shirt. “Thank you.”

Hawks nodded a ‘you’re welcome’ and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. You glanced over at the clock on the stove and saw that it was late.

“It’s getting late,” you blurted out. You immediately wanted to slap yourself for how rude you sounded, but he was already getting up.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked, edging towards the door.

“I think I’ll be okay...” You trailed off as you looked around the apartment. The only light source came from the bathroom, and there were too many dark shadows and corners. A cold feeling of dread slid down your spine as you saw the splatter of blood flash in your mind again. Then the memory of the attacker’s hands grabbing you raised goosebumps on your skin. You looked back to Hawks, who was opening your front door. “Wait!” you cried, running to him.

He looked back at you, eyebrows raised in question.

You hadn’t realized you had reached out and put your hand on his arm. You licked your lips in anticipation, staring into his golden eyes. He waited patiently for you to speak.

“Stay,” you finally whispered.

“What?”

“Please,” you begged, fingers curling into his skin. You squeezed your eyes shut. “I….I don’t feel safe by myself. Even if I lock the doors. Everywhere I look, all I see is him….I feel his hands, wrapping around my throat, squeezingㅡ”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted you. “Of course I’ll stay. I didn’t want to leave you alone anyways, but I didn’t want to step over any lines.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “T-thank you. I think I owe you a lot more than lunch, now.”

Hawks chuckled and closed the door, flicking the lock into place. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, kid.”

“You can have the bed,” you said quickly as he guided you back into the living room. “I know you need more space for your wings.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, horrified. “I’ll be just fine on the couch.”

As if to prove a point, he nestled into a pile of blankets and pillows on the couch and gave you a thumbs-up. But you could tell he was uncomfortableㅡhis wings twitched and quivered behind him, no matter how tightly he pulled them against his body. But you also knew he wouldn’t budge.

So you said nothing and clicked off the bathroom light. Moonlight slipped through the windows and covered the room in silvery shadows as you padded barefoot across the floor to your bed, feeling your cheeks heat up as Hawks watched you from the couch. You pulled the covers back and slipped underneath them, rolling over so you faced the wall.

An hour passed and you were still wide awake. You listened to Hawks shifting on the couch, his breathing quiet and steady. Was he asleep already?

As you lay there, you started to see red again. Blood spilling over marble floors, staining white sheets and covering the entire world. Your throat tightened and you tried to calm yourself as quietly as you could. But you couldn’t. “Hawks,” you managed to choke out.

“Yeah?”

Your heart was pounding against the bars of your ribcage as you struggled to find courage. “Can you come over here, please?”

He wasted no time. You listened to the sound of his wings unfurling, and moments later you felt the bed dip as he gently slid underneath the blankets. He kept a mindful distance away from you, but the warmth that radiated from him seeped into your tired muscles almost immediately.

Your cheeks were wet as he adjusted himself to a comfortable position. He was quiet, waiting for you to make the first move.

“All I see is red,” you whispered, still facing away from him. “I can’t think straight.”

“I know,” he quietly replied, his words rumbling from his chest and washing over you. It calmed the storm in your mind for a moment, and you realized you were aching for him. Not sexually, like the time in his office. This was different. You knew you felt safe in his arms. It was the only place you felt safe.

And he sensed it, but he was trying to respect you. A tenuous silence stretched through the space between you, until you couldn’t take it any longer.

“Hold me.”

It was as if he was just waiting for you to speak the words. Hawks was pulling you against him with gentle force, slipping one arm underneath your head and the other snaking around your waist. His chest was strong and firm against your back, and the images of red slowly disappeared from your mind as he held you. His fingers softly carded through your hair as he pressed his lips to your temple, his hot breath fanning over your face. His scent enveloped you. You were surrounded by him.

You welcomed the deep, dreamless sleep as he held you in a lover’s embrace, knowing that as long as he was near you, you would always be safe.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @msgrungie

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pyroclaststan · 3 years

Text

CW: This is the softest shit I’ve ever written

You’d asked Kingsley to come over and do your hair as a joke [mostly]. You knew they were hesitant to be in your space on the best of days, and almost always avoidant of any kind of touch or personal interactions on any given day. It was made very clear very early on in your friendship how high Chrysanta’s walls are but it’s always made you try harder, tease more, push often—never too much.

Not out of disrespect for their boundaries, but because it was also made very clear early on in your friendship that they had no friends, and if there was one thing you could say Kingsley needed in this world it’s friends. Maybe also someone to pry the stick up their ass loose, too, but even your hero self can’t work miracles.

And here they are: ringing your doorbell, hood up over that ratty cap you’re dying to throw away, feet shuffling, and a bag over their shoulder. Maybe the look on your face as you opened the door shouldn’t have been such a cross between excited and shocked, because they flinch immediately upon seeing you stand in the doorway, arms held wide.

“Do you want me to w-wait until you get dressed to come back?” they ask, looking pointedly away towards the bottom of the stairs for someone tailing them.

A mental note to figure out what’s up with the ‘who’ of that situation one day, but for now you take a look down at yourself. Gym shorts and a tank top: who knew they were such a prude? You that’s who, but only when they are outside of their uniform and around you it seems. That’s why you chose to ditch the sweatshirt you’d had on before answering the door… and it’s also the height of summer in this godforsaken city.

“What do you mean?” you cross your arms and tilt your head, playing innocent, making sure your braid falls over your shoulder. “I’m in my own home, firstly, and secondly: I am clothed. Not all of us need to be covered head-to-toe with eighty layers in this heat.”

They shuffle again, and you know the hand that isn’t holding the strap of their duffle bag is in their jacket’s pocket doing their tell: the clenching and unclenching of long, strong hands; vascular and calloused, often bloodied or bruised at the knuckles but still beautiful in their rough way. You squeeze your eyes to cut that random thought right there, disguising it as a reaction to the intense orange-toned daylight bleeding into your cool apartment.

“Chrysantamum, get the hell inside: looking at you is making me overheat,” you chide playfully, pulling them in by the strap of their bag and catching them off-guard, so much so they half-stumble through your front door, ducking lower than even they need to.

Jodidamente gigante…

Pink cheeks are quickly hidden as they reach up to pull their hat down lower, head bent in attempted irritation. Closing the door and setting the lock as they walk past, you watch as their back hunches so much that it makes you worry about their spinal health, and not for the first time.

“Jules, you can, uh, you can just say ‘come in’ like a normal person,” they huff, removing their bag from their shoulder but keeping it in hand.

“I could, but when have you ever accepted an invitation of mine?” The gaze you direct at them is cutting: visual representation of all the times you’ve extended your courtesy and company only for them to shut you down, cold and completely.

And speaking of cold, is that a bead of sweat on King’s face? You figured they were immune to the heat: they’ve never been about anything but dark colours and multiple layers.

Maldito lagarto gigante. You know, you didn’t curse nearly as much before you two became friends. Not as creatively either.

“That’s… fair,” their shoulders sag, defeated by their own admission and unaware of their agreement to your internal insult. You win two in one. “I should’ve expected you to get h-handsy anyway. You’re tactile.”

“I’m tactile? How many times are you gonna squeeze that hand of yours?”

They freeze at your smug face, hand immediately retreating from their pocket and down to their side like they’ve been caught red-handed. Anathema used to keep a tally of how often they did that but the whiteboard turned black.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you step past them to head towards the couch: neutral territory that keeps you from crowding King until they relax. You know the drill by now. “Oh! And you know the rules: no hats on indoors.”

“W-what?” it’s almost a whine. “I always wear a hat when I’m with you guys.”

“That’s at HQ—this is a home, Sidestep, it’s basic etiquette. Were you raised in a barn?”

“On a farm,” they murmur, giving in to your request. They’re a little bit of a shit from time to time, but they’ve always been respectful of basic manners in private—raised right by someone at some point, you suppose. You’ve always noticed how well they set a table, pull out a chair, take a coat. Classic manners instilled young, that much you can tell.

There’s a coat hook that you put up on the wall recently—for them—and after setting their bag by their feet, their top two jackets adorn it. A bomber and an all-weather? They had to be boiling walking out there. That ratty cap is pulled off and placed over them, too, so you watch as they take down their thick curly-coily hair, swiftly collecting strays back into the bun to no avail. Fidgeting begins once they’re done and realise there’s nothing to thread their hair through, unused to being uncovered.

“How do you not melt out there?” you ask in disbelief, fanning yourself dramatically. “Can you seriously not just put on a single t-shirt, like a regular person?”

“I like the weight.” It’s a short tone that tells you that string of questioning is closed, and instead their focus goes to taking off their shoes and setting them down neatly below their jackets, heels against the wall as a sign they’re staying.

Deliberate motions, unsure emotions.

“Sure, okay.” Leaning far to your left you pat the seat of the couch three times, signalling them to sit their ass down which they do slowly, taking their bag back into their hands.

It settles into their lap as you sit back and watch them: eyes running all over—casing for exits—and hands fidgeting nervously. Inviting them over always feels like entering a kennel pen with the way you have to sit back and wait for them to settle into your space with you, but you’re used to it. It’s kind of endearing, really… in some kind of vigilant way you can’t quite explain. Or at least, it’s become endearing. Traitorous eyes once again find themselves settled on Kingsley’s hands.

“What do you want?”

You startle, face flushing at the thought that they caught you staring and got annoyed, but when you look up they’re still staring straight ahead. This is an opportunity to take in their profile, always having been drawn to their sharp jaw and the pronounced line of their cheekbone since they’ve been unmasked—tracking the cloud of freckles on their skin and some faint scars here and there. Counting the numerous ball hoop earrings that cover the entire edge of their ear, you’re reminded of your old therapy tricks, the calm helping as you quickly gather your composure. Keeps you cool and sane while they become a ball of unrest.

Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste—or whatever combination works best for your surroundings. It’s been a long time since you’ve needed that trick.

Realisation hits that they’re still expecting a response.

“What are my options?” you tease in a soft flirty tone you can’t fight; teasing them is just so second nature nowadays.

King sits a little straighter as they pick up your double meaning, then cover their face by leaning forward into their propped-up palm as if bored—fooling no one in the room. You know they’re anything but bored by how their fingers tap, and soon the leg starts bouncing just as you knew it would.

“That’s up to you th-this time. Just don’t pick anything that’ll have your PR team suing me or breathing down my neck. Remember when, uh, when you dyed it blue?”

“It was temporary!”

“And they still freaked.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you concede with a pout. Not as much freedom as you’d like has came of your stint in the Rangers so far. Sure, you can walk, you can fight, you can muck around to your heart’s content, but you’re still on a leash. One that you’ll be expected to pay off. “I don’t know—I didn’t really plan on you actually showing up.”

A quick frown in your direction. “Gracias por el voto de confianza, polla.”

Okay, geez, so you both rubbed off on each other.

“No offence!” you put your hands up as a gesture of peace. “You just don’t like coming around.”

“I’m not used to coming around,” Kingsley corrects, looking at you, “I like coming around...”

As they trail off your heart leaps at that; your stomach flips, you’re about to respond when—

“…you’ve got A/C” they finish, turning their head, smiling that dammed crooked smile at their own joke.

There’s a quiet huff from you that mimics theirs as your ego deflates a little. That was a jab in true Sidestep fashion, sure, but you can’t help but feel a little… disappointed.

Sidestep—Kingsley, King, Chrysantamum—is looking at you expectantly now. “Well?”

“Dealer’s choice,” you get up, looking anywhere else as you pace. Can’t stand sitting this still this long much less with their gaze on you.

The sound of them lifting off the couch quickly stops you in your tracks.

“What? Y-you’re just gonna let someone do whatever they want to your hair?”

“Not ‘someone,’ you—I’m letting you do whatever you want to it. It’s just hair.”

“It’s not just hair!” they exclaim walking fiercely up the edge of your personal space, surprising both of you. They take a long step back, a pause of quiet as they collect themself and stand straight, making them taller. “Hair is… it’s personal. It’s…” a look of discomfort as they trial off, “intimate.”

You didn’t expect this: for them to get some up-in-arms about hair of all things. Looking at theirs, for the first time you start to think about all the work that goes into those long curls. The care, the maintenance, the time. Cultural and personal significance as well, you assume.

You smile with a softness that melts through you, “That’s why I asked you to do it.”

The look that passes over their face is the closest thing to affection you’ve ever seen. There is sorrow in their brow, but the tiny smile on their lips and the way they hold eye contact with you says… everything. Then it’s gone as quick as it came, eyes averted, hands pulling at the sleeves of their hoodie, their feet shuffling. Those tiny little things that they consist of, live by, exist with. It is always about the little things with them: it occurs to you that this may be a big thing. Maybe they need more time to—

“Alright,” a cracking voice cuts you off before you can ask the question that was still building, “grab a dining room chair, a tall one, and meet me in the kitchen.”

Kingsley’s already moving, mechanically yet fluid in the way they walk over, picking their bag, and navigate around and past you as you’re walking in their path. Nervous muscle and hyper focus—so like them it makes you smile. You diverge by the dining room, heading over to pick up a chair as directed, confused as to why you’re taking it to the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we be in the living room or bathroom?”

“Living room has nothing we need, bathroom’s too small—I uh, take up most of the space as is.”

You avoid imagining the two of you crammed into that private space.

Looking at them again as you approach, you watch the way they deftly unpack: eyes locked on the contents, right hand grabbing items and tossing them to the left without a single shift in their line of sight. Thinking. These little pieces of themself that Kingsley leaves around your apartment always make it hard to resist inviting them.

It’s too much, too fast for them, sure. But there is something about Chrysanta’s presence in your home compared to anywhere else. It is quiet—it always is despite their size—but it is rooted, in a way they never are to any thing or place or moment. Their steps are slower, their movements more eased, the calm they feel reflected in how little they stutter or panic because they can’t feel you in their confusing telepathic way.

“Where should I set the chair?” you ask softly.

“At the sink.” Not bothering to look at you to respond.

As soon as you set it down, facing the sink, Kingsley’s hand reaches out and turns it around.

“One more, please,” absently said as they set up all of whatever it is they’ve brought, set to boiling water, and wash their hands at the sink.

You muse on how they’ve always reminded you of a surgeon, the way they wash up or are exacting in their ministrations. Absentmindedly, you ponder if they’d have made a good med student, leading you to wonder if they’d ever had plans of what they wanted to grow up to be when they were young—outside of a vigilante. You nearly bump into them with the chair during your daydream before their hand quickly snakes out to catch you by the shoulder.

“This one is for me later, we can leave it over here.”

As swift as they stopped you, the chair is out of your hands, and you realise you’ve never seen Kingsley so… in charge. The way they move through this small space like it’s their own world in yours.

In charge of Charge, you chuckle to yourself at such a dumb joke. Sounds like a tag line to one of those adult movies they make about the two of you. They spare a glance your way.

“Alright, I’m just gonna g-grab some towels. Go ahead and sit.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal, sir,” you call out cheekily as they walk out, following orders with a small laugh.

There is a small well of feelings that has been bubbling in your stomach and you’re not quite sure what to call them. ‘Sir’ sent a small ping of questioning to the back of your mind. The two of you never quite discussed what kind of words Kingsley likes being directed at them. Masculine or feminine, in the way words are gendered. They’ve told you they’re not a woman, but they’ve also expressed that they’re not a man either, or maybe they’re both—it’s new to you, in the sense that you’re not sure where you stand without pre-conceived societal notions as a guideline between the two of you.

Would they like to be called handsome? Or beautiful? Is there something else that fits? Would attractive be a safe word to use? Does anyone compliment them? Should you do it more?

You shake your head, focusing on undoing your braid instead, settling your face back to a small smile as soon as they walk back in. They move the saucepan of hot water off the burner, setting a jar of oil in the centre, then busy themself with a small box they pulled from their bag.

“Shall we?” they ask, looking at you as they put on a pair of tight black nitrile gloves.

“Is this an examination?” you joke nervously, pointing at their hands.

There’s a cringe when you think of your last mod check-up, invasive and impersonal. Your brain can’t help but carry on, thinking of hospitals and your various stays in them. You don’t like them as is, but Kingsley’s proximity to you has made you even more wary of them; the panic they show when you bring up medical attention sometimes is sobering.

“No? I mean… uh, I’m not calling you dirty, but I don’t know how clean your hair is, and you d-don’t know how clean my hands are.”

The look on your face must have been either offence or murder because they take a step back, hands up.

“It’s a health precaution! I’m just being careful,” they croak.

“I wash my hair!” Your tone is indignant.

“I know! I’m just being safe!”

“I feel like I’m going in for a pap sm—“

“Alright alright!” they yell to cut you off, face red up to the ears at your unfinished sentence. “I’ll take them off as soon as I’m done washing your hair.”

“Thank you,” you give their hands one last nervous glance, only eased by the thought of how attractive the gloves makes them look. You sincerely hope the sudden mortification at that is not showing on your face, but they’re already turning their back to you.

“Wait, Kings,” you interrupt, “take off your hoodie.”

“W-what?” You do not miss the look of absolute panic on their face.

“It’s gonna get soaked handling all my hair,” you clarify.

“And my sh-shirt is gonna get wet if it isn’t on.”

“But your shirt will dry faster.”

“You have a dryer—my sweater can be dried.”

“Well… about that...” your exasperated laugh and a wiggle of fingers from your raised hand tells them all they need to know.

“Julia. How the hell did you break your dryer again? I just fixed it!”

“It wasn’t on purpose this time—there was a static build up!” Your hands slap you in the mouth as soon as the sentence finishes. Your eyes widen as Kingsley’s narrow.

“This time?” their voice is low, their eyes sharp.

“I uh, may have broken it to get you over here for dinner that time…” The half-hearted chuckle you let out is fake even to you.

“Julia.” A stern glare.

“…Kingsley?” Utter avoidance of eye-contact.

“That’s incredibly dangerous, first off. And I’m not a maintenance worker. You don’t pay me for that.”

“I can absorb any electricity that comes my way and I pay you in food,” a quick retort, regaining composure. “And I got you to stop avoiding the simple notion of a meal together as if I were threatening you with a gun.”

There is a specific face they make at that, and for the umpteenth time in your life you wish you knew what it was they were thinking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever—just sit down and shut up.”

From anyone else that would sound rude, but that’s simply Sidestep’s tone. The impact is also lessened by the movement of them removing their hoodie, leaving behind a loose long-sleeve that briefly reveals a long-sleeved compression shirt tucked in beneath. The upper layer had lifted while they were pulling the hoodie over their leaving the outline of Kingsley’s back muscles and bra lines on show before they fixed it.

Just a friendly look at your friend’s back. Friendly-ly.

Mouth not at all dry.

“So what’s on the menu? What are we doing?” you cough as they position themself in front of you, looming even more than usual now that you’re sitting.

They reach behind your head and your heart skips; they gather all of your hair carefully and lift it with the gentlest touch, moving a hand to guide you to sit all the back by the shoulder.

“Luckily your sink is low enough that I can lean you back for this to work,” they hum, setting your hair into the sink and tilting your head back, “I’m uh, only used to doing my hair texture… I’ve never done someone else’s hair.” They swallow hard, suddenly nervous. “First: shampoo, maybe a deep cleanse. An oil or deep treatment mask, heat treatment to that for thirty minutes. Rinse it out, then moisturise, comb, and braid.”

“You’re gonna give me braids?” you smile up at them, the orange light of outside slipping through your blinds against their skin and yours. They look bronzed in the lighting. “Like yours?”

“Not quite,” they laugh. “Something more l-like French braids or not-quite-cornrows. I don’t think your hair could support the protective styles I do. I don’t… think so at least? My curls are much tighter than yours.”

“You don’t know?” Teasing.

“I’m not a, not a fucking aesthetician or cosmetologist or beautician, Ghoulia. I’m a vigilante—I don’t get paid the big bucks to make people pretty, I’m usually the one fucking ‘em up. For free!” They sigh heavily, pulling at their gloves to make a loud slap noise as they let go to shut you up.

You giggle quietly, only for it to grow louder and your shoulders to start to shake as Kingsley pulls you forward to set a towel around your shoulders, then let’s you fall back into place before they lean over to turn on the water and pull out the sink hose, adjusting your hair once more.

“What are you laughing about?” they ask, looking down at you, smiling softly and holding you by the back of the head with one hand.

“Did you just… did you just call me fucking Ghoulia?” you burst out laughing uncontrollably.

“You literally call me Chrysantamum—that’s not a worse pun?” they ask, spraying the top of your head with water playfully before setting to work rinsing the rest thoroughly.

“I mean… yeah! That’s so much worse!”

The laughter carries on for two more minutes, much to Kingsley’s displeasure—and your abs’.

“Sidestep Spa… you could make good money with this.”

“No,” they cut you off. “Hair is… like I said, I’ve never done someone else’s. Hair is personal. It’s trust.”

You stare silently at them, considering their words. Is this you showing trust? Or them? For you, this had been a joke but… not anymore. You understand now, as their fingers carefully and dextrously work through your hair: you feel the mutual connection, respect and trust. It feels like a ritual; some kind of magic never really touched on by most.

A thoughtful look at Kingsley. You think of the things they share with you, and that seem to mean something to them. Food, space, and hair. Those must be their love languages: how swiftly they make sure you’ve eaten and how careful they are right now. How often they sit with you on rooftops for a sunset and a beer. The light pulls and parts; the way their fingers massaging into your scalp threatens to make you melt into your chair, and the rinsing calms you.

You think, suddenly, to your mother. The days of your youth spent sitting between her knees as she pulled your curls and waves into a neat braid before you ran off to cause a ruckus. Of her styling your hair the ways her mother styled hers. Hair that connected to your culture, your roots, your family. It dawns on you that this is what that must be for King, too—especially having grown up viewed as a woman.

Time flies by while you’re lost to the memories and motions.

Even now, as you sit in the chair with a warm towel wrapped around your head and with the hot oil they prepared working it’s magic, they don’t sit still. Instead their hands are busy with small bowls, a brush, and a fork, mixing things together into a larger bowl.

“Making your hair mask,” they comment absently, feeling your gaze on them. “Fresh ingredients are better. It’ll help repair what your stylist’s constant flat-ironing damaged.”

Pelo malo, you remember unkind neighbours saying to you. You remember your mother yelling at them in turn, before pulling you close on your walk home, petting your hair.

You think of your mother’s hands as they mix with a fork. It takes you back to a different kitchen, to the sounds and smells of pancakes sizzling on the cast iron griddle. The ingredients they mix reminding you more of a meal than a hair product: honey, avocado, yogurt, brown sugar, banana, apple cider vinegar. You don’t even bother to ask how they came across some of those ingredients here in the west, you know they have more tricks than they let on.

Chrysanta’s movement back into place directly in front of you drags you back into the present fully, tracing details of their face in the rarest moment of absolute openness. No shields, no walls, no topics. Just their hands as they carefully unwrap the towel, taking great care not to pull your hair or have anything drip onto you instead of the towel.

As they rinse your hair, once again focused on threading fingers gracefully and massaging your scalp and hair, your eyes close.

You wonder what Kingsley’s life is like, outside of you and the Rangers. What their childhood was like. What their youth was like. What their teen years were like. You’re not even sure how old they are now. You wonder about questions you know you can’t have answers to, because you know they won’t tell you. Questions you think might hurt them if you asked.

More so, you wonder what their family was like. Your eyes open and you wonder if Chrysantamum ever sat in a chair like this, with their mother lovingly washing her daughter’s hair at the kitchen sink like a right of passage. If kind hands cared enough to catch every curl, with kind eyes at her child like they were the sun—the light of her life. If she’d smooth down King’s baby hairs with the same long, swift fingers and small smiles, or brush them down just-so. You think she would have been beautiful: both young Kingsley and her mother. You look at them again, while they’re focused, and wonder if their grandmother is in their features like your’s is in yours.

You think about how Kingsley can’t cook: was she not there to teach them? Was their mother not there either? With their hunger now, you bet they needed to eat so much as a child, and it hurts to ponder if they ever went hungry from the way you see them ration their leftovers.

You close your eyes as they part sections of your hair, cool bare skin on your scalp now, and the occasional rat tail of a comb catching stray hairs. Part, a dab of oil, a clip to hold the section: you can practically hear the steps light up in their head. As careful and precise with hair as they are with machines.

You think maybe they like machines because they don’t muddy the waters with feelings. Feelings—accepting or giving—do not come easy to them. And you have learned by now that what they feel is best determined by their actions, not the words they use as sword and shield against others. You wonder how they feel. Looking up at them does not make it any clearer, but…

They rub the mask between their palms to warm it, and you know somewhere in you this is love. This is as close to love as they know, and that is enough for you.

There may be lingering confusion in your feelings: you have always been attracted to men, and they are not a man—but they are also not a woman. There may be some hesitation to take a step from friendship with someone who means so much to you. But whatever you both have to give, when you’re both ready, will be enough for you.

You can imagine that little girl: too tall and lanky and active for their own good. Bruised knees and scratched arms and torn dresses every time they came back into the house in the evening, like you when you were young. Maybe the two of you would have been good friends back then, too. Maybe the world wouldn’t have gotten to Kingsley so much if you’d been there with them. It’s nothing you can change now: you know better than anyone that the past stays behind where it can only hurt you if you try to go back to it.

They look down at you now, the mask application finished, and survey the soft look in your eyes, the light smile on your face with a mirrored one of their own. You too, see the small traces of confusion flash by, but it melts away. The eye contact held as their bare hand comes up, brushing against your forehead softly as if to move stray strands away you know they’ve collected, then down the side of your cheek as if to catch some oil left behind they never dropped. Excuses for intimacy that does not come naturally to them. And right now that is enough.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” you ask softly, hoping they see in your eyes how much their opinion truly matters to you. More than anyone’s ever has.

The question brings a sharpness to their brow, eyes still soft and searching.

“Do you want to? If you want to, do it—I’ll help. However I can.” Their face hardens. “Don’t ever let those stylists tell you what you can and can’t do for yourself. Don’t ever let them make you their doll.”

The last sentence is spat like venom; there’s a deep bitterness in those words, in that choice of words, but you know that’s a question you cannot ask.

You reach up and gently pull a curl that freed itself from Kingsley’s bun. You watch it stretch, far longer than it looks, and let it rest again, pushing it from their brow. You wonder what Kingsley looked liked with hair as long as yours, or what they’d look like with it even shorter. You wonder what colour they’ll braid in next, what length of braids, and if anyone ever gets to help them.

Their soft gaze breaks, reaching for the hose one last time to rinse the mask from your head. There is a new kind of quiet blossoming between the two of you as they rinse: a maybe, an almost, a sort of. An electricity even your mods can’t match, a feeling in the pit of your stomach even hunger couldn’t touch.

And when they begin to carefully dry your hair you ponder what it will mean in the future—what it means now. There is a soft tap on your forehead, twice, and you know that means to lift the mask but you’re not the one who wears it, so you turn your gaze upwards instead. Chrysantamum is leaned down, far enough to be close to your face, and their face is soft and their ears are red. That bright green gaze looks to your lips and back to your eyes, the tilt of the head a question, one you know well: may I kiss you? Your question. Just as you know the answer as you smile softly like they do, and lean in for them to catch your lips, always soft and questioning—never wanting to lock you in, never asking for more than you’re willing to give, never staying long. You part slowly, smiling softer than you have all night.

They suddenly knock the towel off your head and flee to the living room cackling, knowing you’ll give chase. Always one step ahead. You don’t disappoint, throwing the towel after them and bolting over to catch them in a kiss as they turn around. Charging in. For just a few minutes more you stay entangled, hands at the back of each other’s necks—another small intimacy with grand connotations.

When the two of you settle back into the living room— King on the couch and you between their knees—you wonder if this will one day become a memory you can fondly look back on. If you will remember the sepia tone streaming in through the window, the feeling of their fingers as they separate your hair—moisturising and combing, and of the soft pulls as they carefully weave braids along your scalp.

“Think PR would be pissed if I p-put a teal ribbon in your braid?” they ask with a surprising cheekiness.

“I’m a hero, not a cheerleader,” you complain with no actual objections. “Put a piece of jewellery or something instead.”

You hear their hands ruffling in their pocket, so you turn to look, curiosity piqued. They remove a few small charms, the kind you’ve seen in their own braids, twists, and locs. Pumping their brows at you cheesily, they put the hair tie in their hand between their teeth, moving to get a better grip on the braid they’re working on.

A few pulls you don’t quite feel later and you hear a little “Ta-da!” as your braid falls over your shoulder. You lift it up to get a better look and you see a charm woven in seamlessly: a small piece of turquoise more teal than blue.

You lean forward a little, drawing your knees to your chin with an arm around them, fiddling with it as the two of you fall into silence. The sensations of their hands on you, and the comfort of your home around them.

Right now, this is more than enough for you.

#I owed y’all something Sweet #the mischief scribbles #Fallen Hero: Rebirth #Pre-Rebirth #MC: Kingsley Chrysanta #Julia Ortega #Chargestep

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damianwaynerocks · 4 years

Text

Zuko & The Waynes

tag list: @bi-fr0000g

batfam x avatar crossover

PT 1

Description: Prince Zuko has just seen a light; the Avatar has returned. He was just about to go capture him, when he falls through a portal, and lands in Gotham City. He’s angry. He was just about to regain his honor, to regain his father’s love. After he is adopted by Bruce Wayne and becomes Zuko Wayne, the second youngest child, Zuko starts to have second thoughts about regaining his honor. Living as Zuko Wayne makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he’s deserving of love just the way he is.

This started out as an incorrect quote, but then I loved the idea of Zuko having his Book 3 realization through becoming a member of the bat family, so I did. Also, there will 110% be a part 2.

this takes place in episode 1. like the beginning. he hasn’t even seen aang yet.

Fire Navy Ship, Near the South Pole, Earth 24

The story of Zuko Wayne begins with a bright light over an icy sea.

A bright light rocketed into the sky, parting the clouds. A boy with his left eye horribly scarred in a military uniform on a Fire Navy ship, his black ponytail fluttering in the wind, gripped the railing of the ship as he watched the light.

"Finally!" Prince Zuko yelled, whirling around to face a smaller man in a similar uniform who was playing some sort of board game at a small table, "Uncle, do you realize what this means!?"

Iroh, Zuko's uncle, looked up at his nephew with a calm expression, a game piece in his outstretched hand. "I won't get to finish my game?"

Zuko rolled his eyes and he turned back around, staring at the space where the light had been. "It means my search is about to come to an end." At his uncle's disinterested sigh, Zuko turned around again, gesturing behind him. "That light came from an incredibly powerful source! It has to be him!"

"Or it's just the celestial lights. We've been down this road before, Zuko," Iroh said, placing the game piece back on the board before looking back up at the prince. "Please, sit. Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming Jasmine tea?"

"I don't need any calming tea!" Zuko snarled, "I need to catch the Avatar-" he broke off to shield his face with his arms from the sudden wind.

A small purple tornado was in between Zuko and Iroh, pulsating with a strange light. It started to flatten into a portal, moving towards Zuko.

"Zuko, Move!" Iroh cried, lunging to grab his nephew out of the portal's way, but his cries never made it to Zuko's ears as the prince fell into the swirling vortex.

Crime Alley, Gotham City, Earth 2

"Oomph," Zuko grunted as he landed on a hard concrete surface. He sat up slowly, resting his hand on his forehead, dizzy. He blinked several times, trying to take in his bizarre surroundings.

A carriage-looking device was rolling through the street, no animals pulling it.

There were poles on either side of the street with lights shining out of them, lights that weren't coming from lanterns.

However, the most bizarre thing he could see was the man dressed similarly to a wolfbat in front of him.

Zuko scrambled to his feet, igniting a fire in front of his fist threateningly. "Stay back!" he snarled.

The man said nothing, looking at him closely. Zuko's skin was crawling; there was something unsettling about this man- or at least, he thought it was a man.

After thirty seconds of only the sound of Zuko's heavy breathing, the man spoke. "What's your name?" he said in a deep, gravely voice.

Zuko tightened his fists. "I am Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation," he said, "Now tell me; where am I!?"

"Gotham City," the hulking man replied.

Zuko swallowed. His father had made sure that Zuko knew the name of every city in the world.

He'd never heard of Gotham City.

"You've never heard of it." The man's words were more of a statement than a question. "Well, I've never heard of the Fire Nation. It doesn't exist."

"What are you talking about!?" Zuko was struggling to keep his voice even at this point. "The Fire Nation is the most dominating force in the world!"

"Not in this world, it isn't," the man growled.

"What do you mean 'this world!?'"

"You fell through a portal, you claim to be a prince although there is no record of a prince named Zuko ever existing, and there is no such thing as the Fire Nation," the man listed, "It's clear you aren't from this world."

Zuko's eyes flew open as his breathing became heavier. A different world? That wasn't possible. The fire in front of his hand fizzled out as he gripped the sides of his head.

The man was silent, before; "Come with me."

Zuko, too mind-boggled to argue, followed the man robotically to one of the carriages. The man opened the door for him, and Zuko stepped in. He didn't register anything else until he heard another man speak.

"Batman," an elderly man on a holographic screen was saying, "How was your night?"

"Alfred," Batman grumbled, "Prepare a room. I'm bringing someone."

"Would this 'someone' happen to be another child?"

"Yes," Batman replied. The man sighed.

"Of course I will prepare him a room, but Batman, you really need to get a hobby other than collecting children," the elderly man said before the screen disappeared.

"H-How did you do that!?" Zuko asked, dumbstruck, "How did you speak to that man!? He isn't in this carriage!"

"Car," Batman corrected him, "And it's video chat. I'm assuming technology was not as advanced in the Fire Nation?"

"We had war balloons," Zuko defended with a sniff. He looked out the window at the surroundings zooming behind them. "How are we moving so fast?"

"Five cylinder engine."

"That makes no sense."

"It will, once you've been here a while."

"What are you talking about!?" Zuko said with a start, "I need to go home!"

"That portal," Batman said, turning to look at him, "has been a problem for the past three years. It only opens annually. We'll try to get you back, but you'll probably have to wait until next summer."

"Next summer," Zuko repeated. His eyes narrowed. "That's unacceptable! I just found the Avatar, I need to capture him so I can regain my honor!"

Batman said nothing. Another screen appeared, the words 'call from Nightwing' displayed. At Batman's word of approval, a man with black hair and a domino mask appeared on the screen.

"Batman!" Nightwing yelled with a wide smile, "I hear I'm getting a little brother! Who is he?"

"Someone who came from Ziphran's Portal," Batman replied. Nightwing whistled lowly.

"Ooh, a dimension hopper! Like Jon! They can bond- no Damian this does not mean he won't be your friend anym- Damian put down your utility belt you are not hurting your new brother."

"I'd like to see him try," Zuko snorted.

From off-screen, Zuko heard someone screech, "Was that a fucking challenge?!" before Nightwing turned around, scolding whoever it was for using that kind of language. The video feed cut out as they pulled up to a waterfall.

Batman drove the car through it, entering a cave. Zuko's eyes widened. There were machines everywhere. More high-tech than Zuko could have ever imagined.

Batman stopped on a circular platform, and the doors opened. Zuko stepped out, looking around at the room. His gaze landed on three people.

One was Nightwing, the other a boy in a red and green outfit who looked to be about thirteen, and another boy around Zuko's age in a red outfit. All were wearing masks.

"This is Zuko," Batman introduced, putting a hand on Zuko's shoulder, who quickly ripped it off. "He's a prince from a place called the Fire Nation."

The boy in red laughed. "Prince? Aww, poor Robin isn't the only prince anymor-" he was cut off as the youngest punched him in the stomach.

"So, are we adopting him?" Nightwing asked excitedly, looking Zuko up and down. Zuko stepped back nervously, not used to someone being so happy at the thought of spending time with him.

Batman didn't answer, instead looking down at Zuko. "How did you get your scar?" he asked.

Zuko almost didn't respond, but the glare Batman was giving him was too much. "I spoke out of turn and told my father that we shouldn't purposely kill our troops," he spluttered, "And so he challenged me to an Agni Kai, and when I refused to fight him, he lit my face on fire."

"Ope, he's got trauma!" the boy in red yelled from where he was seated at a chair, "And black hair! He meets all the qualifications for adoption!"

"No!" Zuko snapped, glaring at the boy, "I can't stay here! I have to capture the Avatar so I can regain my honor!"

The boy laughed again. "Okay, Edgelord, chill. You'll be able to go back in a year."

"He will be staying here," Batman said before Zuko could verbally assault the boy, "Because he's from another world, we can't put him on the streets."

"So, we should introduce ourselves!" Nightwing suggested. He took off his mask. "I'm Dick Grayson," he pointed at the boy in red, "That's Tim Drake," he pointed at Robin, "And that's Damian Wayne. There's also Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown and Barbara Gordon."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Father did not adopt Brown or Gordon."

"Maybe not legally, but emotionally? Waynes." Dick turned back to Zuko, "We usually aren't all here together, but my apartment in Bludhaven got bombed and Tim got sick of his neighbors, so we're here until we find a new place. Jason's coming in a couple days to see Alfred, and he's supposed to start coming to breakfast once a week."

At that moment, two girls walked down the stairs. One had blonde hair, the other black hair. The blonde one smiled. "Ooh! Bruce, you got a new one!" she did a flip off of the stairs, landing in front of Zuko. "My name's Stephanie! I'm excited to get to know you!"

Zuko glared at her. "You won't have the chance to get to know me. I'm leaving so I can capture the Avatar. I need to regain my honor!"

Stephanie scrunched her nose as she took in Zuko's hair. "The only thing you need is a hair cut."

"On it," the other girl- Cassandra -said, before taking out a throwing star from her pocket and hurling it at Zuko, slicing his ponytail clean off. Zuko's jaw dropped as he watched it fall to the ground.

"No!" he yelled, "My top knot was the only thing distinguishing me as a member of the royal family!"

"Oof," Stephanie winced, "Sorry, dude, but it's ugly."

"On that note," the elderly man from the call- Alfred -said from the top of the stairs, "I think it's time Master Zuko get some rest. He's had a long day."

As Alfred spoke, Zuko realized that he was, indeed, dead on his feet. Maybe it was lack of sleep, maybe it was the fact that he didn't have anywhere else to go, or maybe it was Dick's bright smile, but Zuko felt that he would be safe at this place. He nodded, trudging his way up the stairs.

Alfred led him to a room on the third floor, and turned on the light. Zuko scrunched his eyebrows in surprise.

"How did you do that!? You just flipped that switch and that lantern lit!"

"It's a lightbulb, Master Zuko," Alfred explained, "I take it your world didn't have electricity? Here, almost everything is automatic, made to make activities easier. I'm sure you'll grow to enjoy them. Take a shower while I get you some of Master Timothy's clothes to wear to sleep."

"Shower?" Zuko asked.

"Yes, it's like a bath but the water falls on you." Alfred led him to a smaller room in his bedroom. "Here, I'll show you."

As Zuko stepped into the shower, his mind was reeling. A shower was warm rain solely used for washing. Cars were carriages with no animals to pull them that traveled ten times as fast. He was in another world, away from everything he'd ever known.

Away from Uncle Iroh.

Zuko sighed, stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off with. He opened the door of the bathroom, and saw clothes on the bed. Putting them on, he noticed how strange they were.

They weren't robes. It was a plain red shirt and the comfiest pair of pants he'd ever been in. It was the comfiest outfit he'd ever been in, really.

But it wasn't Fire Nation apparel. Alfred must have taken his military uniform to wash it. His ponytail gone, Zuko had nothing to remind him of home.

As he laid his head on the pillow, one last thought fluttered through his brain: I'm completely alone.

The next two days consisted of Zuko staying either in his room or wandering around the manor, trying to learn the layout. Alfred would bring him meals three times a day, but other than that, he left him alone. He was starting to relax. If these people were going to hurt him, they would have by now.

On his fourth day, Zuko was in the library, when he overheard Damian complain that he had nobody to practice broadsword with.

"I'm good with those," Zuko said. Dick and Damian looked up from the corner where'd they been.

"Finally, someone who is willing," Damian replied, "Come, Zuko, let's go."

Damian and Zuko were circling each other, each holding blunted broadswords. Dick was watching from the sidelines, smiling.

Zuko struck first, spinning around and using the momentum to drive his sword into Damian's side, who did a backflip to dodge.

Damian rushed forward, slashing downward at Zuko's head. The latter quickly brought up both swords, blocking Damian's attack.

They were evenly matched, the 'princes' were. The fight went on for an hour, neither landing a hit on the other.

A 21 year old man with black hair came in 30 minutes in, cheered Zuko on, yelled that his name was Jason, and at the 45 minute mark began texting on his phone.

Finally, the two called a truce, both drenched in sweat. Zuko turned to Jason and Dick.

Dick was smiling widely at him, and Zuko was shocked at the effect it had on him. The smile made him feel like he was the only person in the room.

Zuko nodded at Dick, before turning to Jason. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing to the phone.

"This, my dear boy, is a phone," Jason waved it in the air. "You can talk to anybody in the world with it, no matter how far away they are, and they get it instantly and respond instantly. And you can search through the internet, which is like a giant library with every single thing you could ever want to know about in a split second."

"Seriously?" said Zuko, "That's insane."

"Tim's already working on one for you," Dick said, "He's putting all of our phone numbers in it and stuff." he gasped, slapping Jason on the shoulder. "We gotta put him in the group chat."

Four hours later, Zuko had his phone, and was in the group chat called 'The Waynez'

dick: YO ZUKO'S HERE duke: whaddup dude i'm duke i'm in san fran rn

Zuko frowned. He went to safari, and googled "san fran."

zuko: what are you doing there? duke: mission with kon tim: how is my bff duke: if he doesn't take those stupid sunglasses off i will literally steal his kneecaps jason: lmao me

Zuko sucked his teeth as he read the conversation, hopping on to his bed. "Steal kneecaps?" he muttered, "Just what kind of family did I get myself into?"

zuko: what kind of family did i get myself into ? dick: the best! jason: just wait till b lets you join us in our nightly activities zuko: like that nightwing and batman thing? zuko: also does b stand for bruce or batman? jason: it stands for Bitch jason: & yes that thing. i'm red hood, tim's red robin, duke is signal, and damian's robin damian: if you call father a bitch one more time jason: iF yOu CaLl FaThEr A bItCh OnE mOrE tImE jason: what are you gonna do ur like four feet tall damian: say goodbye to your kneecaps motherfucker dick: DAMIAN NO tim: AHAHDJ DAMIAN duke: GUYS HE'S GONNA THINK YOU'RE SERIOUS jason: you literally started it??

Zuko let out a huff of laughter. Siblings who only fought in a joking manner?

He could get used to this.

Zuko was nine.

He laughed, looking up at a younger Uncle Iroh with shining, happy eyes, unscarred. "I love you, Uncle!" he chirped.

Iroh smiled warmly. "I love you too, Zuko."

"ZUKE!"

Zuko woke from his dream with a start to see a figure standing over him.

Dick grinned. "Hey, do you wanna go on a- put that fire out, it's me -do you wanna go on a drive?"

"But it's-" Zuko looked at the clock beside his bed "It's 2:00 AM! And I was sleeping!"

"Did you have any dreams?"

"No," Zuko lied, looking at Dick's shoes, "I don't have dreams,"

"Fine," Dick said, putting up his hands in surrender, "Don't tell me. But come on, get dressed!"

"But it's so early!"

"It's only 2:00 am, I'm usually out right now!" Dick huffed, before walking to Zuko's closet and grabbing jeans and a blue t-shirt- Alfred must have gone and got him clothes -and threw them at him. Zuko groaned as the clothes hit his face.

"Alright, alright!" Zuko gave in, getting out of bed with a stretch of his arms. "Give me five minutes."

"I'll make you some coffee, so you'll be awake!" Dick said as he left the roof, shutting the door behind him.

"Coffee?" Zuko said aloud as he put on the clothes, slipping blue Nike tennis shoes on. "What's that?" His phone chimed- the group chat -and Zuko grabbed it off of his nightstand to look at it.

dick: hey Tim I'm giving Zuko some of your coffee

tim: ??? why

dick: So he'll stay awake. we're going on a drive.

jason: take the bat mobile i dare you

dick: no we're taking my mustang

jason: coward

dick: ANYWAY

dick: i don't think he's ever had coffee before

tim: like ever? fine but only this once maybe then he'll go to Starbucks with me

tim: SINCE NOBODY ELSE IN THIS FAMILY WILL

damain: will you all be quiet, I'm busy.

jason: yeah he's at emiko's

duke: OH SHIT

damian: i haven't spoken to emiko in months, you imbecile.

jason: that's not what Roy said, brat

"Who's Emiko?" Zuko asked Dick as he opened the door to his room where he was waiting for him.

"She's this girl Damian tried to get to join his team," Dick explained, leading him to the kitchen as he put a pack of coffee into the keurig, "Jason gives him crap about her because they're so much alike."

Zuko nodded. "So, what exactly is coffee?"

"It's this drink that has caffeine in it, which is a drug that gives you energy, in simple terms," Dick explained, "Tim loves it. I don't think he's addicted, but he loves the taste." Dick poured the coffee into a different cup, took a gallon of almond milk out of the fridge, and poured some into it. "Starbucks is a huge coffee chain. They're all over the world. They have tons of different recipes, but almond milk lattes are how I like mine." He handed the cup to Zuko.

Zuko took a sip, and he hummed. "This is really good," he said, "Kind of bitter, but good."

"Right?" Dick led Zuko to another room and opened the door to a garage filled with cars. He pressed a button on his keys, and the car blinked, the doors opening. "Hop in, Zuke!"

"Don't call me that," Zuko grunted, getting in the car as he took another sip of the coffee. Dick, not fazed, told him to buckle up and took off.

"Did you have music in the Fire Nation?" Dick asked as they drove down the road, not yet in Gotham.

"Yeah," Zuko replied, looking out the window. "We had sungi horns and folk songs."

"So... no My Way by Queen Key, I'm guessing?"

"What?"

Dick smiled widely and turned on the radio. "Play My Way," he said to the car, and a song started playing.

Zuko's face scrunched up as it started. "This is music?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Meanwhile I'm turnt as fuck!" Dick sang off-key, "I left my pizza in the oven that bitch burnt as fuck!"

Zuko raised his eyebrows with a flat look on his face, but to his annoyance, he found himself not minding the song. And eventually, with Dick's calming presence and encouragement, Zuko began to sing with him."Bitch, my way! My way! My way!" the brothers sang, Zuko's voice quiet while Dick's was loud. As the song ended, Dick handed Zuko his phone.

"Here, pick one!" he said, before turning his eyes back to the road.

"I won't know any of them, though," Zuko reminded him, "What if I pick a bad one?"

"Then we'll sing it anyways!" Dick replied, "Because you picked it out!"

Zuko looked down, scrolling through the playlist. Go Hard, Watch Me, Love Story... he didn't know any of these songs, but tapped the song Starstrukk.

Dick gasped as the song started. He turned up the volume until the car was vibrating from the bass. Headbanging, Dick started screeching.

“Nice legs, daisy dukes, makes a man go WOO HOO!"

"Dick, wasn't that a whistle?"

"I can't whistle so I have to say woo-hoo."

Zuko found himself liking this song too, and once again, sang along with Dick at the second chorus.

"I think I should know!! How!! To make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out!! Now!! L-O-V-E's just another word I never learned to pronounce!"

"Here," Dick said, grabbing the phone and pulling up the lyrics, "Sing along!"

With the lyrics in front of him, Zuko sang the rest of the song with Dick, gradually getting louder until the both of them were screaming at the top of their lungs. At the end of the song, the two laughed.

"That was so good!" Dick praised. Zuko started to answer, before both of their phones chimed.

tim: zuko did you like the coffee

zuko: yes

tim: ok good we r going to Starbucks tomorrow

duke: ?? don't you have work??

tim: i'll tell them I'm spending time with the newest wayne so i'll be late tam will understand

duke: bro bruce hasn't had a press conference about him yet

tim: tam knows I'm red robin i think she can keep this secret

zuko: what time?

tim: 9 so u can sleep in

damian: you're being oddly nice, drake, you're never that nice to me

tim: i literally took a bullet for you like three months ago.

zuko: it's okay, you don't have to wait that long for me

tim: ?? what r u talking about ur my brother, ofc i do

Zuko blinked, not expecting that. They'd only known him for two days, and they considered him family? "Isn't it really soon to accept me?" Zuko said aloud to Dick, "I mean, I haven't helped or contributed or anything."

"So?" Dick gave Zuko a weird look. "You don't have to earn our acceptance. You had it from the moment Bruce decided to adopt you."

Zuko didn't answer. He must be lying, or just trying to make him feel better. You can't just accept someone into a family without cause.

"Now," Dick turned down the volume, "Look outside!" Zuko did as he was told, and his eyes flew open.

It was beautiful. Multicolored lights blurring as they sped past them, architecture that Zuko had never seen. "It's gorgeous," he whispered.

"I figured you'd like it," Dick chuckled. They drove around the city for a while longer, Zuko in awe. Finally, they pulled back into the garage at the Manor.

"So, you have fun?" Dick asked as they got out of the car. Zuko nodded.

"Yeah. I did."

"WAKE UP!"

Zuko lurched awake, glaring at Tim above him. "Do you guys always wake each other up like this?"

"Only when there's things to do!" Tim answered, "Now come on! We'll take my car. I'm so excited man."

Zuko, exhausted, yawned as he followed Tim down the stairs to the garage he'd been in seven hours earlier. Getting into a Ferrari, they took off.

"So, Zuko, what was life like in the Fire Nation?"

"Very different."

"How so?"

Zuko pursed his lips together, not answering. Tim shrugged.

"Alright. Keep your secrets." Tim pulled into a parking lot and shut the car off. "We're at the second most glorious place in the universe!"

"What's the first?"

"My therapist's office," Tim replied casually, "My friend Kon's making me go. I'm the only one in the family who goes, even though we all need it."

"What's therapy?" Zuko inquired as they got out of the car.

"It's, like, treatment for your mental health. Your issues. Dealing with your past. I needed it for sure," he pointed at his head, "Lots wrong up here." He laughed. "You probably need it too, Edgelord."

Zuko grunted in response as they stepped inside the building. Tim inhaled the air with a smile. "Doesn't that smell amazing?"

It did smell good. It smelled like coffee. He'd only smelled it once before, but Zuko had decided that it was one of his favorite scents.

"So, Dick gave you his almond lattes with no sweetener, right?" Tim looked at Zuko with a raised eyebrow. At his nod, Tim added, "Was it too bitter or was it good?"

Zuko looked around the coffee shop, surprised at the number of people in line. "Too bitter," he answered.

"Okay," You could tell that the gears in Tim's mind were turning, and he asked, "Are you hot right now?"

"I'm always hot, I'm a firebender-" he was cut off by Tim slapping his hand over his mouth.

"Maybe in your world, people are open about powers," Tim said sternly, "But in our world, if anyone finds out who you are, bad things will happen. That's why Batman and everyone else wear masks."

Zuko nodded, and Tim took away his hand. The firebender cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, I'm always hot. Doesn't usually bother me though."

"So do you think you'd like a cold drink or a hot one?"

"Cold coffee?" Zuko echoed, crossing his arms over his chests, "I'll try it."

"Alrighty," Tim said with a grin, gesturing for Zuko to follow him to the line. Zuko flinched as he saw people staring at him, at his scar. Hearing mutters about it, he looked down, trying to hide it.

Noticing this, Tim scowled. He raised his head high. "My name is Tim Drake-Wayne, ward of Bruce Wayne," he said loudly, "And if any one of you continue whispering about him, or make him uncomfortable in any way, I will personally sue you for harassment!"

Apparently the name 'Wayne' carried some weight, as everybody looked away. Tim turned back to Zuko. "So, let's try a caramel macchiato."

Zuko took a drink after the barista handed it to him, and he nodded. "I love it, really good."

"Starbucks is always good," said Tim, "Now come on, let's get you back to the manor."

Another week passed, and Zuko started to grow comfortable. He wasn't happy there, sure, but the Waynes were welcoming, and he was actually starting to consider them friends.

In therapy, Tim had been talking about his trauma, and because it helped, he'd roped the family into doing the same.

Zuko was shocked. He couldn't believe how much they've went through. Damian's childhood. Jason's death and resurrection. Bruce and Dick watching their parents die, and their sexual assaults. Tim, who'd watching everyone he cared about die. Cass, who was treated as nothing more than a weapon for most of her life.

Finally, it was his turn. "Do I have to do this?"

"Zuko, if I have to, you have to," Damian snorted. Zuko sighed, biting his lip nervously.

"So, my mom was banished before me. Then when I was 13, I was sitting in during a military meeting, and I spoke up, telling my father that he shouldn't purposely kill our troops," he laughed bitterly, "So instead of grounding me like Bruce does, he challenged me to an Agni Kai, and when I wouldn't fight him, he lit my face on fire and banished me, saying I could only return if I captured the Avatar, who hadn't been seen in a hundred years."

Jason whistled lowly. "No offense but your dad fuckin sucks."

"He only did it to teach me respect!" Zuko snarled, clenching his fists.

"Jason," Tim scolded, "The rule is that after we share our story, nobody comments on it."

"Okay, but Zuko's acting like Damian did when he first came here," Jason argued, "Thinking that the people who are supposed to protect them are allowed to hurt them." He turned to Damian. "Is that something your grandfather would do?"

"Yes," Damian said without a beat, "Absolutely."

Zuko gritted his teeth. "You're wrong. All of you!" He rose to his feet and stormed up the stairs to his room.

My father loves me, that's why he gave me the chance of capturing the Avatar! Zuko thought as he slammed the door to his room. If he didn't care for me, he wouldn't have gave me a chance to earn back his love!

Then why do these people love you without conditions? a small voice in his head spoke.

Zuko clenched his fists, and started punching the wall. He continued punching until his knuckles were bloody. He continued punching until he fell asleep.

And yet, he woke up in his bed. He blearily opened his eyes, confused as he looked at the spot where he'd fallen asleep. The holes in the wall were there, but the blood was gone, and his knuckles were bandaged. Looking to his nightstand, Zuko saw a note.

I'm sorry for carrying you without asking, but I didn't want you to hurt your back from sleeping on the tile. Come down to the cave in the morning to change your bandages. - Bruce

Bruce had listed him off the floor solely so Zuko's back wouldn't hurt. He'd cleaned up the blood in the middle of the night so Zuko wouldn't have to see it. He'd even bandaged his hands.

This family didn't make any sense.

A week later, Tim and Zuko were at Starbucks. Zuko was sipping his caramel macchiato, repeatedly checking his phone while Tim worked on his laptop.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Nervous?"

Today was the day that Bruce Wayne was announcing that he had adopted another kid. There would be pictures of him, Zuko would have to post on the Instagram that Tim had made for him, and he couldn't imagine all of the comments about his scar. "No, not at all."

"It'll be okay," Tim said, shutting his laptop so he could better face Zuko. "It can't be worse than whenever Damian was revealed. 'Bruce Wayne has love child?' "Young Wayne looks to have serious mental health issues'" he rolled his eyes, "Damian was so mad."

"When will I be interviewed?" Zuko asked, tapping his fingers against the table.

"We don't know yet," Tim replied, "We're hoping to get anybody but Vicky Vale. She's a vulture." he paused. "But don't worry. We'll all be there with you."

"I'm not worried," Zuko insisted, "I just... need to know so I can clear my schedule."

Tim raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Oh? Brooding take up a lot of time?"

"Shut it, Tim-Wit." Zuko's phone chimed, and he jumped with a start before looking at it. Sure enough, the article titled 'Bruce Wayne Adopts Another' was up.

"It's out!" Tim said, "Great! Time to post on Instagram!"

"What?" Zuko panicked, "Already? But- but my scar!"

"It'll get shown eventually," Tim pointed out, "Plus, Dick and I already have our pictures picked out. Dick has the one of you smiling when he got you two matching shirts."

Zuko smiled softly, tugging on the hem of the before mentioned shirt, a dark blue Ralph Lauren.

"And they're up!" Tim said with a grin, shoving his phone in Zuko's face, "Take a look!"

"That's a good picture," he voiced. Tim nodded, muttering an agreement, before showing him Dick's post.

Zuko replied to Jason’s comment with an eye roll, before he froze, the caption sinking in. He blinked in shock. Dick would... die for him? He shook his head. "I still don't get why you guys care for me so much. Like I said, I haven't done anything to earn it."

Tim gave him a sad look. "Zuko, don't you get it? We don't love you because you did something to earn it or whatever. We love you simply because you exist."

524 notes · View notes

narcissasdaffodil · 3 years

Text

Day 2: @writersmonth

Prompt: Cold

Tag list: @ariendiel @eskiix @follies-fixture @kiki-the-creator @simonsmontjoy

Marisol got ready for the party. She was ready for her summer to start for real, it felt strange to have finished five years of school already. She only had her A Levels to go, and Lottie was leaving for college which meant that she wouldn’t see her in school anymore. Dating her best friend was one of the best decisions possible, she was so happy with her. Not even her sister Isabel could ruin that feeling for her.

They had finished school early on a Friday due to the leavers’ do, and she had rushed home to get ready for the after party. Lucie was going to pick her up, and they were going to go together. She was strangely excited, she felt butterflies multiplying in her stomach.

She changed out of her uniform, putting it in the washing basket. She grabbed a black jumper, t-shirt and a short skirt, choosing to keep her outfit simple. Her skirt was shorter than she was used to, and she decided to not wear tights with it due to it being warm outside. She left her hair loose, neatening up her fringe. She studied herself in the mirror, choosing to put on a little lipgloss and mascara. She put her phone in a small bag, pushing her glasses up her nose. Lucie was expected to be here around seven ish, and she was nearly ready already. She grabbed a pair of boots from under the bed and slipped them on.

In no time at all, she heard a knock at the door and grabbed her bag, slipping it over her shoulder. She grabbed her key and rushed downstairs, opening the door. Lucie smiled at her, the other girl made her feel slightly insecure and overdressed. Lucie was just in a strappy top and a wraparound skirt, and she found herself feeling too hot in her clothes.

“You look lovely! You won’t need the jumper, it’s going to be hot in the house. House parties tend to be, anyway.”

Marisol quickly took it off, bringing it back to her room and left it there. Part of her wanted to keep it, she did get cold easily, but she talked herself out of it. She ran a brush through her hair, and grabbed her bag, leaving again and locking the door behind her.

Her parents were both out with Isabel, they only cared about her sister’s results. You were nothing but a ghost to them, and you’d given up trying to pretend otherwise. You were perfect, but it was never entirely enough.

Marisol shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts. She learnt to smile and nod, pretending to be listening to Lucie talk. Her heartbeat was echoing in her ears and she couldn’t ignore the feeling that she wasn’t meant to go to this party. Lottie had asked her, and she would follow the other girl anywhere.

“Umm...will Hannah be here? I know Isabel isn’t, but I hope Hannah isn’t either.” Marisol asked, accidentally cutting off Lucie.

“Hannah’s probably coming. But I’ll watch out for you anyway, don’t worry. Besides, Lottie’s not friends with her, so as long as you stay with her, you’ll be fine. I know you haven’t been to one of these parties before, but you’ll enjoy this one, believe me.”

Marisol nodded in response, forcing a smile to her face. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

She felt a strange omen in the air and shivered. She was already getting cold, but she knew she couldn’t turn back now. Lucie grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “We’re here. Lottie’s probably already there.” Lucie raised her hand and knocked on the door.

When it opened, the immediate sound of pounding music took Marisol by surprise and she blinked. Lucie had already disappeared into the party and Marisol followed, keeping her head up and scanning for Lottie.

The house was packed, pretty much everyone in her year was inside. She decided to go to the kitchen first and made her way through the door. A conversation halted as she walked through the door, and her breath caught in her throat. Oh shit. Not Olivia. You made a complete fool of yourself in front of her in French, she even had to switch partners as you couldn’t speak without stuttering.

“So...you showed your face here then. I didn’t expect that you would, you’re too much of a teacher’s pet for that. I don’t understand how you’re dating Lottie of all people, you two are polar opposites.” Olivia laughed, shifting long dark hair over her shoulder.

Marisol’s mouth opened and shut, and she blushed. She cursed how awkward she was, just the sight of Olivia was enough to make her small again. It was humiliating to not even be able to do a full sentence around her.

“H...have you seen Lottie? I’m just l...looking for her.” Marisol forced the words from her throat, not making eye contact with Olivia. Olivia giggled in response, turning to her friend. Both of them were laughing and Marisol felt her stomach churn in response. Something about the look in their eyes was wild, and it made her uncomfortable.

“No. Keep looking, you’re bound to find her.” Both of them cracked up again as Marisol made her way into the living room, dodging through groups of people. There were a lot of people dancing, but no one she could recognise as being Lottie. She noticed a tall blonde standing together with her sister and she looked away, making her way outside. Stay away from Isabel. And if Astrid’s friends with Isabel, that adds her. Neither of them would help with this stupid mess.

It was cold, and she shivered. There was only a cluster of smokers and she hurried back inside again. She was panicking slightly and hurried back into the kitchen.

“Just go upstairs if you’re desperate to find Lottie. She’s definitely there.” Olivia called over to her. There was a smirk on her face, which Marisol tried not to focus on.

She hurried upstairs, nearly tripping over a kissing couple on the stairs. She opened the first door she noticed when upstairs and stopped in her tracks. No. No, it can’t be her. It must be another blonde with Hannah, right?

As she tried to reassure herself, she felt her heart shattering in her chest. She moved forward, eyes fixated on the kissing couple. She felt tears spill down her cheeks and she covered her mouth, muffling her sobs.

“We’re over. I can’t believe you’d cheat on me with her, I thought better of you. My worst enemy, really!” Marisol’s voice was all over the place, and she refused to look directly at Lottie and Hannah. She turned on her heel, tripping over the doorstop and came down hard on the floor as she wiped out. She wasn’t hurt, just her pride and her heart. She curled herself into a ball, shaking violently.

Hannah laughed at her, she had separated from Lottie. She had snapped photos of Marisol in her state, and disappeared with her phone. Lottie was about to follow her, but went up to Marisol and put her hand on her shoulder. Marisol flinched away.

“L… leave me alone! You play with people’s feelings, did I ever mean anything to you? No, I don’t want to know… You betrayed me, I’m certain I mean nothing to you.” Marisol’s words were muffled from her sobs and the curtain of hair in front of her face.

Lottie sighed. “Mari, come on. It was one drunk kiss. Nothing else.”

Marisol forced herself to stand up, brushing down her skirt. Her phone beeped in her bag, and she noticed she was tagged in a video with a set of photos, showing how much of a mess she was. Without her realising, someone had been recording the moment her life fell completely apart.

She shivered, her teeth clicking together. She hurried downstairs, disappearing outside and ignoring the other people at the party. It felt like all of them were staring at her, were enjoying her misery.

She hurried back home, sneaking into her house and curled up on her bed. She quickly blocked Lottie on social media and blocked her number, deleting it from her contacts. She wished her friendship with Lottie could be deleted as easily, but she was stuck with it being a permanent stain on her heart. You were so stupid to believe for a minute that she was different. She never cared about you, you meant nothing to her.

#litg #love island the game #litgs2 #litg fanfic #litg marisol #marisol x lottie #marilottie #one foot in front of the other #fanfic #lottie x hannah #litg lottie #writersmonth2021

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nightshadedawn · 3 years

Text

Persona 5 Royal Playthrough pt3

I ended up going through two Palaces before I could update y’all. Oh well.

...Yeah, no, quit calling me Miss Special Snowflake's boyfriend. It's not happening.

Ryuji, Morgana, and Yusuke having a conversation in the laundromat: "It's like he's our mom," says Ryuji... the mom friend.

Every time Morgana is like "I have to turn into a human so no one else can have Lady Ann!" then expects no one else to hear him makes me laugh. Like, bitch, no.

I have the restaurant in my Thieves Den 'cause I like it. Yusuke, Ryuji, and Morgana are there. They're so precious.

I got a three in a row Tycoon on cutthroat!!!

Ryuji and Ann just keep going "Shoulda figured" and other versions of the statement every time I win.

Ann just rejected Morgana's feelings HARD. I am happy.

Ryuji is too good, honestly. Why would anyone not like him? He's... He's always trying to build the team up, make them proud of themselves and what they've done. I will admit that he has his moments of being not a great human, but they're teenagers who were given absurd powers, so honestly, can you blame them?

I didn't know darts was an actual minigame! There's so many minigames. I'm so happy.

I don't like Akechi. I don't know why some people do. Like, his death scene was a bit... too late for a redemption for me, right after he tried to kill Joker, several times. His pain is understandable, but still... I can't.

Their "two sides of the same coin" also doesn't seem particularly fair. It's totally uneven in everything but color schemes.

Guys, GUYS, please, PLEASE decide whether you're going to react to my teasing or not.

"We don't have to deal with them directly," Ryuji says joyfully about the mafia. Oh you sweet, sweet, innocent child, if only you knew what I do.

I literally can't play this game around anyone else because I tend to yell "BABY!" to Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke and "BITCH" or "FUCKER" to... a rather long list of villains in this game... and Makoto.

I can literally feel Yusuke's anxiety about his painting when you take him to Leblanc to see Sayuri.

How can you say Yusuke isn't gay when he says everything I do is beautiful?

I love Ryuji's 9th social link. It's LITERALLY written like a confession scene. This also means I kinda hate it because... I can't date him.

Also... PRETTY BOY RYUJI PRETTY BOY RYUJI PRETTY BOY RYUJI

I actually kinda thought that the new scene for Ryuji being a crossdresser is kinda funny??? Is this bad??? I wanna see him in a dress, tho. I gotta agree, he'd be a natural. Not the like, painfully obviously not taking it seriously from the dancing game, though.

Though I do think it's valid that he freaks out when two strange adults come up to him and try to take him somewhere, especially in a place known for being shady, and at night.

...When Ryuji complains about it, I do feel bad about ditching him. Then again, I blame the cat.

Ryuji may be my ideal type on paper, but I'm also highly attracted to Yusuke and this is so totally unfair.

*softly chanting* butlers butlers butlers butlers

Don't mind me just... *makes meticulous plot to avoid having Makoto join the team that i may or may not write a fanfic about*

Makoto is one dumbass bitch. Like, honestly, there's nothing she does that's in any way remotely smart.

...I thought I'd just skip Makoto's scenes until she became relevant, but here I am, still skipping her scenes. Does that mean she’s still irreleveant?

"Witch" I suggest, and Makoto complains! "Would you prefer "Bitch"? I can use that too.

I put Yusuke on the team in the middle of the palace through settings, replacing Morgana, who had been standing right behind me. Which made Yusuke stand right behind me. It looked like he was holding onto my waist and standing uncomfortably close. Bro, babe, I love you, but not in front of my boyfriend and girlfriend!

Just accept the compliment, guys, I'm not going to compliment Queen.

...Opening chests with Ann or Ryuji is just so sweet because they're so affectionate and touchy feely. Especially Ryuji.

Math. Fucking. Sucks. I should not have to use math in a game. I hate this. Obviously it's the Palace Makoto comes in that this happened.

Well, I finished the Palace in a day. I love the feeling. But it was getting close there. Joker and Yusuke were down to no spells...

...Yoshizawa hasn't showed up yet. When is she getting shoehorned in?

WHY IS THE VELVET ROOM RED!?

My very first playthrough I didn't execute a single execution except for the first one we have to do. It really screwed me over my second playthrough...

...I broke the electric chair. That's certainly something that happened.

147 games of Tycoon later and I've only been a beggar 31 times in total, versus the pure thirty wins in just Cutthroat.

They're in their summer uniforms and it makes make miss warmer weather already. It's fucking snowing outside. Grrrr.

Beat Kaneshiro! ...Wasn't a fan of his new boss battle. I'm even playing on safe mode! But whatever.

Makoto is a DISASTER at Tycoon. She exclusively got beggar all three times I played with her!

...RYUJI YOU CAN'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT AND NOT LET ME DATE YOU.

Ann, sweeties, baby, you're doing so well.

She confessed to me, then in the call afterwards it was basically insinuated I proposed... WHICH IS LIKE FUCK YEAH 'CAUSE SHE ACCEPTED IT.

It makes me think of the future conversation where they're talking about marriage.

Anyway, if you haven't noticed, l love Ann.

My next playthrough I'm not gong to date her, though. I'm a completionist and I want ALL of the possible awards. But... I refuse to cheat on Ann. So I'll date everyone else then just hang with Ryuji... despite how cringy some of the date things are.

...If Akechi wasn't, you know EVIL and tried to KILL ME, SEVERAL TIMES, I might, MIGHT, like him. But in truth, I think that's really just the Persona 5: Revival talking. We get... into some stuff during that.

I know that either Atlus or the translators know EXACTLY what goes on in the Persona fandom because otherwise "He's too pretty to be wrong" would not be an option when talking to the newspaper girl about Akechi. I have to agree with her that his looks aren't really, you know, awesome enough for that.

Also, I read it as "He's too petty to be wrong" at first and I think that's an accurate sum of his character.

YO AKECHI-FUCK I HAVE NO NEED TO SEE YOUR ASS LIKE THAT WHEN I HAVE BOTH A BF AND AND GF.

...fucker fucking giving me shit about my fake glasses...

If you COULD date the boy out of mod, Akechi would definitely be the one they were pushing you to date. Like Makoto. Or Yoshizawa.

But hey, at least I get to not be nice to him.

I remember seeing this picture where Ann, Ryuji, and Joker kept going to the movies together and seeing 3D movies, and Joker couldn't wear the 3D glasses properly because of his own. I keep imagining that picture during this event with Caroline and Justine.

You know what? Some people call Joker a loli lover because of them, but nope! He's just adopted two more siblings. That is my stance on it.

FUcking

Fucker

WHAT THE FRRRRRRRR

FUCK YOU ATULS OR TRANSLATORS OR WHATEVER

APHRODITE AND MARS ARE FROM TWO DIFFERENT MYTHOS. Aphrodite is GREEK, Mars is ROMAN. Their reversed are VENUS and ARES. USE ONE OR THE OTHER PEOPLE.

I get very pissed about this, and it's worse with Hades.

7/4 is the day I am screaming at, if you were wondering.

My dad asked me if the other students think Joker's stupid because every time I answer a question right they get all surprised.

I don't really like Makoto, as I'm sure you've noticed, but she was super nice about Ryuji's special move idea. And that put her ahead of Akechi in my book.

TESTS ARE NERVE WRACKING EVEN WHEN THEY'RE FICTIONAL

Yusuke and Ryuji are good boys, the best boys. And they're so awesome about their special move.

AND RYUJI OFFERED MONEY FOR YUSUKE'S FOOD. And implied that he did it before???? Ryuji, you best boy.

This boys' outing DOES make me happy, though. Like, insanely happy. Dunno why.

Maybe because Joker gets to be so flipping cheesy.

...fuck you, Yoshizawa.

HONESTLY WHAT THE EVER LOVING--- Grr. Too many choices while with her. Too many. OOC Joker when with her. 0/10.

I LOVE THE FESTIVAL PHOTO

And you know, it's really hard to choose between Lala-chan and Ann, but... GONNA TAKE ANN ON A DATE

Got her some flowers. Lets see if we can give them to her this time!

"Such a good FRIEND." Babe, we're DATING. For like, TWO WEEKS NOW.

AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO GIVE HER FLOWERS

Ann called Yusuke a pretty boy, but then she's missing out on the REAL pretty boy, Pretty Boy Ryuji.

Ryuji, why're you so worried about other girls when you've got ME?

"I like the shade." "What are you, moss!?" Oh, admit it, Ryuji, I'm growing on you.

Cargona. Snrk. Gods, I love you, Ryuji.

Dome town with Ryuji! "Isn't it all couples?" That's the point!

I COULD GIVE RYUJI THE ROSES!?

Sadly, I bought those for Ann. Ryuji, you get the noodles.

AND HE FUCKING LOVED IT.

"It feels like I really captured Ryuji's heart!" FUCK YEAH I DID

Gonna give Yusuke the bracelet when I get the chance.

Why is everyone color coded in the chat room? Kawakami, Akechi, Mishima, and the reporter are all ORANGE. What's the point? Well, Akechi's more of a golden orange, but close enough.

While Mishima is not my first choice for a date, he's definitely not my last.

...But the boy really needs some fucking sleep. He's not drawn with the bags under his eyes, but I can see them!

It's not fair that they give Akechi a kicked puppy sprite. I'm... goddamnit, they're trying to make me not hate him.

When Makoto doesn't know something, I'm brought great joy.

NO DAD MAKOTO IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND ANN IS AND SHE IS LITERALLY R I G H T T H E R E

First day in Futaba's Palace! I've gotta say, this is my second favorite palace. Kamoshida, Futaba, Madarame, Sae, Okumura, Shido, Kaneshiro, Holy Grail. In that order. I HATE Kaneshiro's place and dealing with the Holy Grail. But whatevs, man. I love this game. (Vanilla, at least, this one is still on the fence)

I found out a cool little thing. On the uphill sand slopes in the town (don't know about anywhere else) if you're running and turn back quickly, Joker will do a little animation to steady himself. It was cool and made it seem, I dunno, more human? Anyway, while I was admiring this, Ryuji and Yusuke just stood at the top of the slope and Ann followed me while I was running. Best girlfriend ever.

Kin-Ki is looking pretty kin-ky if you know what I'm sayin'

Please don't murder me because I do terrible puns.

*we fall through the trap door* *Ryuji starts screaming* Same, baby, same.

...Makoto is seriously annoying. Like, she's got no business acting as familiar with Futaba's situation. The one who WOULD be the most familiar is Yusuke, and I'm glad he recognizes that. It's not the exact same, none of their stories are after all, but I feel like those two get each other better than even Ryuji and Joker understand each other.

Yusuke and Ryuji's special attack is THE BEST

Ryuji and Joker getting up close and personal in the shadows. All those fanfics coming true, man.

I thought Futaba was sloth, not wrath? Why are her Will Seeds called Wrath?

Beat it in one day! It's so satisfying to watch all those achievements when I leave the palace.

You know, I'm thinking of wearing the Christmas outfits for the final battle. Just to be kinda funny.

Spending a relaxing day with Yusuke after going through Futaba's Palace... kinda want to take him to the bathhouse to check out that new scene, but I also REALLY wanna feed the boy... gonna feed the boy.

Apparently I can only make 'decent curry.' Which is fine. Because "I" can't make curry at all. Joker, you've done much better than I.

THE DATE CHANGE SCREEN HAD A RAINBOW AND RYUJI WAS COMING OVER ON THE SAME DAY FUCK YEAH MY BISEXUAL BABY

...Broooooo, the way you talk about your manga is how I talk right before I start shipping.

Took him to the bathhouse, 'cause I don't gotta worry about Mama Sakamoto feeding him.

...Can I take Ann to the bathhouse?

Asked Ryuji to move in. He was all up for the idea until he remembered that I live in an attic.

I'm Charismatic now!

...I was all hoping Ann would stop by but then Akechi asked me out. Laaaaaaaame.

Ryuji's smile is so fucking cute.

...I say we just be honest, and everyone's so fucking stupid about it until Makoto explains it. This pisses me off. They're not that dumb... At least, they weren't until Makoto showed up.

Futaba's hiding in the closet. ...I've spent too many weeks making jokes about closets to not have a joke about it.

Really, Yusuke? You see those books and think she can't understand?

...Wait, that sassy tone of voice... You were TRYING to pull a reaction of her. I knew I shipped those two for a reason. OTP and BroTP. Doesn't matter, they're both awesome.

I love you Ann, but I don't think your situations were the same at all. It's not like both are valid and bad, but... different.

Joker is SO fast compared to the others, especially when he's speeding.

What the...

Holy fuck...

JOKER IS TOO EFFING COOL

THAT MOVE TO GET FROM THE ENTRANCE TO TO TREASURE DOOR? Awesome!

Damn, Joker has my heart too.

I kinda wish we could see Futaba's costumes in her Persona. That would be pretty neat.

The moment right before Wakaba appears is so aesthetically pleasing.

...Futaba being happy is almost enough for me to accept Maruki's offer, and I haven't gotten there yet.

Ryuji and Ann keep smacking each other out of their ailments. Like, you guys just love each other so much! It's awesome.

Joker has lackluster responses to Wakaba... I'm hoping that isn't one of those "Answer these wrong and you break her!" things... Not that I think I was, but still.

I liked Futaba's new animation for when she defied her mother.

I wish the anime looked more the cutscenes. I'm trying to rewatch the anime so I can pinpoint specific moments for future editing purposes, but it's kinda painful.

1- This is the SECOND TIME you've landed on Yusuke while running from trouble.

2- YUSUKE LET GO OF MY GIRL

No Makoto, I don't want to go see Futaba with you! I can go see her myself.

So, I like Takemi's new voice with her lines during this scene.

Sure, she collapses every so often and sleeps for a while. Stays like that for a few days. Sorry that I put her into a coma for a month, Boss...

SHE LOOKS SO CUTE WITHOUT GLASSES

Guys, we have a month. Stop worrying.

THE TWINS ARE SO CUTE WHILE HANGING ONTO THE BENCH PRESS

Damn, Joker's dying to the amusement of two little girls.

I'm kinda disappointed I didn't get results for all that training. But I liked the scene.

Yusuke just casually be lugging bigass paintings around.

Taking the girls to the church may have been one of the funnier moments. These cement them as Joker's little sisters. With Futaba. Damn, Joker, you got no brothers.

Yusuke promises to come by every day and we can tell him to take his clothes off. ATLUS, you have some EXPLAINING to DO.

..And Yusuke took it and ran with it. My sweet summer child, I don't think I could handle you in as little as possible on the day to day.

"The heat induced delirium made me think outside the box." Same.

Guts takes sooooooooooooo long to level up.

"Punish me more" he says, as if Takemi won't do it.

"Good god. Well, none of my medicine can cure THAT." AT LEAST WE'RE ALL ON THE SAME PAGE

BATHHOUSE WITH YUSUKE

Awe, he had fun. :)

#Persona 5 #akira kusuru #shuann #pegoryu #pegoryuann #persona 5 royal #yusuke kitagawa #ann takamaki #Ryuji Sakamoto #Pretty Boy Ryuji

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