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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

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hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it.

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar.

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp.

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough.

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined.

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull.

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes.

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet…

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall.

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air.

The street in front of you was a warzone.

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe.

Safe…

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way.

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part.

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention.

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit.

The villain.

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears.

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.”

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.”

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer.

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way.

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts.

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar?

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below.

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you.

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood.

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements.

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask.

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks.

You had thought that very brave.

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire.

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach.

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk.

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows.

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention.

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene.

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm.

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor.

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions.

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view.

Oh, fuck. That was a person.

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it.

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch.

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg.

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be…

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human.

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye.

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening.

He was bleeding.

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes.

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on.

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse.

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut.

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it.

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body.

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it.

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin.

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath.

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach.

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.”

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye.

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment.

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—”

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood.

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain?

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped.

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question.

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.”

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you.

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear.

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion.

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance.

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.”

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat.

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?”

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack.

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood.

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap.

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital.

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five.

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision.

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned.

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest.

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint.

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts.

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum.

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero?

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms.

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion.

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk.

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero.

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp.

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you.

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you.

But was it worth it?

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie.

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet.

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first.

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure.

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it.

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion…

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you.

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again.

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you.

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor.

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in.

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees.

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone.

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window.

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?”

“I—”

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder.

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?”

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?! You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment.

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first.

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch.

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own.

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown.

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?”

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right.

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?”

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed.

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again.

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?”

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name.

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.”

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing.

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch.

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall.

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?”

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.”

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips.

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing.

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment.

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported.

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability.

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t.

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you.

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this?

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight.

“Your hands are all fucked up.”

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself.

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty?

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.”

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit.

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.”

Well, maybe not that carefully.

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.”

“Let me see.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.”

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that.

And none of his current ones would, either.

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion.

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder.

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted.

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.”

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you.

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric.

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden.

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you.

“Hello?”

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch.

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?”

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all.

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.”

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head.

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows.

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation?

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero.

Was he confessing your secret already?

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view.

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and—

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.”

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them.

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood.

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.”

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window.

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street.

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth.

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago.

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.”

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.”

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero.

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall.

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone.

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete.

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you.

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.”

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?”

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum.

“Okay, hold on.”

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone.

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out.

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people.

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too.

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little.

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief.

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful.

But your stomach was still in knots.

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers.

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying?

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped.

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.”

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum.

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears.

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.”

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you.

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life.

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed.

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole.

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.”

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior.

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory.

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.”

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.”

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over.

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.”

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?”

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.”

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop?

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?”

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand.

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.”

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded.

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say.

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.”

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel.

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them.

“I-Is that all?”

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?”

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?”

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?”

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?”

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything?

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance.

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.”

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.”

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.”

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression.

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished.

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.”

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone.

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit:

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret.

But I’m going to have to face him again.

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artsybookworms · 4 years

Text

Strap in boys; we’re in for a ride.

I was going to make a headcanon that Percy and Annabeth’s love language is physical touch, but there’s actually a lot of textual evidence to suggest that this is canon?? Or if not their primary love language, it’s at least high on the list. A lot of their most memorable, intimate moments happen without dialogue (or with minimal dialogue), with them just being there for each other and comforting one another with their presence. The first most prominent example is when Percy holds Annabeth as she cries into his shoulder in SoM. Another moment that I really love (but isn’t mentioned much by the fandom) is this moment in BoTL:

And of course who can forget the most iconic Percabeth scene of the same book—their kiss at Mt. St. Helens. Instead of trying to articulate her feelings to him, Annabeth’s instinct was to kiss him, to show physical affection. What’s more, Percy does the EXACT SAME THING in BoO. I’m sure everyone remembers Percy’s line of “The rivalry ends here,” but what comes first is a kiss. His first instinct, like Annabeth, is to show physical affection. It’s only after this that he’s able to put his thoughts into words. But let’s backtrack because I just jumped way too far ahead in the series. Returning to TLO, Percy survives his dip into the Styx by a //physical// connection to Annabeth—taking her hand. After Percy tells Annabeth where his weak spot is, we get this adorable line, “She removed her hand, but I kept holding it.”

I’m not going to go through every Percabeth moment and how it relates to their love language because that could fill a book, but here are some highlights I’d like to point out post-PJO:

-Annabeth’s first instinct is to hold Percy’s hand when she’s scared

-Percy and Annabeth are suspended over the depths of literal hell, and they are able to stay together by literally holding on to one another

-Annabeth nestles her head onto Percy’s shoulder and he puts an arm around her and kisses her head in MC, demonstrating that when they’re comfortable, their natural instinct is to lean on one another (also that they’re freaking adorable)

Now, I’d like to make sure to clarify that I’m NOT saying Percy and Annabeth’s relationship is solely based on physical attraction. In fact, that really has nothing to do with the love language of physical touch. Love language is, unsurprisingly, how a person expresses their love. Percy and Annabeth have a complex, deeply rooted love, trust, and respect for one another that goes far beyond physical attraction. I’m simply trying provide evidence that the way they frequently show their affection is through physical touch (and though some of the scenes aren’t direct examples of physical touch as a love language, they do show how Percy and Annabeth’s love/connection is constantly represented through physical imagery or metaphors. Also, you could definitely make a solid case for acts of service or quality time, but that’s a post for another day.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. Let me know if you want more rambling analysis of Percy Jackson or Percabeth LMAO

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #leo valdez #nico di angelo #hoo

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willowbleedsonpaper · 3 years

Text

Winter In The Shade XIII

Part XIII

Sirius Black x Ravenclaw Reader

W.C. : 2622

Requested by @pogueslandia : It is Sirius’ fifth year at Hogwarts, the same year he ran away from home and to the Potter’s. Soon, he discovers the unfamiliar sight of his brother Regulus smiling and looking truly happy, next to him a Ravenclaw girl who immediately captures his interest. What will happen when the Black family gets involved in their sons lives and the ones they hold close to their hearts?

Warnings: None (Let me know if there's any, though)

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Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Sending someone to wake me up it’s not what a best friend would do, Black.” you muttered, running your hands through your hair as you brushed it away from your face with your fingers.

“Is your roommate still alive?” he asked with a knowing smile, standing straight from his previous position leaning on the wall outside your common room.

That day you hadn’t woken up with the soft sunlight over your face, your skin warm to the touch as you stretched the sleep out of your body, you didn’t wake up to the distant chatter of the rest of the Ravenclaws at the common room or to the smell of your roommates perfumes after they had showered. No. You woke up to the harsh grasp of Anne, one of your roommates, shaking you awake like some natural event was happening and you all had to run out of the castle. Did natural disasters even dare to touch Hogwarts? You didn’t have the time to ask, the urgence in her voice when she told you some Slytherin boy was looking for you outside enough to make your own worry wash away with a groan, turning your back and diving deeper in your bed.

“He said it was important.”

“I’m sure.” you mumbled, your face buried in your pillow as you lifted your head, muttering under your breath as you got out of bed like a grumpy child.

“She’s breathing.” you assured him, a glare permanent in your face as you started to walk beside him “To what do I owe the pleasure of rising this early in the morning?” you asked bitterly.

“You’re the worst.” he said with a hint of humor, making you turn to him in both shock and a deeper glare.

“Excuse you?” you said.

“I play Quidditch, today is the game.” he reminded you, the vague memory of those words being told to you before coming back to you “You asked me to come and look for you just before it began.”

“You’re playing this early?” you asked, looking outside the windows in the corridor to see the sun was barely out in the sky “You’re not playing, Reg. That’s called torture, someone like you should know that.” you said, nudging his side with your arm.

He stayed silent, turning to you before he quickly glanced away. “What do you mean?” he asked.

You looked at him, taking his change of humor in before you answered “You and your habit of making me wake up early.” you explained, but there was no humor behind your words anymore. “Are you sure you feel alright?”

He took a deep breath, one you barely noticed before he nodded firmly. “Of course.” he answered “You’re right, it’s too early. I’m not fully awake yet.” he said, patting his cheeks gently with the pads of his fingers, making you shake your head and laugh. “I thought we could have breakfast together, before the game.”

“I-” you said, linking your arm with his “would absolutely love that.”

Regulus led the both of you to the mostly empty Great Hall, breakfast being served to the few early birds like Regulus that chose to raise with the sun. You would never understand but you had, literally , asked for it.

You seated on your usual spot, your eyelids still a little heavy while you saw Regulus moved gracefully.

“Your tea.” he said, handing you a cup with careful movements.

“How thoughtful.” you answered, taking the cup from his hands as you took a slow sip “But I think if you want me to survive this day I might need something a little stronger.”

He rolled his eyes and said nothing, as he switched his cup with yours with a swift movement across the table.

You looked down in shock at your new cup, the dark liquid reflecting your image and showing exactly how you felt “Since when do you drink coffee?” you asked in a whispered scream.

He glanced at you with little expression on his face “I took a liking to it during the winter break.” he explained.

“Winter break?” you questioned “Did your mother take a liking to it too or what? You’ve never even looked in its direction, not even when I tried to force it on you.” you said, spitting the words. Your arms laid crossed over your chest, your glare set on your face as you saw him shrug.

“It’s because you tried to force it on me that I didn’t try it.” he said back, both of you entering in a small fight over his new liking to the warm beverage, your body language becoming more prominent as you both started to lean on the table, hands pointing everywhere while trying to keep your voices hushed.

“They look like an old couple.” James said from the other end of the Great Hall, taking a bite of his breakfast as he glanced at the silence of Sirius.

“Stop.” Remus warned him, snapping his fingers in front of Sirius “They’ll feel you staring and it’ll be worse for her.”

“Maybe he should feel my stare.” Sirius snapped, lowering his gaze and taking his emotions out on his own breakfast, a fork his weapon of choice.

You hadn't even seen Sirius when you got to the Great Hall but he had heard your laugh the moment you turned right on the door, holding onto his brother’s arm like nothing had happened. Did you forget all that he said? Were you that great of an actress? The smile that inevitably appeared on his face at any sign of you was completely washed away when you two sat down and started talking like you always had.

He wanted that.

“You should talk to her.” Remus offered but James cut him short.

“I don’t get what the big issue is! So your brother is her best friend, why should that stop you from dating her?”

“You forgot the part where Regulus is a Slytherin with the mind and ideas of Sirius’ parents that hates him for being him.” Remus said, all three pairs of eyes on him with an unnatural silence “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.”

“Didn’t have to be so harsh about it.” Peter murmured in his side while Sirius just stared blankly with hopelessness in his eyes.

“Point is,” James added, slinging his arm over Sirius’ shoulders and giving Remus a glare “He already hates you, why not give him one more reason?”

Sirius groaned, moving out of James' hold “Because she doesn’t want him to hate her.”

“She might have to pick.” James added, a bright smile on his lips. “And we all know who would win, right?” he asked, looking for Remus and Peter’s support but only finding his subtle shaking of heads, making all confidence in James fade.

“Yeah, Prongs.” Sirius said, pointing his hand in your direction as he let it fall with a thud on the table, the act of defeatment “The one in the old couple wins. Look at them! Everyone already thinks that they are secretly dating. I stand no chance.”

The three Marauders stared at their friend in disbelief. A side of Sirius Black they never expected to see coming to shine from the dark, making its way into the world for everyone to see it. Sirius Black, the boy who had all the ladies running after him, the one who had no trouble using his skills to have everyone down on their knees and that knew he was worth it of it all and more, that same Sirius Black that now hid his head in between his arms for a Ravenclaw girl who had the heart and wit to befriend his brother and become the shadow of one another.

Sirius Black cared for the girl enough to put his own desires aside and let her be happy, to keep his friendship. The only person she had left in the school. That wasn’t true anymore, but he knew it was the truth for his brother. A brother that deep down he still cared about, he knew that the girl sitting in front of him was his entire world and he didn’t have the heart to hurt two people he cared about for his own happiness. As selfish as Sirius Black was, this time he didn’t want to be. He just hoped he had the strength to keep that promise to himself.

*******

The air up on the bleachers was cold against your cheeks. The day had gotten a little cloudy and you could smell in the air a storm coming in the school direction. You just hoped it wouldn’t start as you watched the game. Moving through all of your housemates you found a seat in the front, a seat for someone who went there all by themselves, someone like you. You went for the sole purpose of watching Regulus play, something you two didn’t share in liking but he was still passionate about, you loved seeing the smile on his face while he flew on his broom.

The students divided themselves without even realizing it, covering the deep blue colors of the Ravenclaw house you could find the team they supported for the day. Dark red banners flew in the air while others jumped with green pieces of clothing. Of course, you didn’t stay behind. Covering the blue of your robes there was a green scarf around your neck. Regulus had wrapped it around your neck just before you went your separate ways, you wished him luck and watched him go to the changing rooms.

But now you didn’t feel sure about it. Wishing you could divide your body and paint one side with the colors of Gryffindor while the other flashed the usual greens.

It wasn’t every day that the two houses played against one another, the natural rivalry making the game all the more interesting for those who enjoyed the competition. They might not be the best teams or the greatest players, but they were the houses of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. The tension in the air was stronger than the one of the upcoming storm.

Your attention was captured from inside your head the moment the wind swept your hair out of your face, green and silver flying in the air as each player took their position. They waved proudly, the cheers loud and full of excitement.

Then the Gryffindor team make their appearance. The crowd burst with energy as the team flew around, waving to all the people in the bleachers. It wasn’t unknown how popular they were. Marlene Mckinnon was in their team, one of the prettiest girls in the school, a true Gryffindor and quidditch player. Then you could count on the charisma of James Potter, captain and star. And then there was Sirius, you were certain most people who usually didn’t show up to quidditch games were there only for Sirius.

But then inevitable happened. Sirius flew just above from where you stood, looking down at you with a smile. He moved through the air in a subtle way, glancing in different directions but inevitably ending on you. He flashed you his brightest smile, pointing to his neck as he shook his head.

You looked down, seeing the Slytherin scarf around your neck and feeling a blush come up to your cheeks.

His smile returned to his face, winking in your direction before he dissapeared in the distance. The game began minutes after.

Of course he would make a big entrance in your life after being missing for days. Only he would do that.

Your bubble burst when the cheers to your right began increasing in volume, seeing Gryffindor had scored. You restrained yourself to slow claps, James bumping fists with Marlene as they went back to their positions. The game was getting more interesting by the minute.

The last few minutes had you on the edge of your seat. The scores were even, the Slytherins played sharper and the Gryffindors rougher. Regulus had been after the snitch with no luck, almost fighting the Gryffindor seeker every time each of them caught a glimpse of it. Your eyes were focused on the black haired boy, his eyes snapping to all directions at the slightest sound and then he was gone. You tried to follow him but he was too fast, your neck too sore from trying to keep up, finally losing him in the crowd of players. Still you found your new focus.

Sirius flew through the middle of the field, following close to James as he kept the Slytherin team away from him, the Quaffle secured under his arm. They worked in sync, James flying higher and faster. He wasted no time once he got his shot, throwing the Quaffle with a swift swing of his arm.

Just then the game ended but the cheers grew as every single person joined in. All the players looked down, you following as your eyes widened in surprise. You shot up in your place, throwing your hands in the air. Regulus held the snitch in his hand.

Confusion filled the place as everyone wondered who had won. The game ended with Gryffindor having more points but Regulus caught the golden snitch.

You lowered your arms, looking at Regulus as he met your gaze. He shrugged, going to the ground where all the players were shouting their arguments to the teachers.

A couple of minutes in silence followed as everyone observed the crowd down in the pitch, the frustration clear in their faces. They were throwing their hands in the air, pointing at each other and shouting, the echo of their voices reaching the high part of the bleachers.

“Gryffindor wins!” yelled the student that had been commenting on the entire game. The crowd burst into loud cheers once more, some running down to the pitch while others hugged right there. The energy was too heavy and you couldn’t help but join in, letting out a shout as you jumped in your place.

You ran down to the ground, body clashing against many students going in the opposite direction. And then you met his eyes, far away in the distance, Sirius stood tall over many of the students that were congratulating the team but his gaze remained on you, a smile mirrored in both your faces as you started to walk in his direction, unknowing of Regulus watching you from the side.

He stared at your smile, one he had never seen in your face, and followed the direction of your eyes. It was a sea of people, all of them sharing the smile on your lips but not one sharing the feeling.

Just before you got away from him he reached for you, tapping your shoulder as he followed your step.

“Reg!” you gasped, turning to the side before you pointed at him. “I-I could’ve sworn I saw you over there.” you said, pointing in the direction you were headed.

“I’m right here.” he told you “You look far too happy for someone whose best friend just lost a game because of bad timing.”

You laughed, smiling smugly at him “And I’m the bad loser.”

“It was bad timing and you know it.” he said, about to add something else when he closed the gap from his mouth, seeing your eyes lost in the distance, glancing between him and whatever had captured your attention.

You shook your head and turned fully to him, taking his arm and dragging him with you “If only you were faster.” you mocked, returning to the conversation like nothing had happened.

“If only.” he whispered, letting himself follow your step as he took one last glance over his shoulder.

Gryffindor.

TAGS

Skittles

@iwritesiriusly / @trinimalfoyyy / @megaprincesscakes / @lunalovegoodsgirlfriend / @pogueslandia / @zaidlyn / @aconfusedslytherin / @animprxperworld / @aconfusedslytherin / @the-lonely-poet-loves-to-weep / @mirclealignr / @angelsandsorcery / @badass-yn / @naisnape

Winter in the Shade

@plethoraofpuppies / @dracoissohot / @funravenclaw2002 / @lilyevanswhore / @edithsvoice / @falconxbarnes / @blackst0nes7077 / @gabitanaka47 / @padsfirewhisky / @lazzwhile / @crazy-beautiful / @blackenergy / @ninawhatfandom / @justchecking-mayheadback / @simpforslytherins / @letmeinplease22 / @auggie2000 / @sarcasm-n-insomnia /

Marauders

@destourtereaux / @ktyflwr / @nehireerdogan / @medalloway-blog / @waxsealed-letters / @j-cat / @aleksanderwh0r3 / @lostrandomfangirl

Sirius Black

@funravenclaw2002 / @blackst0nes7077 / @lilylikethefl0wer / @just-wordsandthoughts / @bhavanaa /

#winter in the shade #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x ravenclaw!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #regulus black #marauders era fanfiction

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retrievablememories · 3 years

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matched | ten (m)

title: matched pairing: alien!ten x black!reader genre: sci-fi, angst, fluff, romance, smut summary: the quest for love leads you to a new dating app with a slight twist—and straight into the inbox of someone who’s light-years out of your usual dating pool. word count: 9.7k warnings: familial conflict, strained parental relationship, mentions of cheating, prejudice/discrimination based on species, body modifications/alien biology, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), dom!ten, photography during sex, cumshot, squirting, some spanking a/n: as always, i lose all impulse control whenever i get a ten request so i have finished this sooner than i expected

i decided to lean more into the romance plotline than stress too much over the realism of the science-fiction elements with this fic, so there are some inaccuracies/impossibilities...but that’s fiction for you 🙃

AM 2074 (After Migration)

You are lonely.

Your last breakup did not end well, to say the least, and you haven’t dated for a while since then. It seemed like a smart move—a safe one—to shun all romantic relationships until you felt ready again. At the beginning, you were glad to be alone for a while, to regroup and rediscover yourself worrying about another person’s opinions on everything you did. To not have to deal with someone else’s drama.

The toll of not having companionship is gradually getting to you, though. Even if your last relationship was a mess more often than it wasn’t, you still long for those good moments, like going on night dates on the weekends and sharing pillowtalk into long hours of the early morning. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed those things until all the emotions of it crashed down on you at once.

Your friend Malika claims to have a solution for your loneliness. Now, sitting at this outdoor cafe, you’re simultaneously eager and hesitant to hear what she has to propose, knowing her track record for silly plots.

With twinkling eyes, she looks at you and says, “You should try a dating app.” She clasps her hands together and puts them on the table like she’s made a grand announcement. You absorb her words for a few moments, looking out at the street across from you and watching cars—some hovering above the asphalt, some driven autonomously, and many still with human drivers—pass by.

You eventually sigh, your shoulders slumping. “That’s the big solution you called me out here for? People have been using dating apps for decades, that’s nothing new.”

“Exactly! The fact that they’re still popular even in 2074 is proof that they work, Y/N. You can put yourself out there and talk to dozens of guys without even meeting them in person. If one connection doesn’t work out, you don’t have anything to lose, and you don’t have to see the guy ever again.”

“Maybe I’ll lose my sweet time and patience during the process, though.”

Malika shakes her head and types something into her hologram pad, then holds it up for you to see. The hologram displays a dating app called matched—it reminds you of what Tinder was supposedly like before it became eclipsed by more advanced platforms, though that happened years before you were even born. “This one is kinda new, but it’s gotten popular fast and has good success rates. I’ve tried it before and met some nice guys. Give it at least one chance before you hate on it.”

“Ugh, I don’t know...there are always so many weirdos hanging out on those apps. What if I meet someone who keeps a collection of severed alien tentacles in an icebox in their house? Like that one guy who showed up on the news?”

“...Really?” Malika rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Stop getting in your own way and just take a risk for once.”

You shake your head at her optimism. “I’ll do it because I know you won’t leave me alone about it, but don’t expect me to find some great love story on this app.”

Once you download the app and start making an account, it becomes pretty obvious that this isn’t just a regular dating platform.

Choosing your gender and age preferences is normal enough, and you pass through those screens quickly until you get to one that gives you two new options.

➤ Species Preference ❐ Human ❐ Extraterrestrial

Whoa. Aliens? An alien-friendly dating app?

You weren’t overly familiar with the mechanics of dating apps, and you certainly didn’t consider that ones allowing aliens might’ve existed until now. It had been 15 years since the first contact with aliens was established, and a little less than a decade had passed since aliens began migrating to Earth and taking up permanent residence—and vice versa.

Humans had little problem with accepting aliens’ technological adaptations and claiming them as their own, though they were far less welcoming of the aliens themselves. That resulted in strained interactions between the two species, with aliens trying their best to assimilate and humans questioning their every motive. As far as personal relationships went, interspecies mingling between humans and extraterrestrials was still fairly uncommon—something that only people who were considered to be on the fringes of society participated in. There were “normal citizens of society” who built relationships with aliens, but many of them also kept it solely as a kink or fetish to be done only in the dark.

You decide to check both options. It feels a little scary, like diving headfirst into the unknown, but you are open to it either way. You’ve interacted with aliens before, both as kind acquaintances and near strangers, and they’ve always been relatively normal in the grand scheme of things—beings trying to survive and make a life for themselves like anyone else. Certainly not plotting how to take over Earth as many people have speculated. If they really wanted to, they possess the technology to have done that ten times over already.

You take a while trying to come up with a clever bio and spend an even longer time mulling over which pictures of yourself to choose, but you eventually complete your profile.

The first few matches you make are not very successful.

Whether it’s human guys feeding you terrible pickup lines or alien guys who can’t make it past the language barrier—or who ask you to move back with them to their home planet after two days of talking—you don’t see any potential love interests during your first two weeks of using the app.

You’re not sure what kind of skills Malika used to make multiple good matches, but maybe you need to interrogate her so you can sharpen your own. So you decide to do exactly that.

“Don’t give up on it just yet. Just be yourself—which also means not being afraid to cuss someone out if they come at you crazy. Some of these dudes lowkey like the mean girl shit, though, which is kinda weird.” Malika speaks from the shimmering translucent mirage of your hologram pad as you walk through the park one afternoon. She couldn’t make it out to meet you today, but you managed to snatch a moment to talk to her even if it couldn’t be face-to-face. “You probably shouldn’t expect to find a boyfriend in the first few days—”

“Girl, I don't think anyone was expecting that. Duh.”

“I’m saying, just give it time!”

“Okay, but listen. You didn’t tell me it’s also for aliens. Have you dated one before? You never told me!” You lower your voice then, not wanting anyone nearby to eavesdrop on your conversation and hear that part. You feel kinda bad for even thinking that way, but it’s hard to shake the stigma associated with interacting with aliens.

“Yes, and it was the best sex I ever had, but maybe I’ll tell you about that later.”

“Sis. Don’t withhold tea from me!”

“Someday when you’re not literally standing in the middle of the park, okay?” Malika shakes her head, smiling.

“Don’t forget about it, either.”

“I won’t. And you know what to do if you find a guy. I want to be the first to know!”

“Sure, sure. I wouldn’t hold my breath on it, though.”

You decide to spend some more time on the app after that conversation instead of just deleting it like you’d planned to initially. And one day, you get another new match that catches your eye out of the many others.

“Ten? Like the number…?” Besides the interesting name, you immediately see that he’s an extraterrestrial. From the Sommu race, as it says in his bio.

You click on his profile.

You’re a little surprised by how pretty he is, which isn’t to say the other aliens you matched with were all hideous. But he doesn’t have tentacles coming out of his face or two sets of eyes, either. The most noticeable thing about his alienness is his blue skin.

“Likes...dancing, art, music, okay so we have an artist type here...dislikes...fruit. Huh. That’s...interesting.”

The pictures of him on his profile are all deliberately artistic, as in they aren’t just some half-baked selfies he took with a hologram pad. You grow increasingly curious. It’s safe to say he’s either super into himself or just appreciates the art of good photography, and you figure there’s only one way to find out. You decide to take the first step and message him.

➤ Nice pictures :)

You don’t know when or if you’ll get a message back, since he’s not online when you send it, so you try not to get your hopes up too much. Maybe you should’ve tried to come up with something more cool and funny—nice pictures?—but you try to remember Malika’s advice and roll your eyes to yourself. There’s no point in getting stressed over a dude you don’t even know yet.

You eventually get a reply back from Ten.

➤ thank you 🙏 are you into photography too? you have talent for taking beautiful photos

You giggle quietly to yourself; another line, but it’s definitely one of the tamer ones you’ve received. Why not see where this one goes?

The first conversation you have consists mostly of the regular getting-to-know-you talk, such as your personal interests and favorite things. You get him to talk more about his photography hobby, which he’s eager to tell you all about—as well as his penchant for art.

To your optimism, you and Ten quickly get comfortable with each other. You soon forget about all the other potential matches you have, but those don't matter much to you anymore. So far, you’ve connected the most successfully with Ten, which means you’re more than glad to stop spending your time reading boring messages from guys who’ve only pretended to have things in common with you.

Things go so well, in fact, that he asks you to meet in person not long after you begin talking to each other.

For your first meetup, you decide to meet at a park nearby—the same one you’d been walking through the day you were talking to Malika about that very dating app. You and Ten have talked through the hologram pad on multiple occasions, so you’re more reassured that you’re not starting from scratch with some faceless being. Still, the thrill of seeing each other in person for the first time is undeniable.

“Y/N?” You turn your head at the sound of your name, and you see Ten walking towards you.

“Ten!” You give him a smile, waving at him. You feel a little more nervous than you usually would on a date, though you can’t tell if it’s the good kind of nervousness. You mostly chalk it up to not having been out with anyone in a while.

Ten’s just as pretty up close as he was in the photos and on camera, if not even more attractive; he’s breathtaking in the light of the sun. His hair is styled nicely, meticulously-place strands curling over his forehead, and his clothes perfectly outline his slim body. He looks pleased to see you, his lips curving into a coy smile.

“You could’ve given me a warning,” he says as he outstretches his arms to you. You hug him, but not without a questioning glance on your face. He is warm and smells good, like juniper, which almost makes you forget about your question.

“Warned you about what?”

“How you’re even more beautiful in person.” He says this at your ear before pulling away, and it makes the back of your neck bloom with heat.

“Oh, you’re laying it on thick.” You giggle nervously, shifting on your feet.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes, let’s go!”

You leave the park to go to an aquarium nearby, which is the biggest one in the city. You find out quickly that Ten is easily fascinated by the wide range of creatures there. Despite living on Earth for a few years now, he hasn’t seen a lot of them until now.

You walk through the blue-lit hallways together, surrounded by water everywhere you turn. You observe the different animals up close and from far away, reading information about them from the signs beside their tanks.

“What the hell is that?” Ten says through laughter, looking at the squished-up mouth of a stingray as it floats in front of the glass, baring its pale underside to you both.

“It’s a stingray!”

He scrunches his nose up. “It’s ugly. But kinda cute, too…”

You both end up staying at the aquarium longer than you expected, with Ten wanting to see practically every animal they had on display; plus, you got to see some you weren’t familiar with before either.

After visiting the aquarium, you go downtown—which is otherwise known as food truck central, where you can get pretty much anything you’re craving. This area is always quite busy this time of evening, especially on the weekends. Food in hand, you and Ten end up walking through a few of the quieter back streets where there’s not as many people—streets where the closely-packed buildings give way to the grassy yards and paved roads of nearby neighborhoods.

“Should we talk about our families now, or is it too soon?” you say jokingly. “You know, that seems to be the only thing we haven’t mentioned after talking about everything else under the sun.” You’re not entirely sure why you bring this up while knowing your own relationship with your parents isn’t great, but you are curious to hear about Ten’s family.

“I don’t really know mine,” he replies.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You feel a little bad about it, thinking there was definitely a reason why he never mentioned the topic.

Ten looks confused for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it’s not like that. Sommu never form close bonds with their parents or siblings.”

You give him a curious look. “Why not?”

“Well, we aren’t born or raised the human way,” he explains. “Our parents have a bunch of us at once, raise us for the first couple of years, and then go off to reproduce again and continue the population.”

You’re startled at that. “Just for a few years? How do you survive?”

“We age faster...both physically and mentally. We become independent around 4 or 5 years old, and we can live without our parents.”

“That’s...definitely very different.” You try to wrap your mind around that information, though it’s difficult. Even with your not-so-healthy relationship with your parents, you couldn’t imagine having no family whatsoever at such a young age. You also can’t even begin to comprehend what it’d look like to be taking care of yourself at only 5 years old, fast aging or not. “But, you said a bunch at once...how is that possible?”

“We are formed inside things like eggs. It’s not like your form of childbirth. See?” And you become flustered when he lifts his shirt up to show his lack of a belly button, right there in the middle of the street.

“Uh, wow.”

“The human concepts of ‘family’ and ‘relationships’ are...very new to me.” He seems a little embarrassed to admit this. “That’s why I, um, joined a dating app, for more experience...I was told I need to learn to be more…” He searches for the word. “Im...pertinent?”

“...Empathetic?”

“Yeah, that.”

“So, did that come from a previous partner, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ve had two relationships since I’ve been here.” He seems wistful now, maybe a little sad. “They didn’t work out well. Maybe we were too different.” Before the mood can shift too far into negativity, Ten turns to you with a soft smile. “But maybe that’s not the kind of thing you want to hear while we’re on a date.”

You shake your head and smile. “I don’t mind, it’s interesting to know about.” More than interesting. You want to ask him a hundred more things about what his life was like when he first got to Earth. “Anyway, you can never have too many new starts in life. Let’s enjoy this one.”

At the end of your date, Ten walks with you back to your place. It’s almost midnight at this point, with you both walking all the way back from downtown. You’d drawn more than a few skeptical stares over the course of the day, but you both did your best to ignore those and just focus on each other.

“I’m really glad we got to go out today, it was fun,” you say, hugging your arms to yourself to shield against the cool spring breeze.

“I think I haven’t had that much fun in a while,” he agrees. Ten smiles wide then, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his teeth, and you have to do a double take.

“What—”

“Oh, that. Sometimes I forget everyone doesn’t have this...” And when he sticks his tongue out, you see clearly now that it’s split halfway down the middle. Sort of like how a snake’s would be. “D’you like it?” His expression is wicked when he asks this, and a strange heat sweeps through your body.

“Wow.” You cringe at your lackluster answer, but that’s the only thing you can muster up at the moment, too busy internally questioning yourself. You’ve seen body modders with split tongues in documentaries and on the internet, but it’s never appealed to you like this before, and you don’t know what to do with that new realization.

“It’s okay, it takes some getting used to.” He gives you a smile that might be called innocent by anyone else, but to your eyes it’s quite obvious he’s proud about making you flustered.

“Getting used to...yeah, I’m sure.” There are about 15 different questions you want to ask him about that, too, but you aren’t going there on the first date.

“So...can I expect to see you again?”

“Of course.” You smile again at the hopeful note in his tone. “Just let me know whenever you want to go out again.”

Before Ten leaves, he places a hand on your shoulder and kisses you on the cheek. It’s a simple and short kiss, but it still makes you blush beneath your brown skin.

You wave goodbye to him from your doorstep as he goes, feeling like you’ve finally done something right for the first time in a long time.

You’d taken a chance with dating an extraterrestrial, someone so different from yourself and your species, and you figured it would be a new experience. Obviously. What you did not bet on, however, was the idea that you’d fall for Ten so fast.

After three months of dating exclusively, you feel like you could say you love him, which is frighteningly quick for you; though you don’t tell him this yet.

You’ve decided to bring him to meet your family. The idea frightens you, because your parents have never been very receptive to the aliens’ migration. But you are still holding out some hope that maybe they’ll realize all their assumptions were wrong, and that you’ve found a nice man who you love and who you’re sure loves you just as much. Whether he’s human or not shouldn’t matter.

You manage to set a date when all your schedules match up so you can bring Ten over to your parent’s house. Ten is nervous—more nervous than he was when you went on your first date—which you find a little surprising. You’ve gotten used to him being the one who you can lean on, who always seems to know the right answer.

“Do you think it will go well?” he asks, his tone implying he’s not confident of the answer.

“I hope so.” You give him a smile that you hope is reassuring and squeeze his hand.

When your parents open the door, there’s visible surprise on their faces. You’d already told them your boyfriend was not human, which drew doubtful responses when you first said it, but they’re acting as if they never knew that information—as if this is the first time they’re seeing an alien, period.

“Um…hi, mom, dad.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ten says, though his own tone is overly formal, like he doesn’t know how he should speak. “I’m Ten.”

Your parents pause for a few moments longer. Finally, the awkward quiet is broken. “We thought you were just messing,” your dad says, though he steps out of the way to let you both come in, if a bit reluctantly.

“I—no.” You’re uncertain how to respond to that, though you don’t feel optimistic about what it entails. Your mother doesn’t say anything at all, just stares at you and Ten like you’re both strangers who’ve just waltzed in uninvited. She goes back in the kitchen to finish dinner once the door is closed, not saying anything to either one of you, and you already feel a cold pit settling in the bottom of your stomach.

Your dad sits in the living room with you and Ten, and another awkward silence ensues as your dad gives a stiff smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He clasps his fingers together and pulls them apart repeatedly, like they’ll give him the answers for what’s going on.

“This is just a fling, right? Of course you won’t be staying with this ma—” Your dad almost says man but then stutters, thinking maybe the term isn’t appropriate since Ten isn’t human. He makes a vague gesture to fill in the space of the missing word.

“It’s not a fling,” you say, feeling like you’ve had cold water poured down your back. You’re sitting straight and still on the couch, and it’s not comfortable, but you’re too tense to move. Ten is almost equally stiff beside you.

“Y/N, we just want you to make good decisions for yourself.” That’s what your dad says out loud, though the look in his eyes finishes the rest of that sentence: And I don’t think this is a good decision.

“I am,” you insist. “I don’t need to be told that over and over again.”

“Me and Y/N are happy together,” Ten explains, and your dad seems a little shocked that he’s decided to speak.

“Do you truly think you’re what she needs?” your dad asks. You’re not sure what makes you more angry; the question itself, or the fact that he keeps his tone non-accusatory and light, as if he’s only asking something like where do you work? Like the answer doesn’t matter because he’s already made up his mind.

“As long as Y/N wants to keep seeing me, there’s no reason to stop our relationship.”

A sound of displeasure comes from your mother in the kitchen, and your skin prickles. Your dad nods to Ten’s answer, but he does so in a way that conveys he just wants this conversation to be over rather than consider anything that was said.

You deeply regret not leaving straight after that failed discussion, but you soon find out just how bad it can get once you all make it to the dinner table. Your mother is chillingly silent for the first half of the dinner, acting like neither you nor Ten exist, while your dad attempts to make awkward small talk about how things are going.

There comes a point where you can no longer handle the cold sweat and the nerves, and you put your utensils down. Not that you had much of an appetite anyway.

“Why won’t you even talk to me?”

Your mother glares. “You can’t guess? What kind of question is that to ask?”

You falter. You don’t know why she always does this to you. Ask ridiculous rhetorical questions that you both already know the answer to. Now you must sit here and explain why you asked like it isn’t already obvious.

“I’m visiting after I haven’t been here in a while. With my boyfriend. I thought...I don’t know. The least you could do—” Your mother shakes her head at the word “boyfriend,” and you already know everything else you said went in one ear and out the other.

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just stay with Christian?” she interrupts. “He had a decent job, came to see us often, and was NOT an alien.”

“But he cheated on me,” you say, a sickness rising in you.

“That’s what men do sometimes, Y/N. You deal with it and move on. You’re supposed to be strong—fix whatever is making him do it.”

You and Ten exchange a tense look, and there is clear confusion whirling in his eyes, but you don’t say anything to each other. “That relationship is over. I’m trying to do something for myself for once, not whatever you think I should do.” Even saying those words makes you internally recoil, unsure of what the reaction will be, but you don’t take them back.

“You may be an adult but we’re still your parents. Frankly, you need to be with a man of your own race and species—not this blue Martian here. How would you even have kids?”

Ten gives a humorless laugh, like he wants to respond but doesn’t want to make the situation worse or offend you. “You know what, I should just leave,” he says abruptly, rising from his seat.

You get up quickly after he does, but your mom slams her hand on the table. “Y/N, you better not walk out of here.”

You feel defeated and exhausted, like you always do when dealing with your parents and their objections to every single thing you do, but you decide not to give in this time. “Stop treating me like I’m still a child, ma.”

“What does being an adult matter when you still act childish? Don’t come back here crying when this doesn’t work out. I’ve already warned you more than enough.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

“So now you think you know better than me, when you couldn’t even keep a man the first time around.”

“This is hopeless,” you sigh, feeling wounded and angry at all these cheap shots.

“Y/N, please just listen to your mother for once…” your dad interjects, but you try your best to ignore their protests as you grab your things and follow Ten to the door. You can still hear your mother’s angry complaints as you close the front door behind you, though you’re surprised—but grateful—that neither of them attempt to follow you outside.

The ride back home is uncomfortable and mostly quiet.

“I’m sorry, Ten,” you say, feeling like you’ve been frozen from the inside out despite it being nearly summer. You’re near tears when you speak. Ten shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’s not your fault…” he replies weakly, though his words aren’t very persuasive to either of you.

He still walks you up to your door when you arrive back at your place, trailing slightly behind you. The night air is distractingly humid, wrapping around the both of you like a physical thing. Neither of you know what to say to each other.

When you get to your front door, you turn to look at him. “I shouldn’t have made you come. I should’ve known...”

“I wanted to come,” he points out. “You didn’t make me do anything.” Ten’s tone isn’t outright harsh, but the words are noticeably sharp. Maybe he realizes it, because his face softens as if he’s said something wrong.

You nod. It’s as if there’s a mountainous gap between you two that you just can’t cross right now. “I get it.” You say this almost mindlessly, because you’re not sure what you’re getting, exactly. Your hand rests on the doorknob. You don’t want to end the night on this awkward and painful note, but neither of you are making any progress with this lack of a real conversation. Maybe now isn’t the right time to try to talk about it.

“I think...I’ll just go home tonight.” You expected he’d say that, but the words still make your heart hurt, even if you don’t want them to. He looks like he might say something else, but he just gives you a small nod before starting off.

“Ten…” You don’t know what you want to ask of him or tell him, if anything, but his name slips from your lips like it’s something you can’t keep inside.

Ten stops for a moment and turns back to you. He steps closer again, leaning forward to give you a soft kiss on the lips. When he pulls back, his eyes hold you in place.

He mumbles, “I’m not mad at you,” before leaving.

More than anything, you want to know how Ten is doing, but you’re too ashamed to contact him for the first couple days after that mess of a night. Maybe he thinks you’re just like your parents and doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. His reassurance at the door wasn’t enough to soothe your worries, and you end up tearing yourself up internally over it—repeatedly recalling the warmth of his lips and wondering if that’s maybe the last time you’ll ever feel it.

Similarly, nothing but radio silence comes from his end. He doesn’t respond even after you finally muster up the nerve to send him a text—a short text, but still a message all the same—and you fear he must really be done with you.

On Ten’s part, he does have one justification for it; he’s preoccupied with dealing with the avalanche of unpleasant memories and emotions that incident resurfaced. Everything about what your parents said and how they looked at him reminds him of his past and ongoing struggles with trying to assimilate on Earth.

Even though he’s often very sure of himself and what he wants, he begins wondering if he’s “enough” for you. Maybe you’ve just been humoring him this whole time, or you’ve decided your parents are right and you’d be better off with another human.

Those thoughts keep him up into the early morning hours, and he soon realizes he doesn’t want to let you go. In fact, he’s not sure what he’d do with himself if you decided to walk out of his life right now, and the idea of it makes him ill. Which makes him feel even more foolish for tuning you out.

Ten’s anxiety over losing you culminates in him standing on your doorstep again after almost a week of emptiness and not knowing how you were thinking or feeling—which has been killing him in its own way.

You’re not quite sure how to feel when you open the door and see him on the other side, but relief shoulders its way to the forefront.

“Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“Can you please—”

You both speak at the same time, your words breaking afterwards.

“You can talk first,” Ten says.

“Come in.” You let him in the door, and the words start spilling before you know how to stop them. “Ten, I-I’m...really sorry. I should’ve known better than to put you in that situation, but I thought…” Your words trail off. You don’t want to let him know just how desperate you still are for your parents’ approval sometimes. Even though it’s a fruitless case. “I just wanted it to go well. I want things to work now, for us. I really, really want things to work for us.”

Ten surprises himself with how quickly he moves to take you in his arms before the last words have even finished settling in his mind. He hugs you tightly. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t want me anymore,” he whispers, like he’s telling you something forbidden.

“That couldn’t happen.” You’re saddened he’d come to that conclusion. “But...it’s not fair for you to leave me in the dark, either. I want to help you...so would you please let me?”

Ten squeezes you a bit tighter, as if you might disappear from his arms. “I’m sorry I ghosted you...it brought back bad memories of how things were when I first got here. When people were more open about treating me like some kind of enemy. I didn’t know how to deal with it.” You tuck your chin into his shoulder and listen to his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of his words. “Y/N, I’m not sure if I’m very good at love, or if I even know enough about it. Maybe the others were right and I’m kidding myself with something I’ll never properly learn. But, I…” His voice cracks. “I-I think I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Entirely overwhelmed, you answer his admission with a long kiss, cupping his face in your hands. His response to your kiss is automatic, the knots of tension unraveling in your embrace.

“I love you, Ten,” you whisper against his lips after you separate. Here and now, it doesn’t feel too soon at all; there couldn’t be a better time to say it. His expression is a lot of things at once. Relief, happiness, contentment...he’s blushing, but it shows up as a darker blue on his already blue skin. When he smiles, it turns his whole face into a picture of joy.

“I want to go away.” Quietly, you tell him this as you rest your head in his lap.

You’re both lying on your couch, the room dim and the sound of rain occupying the silence. A downpour started coming down soon after Ten got to your place. You’ve sat there just like that and listened to the rain on the windows for the past couple hours, not wanting to do anything else or separate from each other. You knew he wouldn’t want to go home, and you didn’t even have to ask him to stay.

Ten’s been petting your hair the whole time. The motion of his fingers in your kinky strands makes you sleepy, but now the movements pause at your words.

“Go where?” he asks.

“Away from all this. My parents hate me, and they won’t let me have any peace as long as I’m with you. I just want to go away for a while.” Despite you overflowing with love after finally getting your feelings out in the open, the thought of your parents’ disapproval has lingered steadily in the recesses of your mind. You close your eyes against the tears that begin to well up. Ten’s quiet for a few more moments, and then begins stroking your head again.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A few tears fall despite you trying to keep them in, and your eyelids flutter when you feel Ten’s fingers on your face, wiping them away. “Then we’ll go away.”

Ten’s homeland is a planet where the sun—or rather, a star called Proxima Centauri that’s much like the sun—is always out, no matter what time of day it is. There are days where it rains or gets cloudy, but night never falls and the star never dips any lower in the sky, always staying pinned in that same spot like a tack on a corkboard. That everlasting light throws your body clock off, and combined with this weird new form of jet lag associated with space travel, you are a mess for the first week or so after your arrival.

Ten makes a few jokes about fragile human bodies, but for the most part he tends to you as best as he knows how and tells you stories about how he grew up to get your mind off the discomfort. He feeds you these neon green drinks that don’t look like anything on Earth you’ve had before, and although they do make you feel better, you begin to think maybe you should’ve had a wellness plan before running off-planet.

You aren’t the only human who’s ever visited or even lived there, though, which gives you reassurance about adjusting to everything. By now, there’s a small population of human beings living here due to the interplanetary exchange initiated by Earth.

Before you left, Ten told you he had a small home in his homeland. You didn’t quite expect to hear this, since he’d been on Earth for a while now and had no family to return to. Though he’d migrated, he still expected to come back to his planet every so often, if only to visit. Now was as good a time as any.

Although many differences exist, the scenery is much like Earth’s; there are ecosystems with plants and animals and other living beings—like the Sommu themselves. Ten’s homeland is not filled with wall-to-wall technology like you’d expect an alien city to be, based on the small examples you’ve seen on Earth. You might compare it to the tropics back on Earth, with the Sommu yielding to nature’s rightful place in their ecosystem instead of clearing out whole forests or continually mining for resources. Ten is amused by your struggle to comprehend the newness and unfamiliarity of it all.

When you feel good enough to explore, he starts taking you to the beach often. It looks mostly like any other beach, but there are large coral forms that grow out of the ocean, reaching up towards the impossibly blue and constantly illuminated sky. Because there is no moon to guide the tides, the water is eerily still, the surface mirror-like—like a huge lake or pond that extends in almost every direction for miles. You’d almost believe it was a mirror if you hadn’t seen a bird-like creature skimming across the surface as it flew by, creating fleeting ripples.

You swim around a little in the still waters after Ten convinces you that you aren’t going to turn into a fish or something equally scary. He has to hold both your hands the entire time to get you to step in, and he doesn’t let go until you’re confident enough to explore the water on your own.

“Just focus on me, okay?” His smile is bright and shining against his blue skin, and he looks you directly in the eyes as he backs into the water, breaking the surreal stillness of it with his movements. “It’s just like the water on Earth.”

“Okay, okay,” you say uncertainly, gripping his hands and stepping in tentatively. The water does feel like any other water you’ve touched throughout your life, which helps you calm down slightly. His hands stay tight around yours as you get waist-deep into the water.

When you’re finally able to let go of him, he claps his hands more enthusiastically than the situation probably calls for. “Yay, you’re a big girl now!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re not funny, Ten.”

On a bright afternoon, Ten lets you into a room of his house you haven’t entered before. You’ve passed by this shining white door several times, but it’s always remained firmly shut until now.

“What’s in here?” you ask as you hold his hand.

“That’s what I’m going to show you.” He laughs and pushes the door open.

You think it’s a darkroom at first, seeing nothing but dim light and the shiny surfaces of what looks like photographs as your eyes adjust. But when he touches his hand to a panel on the wall and the lights come on, you realize it’s not a darkroom. More like a small gallery for all his pictures.

The “pictures” are physical, but they aren’t like the old Polaroids or film photos that have begun fading out of existence on Earth. They’re small crystalline squares that play eternally-moving videos on their glossy surfaces—a bit different from the translucent holograms Earth adopted. You step further into the room to look at them. It’d probably take days to explore them all, there are so many. Different scenes play out as soundless movies, and when you look for long enough, you realize they’re split into different categories. Numerous events within a life.

Many are of the beach, other scenic places around his homeland, oddly-shaped buildings, and plants in colors that there are no names on Earth for. You step closer to one of the walls to look at the collection of images more closely. You actually do “recognize” a select few, linking them together with old memories Ten had shared with you only weeks ago. There’s so much happening in these small snippets of time, so many stories you haven’t yet heard, that you feel like you could look at them forever and not get enough.

“This is...something else.” Your words seem inadequate, but you don’t quite know how to express your sheer wonder.

“I could take some of you,” Ten suggests, from somewhere behind you. “I want to.”

You glance back at him. “Hm, yeah.”

“I’m serious.” Ten comes up behind you to clasp his arms around your waist. He tucks his chin into your shoulder. His lips are close at your neck, and you let them linger there. One of your hands goes to his own hand that’s over your waist, and you run your fingertips over his knuckles as you gaze at the photo wall before you. “I think you’d be the perfect muse.”

“You could do that.” You’re still entranced with it all, and you already know you’ve made up your mind to let him take as many photos of you as he wants.

The next time you go to the beach, Ten takes some photos of you standing near the huge coral forms—or at least as close as you are willing to get—and he laughs at your lingering hesitation.

Still, the crystalline photos he takes of you are the embodiment of perfection. When you look over them later, watching yourself twirl around and strike silly poses in the water, you can almost hear the sound of your laughter twining together and feel the warmth of a star that’s not the sun on your skin.

“What if we stayed here?”

You ask Ten this while you’re lying in his bed, watching a kaleidoscope of shapes on the ceiling. The bedroom window is open to allow the breeze to come in. The ceiling of the bedroom—and every other room in the house—is more like an ever-changing reflection of shapes and colors than an actual ceiling. You might compare it to a mirror, like the surface of the ocean, but you think it’s much more complex than that. Sometimes you can see the distorted outline of yourself in it, like a funhouse mirror. Other times, you see the sky above.

Ten lies beside you with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach, and he turns his head to look at you.

“Stayed?”

“If we just decided not to...go back to Earth.”

He pauses for a few moments. “Is that a good idea? You have a whole life there...and your friends…” Ten doesn’t mention your family, which you are grateful for.

You sigh. Nothing like a quick injection of reality after letting your imagination get ahead of you. “We’d have to go back. I’d have to tell them goodbye. And sort some other things out. Maybe it wouldn’t happen right now. But, after I do everything I need to do on Earth...maybe I could migrate here.”

“That’s a big decision to make...and it should be yours to decide.” Ten pauses again, like he’s weighing his words. “You know I don’t have many connections on Earth…” In other words, leaving Earth and returning home for good might not be as big of a deal for him as it would be for you.

You sit up and look out the window, seeing how the warm wind stirs the trees outside. “I want to.” You say it almost inaudibly, your words nearly carried off by the breeze. You turn back to him only to find him already there, sitting across from you and looking at you closely. Your faces are only inches from each other’s as he searches your eyes. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll do anything you want to.” Ten’s voice is earnest, like he’d follow you to Hell and back if you asked, and you believe him.

Resting your hand on his cheek, you kiss him.

This kiss is a little different from the ones you’ve shared before—more yearning. More desperate. You kiss like there won’t be enough time to do all the things you want to do with each other—to each other. His split tongue bumps against yours, caresses it, and it causes a shiver to go down your spine, like it always does.

You end up lying back on the bed again with Ten’s body crowding yours in, legs tangling together and hips pressing against one another’s. Neither of you have made a move to take the other’s clothes off yet, but then he separates from your lips for a long moment and studies your features, from your eyebrows down to your mouth.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Your mouth drops open slightly.

“I want to see it.” He takes one of your hands and guides it up under your skirt and between your legs, pressing your fingers against your sex through your underwear, and you look at him with wide eyes, taking a deep breath. He lets go of your hand, and you keep yours right where it is. You’re slightly nervous about his black gaze trained on you, unrelenting and prying, but you begin to move your hand anyway.

Over your underwear, you press your finger between your lower lips, sliding between them and over your clit, and a little tremor goes through your body. You find yourself getting wet more quickly than you normally would with Ten watching you as you tease your entrance. You breathe a little heavier but make no sound yet. One of Ten’s hands reaches out for your ankle, though he doesn’t do anything other than keep his fingers there, a light touch that keeps passing back and forth over your ankle bone.

You circle your fingers across your clit more insistently, your legs tensing as the pleasure mounts higher. Ten’s lips part as he watches you, a heavy breath escaping from his chest. The hand on your ankle slides higher up your leg, just below your thigh, like he wants to slide his fingers into the mix and take over, but he doesn’t make a move to do so just yet.

Finally, Ten reaches under your skirt to pull your sticky panties off, sliding them slowly down your legs and leaving them somewhere on the floor. You want him to touch you again, the brush of his hands against your hips not enough, but he doesn’t grant your desire. “Keep going,” he says, leaning back on his hands, and you can see he’s growing hard.

You bring your hand back to its original place between your thighs, sliding through the wetness more easily and shuddering when your fingertips graze over your clit. You slide a finger into yourself then. A small moan slips out, and you close your eyes, but Ten’s fingers pinch your chin—not enough to hurt, but the sudden touch makes you look at him. “Keep your eyes open.” His thumb presses into your lower lip, and he stares at your mouth for a moment like he’s imagining sliding something hard and hot between your lips.

Ten kisses you on the lips again, and this time he trails the kisses down your body until he’s gripping your thighs on either side of his face. You pause in your movements when he reaches the junction of your thighs, and you watch as he grabs your hand and slips your finger out of yourself. He sucks the slick digit into his mouth, and you cannot tear your eyes away from him.

He lets your hand go and pulls you a few inches closer to his face, dragging you across the bed, and you can barely get your bearings back to sit up again when he slips his tongue through your lower lips. You moan, and he responds to that by repeating it again, catching your clit between the split in his tongue, and wiggling both sides.

“Oh Jesus...oh fuck.” Your hands go to Ten’s hair, pulling on it as you push your hips closer to his mouth, your back curving up. He is alluring tucked between your thighs like this, teasing and sucking your clit with his split tongue and prodding his fingers at your hole until he chooses to slide two of them inside.

His free hand keeps you close against his face as he eats you out, that wondrous tongue sliding against the most sensitive part of your body and making you gasp with boundless pleasure. Little droplets of moisture bead at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels, your stomach tensing and releasing as you try your best to keep still.

He has to keep his grip on your body tight when you come, as you try to squirm away from his tongue because of how stimulated you are. He only lets you go after he’s satisfied himself with licking up all the wet that’s spilled from you.

Then he strips your skirt off for you, because he knows you’re not quite in a state to do it for yourself right now. He peels the rest of your clothes off similarly, which doesn’t take much time or effort to do; you’ve dressed lightly for the weather.

Ten looks at you lying beneath him on the bed, his gaze stuck somewhere between awe and lust.

He slips out of his own clothes with a certain practiced ease. Yes, he’s really blue everywhere. He looks mostly human-like everywhere, too, except for the lack of a belly button.

Ten kisses you deeply as he slips into you, and you clutch at his sides. He tries to keep his pace slow at first, maybe for your sake or to just savor how it feels, but he gives into the feeling of you squeezing around him and starts thrusting into you faster. There is already sweat sliding down to his jaw, though you think it might be because of the heat, too.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” comes out of you in a voice you hardly recognize as your own.

His pelvis sliding against your clit from the proximity of your bodies makes you curl your fingers into the strands of his hair, wanting to touch every part of him you can. His lips go to the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder, leaving little wet kisses behind as he wraps an arm around your waist and simply fucks into you, his shaft dragging against your walls.

He eventually separates himself from your neck, though it comes with some effort, to gaze at your face again. However, he finds that your eyes have drifted shut.

“Do you wanna come?” Ten asks, softly, gently, like you might break apart if he speaks too loud.

You’re a little winded from how he’s thrusting into you and can’t yet see the motive behind this question—because of course you do—but you answer with a shaky “I-I want to.”

“Then don’t look away from me.” His voice becomes harsher on these words.

“I…” Your lips move without any real words behind them as he thrusts into you harder, sinking all the way into you before pulling out to the tip. You want do what he’s just told you, but you find it difficult with the way he’s intent on burying himself into you, his eyes piercing into your own. “Mmm, I-I…”

You don’t know if you can, but the way he’s kindling your rising heat with each thrust makes you want to try very, very hard. Ten keep his hands on the sides of your face so you cannot look anywhere but at him.

The pleasure bears down on you more with each second, and you try to keep your breathing steady as another climax approaches.

“You’re almost there, come on baby,” he coaxes you, sloppily kissing the corner of your mouth before slipping his tongue in again. The way you gasp against his lips and tighten around him signals him to your orgasm, and he sits back to watch it play across your face, smirking at how you moan his name desperately.

Ten’s continued thrusts make you shiver from the flood of sensations overcoming your body, and you whimper at his movements until he pulls out and comes on your abdomen.

Ten gives you time to recover after you come down from your second orgasm, though he makes sure to lay a few more enamored kisses on your weakened body. He gets off the bed and exits the room after that. You don’t bother to ask where he’s going, because you know he’ll be back anyway.

When Ten comes back, he has his camera with him. The teasing tilt of his lips never leaves his face as he points it towards you. He takes a photo of you lying on his bed nude, with the breeze coming in and rustling the tree leaves and your hair, your skin shining bronze under the light of the eternal star. Then he comes closer, making the bed sink under his weight, and nudges your legs apart. He takes more photos of your lower stomach glistening with sweat and his cum—and photos of him sliding his slender fingers between your thighs and bringing you careening into another bout of euphoria.

The camera is soon forgotten after you come again. Ten climbs fully back onto the bed now and pulls you into his lap. His dick is hard again, and the length of it nudges against your lower lips, making you whimper from how sensitive you still are. He shushes you with a kiss and lifts your hips so he can slide into you, his shaft nudging that soft spot inside you and making you grip onto his arms.

You’re too mushy and dazed to do anything but let him push his hips up into you while you cling to him, your head lolling back. Ten’s mouth goes to the open expanse of your neck, and he wets your skin with his tongue.

The kaleidoscope of shapes above you on the ceiling morphs into one glistening reflection, throwing the blurred shapes of your bodies back to you. It’s like looking through a dense fog. You’re a little caught off guard by it, and you stare up at your nude forms. Ten looks up as well to see the cloudy figure of you cradled in his lap, and he only grins and thrusts up into you harder and smacks your ass in reply.

He grinds into you while he has you sitting full on his dick, and you think he must have set off your internal “reset” button somewhere between landing slaps on your ass and repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your mind is blissfully, amazingly blank. The only clear thing you can distinguish is how he feels in and around you.

When you come this time, it comes with a gush of wetness that makes Ten whisper several smug praises into your ear for being such a good girl and making a mess on him.

As you quickly find out, Ten’s refractory period seems to be nonexistent, while his stamina is overflowing.

Ten knows how to mix the pain with pleasure in a way that enhances both feelings, and you don’t know if you’ve ever experienced anything more perfect. One moment, he’ll say something romantic and fairytale-like to you before shoving your head into the pillow and taking you from behind in the next moment, pulling one of your arms behind you for leverage as he thrusts into you hard. You want him to do whatever he desires to you, and so you let him hammer into you until you think your hips and ass will be bruised by the next morning.

You’ve never knew that sex could be so carnal and so loving at the same time, but this is all of those things, and it makes you feel so full that you could split at the seams. You scream, cry, and moan more times than you can count, so enveloped by pleasure that it seems like the atoms of your body will simply dissolve from the intensity.

When you both finally become too exhausted to continue, it’s still daytime. Of course. But Ten draws the blackout shade forward and seals all the light out, and so you know it must be time to sleep. Time blends together here. Even if it’s not yet the midnight hour, it will be as long as you deem it so.

“Come here,” he says, and rolls you over on the bed so you don’t have to sleep in the wet spot. You grin in sleepy amusement against his neck as he hugs you to his body. “Let’s stay right here.”

You know he’s talking about sleeping for the next few hours, but you can also imagine he’s referring to your new life—one you’ll create together.

302 notes · View notes

kjack89 · 3 years

Text

Belle Épitaphe

Because this post has lived rent-free in my head for the past six years :’)

Happy Barricade Day, y’all!

ExR, canon compliant(ish) soulmate AU.

As was not uncommon, Enjolras’s parents hosted a party for him when he turned sixteen. Not quite a debut into society, it was instead an opportunity to gather and to wait for the words that would appear on his skin, just as they did on all upon reaching one’s sixteenth birthday.

The words would indicate his soulmark: the last words that his soulmate would ever speak to him.

It was an old tradition, the gathering for the words, dating back as long as any could imagine. But where once an entire village might gather to pray for good words, for words that revealed a name, or clue, of his soulmate’s identity, now it was more a formality to see if his parents need wait for a specific person to marry him off to, or if easier arrangements could be made. Now, instead of praying for a name, his parents – and more than a few young ladies from surrounding houses – hoped for vague words that could be uttered by anyone.

Enjolras hated every minute of it, dressing in uncomfortable, fancy clothing and pretending to make polite smalltalk with all of his parents’ friends. But most of all, he hated the very idea that some words that appeared on his skin might bind him to someone without his – or their – consent.

No matter how unlikely their meeting one day might be.

So he alone did not celebrate when he felt the words sear against his wrist; he alone did not hold his breath as he twisted his arm around to see the words that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

“Do you permit it?” his father read aloud for the assembled crowd, and his mother let out a small, delighted gasp.

“Such romantic words,” she told Enjolras, holding onto his other arm with both hands. “Think of what kind, loving wife will utter those words at the end of your long life.”

There was nothing Enjolras would rather imagine less.

And as he glared down at the words that had appeared on his arm, he vowed silently that he would never allow any to get so close to him as to say those words in any kind of final parting.

----------

It was, bluntly speaking, an easy vow to make and a far easier one to keep than Enjolras had at first anticipated, in no small part because he escaped from his parents before they could force him into anything resembling a courtship. Once he was in Paris, once he was surrounded by like-minded youths, he felt no need to give literally any thought whatsoever to soulmates, to soulmarks, or to the last words fate had destined someone to speak to him.

It had long since fallen out of fashion to endeavor to search for one’s soulmate, so it was not something of which most young men spoke, save in – gently or otherwise – mocking the lovelorn among them. How many times had Courfeyrac sighed and made an excuse for his errant roommate, telling them, “You really must forgive Marius; he is looking for his soulmate, after all”?

It was something to roll one’s eyes at, if the subject even came up at all.

And around Enjolras, whose sole concern could be best summed by those three words liberté, égalité, and fraternité, it very rarely came up.

He may well have gone to his grave without ever giving it another thought, were it not for a casual utterance by someone he knew not at all.

When the barricades arose, Enjolras was filled with conviction, even more so than what usually filled him, conviction and righteousness enough to displace what little patience he had for things not associated with the Cause for which he had pledged his life, and very likely his death.

Which was perhaps why his temper soured so quickly upon hearing the latest of Grantaire’s many drunken soliloquies. Usually he could block them out, or ignore them as he tended to more important things, but standing on the crest of the barricade, facing down what was to come, he could not find it in himself to ignore it, or Grantaire.

“Grantaire,” he shouted, “go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else than here. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”

Had he known what effect his words would have on the man, he might’ve tried shouting at him sooner. Immediately, Grantaire sobered, something Enjolras couldn’t quite read softening his expression. “Let me sleep here,” Grantaire said, almost gently, and Enjolras shook his head, already turning away.

“Go and sleep somewhere else.”

But Grantaire did not turn away, and something in his voice kept Enjolras rooted to the spot where he stood. “Let me sleep here—until I die.”

Anger welled in Enjolras’s chest as he stared balefully at Grantaire. When so many would doubtlessly lose their lives in service of freedom...what right did Grantaire have to use death as a bargaining chip, there of all places?

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He knew the words were harsh even as he was speaking them, a cold pronouncement of Grantaire’s character. But if Grantaire seemed affected by them, his expression did not show it. Only his tone seemed affected as he told Enjolras, his voice low, “You will see.”

He mumbled something more, something incoherent, but Enjolras was saved from having to decipher what else the man might possibly have said to him, but Bahorel shouting, “Here’s the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!”

And then Enjolras’s returned to the barricade and directing the efforts of the newest recruits who had arrived just as the rain stopped. They were a motley assortment of troops, but still Enjolras called each comrade as he gave out instructions.

As he paused near two men arranging a table on its side against the barricade, he could not help but overhear a snippet of their conversation. “I am confident we will survive this,” one said with a grunt as he shouldered the table into place. “After all, my wife did not utter the words marked on me before I left this eve.”

“Strange,” his companion said. “Your wife said the words marked on me when I left her this eve.”

The first man guffawed and shoved his companion with the camaraderie many of their number shared, their jokes about bedding each other’s wife continuing as they headed in the opposite direction, and Enjolras just shook his head before returning to the task at hand.

That should have been the end of it, an offhand joke shared between brothers at arms, but instead, the thought of the last words he might speak or hear stuck with Enjolras, even as the barricade was completed, even as they lost Prouvaire, even as they discovered the spy among them.

He endeavored to put it out of mind, and succeeded in ignoring it until they finally all settled in for the night. Then and only then did the thought begin to twist, low in his stomach. Especially when he thought of what he had said to Grantaire.

To say that Grantaire vexed him was a vast understatement; Grantaire vexed, irritated, confounded, and infuriated him. And yet for all his drunken ramblings and professions of belief in nothing, for his interruptions and distractions, for the way he had offered once to black Enjolras’s boots and for his failure to complete the one task Enjolras had ever deigned to assign him, Enjolras had never once been able to bring himself to send him away.

Not until that night.

And now, as he tried to get what little sleep he could in the shadow of the barricade as they waited for what battle was to come, he felt something like guilt seep through him.

He had not meant it, what he had said to Grantaire, and he knew better than most that the chance of them both surviving the barricade was not high. As much as he had never wished to care about the last words he said to any, the thought that those were the last words Grantaire might ever hear from him was unbearable.

After everything, he owed Grantaire a better farewell than that.

Mind made up, Enjolras stood to return to the Corinthe. The motion woke Combeferre, who had settled nearby. “Enjolras?” Combeferre asked quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras assured him. “There is simply something that I must do.”

He could not quite make out Combeferre’s expression in the darkness, but he knew him well enough to guess what look he might wear. “The best thing for any of our number right now is sleep,” Combeferre said. “And to let those already asleep continue so undisturbed.”

“And if the last words I said to you were in anger, would you sleep undisturbed?”

There was a challenge in Enjolras’s voice, but Combeferre did not rise to it. “Had I drunk that much wine, I imagine so,” he returned instead. “There is but one thing Grantaire would wish to hear from you, and as you cannot offer that, it is best to let him sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said. “But still I must try.”

If Combeferre made any further argument, Enjolras did not linger to hear it, instead slipping into the Corinthe and making his way to where Grantaire still lay with his head against the wooden table, fast asleep. Despite what Enjolras had said to him, his expression looked almost serene in the dim light, and Enjolras hesitated for a moment before shaking his shoulder. “Grantaire,” he said, his whisper sounding overly-loud as it pierced the silence. “Grantaire, wake up.”

Grantaire’s eyes blinked open, and he stared, unfocused, at Enjolras for a moment before his vision cleared enough to recognize the man half-kneeling beside him.

Then, to Enjolras’s surprise, his eyes widened in horror. “No!” he half-shouted, scrambling backwards from Enjolras and almost falling out of his seat. “No, no, please—”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras started, concerned, but Grantaire shook his head wildly.

“Do not speak to me, I beg of you,” he pleaded, and Enjolras frowned.

“I must,” he said firmly, and Grantaire let out what sounded almost like a whimper, covering his face with his hands. “Grantaire, please, you must let me say this. The words I last spoke to you – I would not have my last words to you be in anger.”

Grantaire lowered his hands, looking at once very sad and very tired. “But you must,” he said, sounding more sober than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Those words were the best gift you have ever given me.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you—” he started, breaking off when Grantaire turned suddenly, and yanked his shirt up to show Enjolras his back. “Grantaire, what—”

Again he broke off, but this time not in confusion. He broke off in recognition, seeing the words he had spoken reflected back at him from where they were marked on Grantaire’s skin. Almost without meaning to, he raised his hand to trace with trembling fingers the words he had shouted earlier. “Grantaire,” he whispered, though he knew not what to say after that.

Grantaire flinched, just slightly, at the sound of his name, and Enjolras pulled his hand away as if he had been scalded. “So,” Grantaire said, lowering his shirt after the silence that stretched between them had turned uncomfortable. “Now you see.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I do,” he said, “but I also do not. Those are my words, but they are not the last that I will have spoken to you.”

“Apparently not,” Grantaire said. “Though how I wish that they were.”

“What do you—” For the third time in as many minutes, Enjolras broke off as realization hit him. “Because if they had been, I would be your soulmate.”

Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “Long have I imagined what it would be like to hear those words,” he murmured, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “What might my soulmate be like, to have such harsh words be the last spoken to me? But then I met you, and I knew, if there was any from whom I could hear those words fall off his lips and have them be sweeter than any confession of love…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras bowed his head, his chest feeling tight. He could not pretend that he had been fully unaware of the way Grantaire looked at him, or spoke to him, but to have it confirmed like this was more than he thought he could bear. Especially now, with those words between them and so little time left. “So when I said them earlier…”

“I knew that if I were to die, it would be worth it to know that you were my soulmate.”

Grantaire delivered the words evenly, even as Enjolras looked away. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I said, and for all I have said after if I have ruined what peace you found.”

“May I ask one thing of you?”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “If it is again to black my boots…”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said. “I wish to know what words are marked on your skin.”

Enjolras hand flew almost immediately to the words on the inside of his arm, and he rubbed them subconsciously. “I am not certain what good it would do now,” he hedged.

“Perhaps none. But that does not change the fact that I wish to know.”

Enjolras hesitated before bowing his head in acquiescence and rolling his shirtsleeve up until the words were revealed, as dark and imposing as they had been when first they had appeared so many years before. He thrust his arm toward Grantaire, who bent his head to read the words silently to himself. Then he straightened and met Enjolras’s eyes. “I have seen the problem.”

Enjolras frowned, rolling his shirtsleeve down again. “What problem?”

Grantaire nodded toward his arm. “I’ve once asked you for permission to do anything.”

Enjolras laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

“And I doubt that even now I shall suddenly start.”

“Again, I suppose not.” Enjolras hesitated. “I have never given much thought to my soulmate, even to the idea in general. What good is a soulmate found only at death? My concern is with the rights of the living. Including the right to never find their soulmate if they do not wish.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I would never dream—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“I know,” he said softly. “And yet, there is a part of me that now hopes that I will not go to my death without hearing you say those words.”

He would never know what possessed him to say it – undoubtedly, the same instinct that had driven him to wake Grantaire in the first place, the same instinct that had stopped him from removing Grantaire from their meetings all these years, the same instinct that drew them together when they were the last two in the Musain late at night. It was that same instinct that made him painfully aware how close they were even then, and how little effort it would take to close that space and press his lips against Grantaire’s.

But he was saved from that instinct by Grantaire saying, quietly, “I am sorry.”

Enjolras blinked, confused by the apology. “What for?”

“That I will never speak those words.”

“Even if I were your soulmate, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to.” Grantaire gave Enjolras a small, sad smile, and the breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat. “To utter the words that would sever us...if those are the last words that I am to speak to you, then I would rather be struck dumb than speak our last.”

This time, when Enjolras again felt the instinct to close the space between them, he did not fight it, leaning in to kiss Grantaire. Grantaire was frozen for a brief moment before melting against Enjolras, curling one hand in Enjolras’s shirt and pulling him even closer. Enjolras reached up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, kissing him desperately, the weight of the moment leaving him wishing he could stretch the kiss into infinity.

But all too soon, he knew he had to pull away, to end the moment, because he knew Grantaire would never have been able to bring himself to. “I love you,” Grantaire told him, his hand still balled in Enjolras’s shirt, and Enjolras covered his hand with his own, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know.”

“Will you do one more thing for me?” Enjolras did not answer, just looked at Grantaire expectantly, and Grantaire swallowed, hard, before asking, a little hoarsely, “Will you say them again to me?”

Enjolras knew instantly that he meant the words he had spoken earlier, the ones written on Grantaire’s skin. “Grantaire—” he started, the name sticking in his throat.

“Please.”

Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand. “I cannot,” he said softly. “They were needlessly cruel then, and unspeakably so now.”

Grantaire just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps,” he said. “And yet, I am asking you to.”

Enjolras tilted his head, trying to read Grantaire’s expression. “Why?”

“Because hearing you speak those words again…I will go to my death with a smile. It is all I have ever wanted, to hear those words from you. And I beg of you the chance to hear them again.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt unbearably tight. “Grantaire—”

“I have been resigned to my fate for longer than you could ever know,” Grantaire told him, though there was no resignation in his expression. Just something as close to hope as Enjolras had ever seen there. “Will you not do me this last kindness?”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire’s expression did not flicker. “One way or another, I die with this barricade. So I beg of you, let me die in peace knowing, for however brief, that you were mine.”

For the third time, Enjolras said his name, but this time, it was not to deny him. “Grantaire—” He could barely speak around the lump in his throat, but he knew he must. He owed Grantaire this much. “You are incapable of believing—” Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed and Enjolras could not help himself, reaching out to again touch Grantaire’s cheek, his fingers so pale against the flushed skin. “—of thinking, of willing, of living—” His voice broke, and Grantaire opened his eyes and reached up to lay his hand over Enjolras’s, turning his head to press a kiss, featherlight, against Enjolras’s palm. “—of dying.”

They stayed like that for a long moment until Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Now go. And if the Lord is kind, I will see when I wake.”

Enjolras bowed his head and swallowed, hard, before nodding, just once, and retreating from the Corinthe without speaking another word.

It was done.

And he had a battle to prepare for, one he hoped would make him forget how much, in that moment, he wished to hear Grantaire say the words marked on his own skin.

----------

It was fitting, in a twisted sort of way, that Enjolras found himself back there, not even twelve hours later, backed into a corner with the barrels of twelve guns aimed at him.

They had offered to bandage his eyes, but Enjolras wished to stare down his death with what defiance he had remaining. He lifted his chin as the sergeant repeated his order, “Take aim!”

But then, another voice shouted from beyond them, a voice that Enjolras knew, a voice he had resigned himself to never hearing again: “Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

There were no words that Enjolras could muster as Grantaire crossed the room to stand next to him, but he did not need any.

His words to Grantaire would be his last. For whatever peace it might bring both of them.

“Finish up both at one blow,” Grantaire said to the sergeant before turning to Enjolras.

As their eyes met, Enjolras understood, finally. Romantic, his mother had called the words on his arm, because she had envisioned them said by a doting spouse at the end of a long life. But she could never have imagined how much more beautiful they would be when spoken by someone he had not realized until too late was the one person who could ever have been his soulmate, the one with whom he would die in service of the idea of freedom for all men.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asked. The first, last and only time Grantaire had ever asked his permission. The only time he had ever needed to.

And Enjolras wordlessly pressed his hand with a smile.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #fanfiction #les miserables #barricade day #canon era #soulmate au #we love pain and suffering #implied major character death #canonical major character death #because again...barricade day

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nazumichi · 2 years

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1. would you study me under a microscope if given the opportunity and 2. would you share your thoughts on marie's parents/childhood and/or how shirou and her could show affection to one another besides them pretending not to see when she is running a scam if i asked extra nicely??

1/ putting you in here 🔬 and also 🧫 and here also 🧪 !!! studying you rn, look at this sick petri dish 🧫🧫

2/ omg hiii soooo i’ve got notes on this, i’ve studied this, i’m extremely knowledgable in the marie-backstoryverse (because i made it up in my brain).

i think she came from a family outside the city as tricky as she is, that’s what makes the most sense to me. picking up habits and their ways, climbing to the top as she does in the city. one for one, out for herself.

i like to think there was another, there was a sibling in her life, a little brother. she takes responsibility for this kid, parallel to how she’s over michiru’s shoulder, correcting and teaching her toughly. who else will, in the case of that sibling? parents too fixated with their own survival, with pursuing their own wealth and riches and power.

parents more caught up in their own survival, she sought a new life for herself and herself only, just reaching adulthood. screw the kid, reluctantly perhaps, the self is priority of course. (enter the can of worms that is, while thinking of her as a burden, her parents might not want her gone. maybe they need her there for their own selfish needs, for her talent, for quite literally, a stepping stone).

then enter anima city, safe haven for beasts all over, place where you can rest your head and take a deep breath for once, according to what she’s seen. she’s smart, she picks up the inherent flaws, picks this place as less of “i can find a new calmer life for ME” and more of “if everyone there was gullible enough to fall for that, then i can thrive off them.”

she does get schooled. that’s important, she gets flung ten feet. she’ll get to some better place eventually, she’s just got to find her footing first, find work (which she does, a sequence of betrayal and boredom from the grand grandma and rabbit town -> flip and the family -> the mayor and shirou). of course there’s the everyday civilians she gives information/technology to, but you could divide her life in the city into those three eras more neatly.

back to the matter at hand, parents, no matter how far away she is from/uncertain of their fates, still cause her some uuuhh strife. it’s not about guilt, it’s not about a moral code, it’s about a nagging and unshakable “what if they come for me one day?” sort of feeling. ok that’s all my word vomit on that, now

3/ hi. hi and hello.

i think it’s pretty safe to say that marie is canonically something of an enjoyer of physical affection or really touch in general. we can see this in how she interacts with michiru (putting her hands on her shoulders, arm around her, holding her up in the manga).

i don’t think it’s an impossible stretch to say she treats shirou in the same way. sure, he could snap her in two like a glowstick, sure, he’s something of a downer a loner etc and etc, but i think the way they’re comfortable with each other is uuuuuuuhhh.

certainly interesting (goes down the rabbit hole that is why does he tolerate her as he does, why does he trust her, why is she so comfortable making jabs at him, talking as if they know each other well enough to point out behaviors of the other as unusual, common, etc etc e)

i like to think she’s very physically affectionate, linking arms, taking hands, putting a head on his shoulder. both out of “i feel comfortable with this man, he knows me so well, he’s the only person who does, we both need this” and also “it’s fun to watch them squirm.”

and he is….. a protector. he’s caring, he’s a little bumbling, but he’s caring before it all. he’s the sole person out here even vaguely worried about her, the only one who willingly seeks her out (oh miss lonely aren’t you so lonely you piece of shit) he would give her the coat from his back and his protection if she asked. which is what i believe anyway.

they’re both a little awkward with it. they’re very awkward with it actually. they’ve got weird and bumbling and awkward feelings that don’t entirely match the “and what if i am sitting in your lap while you talk with the council and your boss about horrible murder?? i have a right to be here” and the “i would kill for you if only you asked” actions.

they hold hands sometimes is what i’m saying, impulsive things. lean against each other. link arms, put heads on chests. pick each other up. lay in a place away from what everyone sees them as, they’ll have to get up and become those people again in a few hours, but now, they can think of simpler things and quite simply. each other.

number one victory roya

#ask #ollie tag #hi. hi. hi. you know. how i am. about. ayyyuuhghhhhhhhhhhgggggghhhhhhashhhhhgrrrrr

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stars-trash-18 · 4 years

Text

Adventures of Mando and his emotional GF

I’m so sorry for everything being posted as late as it is but depression is a bitch and I managed to kick her out long enough to write this. I’m surprised I got as many notes as I have been on this story but I forget we go feral for men in masks who are absolute units.

I everything spaced the way it is because my eyes can’t read large paragraphs close together, it bleeds together, so sorry if it’s annoying and maybe a little wrong in writing terms, also I hid a reference in this chapter-

Mando hired you for the sole purpose of keeping his antique flying, yet here you are sitting in the co-pilot’s seat rewiring the nav system while the child is in a crawl space doing your job of trying to get the control panel working. , “Mando tell me again why you put a literal toddler into the wall to do a job you pay me to do, correction did pay me to do,” you stated, using the space tape to keep a lever from going in the wrong direction.

Mando gumbled something before trying the panel again, “because he’s the only one small enough to fit, he has less of a chance of getting stuck and causing more problems,” he seethed. You knew he was more angry at the beeping panel than you, but you still glared at him for the tone he took with you. Before you could say anything he left the seat and went to check the child. “Now, you’re going to plug that red wire where the blue wire goes on the board, don’t let them touch their opposite charges and will electrocute you,”. Was this man seriously explaining electrical engineering to a toddler, a toddler you didn’t know if he was color-blind or not?

“Mando my dear I don’t think the child knows his colors yet much less basic electrical engineering, now stop acting like my dad trying to teach me and let the person with an actual degree do it,” as soon as the words left your mouth you heard the tell tale sound of somebody being slightly electrocuted and smoke puffing out. Without even thinking you jumped out of your seat and shoved the tin can away to pull the child towards you in a motherly embrace, cradling him into your chest as you rocked him slightly. More for your sake than his since he was giggling. Mando just stared at you, you thought because you were crazy, but really because he had never loved you more than in that moment.

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Mando set course for Nevarro while you prepared what was left of the broth, when Mando finally came down you turned your back to him so he could eat, he started to take his helmet off just enough to let his mouth stick out so long as you sat back to back during meals. You loved that you finally trusted each other enough to eat your meals together instead of in separate rooms like you used to. Even though you tried to get him to use a straw but he was a stubborn mudhorn, much like the signet on his shoulder and around your neck.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Mando, “Cyar’ika why do you never call me Din, you know it’s my birth name but you still call me mando?” he asked quietly, you almost missed it. The question startled you at first but it made you soften realising he sounded a little insecure, you entwined your fingers in his before answering.

“Your true name was revealed against your wish, the man who destroyed your people revealed it without your consent, so I don’t say it since you never gave me consent to say it, because where i’m from we have a public name and a true name, the true name is only revealed to partners and family and that requires consent,” you paused to take a breath, his hand squeezed your tightly as encouragement, “so until you give me consent to use your true name i’ll call you by your nickname,” you finished.

The silence between you two was thick and heavy but a chuckle sliced through it like a hot blade, “Cyar’ika I had no idea but you had permission to use it the moment the I gave you that signet necklace, in Mandalorian culture the signet is a sort of family crest, so we’re technically family.” He explained, nervousness tingling near the end at the mention of family. It took a minute for it to dawn on you that in a sense you were married.

“Din Djarin did we get married without my knowledge!” you shrieked, shocking both of you with the use of his full name rolling off your tongue. To Din it was music to his ears, but to you it was so much more. On your home planet, from what you remembered from your short 14 years there, saying somebody's true name for the first time was often in a loving manner, not to scold like you just did, and was a moment of great emotion for both parties. But Mando, Din you had to mentally correct yourself, just turned around and hugged you with his melodic laugh ringing in your ears.

“No cyar’ika we did not, I would have made sure you knew and proposed, Aliit ori’shya tal’din, family is more than blood so we aren’t married but you are my clan,” he explained resting his chin on your shoulder. “You mentioned earlier your father, would you mind telling me about him?” he asked patiently, giving you the option to close him out. Din had told you about his parents once and it moved you to tears, you had wanted to talk about your parents but you never thought of a good time.

You took a deep breathe before starting, “ my father was a flight engineer and my mother was a diplomat, they met on one of her diplomatic trips to Naboo and had me before the clone wars,” you gripped onto Din’s hand before continuing, “I only knew my parents for a few short years before my mother died during the Siege of Mandalore when her ship was mistaken for a Republican transporter, and my father died shortly after I turned twelve and a ship’s engine blew,” you muttered, as you had spoken Din pulled you into a tighter embrace, placing the child into your lap so you could stroke his ears.

“From what I remember my mother taught me various things of diplomacy like how to blend in or stand out, to notice weaknesses or strengths, and how to negotiate deals,” you laughed remembering one of her anecdotes she’d say in her haughty voice, “everything is negotiable nova, if they say it isn’t then they want something you have, she’d always tell me during these lessons,” you remarked before continuing, “my father was who I spent more time with, we’d always run off into my mother’s ship and take everything apart so I could put it back together, our hands n faces covered in grease and our hair always frizzy from the many times I electrocuted myself or going to the junk yard so I could learn how to repurpose parts from one ship to another.” you began to tear up remembering your parents and how they taught you how to survive in their own ways,how your mother always fretted over your clothing whenever a festival happened in town, your father cooking enough to feed an army so your mother would have a taste of home on her work trips, and how they always called you their little supernova.

Before Din could say anything the alert that you had arrived at Nevarro went off, making you both jump up to prepare for landing, already knowing you’d have to strap yourselves down for the rough landing.

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When you both touched down and were greeted by Cara and Greef, who promptly took the child from your arms like a grandfather would, You reluctantly let other engineers go near the ship, a weird feeling settling in your stomach but dissipating when Din took your hand. The man never showed PDA until recently, and you weren’t complaining the least bit being as touch-starved as you were, and promptly made your way into town.

“Mando what the hell happened to your ship,” Cara asked once they were out of the child’s earshot, said child’s eyes caught something in the market and Greef excitedly showed him the stall, you giggled at the question hearing Mando give his signature sigh.

“Had a run in with the Republic,” he answered briskly, causing you to hit his arm before turning to Cara.

“More like Mando wouldn’t stop getting holes blown in the ship, then when we thought it couldn’t get worse he sunk us in a harbor where I threatened to let haunt him if I died,” you stated matter of factly, before continuing on with your tour of the town. You prayed it was going to be a relaxing trip, but you would find out in 10 minutes that it was anything but and that you were about to regret your choice of going to college for engineering.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x reader #x reader #star wars x reader #din being a dad #emotional #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #baby yoda

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anzcty · 3 years

Text

So, I have never published a fanfiction before (I've written quite a few throughout my life but,,,, I don't even wanna talk about it) and my english is not the best because it's not my mother tongue but I wrote a Rayaari Oneshot in one sitting today and wanted to post it on here because I literally have nothing else to do. Sorry for grammar mistakes!

It's really angsty and sad though and I don't want to hurt anyone but writing this certainly hurt me, oh well.

⚠️ Trigger Warning: major injuries, death

(Raya's POV)

What if Raya didn't hold back at a certain point during her fight with Namaari in the Fang palace? What if anger took over her completely, causing her to make a mistake she'll forever regret deeply within her soul (and her heart).

She was blinded. Blinded with rage, blinded with anger. It's almost like she's functioning automatically at this point, clashing her Ba's sword against Namaari's equally sharp weapons. Each step happened without a second thought, because the only clear image in her mind was Sisu's body, pierced by an arrow and losing the everlasting glow it once maintained.

This is all Namaari's fault.

If only she followed her own plan instead of Sisu's. She knew that she couldn't trust Namaari, not after all those things she has done to her, done to her Ba, done to all of Kumandra (or at least, what remained of it).

There she was, clashing her sword against Namaari's, putting all of her force into each striking blow. This wasn't the very first time she has fought against the Fang princess, but this was certainly the most intense battle she has had with her in the span of the last few weeks. She could feel Namaari struggle with defending her blows, much to Raya's liking. Her blade found it's way against Namaari's sword in her left hand, causing the Fang princess to slightly loosen her grip. Raya took the opportunity to clash her weapon against it for another time, resulting in a loud metallic sound echoing in the empty palace. Namaari took a few steps back and tried to defend herself against her foe's continuous attacks, failing miserably as Raya grabbed her other hand in a swift motion and kicked her remaining sword to the ground. She was now defenselessly taking several steps back while facing the Heart Princess.

This is all Namaari's fault.

The fight was over. Raya has clearly won the upper hand and Namaari had no other choice but to surrender. After all, she's the one responsible for the events happening around them. The Fang palace is slowly crumbling around them and there was no hope for the people to be safe now that the last dragon is gone, too.

This is all Namaari's fault.

She was the one who gave Raya a gift and therefore a reason to trust her. Namaari on the other hand used said trust against her, causing the world to shatter completely. She was the sole reason why she lost so many years of her own life while trying to survive in a broken world. And when she tried to take the next step, Namaari stabbed her in the back yet again through the action of bringing a crossbow to their supposedly peaceful meating. Sisu was now gone, the Druuns are closing in and humanity is bound to face their last remaining hours.

Without a second thought the Heart Princess lunged forward quickly, glaring into Namaari's soul in contempt of all the painful things she has caused her throughout their journey. Namaari's eyes widen in shock but Raya only responded with the same hateful face she has kept for the whole battle.

It was until she heard yet another metallic sound fill the atmoshpere around them when she tripped forward with the body in front of her that seemed to slowly lose it's balance. Now it's Raya's eyes that widen in shock. Suddenly she wasn't blind anymore. She could see a clear image right in front of her.

Raya's sword was buried right below Namaari's chest. She still held onto the grip of her sword but quickly put an arm around Namaari's waist to prevent her from falling to the ground. Raya's breath quickened up, slowly realising what she has done and what certainly can't be undone now. "Oh god", she whispered, kneeling down with Namaari's body in her arms. "Namaari, I-" She didn't continue because regardless of what she'd say, nothing would be able to help her. Panic rose up in the long haired woman who was now desperately looking around for help. "Raya", Namaari said in a weakened voice. The Heart Princess moved her face towards her foe, tears building up in her eyes. "It's okay", she breathed out shakily while placing a hand on Raya's arm. "No, it's not okay! Namaari I- this- I didn't want this to happen", she said while simultaneously trying to hold her body with both arms now.

"I know Raya" Namaari locked her eyes with Raya's.

"But I deserved it"

Guilt washed over her. She could have ended the fight the moment Namaari was disarmed but instead she strictly followed her cloudy and anger infused mind. She did indeed deserve to be hated by Raya, be shouted at by Raya, be repeatedly scolded for all the things she has done, but she certainly did not deserve this.

"No, you didn't-"

"I did. After all the things I've done, I don't think I could have ever lived with all this guilt weighing on my shoulders. I'm sorry Raya.... I never meant any of this to happen"

Raya kept her eyes on Namaari's face, realising that the princess was indeed speaking the truth. The tears that were slowly streaming down the weakened face were not for the physical pain she's currently feeling but rather the pain she has caused the person who's holding her tight in her arms. Namaari felt a lot of guilt. She has probably felt it all those years ever since the dragon gem broke. After all, she was only a little girl solely following what she was taught. Just like Raya.

All of a sudden, something catches Raya's attention.

The long haired woman glanced over to a small object lying a few inches away from them on the ground. It reflected the remaining sunlight that fought it's way through waves of dusty particles that have been surrounding the two figures throughout their whole confrontation within the royal building.

It was the dragon pendant Namaari has once given to Raya as a gift when they were children. Raya has kept it for six years until she finally gave it back to Namaari so that the two could work together from now on. This pendant meant the world to her, but it also meant the world to Namaari. She couldn't figure out why she has kept it for so long, considering the fact that it was a present from someone who used her trust against her.

But something within her has always found comfort while looking at the pendant in very difficult times. She always thought it was because the jewelry represented Sisu, but now she might recognize the actual reason.

Namaari.

Once her name shot through her mind, she looked at the woman in her arms again. She felt her heart sink as she found Namaari's eyes closed, her mouth just slightly agape and her chest not moving anymore. Raya errupted in tears at the sight, holding Namaari's lifeless body as close as possible towards her own.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry", she wispered into her hair while swaying back and forth with her own trembling body.

This is all my fault.

#raya and the last dragon #raya and namaari #rayaari #remind me to never ever write angst again I hate it here #I'm so sorry for this #I might make up for it with a fluffy oneshot in the future :)

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perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

Text

We made a vow (Ethan x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hey, hi, hello! How are we doing this (kinda, but not really, uni started and I feel the need to sleep and complain even tho nothing has happened yet, really) fine day? It's weekend, guys! Yesterday I got an ask with an idea that felt way too painful and emotional for me to not write. (I almost cried while writing it, cause I got emo :) ) So, we brainstormed; we wrote; we made an edit; here we are now.

It’s part of the ESIMY series but can be read as a separate work. (E and C got married before they started working together. That’s about all you need to know.)

Summary: What impact would the events of Chapter 11 have on Ethan and Claire if they were married at the time?

Enjoy! <3

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Nothing that happened so far that day clued him in that something was about to happen. He went about his day as usual, depending on his coffee to push him through the sleepiness he was feeling. A slight smirk appeared on his lips every time he remembered how his wife kept him up all night, being the sole reason for his tiredness. She would, of course, deny everything and say that it was him who kept her up, not the other way around, but in those moments, neither of them ever cared who started and who made it last.

Everything that day was going perfectly. Which should have been his first red flag.

He never would have believed it was possible to happen, but as soon as he turned the corner, the air changed. A blow to his chest and a hand wrapping around his heart, squeezing tighter with each step forward he took. It was getting harder to breathe and he couldn’t explain it. Then he looked inside the room of the senator, and suddenly he knew everything and nothing at once.

Claire noticed him almost immediately. Their silent conversation lasted only a fraction of a second, after which he was throwing himself at the door, trying to reach her and find answers to his confusion. But the door wouldn’t budge; her grip on the handle was tight, her shoulder keeping the door closed.

“Ethan, don’t come in here.” She exclaimed, panic seeping into her features. He didn’t understand; he desperately needed to, though, because with each moment that passed with a barrier between them, the chances of him keeping a level head were getting smaller and smaller.

“Claire, what’s happening?” he asked, pulling his eyes away from her, not without effort, to diagnose the situation in the room. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, painting a horrifying picture in his mind. He looked back at her, pleading with his gaze for her to tell him that it wasn’t what he already knew was the case. But she couldn’t do that.

“Travis just tried to kill the Senator. Ed escaped, and whatever was in that can got on Travis, Danny and Bobby. Rafael and I were affected too, though not as much.”

“How much?”

“I breathed some in. Maybe some more on my hands.” They both looked down at her wrists, a layer of an unknown substance sparkling in the bright light of the room. “It’s bad, Ethan. I just don’t know how bad yet.”

Ethan refused to look away from her for a long moment. If only he could take her into his arms and shield her from it all. They could be far away from this, far away from idiots like the Senator, far away from danger. It was too late for that now; she was already affected. She could already be on her way to leaving him, and all he was able do was stop and stare at her. Scared that if he looked away, she would disappear.

After making sure that no one could see her face, she mouthed ‘I love you’, her lower lip trembling as tears threatened to fall down her cheeks. He couldn’t mirror her gesture, with people standing behind her having the potential to see him, but he could place his hand on the glass and pretend that he could feel the warmth of her hand when she did that too.

“I’ll make it right, Claire. You’re not dying on me. Not now, not ever.”

--------------

“Dr. Herondale, you need to change into these.” A nurse’s voice was a bit quiet due to the hazmat suit she wore. Extending her hand, she handed Claire a plain gown, waiting patiently for her to change in the bathroom. When she was handed back the clothes the blonde doctor was wearing, she noticed a necklace around her neck. “All the jewelry too.”

Claire shook her head. “I never take this off. I can’t.”

“I’m afraid there’s no other choice, Dr. Herondale. I’m sorry about that.” She responded with a sympathetic look on her face, but there was no discussion.

With a shuddered breath, Claire reached for the clasp at the back of her neck, taking the necklace off tenderly. A golden band was hanging from it. Her wedding ring. When she’s at work, she keeps it hidden to not raise any questions, and so does Ethan. But as soon as their shifts end, they fall back into the comfort of their marriage and rings go back on their fingers.

She traced the rim of the ring with her thumb. Pensively, she turned to the nurse. “Can you give it to Dr. Ramsey? For safekeeping?”

“Of course, I’ll get that to him right away.”

Claire didn’t have to wait long to see her husband again. As soon as he got the ring, he shot up from his seat and practically ran to her. She was sitting by the wall, eyes closed most likely due to a wave of nausea that she was complaining about the last time he saw her.

“Claire?” he called out, his voice coming out much gentler than he knew it should. She looked at him, standing up slowly to walk over to the window. She didn’t even have to ask to know why he was there.”

“You got it, right?” she asked as a formality, an attempt to make them both feel better. He laughed quietly, raising his hand to show her a thin golden chain, wrapped around his hand lightly, a sparkling band touching his wrist.

“How are you feeling?” he nodded towards the room, grasping at any shred of information to ease his mind even a little bit.

“My head hurts a bit, but nothing else has changed. Any progress on the diagnosis?” as soon as the question left her mouth, his face fell. He shook his head, closing his eyes in shame.

“I feel like I’m letting you down.”

“Ethan, no.” she interrupted him before he could say anything else. “I can’t shake you literally, so you’re going to have to do that yourself. None, and I mean it, none of this is your fault. You hear me?”

“Yes, Dr. Herondale.” He teased, smiling for the first time since the incident. He hesitated for a bit, then decided to go with his idea. Unwrapping the chain from around his hand, he slipped it around his neck, letting it rest against his chest, protected from the view by the fabric of his shirt. “You better come out to take it back. I have mine, it needs you to have the other one.”

-------------

Sienna was keeping her eyes trained on the road ahead of them, nervously twisting her fingers. Ethan was almost waiting for his wife’s friend to ask the question that he could practically hear in the way she was shaking impatiently in her seat.

“Claire talks a lot about you.” she said innocently, doing exactly what Ethan expected her to do. And yet, he didn’t know how to respond. You should have thought of a response.

“We’re friends.” He decided to play it safe, hoping that she would drop the subject. She didn’t.

“It seems like more than friends, with all due respect.”

Ethan was never a person to say the first thing that comes to his mind. So why did he start now? “I have feelings for her.” And as soon as the words left his mouth, a flash of cold ran down his spine, freezing him in place.

Sienna gasped, her face lighting up giddily. “I freaking knew it! You have the vibe!”

“I beg your pardon?” Ethan stuttered, trying to do some damage control that he knew was most likely a futile effort. She turned to look at him with a serious glint in her eyes.

“It’s very subtle, I just notice those things. Does she know? About your feelings?”

“She does.”

“So you two are dating?” another excited scream filled the air in the car, making him feel as though the walls were closing in on him. They spent so long trying to keep their feelings hidden, and then there was Sienna that seemingly saw through it all, even if she didn’t know the details. Clearly, she didn’t know everything, but with enough reckless confessions from him, she’d put it all together.

“No.” he answered truthfully. “We’re not dating. We talked about it and decided to stay away from each other at work, so we wouldn’t risk her career. And that’s all I’ll say on that matter.” He added, cutting her short when he saw her opening her mouth to ask more questions.

The only sound that could be heard was the gently hum of the car moving on the concrete. The atmosphere got heavier as the glooming vision of possible tragedy hung over their heads.

“Do you think they’ll survive this?” Sienna asked quietly, fighting the tightness in her throat and the tears in her eyes. Ethan didn’t want to have to think about it. Up until this point, he wouldn’t let himself even think about the possibility of losing Claire.

“I- I don’t know.” He hated not having an answer, hated the feeling of uncertainty. He’s been terrified before; he’s felt helplessness before too. This time was worse on so many levels that his mind refused to register all of them. His determination was burning in his chest, fighting the terror in his mind. It wasn’t over. Not yet. “But I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that they do.”

-------------

They’re left alone as their friends and colleagues rushed off to race against the time and find the cure. Ethan stood by her side, looking at her from behind the plastic pane of his suit, his whole body aching as though he’s ran a marathon. Because in a way, he did. She was looking at him with tired eyes, her signature glimmer in her eyes gone. The only thing that was still left of his wife that hasn’t changed was the smile on her face. A smile she had only for him; a smile that was the first thing that made him fall for her. He could see through her façade, though, knowing how much it cost her to smile like that.

“Claire, I-“ he started speaking. He thought he was strong enough to pull them both through it. How wrong he was. He choked on his words, all defenses falling to the ground and baring him to the pain that was shadowing him for the whole day. She fell into his arms, her tears trailing down the stiff layer of his suit, the skin of her cheek sticking to it uncomfortably.

“Promise me.” she whispered, trying to clear her throat enough to make her voice more audible. “Promise me that you won’t shut down. That you won’t push everyone away.” she felt him freeze when he realized what she was doing. He tired to move away so he could protest, but she kept him in place firmly, her arms holding onto his waist tightly. “Promise me you’ll take care of Jenner. And let Naveen in. And Alan. And Louise.” He stopped fighting, surprised by her words. She nodded, nuzzling her face into his chest. “Yes, her too. You’re going to need people to survive this if- if I-“

She started hyperventilating, unable to finish whatever sentence she had in mind. Ethan’s grip on her grounded her in reality that she didn’t want to be in but wouldn’t have it any other way at the same time. Because in this reality, she had him, and he was everything she ever needed. She wouldn’t give him up for anything.

Ethan’s entire body began to shake, wrecked by sobs that stole the air he was supposed to be breathing. He picked her up and carried her to bed, gathering her in his arms and rocking them both in a gentle back and forth motion.

“Stop. You’re not dying. You’re not leaving me this soon, and I’m not leaving you either. We promised each other a life together.” He picked her left hand up, pressing his thumb to her ring finger. Remembering that her ring was with him, he places her hand over the place it was resting, letting her feel the outlines of it through the rough material of the suit. “It’s waiting to go back on that little finger of yours. And it will. We’re gonna find a cure and you’ll be fine.” His embrace brought her closed, making her basically lie down on top of him, as close as their current situation would allow.

“I’m going to take you back home and take care of you. Help you overcome all the demons that haunt that beautiful mind of yours.” He continued, their legs tangled despite hers being covered by the blanket, her hand holding onto his tightly, wishing she could feel his skin instead of a thick layer of plastic. “I’m going to love you so much and so hard that you’ll forget about the world outside. I love you Claire. We’re going to have a long and happy life together, you, Jenner and I.”

“And we’ll get a cat.” She laughed, the sound mixing with her sobs that slowly begun to subside. He smiled at the thought, finding it hard to disagree with her.

“I’m sure Jenner would love that.”

“I already asked and got the approval.”

“Of course you did.” there was lightness in his voice, some of the weight lifted off his chest. Long as she was breathing, talking and holding him tight, there was still time. “We’re going to get through this.” he whispered, holding her long into the night as she slept.

-----------

Next morning brought them the hope they needed along with the cure. Hour after hour, her situation was looking up and eventually, she was cleared to be transferred to the other room. Claire couldn’t begin to explain the sheer happiness she felt when she saw her husband walk through the door without that ridiculous suit on. Her body came to life when she embraced him tightly and actually felt him, the warmth of his body, the lines of his muscles, all of which she knew by heart. Tears were falling down her cheeks and his, mixing together the further down they were, and their embrace didn’t seem friendly, but they were both beyond the point of caring. No more distance, no more danger to keep them away from each other.

Ethan walked her to her new room, taking his time to not strain her too much. He even suggested carrying her there, but she refused to let him out them like that, saying that there’s a perfectly working wheelchair that would do the job almost as good as his arms.

“Though, for the record, I prefer your arms.” She grinned, winking at him playfully.

He took a quick look over the corridor, making sure they were alone before locking the door behind them and stepping closer to her. He reached for the chain around his neck and took it off, sliding the ring into his palm. Taking her hand in his, he put the ring on her finger, something changing in the air around them, clicking into place. Ethan raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the golden band, his eyes finding hers and locking them in an intense gaze that said everything that needed to be said.

“In sickness and in health.” He muttered, pulling on her fingers to rest her arm on his shoulder as their lips met softly. She laughed sweetly, nuzzling her nose against his in a tender act of affection.

“For better or worse.” Claire wrapped her other arm around his neck, pressing them closer together as the world melted away for a short while.

#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #playchoices

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milknette · 3 years

Text

chapter 01 - au

lights out solo in the blue, but now i’ve found you.

tumblr month: @adrinetteapril

links: ao3 | ff.net chapter: previous | next

HUMANS suck.

Marinette bites back the need to scream, instead settling for a cold glare pointed at anyone who dares look at her— some even having the audacity to laugh .

This is a terrible idea.

Why did she think this was a good idea in the first place?

Her mind races back to last summer, where Alya was animatedly telling her about the wonders of the human world: how it was filled with knowledge and treasures that she could never find back home, where the people were so interesting and diverse, pointing out that she’d likely never get bored with the sheer amount of things they could do way up there.

“Come with me, Mari!” Alya had begged her. “This was literally the best summer I’ve ever had and I can’t imagine going back to college without you. I swear you won’t regret it.”

But as she stands in the middle of the quad, soaking wet from head to toe, Marinette only finds that she wants to curse her best friend’s name; to grab Alya by the shoulders and shout, “I regret it, you land mammal— how do you live like this!?! ”

She really should’ve just stayed at home.

Her dad was right, after all. Marinette doesn't belong here.

(Not with creatures like them.)

The mermaids are a proud people; ever since they had shown themselves to the humans (though the land people insisted they ‘discovered’ them— Marinette has to roll her eyes, humans could be so selfish and egotistical. ), active attempts to integrate and create peaceful unions between the two species were being implemented.

It was one step further into blurring the line between the real and the mythical— though really not all that noticed, as most mermaids didn’t care about the world on land in the first place.

Only a handful were actually interested in human life, and even fewer made an attempt to live within it.

Marinette, to her deep regret, happens to be one of them.

After a fair amount of begging and convincing, her parents had allowed her to take a kind of ‘exchange program’, where she’d be attending university with Alya on land for the next year.

It's exciting, at first.

Walking on her own two feet is a struggle ( really , how humans survived with these two weak limbs, she'll never understand), but decides that it’d be worth it if Alya had been telling the truth.

Sure, there are times Marinette misses her mermaid tail.

Though, at this moment, she really could be doing without it.

Marinette growls, looking irritatedly down at her scales, gleaming pink as they reflect in the sunlight. Her tail serves her well underwater, definitely, but it has become completely and utterly inconvenient on land: flopping uselessly as she tries to make her way to her next class.

She has no intention of transforming back to her original form, of course, but some other students thought it would be oh-so-funny to force her to do so— attacking while Alya wasn’t with her, so they knew Marinette would be stuck without being able to do anything about it.

After all, it's common knowledge that a transformed mermaid exposed to water would automatically revert back to her original form, and stay like that until they dried up— which meant one thing:

Because of a couple of immature college kids with water balloons, she’d miss her next class.

Again.

They're only too lucky that a mermaid using their powers is illegal, or they’d be in a whole new hell of trouble.

The sudden ring of Marinette’s phone distracts the mermaid from her thoughts, as she quickly retrieves it and answers the call.

“Girl, where are you?” The voice asks on the other line. “I dropped by Mme. Mendeleiev’s class and you’re not there yet? You know she’s tired of you being late all the time.”

Marinette groans, running a wet hand down her face. “Water balloons.” She only responds, flatly.

“Oh.”

From the static of the phone call, she can hear a hiccup, evidently her friend's poor attempt at trying to hide her laughter.

“It’s not funny, Alya!” Marinette cries, hissing as a few teenagers point and take out their phones to record her. “I’m stuck in the middle of the goddamn quad because of you land mammals ,” she spits. “Your species sucks.”

“Hey, not all of us!” Alya protests back. “I’m a great land mammal.” The line suddenly goes silent, as Alya pauses if in thought. “Why don’t you just dry up? Where’s your towel?”

“Sure you are,” Marinette only drawls. “And it’s still wet; this wasn’t the first attack I got today.” She snarls, tightening her grip around her phone. “Now get over here and help me out. It’s hot and if another teenager tries to take a video of me, I’m going to end up breaking more than a few laws, and that’ll get us both in trouble.”

A gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

From the other line, Marinette hears sudden scuffling and books being thrown into her bag. “Fine, fine, give me fifteen minutes. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry up,” the mermaid responds curtly, before hanging up the phone.

She sighs, putting away the gadget, and looking upward. “This is so annoying,” Marinette complains, squinting as the sun shines down on her. Muttering to herself, she grabs at her tail in an attempt to drag it to some place that was shadier, with little to no success.

Marinette glares at her lower half.

Betrayal.

Humans are the absolute worst.

She decides that the next person who even attempts to look, much less talk to her, would understand why mermaids remained as creatures to be feared.

— And as it turned out she didn’t have to wait long, a cautious tap on her shoulder sending a sudden shiver down her spine.

Who the hell is dumb enough to touch a mermaid without her consent?

“What?” Marinette finally snaps, turning (with great difficulty) to the guilty party.

Only to flounder as bright green eyes meet her icy blue ones.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, an awkward laugh escaping him. “I just thought you might need help,” he begins, clumsily gesturing at the lower half of her body, “with… all that.”

Marinette squeaks, a high-pitched sound of disbelief, before laughing— a notch too high for it to be considered genuine. “Oh, this? ” She asks, awkwardly patting at her tail. “This is nothing! No big deal! I’m cool, I’m cool, it’s cool… because I’m a mermaid, get it, it’s always cool underwater, haha …”

An awkward pause.

She cringes.

Did she really just say that?

Marinette wants to swim into the deepest trench in the ocean and stay in there.

Until she hears laughter.

The mermaid looks up, and to her complete surprise, the boy is laughing: amusement evident in his expression.

“Yeah!” He smiles ( a toothy grin that rivals even the rarest pearls she had scavenged back at home ), then continues. “That’s really funny, Marinette.”

She pauses, looking at him in disbelief. “You know my name?”

“Of course!” He replies, that same kind look in his eyes. “You did make quite a splash when you got here,” he winks.

That's corny.

Really corny.

So why in Poseidon’s name does she find that absolutely adorable?

“And I’m also studying mythology,” the apparent student continues. “I see you around the building sometimes.”

So the very pretty human boy who reminds her of sunshine (the good kind— warm and comforting, the kind of sunlight that reminded her of home; not the heated and dry sun that‘d been constantly beating her down as soon as she started living on land) knows her name.

That's nice.

Marinette continues looking at him, dumbstruck.

As if only realizing something, he smiles, offering his hand. “I’m Adrien, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

She stutters, awkwardly taking it.

His hands are smooth — nothing like the rough and calloused hands of the land people she’d met thus far.

“I— uh— Marinette.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Yes, I know.” He laughs.

Oh.

Right .

Why is she so nervous? This isn’t like her at all.

“So, about my offer?”

“Huh?” Marinette asks, still reeling from the sudden attention.

The mermaid isn’t used to his attitude, after all, knowing that most humans typically don’t take all that kindly to her species.

Friendliness, Marinette isn’t quite used to yet.

(Alya being the sole exception. If she arrives in the next five minutes, at least.)

The amused smile never leaves the human’s— Adrien’s face. “You’re a literal fish out of water. I don’t think you’re stuck here because you want to, right?”

She nods, the joke easily going over her head, as she remembers what happened. “Some girls thought it’d be funny to force me to transform back here.” Marinette growls. “You humans are all the same —.”

A pause, as she looked at the friendliness in his eyes.

There's no hostility, fear, or disgust in them.

It's a nice change of pace.

“Well, most of you are, anyway,” she amends, then gestures down the rest of her body. “I’m stuck like this until I dry up.”

Adrien hums, sympathetic. “That’s pretty inconvenient.”

“It is,” Marinette agrees. “But my friend’s on the way, so don’t worry— I mean ," she pauses, "not to say that you were worrying about me or anything, I’m just…”

The mermaid fumbles on her words, before resignedly just shutting up. “That is to say, I’ll be just fine.”

Adrien quirks an eyebrow, before looking around. “Really? Your friend’s nowhere to be seen, are you sure you‘ll be okay?” He pauses. “And don’t you have class with Mme. Mendeleiev right now?”

Okay, now he has to be some kind of mind-reader, right?

(Not all that farfetched, considering the co-existence of humans and mermaids in their world.)

“Wh— how do you know that?

“I’m actually her TA,” he explains. “I keep track of all her students and classes. So helping you would actually be doing my job.”

“No, it’s really alright—”

“I have some papers to give her anyways, so it’s on the way,” he points out, patting his messenger bag. Then, his lips quirk upward. “And besides, I’m pretty sure you’re in danger of being dropped from her class if you’re late again.”

She gulps.

Of course he’d know about that, wouldn’t he?

Marinette sighs, defeated. “Fine,” she began. “There should be some towels in the restrooms; it’s a little far, but if you could—”

“No time,” Adrien only states, suddenly kneeling down in front of her. “I think you only have five minutes before you’re late, and it’s a ten-minute walk to our building.”

He grins, before suddenly scooping his arms under her tail and waist, raising her up.

Marinette can’t stop the surprised squeak escape her throat, as she feels herself get lifted off the ground.

The cute boy is carrying her.

And not just any carry, but a princess carry .

“What are you doing put me down I’m gonna scream …” Marinette rushes to say, swatting helplessly at his chest.

This is so undignified for a mermaid, to have some human’s filthy hands on her —

Adrien smiles.

Marinette feels her mermaid-equivalent of a human heart skip a beat.

Then, he winks.

She's sure she's the color of her tail, now.

“Let’s go!” He only says, before running with surprising speed, so light and quick on his feet that she feels like she's flying. His hold on her didn’t falter either, carrying the mermaid with both strength and gentleness.

It's a strange feeling, being in his arms.

But as he easily runs into the building and up four flights of stairs, she decides that it's not entirely uncomfortable, maybe .

Marinette shows up in the nick of time, only a few minutes before she’d officially be considered late.

Mme. Mendeleiev looks at the two as they burst into her classroom, hands crossed against her chest. “Late again, Marinette?” She asks, evidently unamused.

The mermaid is about to protest, until Adrien decides to speak up:

“Actually, ma’am, Marinette’s just in time.”

“I take attendance at 10:15 sharp, Adrien.”

“And she got here at,” Adrien exhales, out-of-breath, as he looks at his phone, showing the lock screen. “10:14,” he states.

Mme. Mendeleiev pauses, eyes narrowing at the two, before sighing.

“Fine,” the professor sighs. “There are towels at the back. Dry yourself up then take your seat, Marinette,” she states, then pointedly looks at Adrien. “And you,” Mme. Mendeleiev stares at the floor, dripping wet from their entrance. “Go get a mop and clean up this mess…”

The sudden “woah!” from outside following a crash makes her frown.

“... before anyone gets hurt.”

Adrien has the decency to offer a sheepish smile, before immediately nodding, helping the mermaid to the back, then setting her down.

“Sorry for getting you in trouble,” Marinette mutters, apologetic, taking the towel in her hands. “And giving you extra work to do.”

He shrugs, visibly unbothered, as the kind smile remains on his face.

“You didn’t get me in trouble, I decided to do this myself.” He responds. “I couldn’t leave you alone helpless like that.”

“You’d be the first,” she points out, using the towel to wipe her hair. “I guess humans aren’t all that bad.”

“Yeah,” Adrien chimes, a bright laugh escaping him as he runs a hand down his wet hair. “Not all of us land mammals suck, I can promise you that.”

Marinette manages to look the slightest bit embarrassed. “You heard that, huh?”

He smiles. “Yup,” he responds easily, before leaning over to her ear. “But I get you. Some humans really stink up here.” He wrinkles his nose, then scrunches his nose up in a way that she can only describe as absolutely adorable. “Must be because they aren’t taking a bath 24/7.”

Marinette feels herself laugh, ready to reply, when—

“What’s taking so long?”

Mme. Mendeleiev finally barks, glaring at the two.

The two look at each other, then burst into laughter.

“Guess that means I have to go,” Adrien says lightly, then bends down, kissing her hand. “I’ll sea you around, Marinette!”

He runs out, and for the first time, Marinette feels like she's falling.

Or sinking , if she's being technical about it.

#hey hi hello #comeback?#adrinetteapril2021 #adrinette april #adrinetteapril #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic #sandbar nine

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 4 years

Note

How would describe shameless to someone who never heard of it? How would you describe the specific characters?

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve these super fun asks, but thank you so much! :D It’s funny that you sent this because I did actually describe the show to someone not too long ago, and I didn’t like how I did it in hindsight. I felt like I didn’t do it enough justice. So, I get a second chance to try again!

“How would you describe Shameless to someone who never heard of it?”

Shameless is a show about how life doesn’t always go our way, we don’t always do the right thing, and we’re all imperfect beings—but we still deserve a chance regardless. The Gallaghers begin the series nearly at rock bottom, doing anything they have to for their literal survival, but also to keep their family together. Sometimes that means supporting each other when they’re in a difficult spot, banding together to help their neglectful father even though he doesn’t deserve it, or even committing petty crimes to sustain their meager way of life. As they get older and have more agency in and control over their lives, the nature of their problems shifts, and they learn from their own mistakes rather than reacting to their parents’. The same trends unfold for the people and families in their orbit, showing that various trials and tribulations can impact anyone of any social standing. Not everyone gets a happy ending; not everyone gets what they want. However, they grow and learn how to manage both the hand that they’ve been dealt as well as the bed they’ve made for themselves. That, after all, is life.

Shameless is a “dramedy” where the comedy elements utilize primarily satire, which sets it apart from the popularity of slapstick and dry comedies over the last decade. By nature, the show therefore addresses difficult, uncomfortable, and controversial topics in manners and utilizing methods that are designed to make us laugh at the absurdity while forcing us to think about these topics in ways that we may have avoided otherwise. This format has been established since the pilot episode and certainly is not to everyone’s taste. I wouldn’t recommend this show to anyone who prefers that such issues be addressed with a deeper analysis on the part of the characters rather than the audience, which is the general tendency in drama pieces rather than shows of this genre.

“How would you describe the specific characters?”

For this, I’ll focus on the main Gallagher family, Kev, V, and Mickey, as they’ve been the constant presences on the show since the start. I’ll also keep it relatively short since I could write essays on each one, and that would bore anyone who hasn’t heard of Shameless (and 95% of those who have) to tears.

1. Frank Gallagher is the stereotypical “deadbeat” who plays the system for every penny so that he doesn’t have to work, choosing to fund his addictions rather than support his family. He will go to any lengths if it means preserving this lifestyle—mild, absurd, and even heinous. He functions as something of an anti-hero, being more a threat to the family’s stability in early seasons than a boon and gradually sinking into obscurity because of his children’s growing indifference as he burns one bridge after another with them. Frank prides himself on espousing only the values that will get him what he wants in a given circumstance. In specific instances, that has meant showing a measure of love and affection for his children that evidence has proven exists deep, deep below the surface. In others, he’s a wild card. Frank’s various fatal flaws have included arrogance, addiction, selfishness, and an avoidance of any and all responsibility.

2. Fiona Gallagher is the eldest and began the series as the rock of the family because, to put it simply, she was the only person able to do it. She selflessly cared for her younger siblings so that they wouldn’t be scattered into foster homes or adoption thanks to her parents’ neglect, even to the point where she gave up portions of her life and blurred the lines between her roles as sister versus caregiver, which became a sticking point in later seasons when her siblings didn’t need or want a mother-figure anymore. While Fiona was initially very responsible with regards to raising her siblings, she therefore sacrificed a lot of opportunities that were important for her development as a young adult and exhibited an immaturity typical of people her age that impacted other arenas of her life, especially relationships. As her role as caregiver dwindled, that immaturity and the norms prevalent in her environment became more pronounced with her newfound freedom, and she struggled greatly in the face of what she viewed as making up for lost time. Fiona’s various fatal flaws have included ambition, a “martyr complex,” and viewing her family as an impediment to her ambitions later in life instead of a support system.

3. Lip Gallagher is the oldest son. He began the series with a hefty chip on his shoulder. Intelligent, quick-witted, and calculating, Lip was constantly referred to as a sort of diamond in the rough and clearly came to believe it. This led to a very fascinating dynamic within the family and his other interpersonal relationships as his love for and desire to protect his family was balanced by a sense that his way was the best way—the only way, really. A combination of poor choices and unfortunate circumstances beyond his control resulted in a very real “fall from grace,” by South Side standards, and Lip has worked hard to claw his way back from where he was in the middle of the series. Where Fiona spiraled further as she withdrew from her family, Lip leaned on them and others in his support system—and it saved him. Lip’s various fatal flaws have included arrogance, contempt for power structures in which he is not at the top, and trying to solve other people’s problems at the expense of dealing with his own.

4. Ian Gallagher is the middle child and something of an outlier in his own right where his family is concerned. He began the series seeming to have his shit together: he balanced school, ROTC, and work, excelling in all three at just fifteen years old. He was plagued by his status in the family at times, not old enough to have more control over his situation while not young enough to shrug off a lot of it on Fiona and Lip, and wanted something for himself more than anything. It’s that combination that put him in an extremely vulnerable position, because while he was the picture of responsibility and didn’t orchestrate as many scams as his siblings (though he was involved in plenty—he is South Side and a Gallagher, after all), it gave him—and his family—the false impression that he was more mature and in control than he was. Multiple older men preyed on him because of that, and in his thirst to find something that was solely his and someone he could care for outside his household, he viewed them as relationships rather than abuse. Like Lip, Ian truly hit rock bottom in a different manner, although the causes of his descent were more heavily skewed beyond his control. In true Ian form, however, he remains driven to find the straight and narrow—and stick to it as much as he can. Ian’s various fatal flaws have included ambition, a “hero complex,” compartmentalizing to the point of narrowmindedness or naïveté, and ignoring his own needs in pursuit of fulfilling others’.

5. Debbie Gallagher is similar to Lip in that she has always been clever, cunning, and driven to get what she wants. Debbie began the series in a difficult position, going to school and contributing to the household while ultimately not in control of anything that was going on. From the start, all she wanted was a functional family, and it colored her behavior throughout the first six seasons of the show. In many cases, that meant doing whatever she could to hold everyone together: investigating Fiona’s lying boyfriend, running a daycare so that Fiona could work all night and still find time to sleep, prompting Fiona to more actively worry when Ian ran away and helping Lip locate him, and caring for Liam a lot of the time while he was a baby. Over the years, as the dysfunctions racked up, she sought an escape through boyfriends and a baby of her own. The means by which she attempted and ultimately failed to achieve these goals were at times reprehensible and spurred on by both her immature ignorance and the culture in which she was raised. Debbie’s various fatal flaws have included self-centeredness, envy, manipulative tendencies, and not thinking or caring about the implications and consequences of her actions for herself or the people involved.

6. Carl Gallagher began the series as a real mess. The word “sociopath” comes to mind. He was the stereotypical “wild child” whose behavior embodied the dysfunctional nature of the family and their environment. He destroyed toys for fun, tortured animals, physically bullied children at school, and was held back multiple times for poor academic performance. Carl was never as academically bright as the other Gallagher siblings, but his street smarts were nigh unparalleled and, like Lip, he could probably survive anywhere. Over time, Carl underwent a remarkable transformation: embracing the negative stereotypes of his environment, he dove towards rock bottom with gusto only to realize that the thug life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Once again, he paralleled Lip and Ian’s trajectory in leaning on his family when it became too much, and he’s turned his entire life in the opposite direction to pursue a path that he hopes will lead to helping people rather than hurting them for his own gain or reputation. Carl’s various fatal flaws have included lack of foresight, a penchant for violence, and ignorance.

7. Liam Gallagher is still very young and therefore tougher to fully characterize as his development isn’t as extensive. Right now, he’s the same age Debbie was when the show began, and we’ve seen just how far she’s come. So, for the time being, Liam is extremely bright and has grown up with a great deal more privilege than his siblings. He doesn’t remember saving for the squirrel fund with fears of not being able to eat all winter in mind. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to worry about Frank or Monica’s actions having an enormous and lasting impact on them. He doesn’t remember Lip dropping out of school and moving out of the house, Monica’s actions at Thanksgiving, Fiona crying over crumpled bills from working at the sport bar, Ian going missing for four months and coming home a different person, or Debbie lying about Patrick just so they could keep a roof over their heads. Liam didn’t grow up with those things, and so he has the luxury of being a kid a bit more of the time. However, because his parents aren’t around and Fiona left the house a long time ago despite being his guardian, he has matured quickly in lieu of any real supervision.

8. Kevin Ball and Veronica Fisher have been the Gallaghers’ closest allies in the neighborhood all this time. Kevin isn’t the brightest academically or in terms of common sense, but he has a good heart and makes the best decisions when he uses it. He has been through a lot, between foster care as a kid, a crazy ex-wife, trying to keep the Alibi afloat, and raising twin daughters that they definitely didn’t have the means for when they discovered that they were expecting two kids. And Veronica… Well, she’s quite literally his other half. She’s savvy and smart, intelligent and assertive—they complete each other. They began the series as an established couple experiencing some growing pains, especially when Veronica was giving the Gallaghers everything from use of their shower to their toaster while Kevin insisted that they needed to focus on themselves before they could help Frank’s kids. (He talked a good game, but when the chips are down, Kevin has always been there for them too.) They’re good people who’ve been given a few bad shakes and taken a few wrong turns, but their love for each other, their kids, and the Gallaghers has made them a surprisingly strong heart of the show. Kevin’s various fatal flaws have included lack of foresight, ignorance, and not standing up for himself. Veronica’s various fatal flaws have included avoiding communication about her feelings and indecisiveness.

9. Mickey Milkovich is the stereotypical personification of their environment. He began the series as a poor thug—and a dirty one, at that—who exuded such a presence in the neighborhood that he instilled fear at a mere glance. His family functioned as a foil to the Gallaghers, perhaps what they would have been if Frank had been a different person or they’d fallen even further. Mickey didn’t benefit from an emotionally supportive family that banded together to provide for more than merely monetary concerns, not to mention that his father was openly and violently homophobic, so it took a great deal of time and overcoming numerous internal and external hardships for him to come to terms with who he is on many levels. Over the years, Mickey was self-employed or acted with his family as a drug dealer, a pimp, and a prison hitman; worked for a drug cartel; and has engaged in any number of other scams and illegal activities in order to make ends meet—and he has been quite happy to keep doing so as it plays to his strengths. Mickey is remarkable, however, because he has always been a multifaceted character whose problematic decisions, abrasive mannerisms, and questionable lifestyle didn’t and don’t negate that he cares very deeply and will do literally anything for the few people he allows to get close to him, specifically Ian. Mickey’s various fatal flaws have included lack of foresight, avoiding communication about his feelings, and not reaching out for help when he needs it.

~*~

That was quite a bit longer than I initially intended, but I had a great time putting this together. Thank you again for the ask!

#shameless us #gallaghers #you asked #this was so fun #shameless #shameless meta

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

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Down, boy! || Eddie & Bea

TIMING: Current-ish

PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze & @specterchasing

LOCATION: Illusions of Grandeur

SUMMARY: Eddie literally runs from his problems and Bea talks some sense into him.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideations tw, sibling death tw.

The shops and faces lining ‘Freak Alley’ flew by in colorful blurs as Eddie’s feet slapped against the sidewalk. An over-the-shoulder glance let him know that the hellhound he attracted at a nearby cemetery was gaining on him. Its size led him to believe he’d somehow lucked out and stumbled upon a runt, or perhaps a pup if hellhounds underwent adolescence. Eddie didn’t know and, in the moment, he frankly didn’t care; it could clearly still breathe fire.

Wicked heat kissed the soles of his shoes and Eddie’s next step became more of a leap. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” he chanted as he darted across the street. Panic set it, but it wasn’t the sole cause of Eddie’s heart beating at break-kneck speed. A laugh erupted from his chest. He liked the threat of imminent danger. No thrill on earth matched the anxious euphoria of knowing his next breath might be his last. A hellhound would make for an interesting obituary, at least, even if the local paper reduced it to an errant wolf.

Eddie skidded to a halt in front of a building, he didn’t bother to stop and read any signage that might tell him the name of his safe haven. His hand gripped the door and flung it open. Once inside, he pressed his back against the entrance to hopefully stop the hellhound from entering with force. Unfortunately, the dimwitted beast didn’t get the memo that it wasn’t welcome and launched its body against the door with considerable vigor once, twice…

Members of the crowd turned their heads toward the commotion. Apparently, Eddie was interrupting some kind of show. His eyes snapped to the stage, landing on an unexpectedly familiar face. “Nell’s sister? I thought she was in—”

Three times.

Eddie’s thoughts were interrupted when the impact of the hellhound's small, but dense, body threw the door open. The force sent him forward and into the crowd, albeit face-down on the floor. Eddie scrambled to his feet as a few of the crowd members shrieked at the sudden introduction of a wild beast. Chaos ensued as people scattered in search of an emergency exit. Eddie whipped around in time to see flames billowing from the dog’s mouth. A few seats, recently abandoned, caught fire.

In an attempt to rectify his mistake, Eddie bolted in the direction of a fire extinguisher. A moment later, the sprinkler system kicked on, drenching everyone in sight. Eddie marched closer to the hellhound and attacked it with a stream of white froth. “Fuck off!” he commanded as the beast caught a mouthful of foul chemicals. It reared back, whining as its head thrashed from side to side. But Eddie’s bright idea didn’t deter it for long. The hound stumbled forward and prepared for another attack.

Freedom was a nasty concept to Beatrice. As a child, picking flowers and stealing moments with Leah was freedom. Teenaged Bea had found parties she snuck out to were freedom. Before she died, freedom had been her secrets, she had held freedom in clenched hands, hidden from her coven and family. Now, she had died and come back, her secrets revealed and discovered. Her freedom was not her secrets any longer, so what was it?

She had thought the stage was freedom until death and rebirth. It became a cage, a spectacle that could be used to see how different she had become. Deciding to reclaim it, to allow everyone to see who she was now, that tasted like an early summer morning. It had the stillness before a busy day, it had a moment of peace in it. It tasted like the beginnings of freedom, a taste she had begun to remember and enjoy in New York.

It did not taste like smoke, a flavor that had snuck into her mouth as she performed. Smoke had no place in her show now, not now that she couldn’t control the flames. Her element was no longer fire and smoke was no longer a flavor she could feel safe tasting. She was off the stage and stalking forward to the Hellhound as people rushed out of the theater.

She recognized the man in front of the hellhound vaguely, though she had no idea how. He was trying to smother the beast with a fire extinguisher and Bea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course this is how her first performance since Adam would be.

Her shadows leapt out, tightening around the beast mouth, clamping it shut as others worked around it’s paws. “What the hell were you thinking bringing this into my business?” She’d have to call Nell to help her with this.

Eddie watched in startled wonderment as shadows turned themselves into shackles around the hellhound’s paws. A muzzle of the same making wrapped around its jaws while it struggled against its newfound restraints. Smoke seeped out of the muzzle, but the fire was contained for the time being. Magic, he figured. Not cheap illusions, but actual magic.

He jumped at the sound of Beatrice’s voice demanding his attention. Eddie already felt guilty before she spoke, now the feeling consumed him. He turned to face her with an apologetic expression. As far as he could tell, they were the only two people remaining inside the venue. No one would be around to see him be reprimanded, at least.

“It chased me,” Eddie explained with a helpless shrug. “What was I supposed to do, die in the street?” For someone who wanted to say he was sorry, the words didn’t come to him. He hated that about himself, the way he instinctively took a defensive stance when he felt cornered.

The crashing realization that Nell might still be too ill to handle this hit Bea hard and fast. It was like a softball to the stomach as she remembered how grief could hurt a person’s magic, Nell could struggle to control this Hellhound and who was Bea to ask her sister to try to after everything happened? She would have to attempt to deal with herself and if it was too much, then she would call Nell.

The face of an apology with defense on their lips was something Bea was intimately familiar with. She had been that way, she occasionally was still that way, and while the familiarity softened her, a scowl had already found its way onto her face. “That is not at all what I said or implied.” Her arm swung out behind her, “This is the place you decided to run in. Did you see how many people were in here? What would the plan have been if I wasn’t here? Let the people here burn and hope for the best?” She didn’t know this man, but that didn’t stop her scolding tone. “How did you even get chased by a Hellhound?”

With each question Bea asked him, Eddie’s guilt worsened. He never meant to hurt anyone, but he seemed to be paving the road to hell with his good intentions as of late. Regardless of what he did, it usually turned out to be a wrong move. For the moment, he elected to put his pity party on the back-burner. Bea didn’t know him and she likely wouldn’t harbor much sympathy for a grown man who nearly cost dozens of innocent people their lives. For that, he couldn’t blame her.

“I was, uh, at the cemetery down the road apiece,” he answered her most recent question, pointing his thumb in the direction he came from. “It was just kinda hanging out and didn’t like that I was too.” Eddie failed to mention that he tried to film it, and that he whistled for its attention in an attempt to get a clear shot of its face. The camera he used wound up as a substitute chew toy after it slipped out of his hand mid-sprint.

“I tried to hold the doors shut,” he ventured. “If you weren’t here, I—” Eddie’s gaze fell to the fire extinguisher in his hand. What a joke. “Yeah, I probably would’ve been the reason someone died tonight.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at Bea again. “Thanks for not letting that happen.”

A noise of frustration left Bea’s nose as she turned back to the Hellhound in front of her. Nell had a soft spot for them, it would be wrong if she just called Kaden here to kill it. It was a monster that could kill people, but her littlest sister liked them. It would hurt her to know Bea killed it without an attempt at some humane solution. She wasn’t particularly sure how to be humane to a monster, but she would figure it out.

“Are you new to this whole thing?” Bea asked tiredly. He had to be around Adam’s age, but he had none of the experience that had let Adam survive as long as he did from what she could see. Not that had done much in the end, had it? He was still gone. “Sometimes when you see something like this the best thing to do is give it space or call someone who is trained to take care of things like this.” The hunters she trusted in this town were struggling to survive or gone.

Bea leaned against the back of the seats nearest her, her exhaustion hitting her all at once. “There won’t always be someone like me there. What will you do then?” How will you survive?

Bea seemed to be at the end of her rope, and a sneaking suspicion told Eddie he wasn’t the sole cause of her weariness. He thought about Nell and the contagiousness of grief. All at once, he became less concerned with self-pity. Compared to the Vurals, he had it easy. Eddie wished he could share that with them instead of dragging Bea down with his inability to make good decisions. He kept saying he would start being better for the people around him, when did he plan on actually doing it?

“No, I’m not new to this,” he answered truthfully. Whatever he said to Bea had a chance to get back to Nell. Eddie couldn’t afford to lie to her even if the lie was easier to hear than the truth. “Tonight just sucked.”

He considered her next question carefully. “I used to know.” Again, Eddie chose honesty. Until recently, he didn’t care what happened to him in situations like what happened tonight. Live or die, it didn’t matter. Part of him, and it was a big part, still felt that way, but now people cared about him. That made things murkier. “I guess I’d die if that happened.” Despite his inner turmoil, he sounded shockingly nonchalant. “I’m trying not to be okay with that.”

For a moment, Bea almost laughed. Waves of optimism had carried her afloat that last few days, but now she felt the current shifting beneath her feet. There were only so many times she would claim that things would get better. She was exhausting herself carrying everyone else’s hope on her back, but she had tried it the other way before. She had seen what it made her and she refused to go back to that.

“You should know that you shouldn’t be doing stuff in this town alone, then.” Adam should have known, they should have forced him to take someone. Bea shook her head, trying to lose the ‘what if’ questions that did nothing but worsen her guilt.

Bea’s eyes snapped toward him, her exhaustion shoved away by the fire that entered her. She pushed herself away from the chairs, taking a step toward him. “Death doesn’t just affect you,” She whispered fervently. “When you die, you change something in everyone around you. They will never get back to who they were.”

Bea had a point, Eddie realized that. White Crest sunk its teeth into anyone who dared underestimate how brutal it could be. Anyone except him, it seemed. For all his recklessness, he couldn’t get the town to live up to its reputation. Death didn’t want him back. “Yeah,” he quietly replied as his gaze fell to the floor.

Nex thing he knew, Bea seemed more vibrant than before. As she moved closer, he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing. Eddie glanced at the hellhound’s shadow-made shackles before locking eyes with her. Bea’s warning shook him. The part about his death affecting more than just him sounded a lot like similar words of caution given to him by both Nell and Morgan. But the rest, no one had ever phrased it like that before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Eddie said firmly. “But I don’t wanna hurt either.” He knew how selfish he sounded. For years, he relied on that selfishness when no one else bothered to prioritize him. “And no one can seem to tell me how to manage both.”

“Everyone thinks I’m perfectly content not caring whether I live or die, and I guess I can’t blame them. I even put on a good enough act to fool myself sometimes, but it’s bullshit.” His throat tightened as the truth poured out of him. “I hate feeling this way. All it does is make me miserable and piss everyone else off, which is kind of exhausting.” Eddie let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m bleeding out and everyone around me is yelling about how I’m staining the carpet.” He choked back the tears trying to form in his eyes.

“No one can tell you, because you can’t.” Bea’s voice shook as she said it. There was no reason for her to lay things out for this man, yet here she was, because someone had to. “We hurt people, they hurt us, and we hurt ourselves.” She had been hurt by countless people, she had hurt countless people, and she had hurt herself. “It doesn’t make us bad people if we can learn from it.” She swallowed, “It makes us better if we learn how to forgive ourselves for the things we do.”

Bea closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a breath. That feeling he was talking about was something she understood well. “Sometimes people don’t know how to fix your bleeding, so they find something else to focus on. Blaming you isn’t fair, but it’s how they cope.” How many people have felt like this around here? How many people did she not see or help? “I think you might want to go to therapy, if you aren’t already,” She said with a shrug. “It can help. I go sometimes.” She went a lot in New York. She still went at least once a week, when the flashbacks were bad, she went twice.

Nothing Bea said relieved Eddie of the ache in his chest, but he appreciated that she said it anyway. He was beginning to learn that, try as he might, he would never find a mystical cure for the pain of living. But, if he listened, he might learn how to cope with it. He forgave others easily, but turning that kindness inwards proved more difficult. “Does that… get easier with practice?” he asked.

For the past ten years, Eddie had been going to therapy. When Bea offered it as a suggestion, he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it makes things a little easier.” But he couldn’t be completely honest with any of the professionals he’d seen, not about seeing ghosts or anything else related to the supernatural. It felt like wearing a muzzle. When they asked about his YouTube channel, he told them it was purely for entertainment. They were always impressed by the special effects.

“Anyway,” he said, forcing himself to shift gears. “Didn’t mean to, like, trauma dump or whatever” He never did, but it was becoming harder to keep it to himself. “Is there… anything I can do to help out around here? With the mess, I mean.”

“Yeah, it does.” Bea wished there was a way to prepare people for the life that White Crest was leading them down, but there wasn’t. All you could do was tell people the truth and pick them back up when they fell. “It’s like any skill though, we all mess up eventually and you’re going to kick yourself for it. Sometimes things are going to happen and you won’t even be able to remember how to do it, but it’ll come back. It always does.”

There was a part of Bea who knew she shouldn’t be allowing herself to take someone else on, but here she was pulling someone else’s hope onto her back. Someone had to keep it safe and until they were able to, she would nurture it and treat it as though it was her own. Maybe this was her fatal flaw, the thing that would put her in the ground permanently, but until it proved as dangerous as it felt, she would flirt with it.

“Yep,” Bea grinned at him, nodding at the storage closet. “Go grab a broom. I’m going to call my sister to figure out what to do with this beastie and then I’m going to call my crew to help.” She went to walk away before pausing and looking over her shoulder, “Some days there will be too much to keep in, find people who can handle you at your worst and learn to help them too. Those people will always be with you, as long as you love them as much as they love you.”

#c: bea #wickedswriting #down boy!#suicide tw #sibling death tw #// FIONA IS A TREASURE AND I LOVE BEA WITH MY WHOLE HEART

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just-like-playing-tag · 4 years

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A Letter from Norman reactions

Tonight I was feeling like reorganizing the notes I took after reading the novel for the first time. Just some random personal reactions I had after reading it; if anything catches your attention and you'd like to know more about a particular event from the novel, please feel free to ask and I'll be happy to help!!!

Under the cut because it's l o n g. That is, if Tumblr allows me to add a "read more", which has never happened before, but I'll keep hoping in it.

• Disclaimer: I'm suing anyone who ever said that the novel is all about NorEmma. I've literally put off reading it because I didn't want to get into something overly romantic while there's??? Nearly nothing about it that is romantic??????? Just a slight mention in that last chapter and that's it???????? Why are y'all like this

Prologue

• I need you all to know that the important letter™ through which Norman informed Emma about his plan starts with him describing the weather. I just think it's a relevant information.

• Ok I'm at freaking page 1 of “A letter from Norman” and. NORMAN IT'S A FREAKING LETTER TO EMMA NOT A SHAKESPEAREAN PLAY THERE'S LITERALLY NO REASON TO BE THIS POETIC

Maybe, I would get it if it was directed to Ray, but to Emma?????

Chapter 1

• Emma in 2038: Let's befriend ghosts

Emma in 2047: let's befriend demons

Seems like a logic consecution to me

• Ok but why has nobody ever mentioned the extremely precious Emma / Gilda moments in the novel???? My heart was completely melting that was the most adorable thing I've ever read??????

• The way Norman is constantly in awe of Ray is so adorable... Baby is so sweet I swear, he deserves the world

Chapter 2

• OK BUT THE SWEET EXCHANGE between Ray and Isabella before him and Emma go out at night?????? Ray is so pure is swear... He's a precious baby who didn't deserve all the shit he went through.

Reporting it in case anyone's curious; for context, Norman is sick, and Emma wants to go out look for a flower that she's read is going to help him feel better. Emma and Ray are convinced that Norman is going to die because babies are just that dramatic, and easily impressionable as well. They're seven here.

“ «Ray, I'm counting on you!»

Isabella pressed an hand on the boy's shoulder, who turned his face to her and diligently nodded, before continuing: «Differently from Emma, I don't think the flower is going to help Norman heal».

«What do you mean?»

«However, it's better than having to sit back and watch without doing anything. I too, like her, want him to heal as soon as possible.»

«Sure, I understand...» ”

NOW that hits so hard. You have to understand, this is after Ray had made the deal with Isabella. He had already started to plan the escape. In this occasion, he was on a very thin line: alone at night with Emma, outside the House, a child who knew the truth. Isabella knew those were the right conditions for him to attempt an escape, so she decided to test his loyalty; one misstep, and their deal - which was fundamental for the escape Ray was planning - would have ended.

But at the same time, Ray needed to go. Because, just like Emma, he just couldn't stand to lose Norman. And to see these three children caring so deeply about each other even at such a young age makes me honestly bawl. This is quite certainly my favorite thing from this series. And Ray deserves the world.

• Ray was so determined to save his two friends, he even considered for a moment, in the woods, to tell Emma the truth about the orphanage. I find it very nice how the novel hinted of all these times Ray almost revealed the truth, it really puts emphasis on how he was trying to find the best moment for the escape- but it also hints to how desperate he was to share this grievous burden he was forced to carry for the longest time.

• “ Ray, you must keep on living, Norman whispered to himself like a prayer. ”

I'm... I'M 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Doesn't help the fact that this bit was literally at the end of pages of Norman praising Ray and how brave he had been for so long.

• “ Nobody in the House would have wanted for Ray to pay with his life to amend the silence of all those years. ”

I love this bit. Nobody between the children ever hated Ray for speechlessly assisting to dozens of his siblings being lead to death, because they all immediately understood how much he was suffering, how powerless he must had felt, and also, even though it only led to him being even more hurt, how deeply he loved them all. It's really nice to realize that no children ever hated Ray- no one besides from himself. His siblings love him unconditionally, and that's precisely what he deserves 🤧🤧💕💕💕

• Norman: *adventures in a detailed description of Ray's features and gestures for no other apparent reason than the fact that he finds him pretty*

Chapter 3

• Ok I know people use to see Ray and Susan's interactions under the light of Ray having a crush on her but honestly? I think they make the cutest brotp. I never knew how much I needed Ray-having-an-older-sister content untill now.

• For real though!! What hits you really hard is to find out, even though he would had never ever showed it, how desperate he was to have somebody care about him, and to be loved. He literally grieves for losing someone that looks after him and is there to check on him in his lowest days- we know it's the thing Isabella never gave him. Man, this boy didn't deserve all the shit that happened to him. Tpn may have become an old known story for me, but Ray's sufferings in his early age will never stop tearing my heart apart.

• Ok, I wasn't ready for all this angst on Ray's part. I mean, I obviously know GF were hard times for him, but I didn't expect for him to take over the pov. Sis, how wrong I was. Now I'm crying.

• Coming to the realization that Ray's initial plan actually was to bring everyone in the escape, but he clearly had to give up on it after having realized it would have been impossible to save them 🥺🥺🥺

(I mean it was not impossible. He believed it was. But it wasn't.)

• Ok but. The last part of the Ner chapter. I really don't want to spoil it for anyone because it really was a beautiful chapter but I really need to say: Emma and Norman. The way it wasn't just Ray always being there for them, protecting them from afar; no matter their blissful ignorance, they have always been there for him too. They never abandoned that lonely boy, and they made it so that he could have a last reason not to give up. A single, dim light of hope in that pitch black, devastating world he was born in. I may or may not be crying my eyes out.

(Btw I had written this before the Ray special chapter came out, and it's kinda funny to look back at it now)

• The thing with the Ner chapter is: you enter in it after reading two chapters of normal, wholesome children's stories. There's a dark undertune in it, but it's very subtle and it doesn't interfere with the happy, cheerful atmosphere of these children facing adventures together with each other. But then the Ner chapter strikes, and the Ray pov arrives, and it's like being beaten with a bat in the stomach several times. Deep down, you had always known it; but you suddenly realize that all these children are going to die. And, even worse, there's one child who knows. There's one child who has to assist to everything powerlessly. There's one child, one freaking-nine-years-old who knows that all his siblings are going to die, and there's nothing he can do. That a single mistake could ruin the chances of making just two of his siblings survive, which is everything he's hanging to right now. One child who only needs to be loved. Well that... That hits hard.

Me expressing my thoughts: girl this form is shit you can't write something that is understandable to save your life can you

• Also can we please appreciate Norman taking so long to get out of the forest as it's a recurrent characterizzation of his character to be desperately willing to live just *French chef kiss*

• I really like how the novel underlined how Norman's choice of sacrificing himself corresponded to a betrayal toward his friends (when you think about it, Emma definitely felt betrayed). It's almost like in his last moments Norman chose to switch roles with Ray, taking on his shoulders the burden of being both the traitor and the sacrifice.

Chapter 4

• Norman: * “ He instinctively closed his eyes and abandoned himself to the sweet memory of that time he understood how deeply loved he was. ” *

Somewhere, Ray: Can't relate

• Emma: Norman, what you want to do when you grow up?

Norman: It's a secret.

Me:

• “ Ray woke up before everyone, as usual. ”

A remarkable detail. You'd think Ray, as a good depressed person as he is, would sleep more than the average. The truth is: he doesn't sleep at all.

• Norman: There's... Another person I like

Me:

• OK NOW WHY did none tell me about the nine (9) lines of Norman / Don interacting it was worth reading the novel solely for that.

• WHY DID NONE TELL ME ABOUT DON ALMOST STRANGLING NORMAN AND MAKING HIM LITERALLY PASS AWAY IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH READING THE NOVEL SOLELY FOR THAT

• Reading about Conny being there hurts a lot but reading about Sadie and Hao brings up a totally different kind of pain. Also who the hell is Cindy?

• Norman: Oh yes, Emma and Ray, my most dear friends, my closest siblings, the reason I wake up in the morning, my only reason to live, the ones I'd entrust my life with,

Also Norman: Dunnot in the last thirteen hours and six minutes they have been acting pretty sus, I'm kinda sure they're betraying me somehow ://

• “ «I agree, but it feels like you've fallen down a rabbit hole. You're restless, you constantly look off...» said the raven haired boy, distorting his mouth in an hardly intelligible grimace and giving his friend a meaningful look.

«Norman, about that mysterious girl...»

«No, you're mistaken! I...»

Norman, filled with frustration, raised up his voice, starting to lose the coolness that was usually characteristic of him.

«But I haven't said anything yet!»

That being said Ray, with slightly mocking doing, turned on his feet and went away, leaving Norman like that. ”

I LOVE THIS BIT SO INEXPLICABLY MUCH I'm always *so* in for Oreo finishing each other sentences / reading each other's thoughts. Here, Norman answered Ray's question before he could even expose it, because he already knew what it would have been. Equally, Ray knew what Norman was going to say even though he cut his answer halfway through.

I love how much on the same page they are, they really... Totally and fully understand each other even without words, and I find it so sweet. Seriously, their dynamic is so wholesome

• Norman's last birthday gift: the thing that matters the most to him: his family's happiness

Emma's reward: the thing that matters the most to her: her family's happiness

Some things hit harder than others.

• I don't know like. When you read the novel after the series has ended, everything hurts so much more, because you know these are all memories Emma has lost forever.

• So you made colorful clothing by "coloring old clothes"? Have fun realizing y'all have celebrated Norman's birthday wearing your dead siblings' clothes

Bonus this epic note I randomly took I completely forgot the context of:

• Isabella is a bitch. I don't give a fuck about your dramatic past woman, leave that boy alone

(When the protect Ray mood hits™)

#tpn #the promised neverland #a letter from norman #tpn norman #tpn emma #tpn ray #full score trio #oreo #tpn analysis #mine #I don't even like Stark I just used the gif for the sake of reactions #I should have used facepalming Ray™ instead #Let me know if you want my reactions for the second novel as well!!!#tpn novels

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