#(damnit HOW MANY DIFFERENT TERMS DO I HAVE TO TAG YOU IN-)

[mystiquedrops]

So...

Sonic fandom, you get my vision? :3

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hi there! First off, I love your blog and the fact you’re giving us Greeks a voice without being a nationalist is quite refreshing!

I do have a question about your perception of sexism in Greek culture. I’m diaspora so my experience with my culture is much different compared to other Greeks’ experiences. While I have been fortunate to have plenty of strong Greek women in my life, I find that other Greeks, even those in my γιαγια’s own neighborhood, have different perceptions of women than those held in my family. For example, my γιαγιά constantly gossips about how her male Greek neighbor always has his wife do the work while he sits back and watches, calling him “lazy” and «μαλακάς». Again, from what I understand, my family’s attitudes aren’t common (according to most women in my family) among Greeks, but we are diaspora, with me being second generation, so their views could be skewed. How would you describe Greeks’ attitudes towards women and how would you say sexism presents itself in Greece?

(If this question makes you uncomfortable feel free not to answer, I’m just curious)

You’re an amazing blog and you’re giving Greeks everywhere a sense of community, thank you for everything you’re doing for us!

"without being a nationalist" Whoooops the bar is quite low isn't it 😂😂😂 But I totally get what you mean, and thank you for your message! 😍😍😍

I have no issue answering the question because of comfort levels but describing the phenomenon for the 10 million who live in Greece is quite challenging. You can see my short tag #feminism for a small taste. Other than that, I'd say you can see women on pretty much all sides of the spectrum - the ones who are forced into marriage (although rare) and the dynamic businesswomen who move into different spaces with all the freedoms men have been granted forever.

For comparison, society-wise we are among the lowest places for gender equality in Europe, but higher than our neighbors in N. Africa and West Asia. It's common to find Greek women who want equal division of labor and equality in all terms and actively advocate for it. Even in your yaya's time there were many women who thought like that (I've met some women like that) but now there are definitely significantly more.

(I don't mean that in other places which rank lower women "don't try hard enough". I spoke in terms of what is acceptable to do in the society the woman lives)

At the same time, in all levels and jobs there is certainly a bias of men being heard more than women (by men and women alike). The glass ceiling and the glass elevator are real. My opinion is that we want to show as a nation that we strive for equality but when push comes to shovel, a man's opinion is heard more, and men hold more power overall compared to women in similar positions to them.

In practical matters, if you are a woman you are seen as small and weak and fragile even if you are tall and strong for a woman - e.g. your suitcase might be taken without you asking because men assume you can't carry it, or they ask you if you can carry a 2 kg bag and baby-talk to you when they think you can't do a job 90% of humans is able to accomplish 😫

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gestures but it can be a painful reminder that men see women as not exactly humans but "women" (or "pretty and cute objects"), and this makes them not ask for permission or generally give us as the same decency they give to their male friends whom they see as humans. (And I am not talking about sexual things here. But most things apply equally in all scenarios) When it's happened to you many times, from all types of male friends (yes, even the best and kindest ones) you are like "bruh... what is happening in their subconscious??"

Obviously "not all men" but definitely "too many men, damnit!" It goes without saying that lots of Greek men have been advocating for women's rights - buuut at the same time they don't exactly get it. As I said, though, all the help and good intentions are appreciated (at least by me) and I won't knock down someone just because they unknowingly caused a microaggression.

And, yes, a number Greek women take part in this too, by willfully taking advantage of what being a "young pretty woman" in Greek society gives you, and by uploading sexist content for fun. The number is not that large but well... they exist.

What I mean by the first case: Princesses who have double standards like "Yes, women should be empowered!! Omg what do you mean that I have to undertake responsibilities too?? Am I not here to just be pretty? Do you want me to KNOW and DO things on top of everything?"

The second case could be described by a series of videos I've seen around on TikTok, mostly posted by teen women, "my brother reacts to my clothes". And as you can expect, the brother calls them basically a "slut" in "funny" ways when they see their wardrobe. And then the sister uploads it on TikTok with full knowledge of what the video entails. Men in the comments often agree and further slutshame her and other women her age when they dress for the club.

Things change slowly but there's much talk about feminist issues today and this alerts more and more people to push for improvement.

Disclaimer for this being based on personal experience and stories from friends. If you've seen something else in Greece, feel free to add it.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

What Am I? | Kol Mikaelson

Hello my lovelies! Am I back doing my thing where I write for three days straight and then go missing for three weeks? Probably! But I’m not one to complain so I’m going to ride out this streak of inspiration for as long as I can! I’m not sure if any of you had the joy to read any of the chaos between @activist-af and I but if you did than you know exactly how I feel about Kol. Perhaps this can be my ode to him. Until next time, all my love <3

Description: Kol finally breaks from all the years of feeling like the bad guy

Pairing: Female!Reader x Kol Mikaelson

Warnings: It’s angsty at the beginning but it’s fine

Word count: 2.6k

Tags: Angst, Fluff

P.S. I strongly recommend listening to Paralyzed by NF while you read this because I had it on a loop the whole time and it really sets the mood

(Pics not mine but mood board is :) )

“Kol, stop!” your lungs are burning, your legs numb from trying to keep up with him.

He storms across the compound, not quite at full speed but fast enough to ensure you have to run to keep up with him. His shoulders are tense, his eyes locked in front of him. You can feel the anger rolling off of him in thick, hot waves. You’re not a vampire by any means but you don’t need super senses to understand how dangerous he is at this moment. Whatever, you don’t care. He’s not going to ignore you, you won’t let him.

“Fuck, Kol!” you grab his arm, tugging with all your strength, “god damnit, stop walking! Talk to me!”

He yanks his arm forward but you don’t let go. Instead your body swings forward with his movements, bringing you closer to him than you’ve been able to get all day. You shake your head. All week would be more accurate. Your best friend has been avoiding you all damn week and you have no idea why. You’re done waiting for him to tell you. If you have to rip away every layer of him to get to the bottom of this, you will.

“Let go of me, y/n,” he continues to stare forward, his jaw tight, “I don’t have time for this.”

You scoff, trying to ignore the way your chest stings, “no time for what, Kol? Me? What on earth is going on?”

He just clenches his jaw tighter, looking to the side. This time your chest feels like it’s being cracked open. You let go of his hand, taking a few steps away from him. You don’t know what the fuck has gotten into him but you don’t like it, not one bit. This isn’t your Kol. Your Kol is sweet. This is a monster. You haven’t ever dared to think of him as such but today, you suppose, his true colors are showing. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

The silence after your words is deafening but it doesn’t last long, seconds at the most. It’s like a dam breaks in Kol. No, that’s not strong enough. It’s like the tectonic plates inside him shift and it sends a tsunami storming to the surface. He whirls around, a myriad of emotions swirling through his eyes. He takes a step towards you, a darkness you’ve never seen hanging over his features. You take a step back, you're not completely stupid. You have no misconceptions about what’s happening. You’re the beach in this situation, and you’re about to get destroyed. 

“You really want to know who I am?” He takes another step towards you, a tiger on the prowl. 

You raise your chin but still step further away from him. He’s never hurt you before. Hell, he’s never even yelled at you. But today there’s something in his eyes, something dangerous, and you’re only a human. You grit your teeth, feeling much weaker than the front you’re putting on. 

“I know who you are and this isn’t it!” you spit the words at him, hoping they’ll break through the storm that’s clouding his features.

He laughs but it’s dry; humorless. Your heart zaps again. He’s still moving towards you and you’re still moving away from him.  This game of cat and mouse is slowly becoming lethal.

“No, darling, you don’t,” despite the circumstances you can’t stop the way your body sings at his term of endearment, “you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

You take another step back and freeze, your back colliding with the wall. Crap. You hold your arms out towards him but he doesn’t stop, closing the space between you and him even when your hands land on his chest. You can feel the heat rolling off of him through the shirt he’s wearing. He’s like a furnace, lulling you despite the clear threat he poses. You dig your nails into his chest, pushing back with as much fire as you can muster.

“Kol, please, you know that’s not true,” you back your head against the wall, biting your lip at the slight pain, “just talk to me. Please. You’re scaring me.”

You’ve never had to say those words before and you hate them but not as much as you hate the way Kol flinches, like he’s taken a bullet, and backs away from you. He drags a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut. Your breath hitches, your blood running cold. When he opens his eyes they’re glassy. If your chest felt like it was being ripped open before, now it feels like someone reached inside the crack and tore out your heart. 

“I-,” Kol stares into your eyes for a moment before turning away from you, “you need to go. Now. Don’t come back.”

You can’t breathe, you're just stuck, glued to the wall while all the oxygen is sucked from the room. You’re helpless, watching him walk away. Your heart is in his hands but you can’t get it back. You can’t move. You don’t want it back anyway. It means nothing without him. You slide down the wall, your eyes glued to his retreating figure. 

No. You furrow your eyebrows. No, he doesn’t get to walk away from you, not after this long. Who does he think he is? You push yourself up, a wave of red hot something flooding your entire being. It laces your blood with fire, one you’re pretty sure can only be quelled by the man walking away from you. You don’t think, you just go. 

You clear the space between the two of you in seconds, your hands once more wrapping around his arm, “No, you don’t get to walk away like that. You don’t get to leave me, Kol Mikaelson! I won’t let you!” 

He freezes, his body going tense. He doesn’t try and yank his arm out of your grasp again. You stare at him, refusing to look away, afraid that if you do he’ll disappear. He sucks in a breath, swallowing harshly. You watch his adam's apple bob and fight the agonoy eating at your core. Come on Kol, turn around. 

As if hearing your thoughts he spins around, his arm breaking from your grasp. You don’t have time to feel anything from it, though, before he grabs your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. When you do you gasp, a chill running down your spine. His eyes are pitch black, nothing near their usual honey shade, and the skin around them is a sickly purple, dark blue veins running towards his cheeks. 

He sucks in another harsh breath, his nostrils flaring and his chest brushing yours, “do you honestly think that I could ever leave you?” he laughs bitterly, his eyes flitting over your face, “I couldn’t leave you if I tried. But I need to. Don’t you fucking get it? I’m a monster!”

This time it’s you who flinches. You wrap your hands around his arm, clinging to him as his words pour over you. You can’t breathe again but this time it’s a little different. It’s less agony and more breathlessness. You tighten your fingers, trying with everything you have to anchor yourself to him. 

“No you’re not,” you grit your teeth, meeting his harsh stare head on, “you’re not a monster, Kol! You’re so many things but you’re not a monster. You can’t be.”

His grip on your jaw lessens, his shoulders sagging. The black in his eyes begins fading, the veins receding and leaving nothing but his usual dark circles. Your heart clenches at the sight. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping. 

“Yes I am,” he mutters, his voice rough, “all I do is hurt people. Fuck, I’m hurting you right now!” 

You shake your head, trying to push back the flood of tears that suddenly blurs your vision, “No, Kol, you’re not,” your voice is thick, the lump in your throat a mountain, “you could never hurt me. Not in the way you’re thinking. You only hurt me by leaving me. Please, don’t leave me.” 

His hand fully loosens as he slumps to the floor, your words the final push to his crumbling will. He buries his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He’s crying. You are too, your heart in pieces at the sight of your best friend. The man you love. The best thing you’ve ever had now reduced to his knees. Pain explodes in your chest and your palms sting, an icy burn running up your arms and hitting your heart dead on. 

He lifts his head, revealing bloodshot eyes laced through with hell itself, “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I can’t separate anything in my head. The anger and the hurt, all of it! I can’t remember where I stop and everyone else starts. Who the fuck am I?” His voice cracks and, with it, your heart, “I’m just this fuck up to everyone but I haven’t even had the chance fuck up!” 

Your chest aches desperately for the man at your feet. You know what he’s talking about. A thousand years of life and yet only awake for a fraction of it. That would make any reasonable being crumble and it would take significantly less than a thousand years for most. You don’t know how the hell he does it. You haven’t died once. You’re only supposed to die once. He’s died a hundred times. Oh, Kol. You drop to your knees and pull him against you, crushing him to your chest to the best of your abilities.

“You don’t have to know who you are. I know who you are, Kol, and I’ve always known. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re my best friend. You’ve fought off death, and hunger, and your family. You don’t have to fight me off too!” you run your hands through his hair, pulling his face to meet yours, “you can rest now. You’re mine, Kol Mikaelson, that’s all you need to know.”

It’s surreal, to say the least, telling a vampire who he is. He should know better than anyone. After all, he’s supposed to have had a thousand years to figure out. Your chest squeezes painfully when you think of the years that were stolen from him. You run your fingers over his cheek, your thumb swiping some stray tears. 

He leans his face into your hand and you sag against him, cool relief fighting the fire in your veins. It’s the sweetest feeling you’ve ever experienced. Kol wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him. Even when kneeling he towers over you, curling around you. You can’t stop the sobs from coming and you don’t want to, gripping his shirt painfully. A week's worth of fear and worry pours out of you and he takes it like the rock he is. Maybe you’re the tsunami and he’s the beach after all.

He slips a hand into your hair, tugging gently to make you look at him, “I’m yours?”

His eyes are red rimmed and full of something that makes you ache. His lips swollen and red. His hair, mussed from your hands and his, sticks up at all angles. It doesn’t make him look bad, though. No, it makes him look like a fallen angel. His skin catches the light, a golden hue painting his features, pooling in the circles under his eyes. Your hands tighten on his button down, if that’s possible, and you swallow hard. He’s yours and you aren’t letting him go, not for the next thousand years. 

“Yes,” you nod your head hard, trying to drill into him how , “yes, you are. All mine. Just like me to you. I’m all yours Kol. Every part of me.”

His eyes darken again and the ache intensifies, curling around each nerve in your body and setting everything on fire. He’s no longer an angel. Who are you kidding, he was never one in the first place. He’s always been your demon, the one who crawled straight from hell to be with you. Looking into his eyes, you bite your lip, power surging through your veins. He survived a thousand years only to end up in your arms. His chest rumbles against yours, his hands finding your hips and hauling you into his lap. 

He takes your face in his hand again, a little rougher than before but you don’t care, “all mine. Always mine, do you hear me? I’m not just some short term fling. You’re mine until the end.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, your stomach a ball of white hot need. It’s final, there’s no allusions now, not that there ever was any. You love him. With every fibre of your being you love Kol Mikaelson.

You move your hands to his face, bringing his face down to yours, “Until the end, Kol.”

You smash your lips against his as soon as the words pass your lips, your fingers dragging through his hair. It’s like silk under your fingers and you can’t resist pulling at it. He moans into your mouth, the sexiest sound you’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, and squeezes your hip with his hand, bolts of lightning zapping straight to your core. You pull his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard. He meets each nip with one of his own, running his tongue over your bottom lip. His mouth is like magic, spreading a warmth through each of your bones, one that melds with the inferno raging through your being.

“Darling,” he moans into your mouth again, his arms wrapping around your waist, “fuck, I need you.”

You tie your arms around his neck and cross your ankles around his hips, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. You can feel the hard plains of his stomach against yours, the heat from his chest seeping against your blazing skin. You crash your lips against his harder, his fingers digging into your hips and pulling incoherent muses from your mouth. You can’t get enough of him, he’s like water. Like oxygen. Without him you would most certainly die. 

 “Then take me, Kol, I’m yours. Please.” 

His answer is a growl, one that sends more of the endless heat pooling in your core. There’s no way he can’t smell you right now. You can smell you. He must be fucking bathing in how much your want him. How much you need him. You run your fingers down his back, clawing at his shirt. He stands suddenly, jostling you against him deliciously. Before you can blink you’re in his bedroom, bouncing against his deep blue comforter. His room smells like him, like nutmeg and cloves, and it hits you hard, intoxicating you with everything Kol. 

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it quickly to the side before settling over you. You run your fingers up his back, admiring the way his muscles tense under your fingers before pulling him against you. You wrap your legs around his hips, rolling against him hungrily. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his heaving chest. His nose brushes your cheek and you sigh, his lips finding your ear. 

When he speaks his words whisper against your skin, sending toe curling shivers down your spine, “I love you. You hear me? I love you, darling. It’s you and me.”

You arch your chest against him, digging your fingers into his hair and pulling his lips to graze yours, “I love you, Kol Mikaelson. If you ever need to know who you are just remember this. No matter what else, you’re mine,” you press your mouth against his, using your tongue to punctuate the most important words you’ve ever said, “that’s all that matters. Mine.” 

“All fucking yours.”

[uhhbeans]

it's starting at the end, I think.

Haven't done a fic in a long time omfggggggg anyway take this drink up <3

CW: divorce/etc, ask to tag

Summary: Chase comes by one last time, Stacy has to cope.

You never realize how fast time flies. That is until you’re divorced, with two kids, and currently “talking things out” with your ex husband in the middle of the night after he barged in uninvited.

“Why did you come here Chase?” It wasn’t really a question, Stacy didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’ve told you, Stace-”

“Don’t call me ‘Stace’. It’s midnight, the kids are sleeping, I’m midway through signing a restraining order. Answer the question before I kick you out.”

She wasn’t used to this. Being firm wasn’t in her nature, last time she checked. Granted, she never checked this sort of thing. Who would? Things change when you don’t pay attention to them.

That’s the thing, Chase never changed. Not now, not 10 years ago, not 15. 15 years and counting they’d been married, and not once had she seen anything different from when she first met him. Some people don’t change, she thought, even if she didn’t want to believe it.

Pathetic, isn’t it? Chase wasn’t the most....stable man. During the honeymoon phase you’d think about it as a virtue. But 15 and a half years down the line, it starts to get tiring. And here he was, tiring her out again.

“I came to drop this off,” He said, pulling out a small box from his back jean pocket, “For you.”

She hesitated opening it. Every thought said to kick him out then and there, but she didn’t. Her chest ached at the idea, even still. The box was dingy to say the least, made of crappy black-painted cardboard and slightly chipped on the corners. No wrapping, no notes, just a messy cube that looked like it’d fall apart any second. The bottom writing had been scribbled out in pen, that looked like the only recent thing about it.

“I know I haven’t been the best father, husband, anything to you--” he took a step back as his tone wavered, “--but I thought I could...I thought that maybe you’d…”

“We’re not getting back together, Ch-”

“I know we’re not getting back together, alright!?” His voice raised an octave, yet it still quivered as if on the brink of tears, “Just take it, and I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of your life.”

She nodded. Situations like this weren’t new to either of them; something bad happens in a relationship, give a shitty gift to hope and fix it, go back to the toxic habits and repeat. It was comfortable, key point being was. Things were different this time around. This time, there was that dingy little box in her hand and a man previously resembling a clingy puppy about to walk out of her front door for the first time in years.

“Take care of them for me, okay?” He whispered, turning the corner. The faint slam of the front door gave Stacy all she needed to know.

He was gone, for good.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on his absense, she had a box to open. Or, in a better fitting term, let that box fall apart. Setting it down on a coffee table in the corner of the room (that she never used anyways; there’s a lot of firsts tonight), she sat down herself. Purple nightgown sprawled across her knees, barely reaching the start of her calves. Stained with kid gunk, whatever the hell her children had spilled on it this time.

‘Just like prom night’, she thought, not taking her eyes off of the package in front of her.

Mustering up the courage to grab it again was difficult. Though she couldn’t figure out why. It’s just a box, damnit. Nothing more, nothing less. But the situations and the memories tied to said box weren’t the most conventional either.

She lifted it’s lid, barely phased when she saw it’s contents. A ring. Chase’s ring. His wedding ring. From 15 and a half years ago, in the same box he used to propose to her with…

He’d kept it all this time, shitty box and all. It had just 1 stone on the top, an emerald, its color slightly dulled from age. It was his favorite crystal at the time (and she couldn’t deny it was her favorite, nowadays), and the fact that he kept it...god.

The ring on her own finger seemed to tighten. She still wore it, even after the divorce. Rose quartz, that was hers. Stacy hadn’t been one to care for that sort of thing, but Chase was all about being unconventional like that.

“Diamonds are too simple to propose with.” he said, that day, “I thought I’d give you something as gorgeous as you.”

Time flies like that, when you least expect it. You go from loving a man, to...Chase Brody: worlds most average guy who’s brain never left 8th grade.

This was something old chase would do, of course. Be sentimental like that. Return to sender, despite being the sender himself. Give the whole piece of the puzzle to someone who merely inherited it. She ached at the thought. It was really over, everything. Nothing but the ring tied them together before, but now there was...nothing. Nothing material, anyways. Chase had gotten his shit moved, she gave him some cash a while back to start himself up a bit (she still cared, as much as she hated to think)...and now the ring was fully delivered.

Was this closure? It didn’t seem so. There was still so much open, so many questions left unanswered. So many conversations not yet had. Hell, there were so many years behind them, and now ahead of them it was...nothing. Nothing but the kids to worry about on her end anymore.

And that was terrifying. Serenity was terrifying.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Day After (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Crack/fluff

Summary: Office parties are mostly a bad idea.  You never know if you might say something to someone who really matters to you.

Warnings: A little more cursing than usual

Word count: 2,031

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

For @lovingshoto​‘s 200 follower special!

a/n: This took longer than I thought it would, only because I always fall asleep when I start writing I’m a tired college student

There’s a male Ashido character here based on designer_eyebags on Tik Tok because it’s fabulous and absolute needed for a crack fic like this.  Some other characters may/may not be OOC, depending on your own imagination of things.

I’m off from uni this week and next week because someone probably has Covid-19 at my school and I was gonna be on spring break next week anyway, so after I catch up with all my assignments and stuff, I’ll hopefully be writing more!

Enjoy and follow @lovingshoto​ please and thank you!

Also, spot the TikTok meme

"Unngghh."

My forehead presses against the cool desk, my stomach rumbling uncomfortably and my temples pounding to the beat of an EDM track.

"You look completely hammered, what the hell happened last night?"

I don't bother lifting my head at Jirou's voice.  "Many mistakes were made," I groan.  "I feel like death."

"It was smart of YaoMomo and I to skip then."  The light ruffle of papers trickles next to my ear.   "You still need to get these reports done by the end of the day.  Sorry, buddy."

God. Damnit.  I lift my heavy head up, regretting all of my life choices until this moment.  The office party last night is a giant blob of flashing lights, alcohol, and questionable decisions.  I never even knew that half the people here would get as smashed or turnt as they did last night.

Me included.

I don't know who was in charge of alcohol, but whatever was in those cups was colored and made all of us act just a little crazier than our mundane lives usually allow.  When Mirio said company parties are crazy, I now see he really meant it.  This morning when I woke up, my throat was drier than the desert in summer and my head felt like someone let a jackhammer loose inside.  I don't even remember how the hell I managed to get home.

Slowly, painfully, I trudge through my work.  Even on three tablets of ibuprofen, my headache barely gets better, and staring at a screen all day doesn't help.  I don't even have time to take my break because I barely made a dent in my work.  Not that I would want to.  This morning, I couldn't keep my breakfast down, so I'm scared to eat.

Around lunchtime, a thermos bowl is placed gently on the space next to my computer.  My eyes meet with my stone-faced coworker settling into the chair, sitting up proper as he is with his hands laced in his lap.

"Oh no."  My heart drops into my stomach as I whine out.  "Did I say something yesterday?  I remember most of what happened last night, but other things are a blur.  Please don't be mad at me."

"If I were mad, I wouldn't be here right now."  He pushes the dish over along with utensils wrapped in a napkin.  "Eat.  It's hangover soup, it should help your stomach."

Reluctantly, I open the dish, the savory-bitter smell wafting out as soon as I lift the lid, immediately causing my stomach to growl.  I'm still wary about his serious expression as I eat.  Todoroki is normally an emotionless person, but he has a different energy today.  I'm waiting for the shoe to drop.

As soon as I'm halfway through the bowl, Todoroki calmly asks, "Did you forget your brain last night?"

I groan.  There it is.  "I thought you weren't angry?"

"I'm not angry, I genuinely want to know what state of empty mind were you in to do all the things you did last night?"  Though his face is devoid of emotion, he's obviously being condescending.

I put the spoon down in the bowl.  "In my defense, I don't know what alcohol that was, it made me crazier than usual."

"Why did you drink at all?  You know people do weird things when they're drunk."

"Because that's what people do at company parties, Todoroki."  I lean my arm on the desk and rub my temples.  "I don't know who was in charge of the alcohol last night-"

"Did you summon me?"  A short pink head of hair with small horns peeking out appears behind the wall of my desk.  "I was the one in charge of drinks last night," he rounds the separator and sits gracefully on the desk, legs crossed, happily drinking pink tea from his clear glass mug.  "Did you enjoy my alcohol selection?"

My eye twitches.  This is the person I need to strangle and throw into a ditch.  But I can't, he's too fabulous and he's one of the best people we have actually.  "Because of you, I went a little too crazy last night," I grit out through my teeth.

"Oh, sweetie," he places a hand on my shoulder endearingly, "Alcohol only brings out the secret inner person you actually want to be."

"Yeah, and that's someone who needs to learn to take their alcohol like me," Bakugou walks past casually, drinking his (probably) third cup of coffee since morning.

"Oh please Bakugou, we all know you and Kirishima left early to fuck, you couldn't keep your hands off each other after one drink," Ashido stirs his tea just as casually.

Bakugou freezes up as the blushing pink man sips his tea like's he's talking about the weather.

"Oops, was that a secret?" the sassy pink man feints shame.

Bakugou, completely red at the ears, just stalks off grumbling to himself in embarrassment.

Ashido sighs, a smile playing on his lips.  "Not everyone can handle Grand Marnier, you know.  Aoyama actually put me onto it.  It's not for the faint of heart, but it definitely makes things more interesting.  Did you see Tokoyami?  Even-  Oh!  Here's the king of darkness himself!"

The man with raven-black hair that's usually spiked back has lazily gathered some of the hairs to pull it away from it face.  He probably felt so terrible this morning that he didn't bother gelling it up like he usually does.  Actually, Tokoyami looks just as hellish as I feel.  His sharp, bird-like eyes are dulled by dark circles as he trudges down the aisle.

Ashido throws an arm around his shoulders as he walks by, startling him enough to pull the earbuds out of his ears that are blasting hard rock.  "This guy right here was having the time of his life last night!  Just one drink and he loosened up, hands around everyone's shoulder telling them how much he appreciates them and mushy shit like that."

Tokoyami's pale face slowly reddens and his eyes widen, suddenly awake but having no energy to fight anything Ashido says.

"He even fit a lap shade on his head and started dancing around, I even have pictures to prove it!" Ashido continues gushing, pulling out his phone excitedly.

"Please don't bring it up," Tokoyami grits out, trying to be menacing, but his tomato-red faces contrasting his all black work outfit doesn't help his case.

"Don't be a spoiled-sport, it's so cute seeing you not dark and dreary for once!" the bright pink man gushes.

"I'm leaving."

Oh shit, if Tokoyami did that after one drink, I don't even wanna know what else I could've done.  I've already come to terms with my mistakes, but if there's more, I don't know what I would do.

Ashido sighs and puts his phone away.  "I guess he never wants to see himself happy.  Oh well, at least I have more blackmail material."  He winks at us and rises will a flourish, making his grand exit.  "I'll see you two around!"

There are some days when I really think Ashido might know more things than we think he does.  And that's a scary thought, because he could very easily have some dirt on everyone, including the boss and the more senior workers.

Todoroki taps his thumbs together in his clasped hands.  "That was...interesting.  But speaking of blackmail, I would also like to show you a picture that really upset me from last night”  He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling.

I cringe.  There's only one massively stupid thing I did that would upset Todoroki enough to really reprimand me Mom-style.  So I blurt out my rationale in hopes of him being less harsh on me.  “Okay, but in my defense, Kaminari bet me three dollars that I couldn't drink all that shampoo.  What was I supposed to do, say no?"

“No that’s not-"  His heterochromatic hair bounces as his head snaps up at me.  "You drank shampoo!? How did- When did you do that, I was supposed to be watching you the entire night!”

Shit, that wasn't it.  "Well, obviously you didn’t do a good job since I drank a whole cup of shampoo and you didn’t stop me," I try to brush it off defensively.

Todoroki's mortified face is as pale as the right side of his hair, covering his mouth with his clenched fist.  "How are you standing right now?"  He looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

"Considering how I threw up as soon as I got home - which I'll be honest, I don't even know how that happened - and I couldn't even eat this morning, I'd say my body did a pretty good job of rejecting it."

My office mate has no idea how he's supposed to react to any of that.  His phone is frozen in his hand as he glares at me like I have three heads.  "Well.  What I was going to show you doesn't compare to that."  He puts his phone away and tries to regain his composure.

I mentally sigh in relief.  At least drinking shampoo was the stupidest thing I did all night.

"If you really would like to know," his face softens, "I was the one who took you home last night, since you were thoroughly intoxicated."

"Oh."  Now I feel guilty.  Not only was I probably being a troublesome brat for him to take care of, I didn't even remember his kindness.  And he even made me soup for my troubles.  "I'm so sorry, and you did all this for me, thank you, Todoroki."

"It's fine.  It's due to the alcohol that you can't recall, I understand.  Though," Todoroki's cheeks flush slightly, "There is something I'm confused about."

Oh fuck, I did the thing didn't I?

"At first, I thought it was also an effect of the alcohol, considering you licked Asui's face while you were dancing with her, and you were generally more touchy with everyone the whole night."  He has trouble looking me in the eyes now.  "But, you were saying things to me that I don't think you would tell anyone else."

My entire mind goes into overdrive, scrambling to piece together the narrative lost in my memory.  There's one major concern I have.  "Was I vulgar?"

"No, it was nothing like that," he shakes his head, allowing me to relax.  "But, it was...charming, I'd say."

I bury my face in my hands.  "Just tell me what I said already."  I'm ready to regret everything.

"You...said you wanted me to stay with you, because you wanted me to be the first thing you see in the morning."  He has trouble getting the words out, but his voice was still delicate and endearing.  "You said seeing me every day at work is something you look forward to.  You told me how handsome I look, especially on the few occasions when I wear glasses."  His blush intensifies as I slowly feel closer and closer to dying.  "There were many other compliments.  And then...you...kissed me."

FUCK, I DID THE THING.

"Or, at least you tried.  If that was something you really wanted, I couldn't let you do it while you were intoxicated and couldn't remember it later."

An ashamed apology bubbles in my throat, but my extreme embarrassment doesn't let it come out.  How pathetic I am admitting my feelings to the person I like while I was guzzled with alcohol and shampoo.

"Not to say I didn't want to kiss you."

I snap my head up, fully taking in his tomato-red appearance as he averts he bores affectionate eyes into mine.  Oh.

"I don't know if you're up for it, but would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" Todoroki officially requests.

My heart melts at his innocent confession and relief.  "S-Sure," I squeak.

Todoroki gives me a small smile and pats my head.  "Finish that soup and hurry to finish your work for the day," he chides before getting up and heading back to his own desk.

My chest remains clenched and my cheeks hurt from smiling continuously.  The only thing I regret now is not seeing buttoned-up, proper Todoroki drunk.

[pidgebeifong]

atla artist au

Aang is a painter. He’s loved painting ever since he was a child and first experimented with finger paints on the walls- which was, in hindsight, maybe not the best idea. He loves the way it detaches him from his worldly concerns. It’s almost like a form of meditation for him- the rest of the universe just falls away whenever he picks up his paintbrush, and all he can see is his canvas and the worlds he will create with a swirl of lemon yellow sun here, a wave of cerulean blue ocean there, a blur of sunset orange clouds at the edges. Everything he owns has been stained with paint in at least three places, which makes dressing for formal events a real pain. Sometimes he’ll deliberately paint his jeans with sunflowers or bees or anything that’s a sunny, bright yellow- his favourite colour- and wear them proudly for days. Katara jokes that she doesn’t even remember what the real colours of his hands look like, because they’re forever stained with paint that’s sunken so deeply into the folds of his skin that it makes it nearly impossible to rub off. People always ask him what his favourite thing to paint is, expecting it to be something like sunsets or mountains, but the truth is his favourite thing to study and paint is his Labrador, Appa, the first thing he ever drew. He started drawing at around five, the same age he adopted Appa, and to this day he can never get the way Appa’s golden fur shines just right under the blinding sunlight. He loves going to nature reserves and parks to study how light affects the leaves and flowers. Sometimes everything will just be too much, and he’ll jam as many paints into his pockets as he can, take a sketchbook, a water bottle and a paintbrush, and get on the bus to a park. He’ll sit quietly for hours, trying to capture moonlight on water or the flapping wings of a hummingbird.

Katara is a writer. She literally can’t remember a time she hasn’t loved to write. She has stacks and stacks of unfinished manuscripts lying around on the floor, tacked up to the walls in her room, and crumpled on the bedsheets. She has easily over a thousand different scenes written for her future novels on the Notes app in her phone, and she has a bad habit of scribbling ideas down on her hands on the rare occasions she doesn’t have her phone on her and there’s no paper in sight. She’s practically nocturnal at this point, because all her best ideas come to her at 3am, when she’s sleep-deprived and half-hallucinating. She always carries at least three pens on her at all times, and gets panicky when she’s forced to remove them whenever she has to dress up for anything formal. She’s really hypocritical whenever she gets on Aang’s case about his hands always being paint-stained, because all her hands are covered in ink, too- half-finished notes and ideas that got left on the cutting board. Katara hates cutting out characters that simply aren’t necessary to the scene and don’t add anything of value to the plot, because they’re her babies damnit and she worked hard on them. One would think that this would make her more sympathetic to her characters, but Aang and Sokka are appalled the first time they’re allowed to read one of her (mostly) finished manuscripts (who is she kidding, she doesn’t have a manuscript that’s even remotely finished for the life of her) and see how much torture and anguish and heartbreak she’s put her characters through. Katara is a huge advocate of making all her characters hit the lowest point they could possibly go, and then instead of making them get back up again, she gives them a shovel and instructions to dig lower. However, she’s a huge sucker for happy endings, and she practically dominates the tag #angst with a happy ending on AO3. She gets around three hours of sleep every night, none of them consecutive, and survives on black coffee and willpower alone. Everyone knows her as an avid reader, but she hasn’t really read an actual book since two years ago, and spends most of her time scrolling through 250k fanfictions at 2am.

Sokka is a photographer. He doesn’t have the skills that Aang has with his paintbrush, or the way Katara can make entire universes come to life with a few words, so for a long time he used to think that he was just going to be the ordinary guy in the group who’d only be known for loving meat to what is frankly an unhealthy degree, and that his only contribution to the team would be a slew of bad jokes and sarcastic remarks. He finds his calling very late in life, but the moment he picks up his first camera at age fourteen, everything just seems to fall perfectly into place. Sokka’s world always moves too fast and changes too quickly, but he can capture moments that will last forever with the click of a button, and he guesses that that’s what he loves about photography- that he can freeze moments in time and always be able to come back to them. Well, as long as he doesn’t lose his camera, but he’s got the photos all backed up on iCloud anyway, so that’s not really an issue. Sometimes, he’ll accompany Aang to nature parks, and Aang will paint the twisting vines of a plant while Sokka captures Aang’s relaxed, happy expression. His favourite photos are the ones he takes of his friends when they’re caught unaware- candid portraits of Suki laughing or Katara ruffling Aang’s hair or Toph trying and failing to hide a grudging smile. He loves old photos, too- loves the aesthetic of black-and-white photos, how they capture a scene that he knows full well happened decades ago but somehow make him feel like he’s living in the same moment. Experimenting with light is one of his favourite things to do- he loves playing with golden hour sunlight or early morning rays, loves hearing the satisfying click of his camera and knowing that he’s got another picture for the album (and his hugely successful Instagram account that has well over 50k followers).

Toph is a sculptor. She was born blind and never really got to experience art the same way the others did, so for a long time she buried her disappointment deep within her and never let jealousy rear its ugly head whenever she heard Katara singing praises about the latest painting Aang had just finished, or the beautiful photograph Sokka had captured of all of them laughing as a group, but then she discovered sculpture. An art she could appreciate from beneath her fingers, an art she could see by running her hands over it and feeling the crevices and curves and edges breathe themselves into life beneath her touch. Despite discovering the term for it late in life, Toph found that she’d actually been sculpting at a very young age. She’d been experimenting with PlayDoh and clay since before she could walk, but she’d never known that there was actually an art form in it that people did professionally until Aang had taken her to a museum and put her hands on a beautiful sculpture of an ancient Greek god. It was one of the only times she’d ever cried in her life, but those had been tears of pure joy- she didn’t want to sound like a sap, but she hadn’t realized that something so beautiful in the world existed until that life-changing moment at the museum. Sure, they’d been chased out by one particularly angry security guard who kept waving his baton around threateningly (‘can’t you two juveniles see that the sign clearly says no touching?!’ ‘actually sir, I’m blind so that would be a hard no’) but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Toph has been addicted to sculpting, feeling things take shape under her capable hands. She’s been told she can replicate faces with an accuracy that’s both astonishing and unnerving, despite not even being able to see (it only took a lot of years and  lot of hours spent tracing the lines of Aang’s face) and her work has been proudly displayed on Katara’s bedside table, Sokka’s desks and Aang’s shelves.

Suki is a martial arts instructor who has a degree in badassery. She started her own school at just fifteen years old, and named it the Kyoshi Warrior Academy, in honour of Kyoshi, her late martial arts instructor whom she had a deep respect for. She had black belt status in five different martial arts by the time she turned thirteen, and was a legend for her skill, hard work and talent in the martial arts community. She’s lost quite a few matches, but she’s more than made up for it with every win she’s achieved. The first time she met Sokka, she thought he was trying to steal from her, so she judo-flipped him, pinned him down and tied his wrists together, all of which took a maximum of three seconds. (‘wow, that’s kinky. so are you into that kind of thing?’ ‘shut up, asshole. what do you want from me? my wallet?’ ‘actually, I was going to ask you out on a date, but I mean sure, if you’re offering. I could use a little cash right about now, actually, because I think you just broke all the cards I have in my wallet when you body-slammed me to the ground, along with at least ten of my bones.’) Sokka had severely underestimated Suki’s skill at first, despite their rather unfortunate encounter (during which she actually had broken the bone in his arm, but he’d tried to wave it off and say that he didn’t mind, then subsequently screamed in pain because he’d tried to wave his broken arm), but he knew that he’d have to change his mindset in order to win her over. Eventually, he ended up changing his misogynistic mindset not only to go out with Suki, but because he realized that it was the right thing to do- something Katara was over the moon about. She and Suki have been joined at the hip ever since, and Sokka often jokes whether Suki is only dating him for his sister (‘damn, suki, it’s like you only come over for katara’ ... ‘wait. why aren’t any of you saying anything. katara did you just wink? sUKI DID YOU JUST KISS MY SISTER’S CHEEK-?! oh my god this is the worst betrayal I’ve experienced since toph said that she didn’t need to see my photographs in order to tell that they were ugly’). Jokes aside, Suki adores her boyfriend and his sister, and often teaches them self-defense in her free time. One of her best students is a girl named Ty Lee, who all her friends except Zuko seem to really hate for some reason. However, Ty Lee is a natural at self-defense and she and Suki get along like a house on fire. Katara still refuses point-blank to go to classes whenever Ty Lee is in attendance, but Suki has given up trying to understand why. In conclusion, Suki is one of those movie heroines who can munch a sandwich while apprehending twenty supervillains all twice her size, and still come out victorious.

Zuko is a theatre kid and aspiring actor. (Was anyone surprised by this, really?) His natural melodramatic emo kid personality makes him the perfect role for starring roles in school plays (at least, that’s what Azula always likes to say) and acting to him comes as naturally as breathing. He’s not-so-secretly a Shakespeare nerd and can literally recite Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, two of his favourite plays, word for word. He also loves Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen- and alright, maybe he also harbours a love for High School Musical (he’s never told anyone that, but everyone knows anyway because he made Azula suffer through all five movies with him which eventually led to her becoming so fed-up constantly belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs that she recorded the audio and sent it to everyone at school, including Mai, whom he couldn’t look in the eyes for a straight two weeks). Before his mother left them, she used to say that Zuko got his acting genes from her, because she used to play the lead role in Love Amongst The Dragons every year in her old high school. Zuko asked Ursa if that meant Azula got her dancing genes from Ozai, and they’d both have a quiet little laugh as they imagined Ozai trying to dance ballet. Although Zuko adores the drama and the poignant atmosphere that comes with performing Shakespeare’s plays, Love Amongst The Dragons holds the top spot for his favourite play by far. He goes to see it every time the ache for his mother is too painful to ignore- even though the new actors, a group called the Ember Island Players, all but butcher it every year- and sometimes, he’ll deceive himself into thinking that his mother’s somewhere in the audience too, watching the play right there with him like they used to do all the time. He once took Azula to see it with him, just like they used to do when their mother was with them, and Azula cried when he told her that the reason he liked it was because it reminded him of their mother. The sight of her crying was so unnerving that Zuko went alone after that. Azula never protested, though, or teased him for liking the play again.

Azula is a dancing prodigy. She specializes in ballet, but she also does contemporary and modern. She tried her hand at tap and jazz, and although she naturally excelled in it, as usual, she decided that it just wasn’t for her. At the age of fourteen, Azula is already a world-renowned dancer and has broken records and made history with how skilled she is at dancing. She moves her body so fluidly that it’s hard to believe she’s even a person and not just a wisp or smoke, delicately floating and twirling and twisting through the air. Azula has a lot of pent-up anger and frustration about having to constantly seem perfect all the time in order to make up for the failure that Zuko is, and she’s found that physical exercise- namely, dance- is the best way to relieve her stress. She also knows a fair bit of martial arts- out of everyone, she and Ty Lee are the only ones who have managed to defeat Suki at hand-to-hand combat. If asked about it, Suki will vehemently deny that such an incident ever happened, which only serves to amuse Azula further. Azula started ballet at age three and advanced much further and quicker than any of her peers, which incited a lot of jealousy and basically ensured that she had virtually no friends in the ballet community, but it wasn’t like she was particularly desperate for companionship in the first place. She’s so famous that she’s a verified account on Instagram with over a million followers- she does some spare modelling work on the side when she can, and her stunning looks combined with her raw talent have made her into one of the most unattainably perfect girls to ever rule Instagram. Somehow, her dancing doesn’t distract her from her grades, because she also has a stellar report card that’s displayed on the wall of her numerous trophies and awards she’s achieved over the years. (Zuko has a half-broken shelf that sports exactly two awards, and one is a certificate of participation.) Azula was born for the spotlight. Whenever she steps onto a stage, the room goes completely, eerily still, as if holding on to her every move. She’s one of the most beautiful dancers to ever perform, and audiences sing praises about her every twirl, her every arch, as if a single pirouette she’s executed is already perfect enough to win her ten awards. She’s mesmerizing on stage, and kind of terrifying in the way that one would find someone too perfect to be terrifying. Her every move is effortless, graceful, as if she’s a weightless feather drifting through the breeze. She’s incredibly captivating and is set to be one of history’s stars.

Mai is a musician/singer. Her parents were extremely traditional and gave her piano and violin lessons for her fifth birthday, but she actually ended up enjoying them a lot. She has a great voice, too, so she started a YouTube channel a while back that features her doing covers and singing her own original songs sometimes. It’s now amassed a few thousand followers. Zuko has an admittedly great voice, too, and sometimes she invites him to her channel and they do these amazing duets. All of their followers ship them together, but Mai always denies that she likes him, despite her cheeks always blushing a bright pink whenever he’s brought up on live-streams. Her parents don’t approve of her channel, which they only found out about because they were being overbearing and went through her phone yet again, and they want her to go to school to study business instead. Mai doesn’t plan on giving up on her YouTube channel anytime soon, though. Before she discovered singing, she was clearly passionless about most everything, but now that she has, it feels like a fire slowly consuming her from the inside out. And she kind of likes it, to be honest. It feels good to be so passionate about something, especially since Zuko likes it just as much as she does. She’ll never admit it, but she knows how to play quite a few My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs on the piano (which Zuko absolutely loves her for, because he’s the picture perfect stereotype of an emo boy). Writing and singing songs provides her with some sort of cathartic relief that she can’t really obtain from anywhere else. She’s incredibly musically talented, and was playing grade eight piano material at just eleven years old. She taught herself the guitar and the harp after her parents refused to give her any more lessons for fear that she would become too invested in music (Asian parents, y’all- they provide you with piano lessons but expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer because God forbid you pursue a career in music despite having studied it since you were five) and refuse to pursue a career in business.

Ty Lee is a gymnast. She tried ballet along with Azula, but didn’t like the discipline it took and ran out of patience with all the tedious instructions necessary to follow along with the class, finding that gymnastics was more to her liking. However, she and Azula make an awesome duo whenever they showcase their talents together. Ty Lee’s actually so good that trainees are already speculating that she could achieve a spot on her country’s national gymnastics team. She can do backflips, handstands, cartwheels and splits on a beam one after the other without even needing to catch her breath, and she’s impossibly fit. She loves crop tops- she thinks they show off her figure, which is nearly unattainable for most people. She’s also naturally talented at martial arts, and Suki frequently tells her that she learns faster than Suki can teach. She’s done every form of gymnastics imaginable- rhythmic, acrobatic, artistic- you name it, she’s done it. Originally she only took an interest in it because Azula begged her to join ballet with her, and Ty Lee found that she did like the strenuous physical exertion that ballet entailed, but everything just moved too slowly for her. Ty Lee likes fast-paced action, so gymnastics is the perfect fit for her. Sometimes, Azula will teach her some new ballet moves she learnt in class, and in return, Ty Lee will teach Azula a few gymnastics moves she invented by herself after following the standard textbook forms grew too boring. They once entered a talent show together and blew the crowd away with Azula’s captivating dancing and Ty Lee’s breathtaking gymnastics.

[mlovesstories]

Shake It Off Part 1

Shake It Off Part 1

AN: Spangenrebingo: Jared Padalecki 

Reader age 25

Words ~4000

Summary: Jared has a medical emergency, and a fan surprises the boys with help.

Warnings: Seizures, hospital, medical emergencies, panic feelings, flangst

Jared x Jensen (platonic)

Jensen x reader (platonic)

Jared x Reader (platonic)

Gen x Jared

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

Chicago

“Hi, guys. I’m nervous.”  The fan gave Jensen and Jared a hug each.  

“Don’t be nervous! We don’t bite.”  Jared smiled lovingly.

“Yes, please don’t.”  The adoring fan chuckled.

“What pose would you like?”  Jensen asked.

“Can I just get a hug, please?  I just need a hug.”  She beamed at her current situation.

“You okay?”  Jared asked, concerned at her comment.

“Yep!”

They took the photo and then continued interacting and posing with other fans.

—————

“Hey, darlin’.”  Jared walked into one of the break rooms in the hotel.  He saw the con volunteer in her required outfit eating her lunch.  “You took a photo today!  It was so nice to meet you!  I’m Jared.”  He extended his hand.  She stood and shook it. “Nice, strong shake you got there.”

“I’m YN.  Nice to meet you too.  Hopefully I didn’t freak out too bad.  I am a volunteer. I need to get my crap together.”  YN looked away from him.

“We’re just people too, kid.  You want some pizza?”  He gestured to the table with boxes of pizzas on top.

“That’s only for the cast and crew.  Volunteers have to bring their own.”  YN shrugged.

“Here, have some pizza.”  Jared took some pizza from a box, put it on a plate, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” She said quietly.

“What’s up with you?  You don’t like pizza?”

YN laughed. “I’m like the Ninja Turtles. I am fueled by pizza, actually.”  YN kept a straight face.  Confused, Jared tilted his head as she started laughing.

“You’re good, kid, you’re good,”. Jared acknowledges her sense i humor.  “Jensen and I pull that crap all the time on set.  You would fit right in.”

“Yeah, I don’t act. That would never happen.”

“You never know, darlin’.  Okay, onto autographs.  I’ll see you around!”

—————

Jacksonville

“You’re okay. I know this is super exciting, but they are kind and loving. How long have you been watching the show?” YN tried to sooth a fan who was anxious to take her photo with Jensen, Jared, and Misha.

“Ummm,” She sniffled. “Two years.”

“Me too!  Are you caught up yet?”  YN kept her engaged to calm her.

“Almost!”  She shrieked.

“Next!” A photo op volunteer yelled.

“Go. You’re going to be great. They are lovely.”  YN encouraged her to walk into the photo room with the cast.

“Okay, thanks!”  The girl wiped her tears and smiled back at YN as she walked to say hello to the boys.

Phew.

YN took a deep sigh as she escorted the last fan away from the photo op area.

“Hey!  You okay?”  Jensen and Jared walked up to her.

“Yes.  I’m sure you know nothing about long days.”  She offered them a dry chuckle.

“Not a clue.  I’m Jensen.”  

YN shook his hand and smiled.

“How long have you been volunteering?”

“A while, right?”  Jared guessed.

“This is my third con.  I’ve been a fan for a few years though.”

“Thank you for helping us make this whole ‘con’ thing.  It makes a difference,” Jensen grinned.

“Well, you’re welcome.”  YN beamed.  “I need to go clean up, excuse me, boys.”

As the cons continued, YN seemed more tired.

“What’s going on?  You’re exhausted, kid.”  Jensen looked YN over.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Dean Winchester,” she gave a small smile.

“Jensen!  We need you!”  A staffer called for him.

“I’ll talk to you later, YN.”

With J2 on stage, YN was charged with overseeing the fans in line to ask questions. She had noticed that Jared seemed absolutely lethargic earlier.  YN saw how close he stayed to Jensen, and she found it odd behavior for him based on her previous experience. As another fan stepped to the microphone, out of the corner of YN’s eye, she saw that Jared fell out of his chair after slumping over. She noted his whole body shaking. Jensen quickly moved the chairs out of the way.

Without thinking, YN ran on the stage and grabbed a microphone. “Cameras down and all available volunteers on stage now!”

As the volunteers arrived, she told them to line the stage and face the crowd so that no one could take video or see Jared in that state.

“He’s having a seizure,” she informed Jensen and a few band members who tried to help. “Don’t touch him. Get medical now. He’s been seizing for 30 seconds already. We need help.” YN saw people in white shirts move everyone, including herself, out of the way while the crowd was silent. Before Jensen knew it, Jared was off to the hospital. Not allowed in the ambulance, he walked off the stage in shock. After taking a breath, YN followed him backstage. “Jensen?” She asked quietly.

“Not now, kid.” He turned to her, his eyes glassy.

“Breathe,” was all she said. Surprised no one had come back to check on Jensen, she continued.

“He-. He just started shaking!” Jensen’s voice went high.

“I know,” she responded calmly. “If you want to be there for him, then you have to calm down. You don't know anything yet. I know it’s scary, but you have to be calm.”

Still in shock, he fumbled with his phone and dropped it.

“I have to call Gen. Or Dee. Or-“ he scrambled.

“I’m sure someone has already let her know. Looks like everyone has gone to the hospital.” She peered around the curtain. Seeing no one out there and fans slowly leaving,  YN saw the urgency in his eyes. “I’ll get you a ride. You have Uber on your phone?” He nodded. “Give it to me.” Jensen picked it up and shakingly gave it to the girl. “Come on. The driver will meet you outside.” YN led him to the hotel entrance. When the car arrived, she verified that it was the correct driver, and she said goodbye. “Wish him well,” YN waved. “It will be okay.”

———-

@JensenAckles Thank you to the lovely fan who made such a difference today. Sasquatch is recovering. Updates to follow. We love our #SPNfamily !

@Spnfambam that girl was in charge. So glad she hid Jared from the crowd. I wouldn’t want my medical emergency all over the internet either.

@mollypolly that idiot ruined some good gossip! Bitch.

@samanddeannnn the fan was so calm. I was in the audience. So respectful and caring of her to do what she did. I think she was a volunteer, too.

———

Jared recovered slowly. The past few months’ memories were gone, but his current short term memory was active.  After only a few hours in the ER, he was released into Jensen’s care. Since they were in Dallas, Jensen rented a car and drove it home to Austin. The show had to be out on hold for a week, because Jared needed to rest.

“Do you remember what she did?” Jensen asked Jared in the Padalecki home.

“What?”

“Here,” Jensen pulled up a convention video that displayed YN’s heroics.

“She did that for me? No one saw me?”

“She had the volunteers stand in the way. Most people put their phones down anyway. YN got me an Uber to get to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance,” Jensen smiled appreciatively at her helping them.

“Wow. Wasn’t she that volunteer? My memory is really bad, so maybe not. I can’t re-“

“Oh yeah! Umm… YN, I think. We really do need to thank her,” Jensen suggested. “No, dude.  Take a breath.” He saw Jared’s face change and breathing quicken.

“I can’t believe I did that in front- of-”

“We took care of it, and no one really saw anything anyway.”

Jared’s expression froze.  Speechless, he searched Jensen’s face.

“Breathe, buddy.  Let’s change the subject. You wanna watch some bad TV?” The older one smiled.

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

@JensenAckles as many know, the moose had a little emergency today.  Thanks to the fan who helped us today. He is recovering.  Updates to follow.  Thoughts and prayers appreciated.

“Oh, crap!”  YN whispered in her Dallas apartment.  “Jensen tweeted about me?”  She slammed her laptop shut.  “Shit.”

Her phone kept buzzing.

“What?!” YN growled to herself. 

BEST FRIENDDDD

What in the actual hell did you do at the convention? You’re a hero!

YN

JA tweeted about me!  I’m so-  I don’t know! 

BEST FRIENDDDD

Check insta!  If you don’t tell him, I will!

YN opened the app and found Jensen’s profile. A screenshot of a fan’s video showed YN at the mic after Jared had landed on the ground.

@JensenAckles Anyone know who this is?  Jared and I want to say thank you.

YN

No!  It’s not a big deal!

BEST FRIENDDDD

They’ll find out.  Creation has your information and will recognize you.

YN

Damnit.  Well, let ‘em, I guess.  Thanks for the heads’ up. I need to go sleep off the day.

BEST FRIENDDDD

Good night, sweetie.

______

“Tell me who she is.” Jared called the Creation Entertainment volunteer coordinator.

“It’s confidential, Mr. Padalecki,” she responded with a huff.

“I will have you fired,” he growled.  “I know it’s not against the law, now tell me.”

He heard rustling in the background, papers shuffling.

“YN LN.”

Jared also demanded her phone number.

“Was that so damn hard?”  Jared hung up and threw his phone on the couch.

“You need to chill,” Gen walked into the room.  “You are okay, and you have to calm down.  I get that you feel a little out of control, but you better damn well not growl at our babies like that,” she wrapped her arms around him, grace evident in her voice.

“Sorry,” he whispered into her hair.  “Woah, dizzy.” He fell back into the couch, and Gen stumbled almost falling with him.  “Sorry, lost my balance.  Must be the meds.  Didn’t mean to trip you.”

“I’ll go get you some water.  Relax a minute.”  Gen exited

————-

Jared had some trouble maneuvering, but he went back to work. Not being able to run much, the writers and directors gave Jensen more fight scenes, Dean protecting Sam mostly.

“I could protect myself, ya know,” Jared sighed to his TV brother.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen responded with a deep sigh. He looked over his forearms which had scrapes and bruises covering them.

“I’ll ask them to give me more of the fighting so that you don’t get hur-“

“No. You can barely walk straight. We don’t need a head injury. You are already compromised.” Jensen tried to walk past Jared while the younger one lay on the couch, but Jared grabbed his arm.

“I CAN,” he growled.

“I’m not having this fight with you. The stunt coordinator will never give you stuff to do when you are stumbling over yourself!” Jensen loudly exclaimed his frustration with a groan coming from the back of his throat.

“Why?!” Jared screamed back.

“Because you had a seizure! You’re on meds, and you’re still recovering, that’s why!” Jensen turned to face him fully, staring him down.

“I’m so tired of people treating me with kid gloves! Come on!” Jared stood up, puffed out his chest and backed Jensen into the corner of his trailer.

“Sit down before you fall over, Jared,” Jensen gave a warning. The taller one went to latch onto Jensen’s collar. Jensen pushed him off as smoothly as he could as to not knock him down. He took Jared’s wrists and walked him backward, pushing him to the couch again. “You aren’t you before the seizure. I get it. But you don’t get to feel sorry for yourself either. Now own where you are and work to recover!”

“I can’t!”

“Get out of your damn head, or I swear I will fly your therapist here in person.”

“No! Don’t!” Jared put his hands up in defense.

“Then call him, and get your head on straight,” Jensen handed him a phone and crossed his arms. Jared dropped it on the couch dismissively.  

“Fine.  I’ll do it.”  Before the younger one knew it, Jensen had the psychologist on the phone.  “....Yeah, he needs to get it through his skull that he is okay.  Here,” Jensen handed the phone to Jared once again.  Glaring, Jared sighed in defeat and took it, putting it to his ear.

“Hi, doc,” he gulped.  

Feeling as though his job was done, Jensen exited the trailer.  

A half hour later, the wardrobe department called for Jared to change clothes.  He wiped a hand over his face as he walked down the steps  of his trailer to walk across the set.  

“Feel better?”  Jensen asked his friend.

“Go away.  Stop trying to help me,” Jared tried to shove the oldest man. Jensen spun him around and slammed him against the trailer, his chest hitting the wall.  “Ow!” In his haze, he landed on his knees.  Jensen held Jared’s head against the side of the trailer with pressure to keep him still.  

“Stop! You need to stop.  This is where you are right now.  It sucks.  Feel it.  Get emotional.  Punch something.  Just own it!” Jensen stated authoritatively.  “Breathe.  One thing at a time,” the friend let go of his head. Jared looked back at Jensen in defeat, eyes sad.  “You can do this, but you have to accept where you are right now.  You’re dizzy, tired, and frustrated.  You have trouble doing stuff.  You’ll get better.  You already have and it’s been two weeks.  It’s okay not to be okay.  Do you want to live, or do you want to sit back and be overwhelmed?” Jensen stepped and turned so that he could face Jared.  The older Winchester extended his hand.  “Come on.” Jared accepted the gesture and stood up with Jensen’s help.

“Okay,” he whispered. Wiping his face again, the tallest actor walked toward the wardrobe trailer.  

________

YN’s phone started ringing.  Since she didn’t recognize the number, she dismissed it to her voicemail.  Surprised that a voicemail was left rather than just a missed call, YN listened to it.

“Hi, umm.  This message is for YN LN.  Uh-”the voice took a breath.  “This is Jared Pada-”  YN ended the recording and gasped.  In shock, she started breathing quickly.  Landing on her bed, she rocked herself back and forth to calm down. After a final deep breath, she listed to it again.

“... Jensen showed me a video of what happened, and I just wanted to say thank you.  I knew you were an amazing person, but I didn’t know you were kickass like that.”

YN smiled but kept listening.

“Umm.  This is my personal number.  Text me or call me.  I want to ask you something.  Have a good night.  Always keep fighting.”

She heard a click.

“What does he want with me?”

YN froze.  Should she call him back?  Ignore him?  No, she couldn’t do that. Call him, it is.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, YN.”

“Hi, Mr. Padalecki.  Are you feeling better?”

“Please call me Jared.  You did save my life after all,” he laughed into the phone.  “Yes, much.  And I have you to thank for that.  The reason I was calling was because I don’t really remember what happened.  Doc said that was normal.  How did you know to do all that stuff?  I mean, you just jumped in and took charge.”

“Sir, it’s not a big deal.  Really.”

“Please just answer my question,” he pleaded.  

“I just respect you a lot and seeing you like that made me want to protect you, I guess,” YN shrugged even though Jared couldn't see her body language.  

Silence.

“Jared?  You there?”

She heard his pitch change.

“Yeah.  I don’t know what to say other than thank you.  Something like this is a lot to deal with anyway, but the fact that it happened in front of thousands of people…”

“Well, you’re welcome, sir.  I love your show and respect you a lot.  Are you recovering?”

“Slowly.  Jensen had to set me straight a few times, but I am okay.”

“I understand.  It takes a while,” she affirmed him.

“Wait, what?” Jared backtracked.

“It’s going to be okay.  Promise,” YN said vaguely.  

“How do you understand?”  Jared pressed her.  

“Have a good day, Jared,” she cut him off.

“Wait!  I’m sorry.  I need to go, but thank you for everything.  Can I contact you again?”

“Sure,” YN answered.  “Bye, Jared.”

———

YN

Jared Padalecki called me! Like… what?!” 

BEST FRIENDDDD

Huh?! What did he say?!”

YN

He thanked me for what I did. He kind of pushed for info when I said that I understood, but I kind of shut him down. Still hard to talk about.

BEST FRIENDDDD

Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. It’s okay. He would realize what you’re feeling if he knew.

YN

I know.

————-

“Hi, YN. It’s Jared,” he said calmly into the phone.

Tentatively, she gave a ‘hello’.

“Did you have a medical emergency?” He asked abruptly.

“Jared- please,” she stopped.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m drowning over here. Gen’s here and she suggested I call you again. I feel so… stuck.”

“Oh. Hi, Gen,” YN quietly stated.

“Hi!” The wife yelled via speakerphone.

“Trust me. You will be okay.”

“How? How do you know that?”

YN took a deep breath.

“I had a minor stroke in front of a crowd once. No one stopped to help me other than one person calling for emergency services,” the young adult admitted. “It’s hard to talk about.”

“That I understand.”

“It sucks. It just does. I’m sure you know to take it a step at a time, but that was the only way I could deal with it. I took the wins, big and small. I had to drop out of school for a semester and get my medicine and therapies figured out. Jared, I loved school, and I had to give it up. But it was okay. I could have thrown in the towel, but you say to always keep fighting, so I fought. Went back the next semester, and I earned my degree. I am not going to sit on my ass when there is life to be lived,” she stated with conviction. “Get up, take a deep breath, and fight one battle at a time.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. Why?”

“You’re wise for your age.”

“Nah. Just learned some life lessons. I’m sorry that you’re struggling, but you CAN do this. Promise.”

“How did you recover, YN?”

“Friends. They drug me to physical therapy. And eventually regular therapy. It was a small enough stroke that I could do exercises to make my body fully recover. You wouldn’t know now.”

“What about your family?” Jared asked.

“Umm. They don’t know that I go to therapy.  They’re a very “just deal with it,” kinda group. That’s why I moved out. And the reason I also started volunteering for IAmAlive. I can give back. It’s my own kind of therapy.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“You gave me the strength to get out from under the control of people who hate feelings,” YN admitted. “I needed to fight for me.”

“That’s right. Look, you wanna come to Vancouver? We’re back and shooting now before the next convention. I’m trying to stay under the radar since everything happened,” he got quiet.

“Umm. Sure. I- I don’t know what to say.” YN stuttered.

“Well, you can say yes, because I would really like to hear more of your story, YN.”

“Great!”

“I’ll have my agent call you and get you a flight, okay? Can’t wait to see you!”

“Same. Bye, Jared!”

————

YN arrived in Vancouver for the week. She was treated well with drivers and a nice hotel room near the set of Supernatural. When she was picked up, both Jared and Jensen were inside the van.

“Uh. Hi, guys,” shocked they were right in front of her.

“Hey, come on!” Jared motioned for her to enter the vehicle.

“Right,” she remembered to move her feet.

They drove fifteen minutes before they got to the set.

“Come hang out in the trailers.” Jared led the group of three.

The cast and crew welcomed her with open arms. As the boys got ready, the makeup and hair department pulled her aside for a Winchester makeover, but she didn’t know the purpose yet. Wardrobe fitted her with jeans, boots, and an oversized flannel that she suspected was Sam’s since it smelled like Jared. The ends of her plaid shirt were tight into a knot so that it fit her body style better.  She turned around after putting on the clothes and looked in the mirror. Her braided hair and simple makeup made her smile.

“I like the boots! And everything!” She exclaimed. When YN walked down the steps to the lot, Misha saw her and complimented her.

“Do you like your Supernatural makeover?” He laughed.

“It’s amazing,” she sighed happily.

“There you are! Okay, let’s go!” Jared wrapped an arm around his new friend and guided her to the set. Her jaw dropped at everything in front of her. She was on the set of supernatural. With some of her favorite celebrities. Ever. What?! “Okay. You wanna act, darlin’?” He looked down at her.

“Uh. Excuse me?”

“You said you would never be able to act. Now’s your chance. You want to?”

“Please?” Jensen whined playfully as he walked up to the pair.

“Were you planning this all along?” YN smirked.

“You get to be an extra today. Just follow the direction of the PA. She’ll take care of you. Promise,” Jared smiled.

“Yes! Thank you!” She hugged them both.

After getting instruction from the crew, she learned that her job was to be annoyed with the boys.

Dean walks into dinner near a college campus. He notes all of the students studying.

“Nerds,” he huffs. Dean sees a girl with books in her arms with narrowed eyes at him. After hearing him, she rolls her eyes and elbow-checks him, he stumbles backward. Sam starts cackling as she exits.

“That’s what you get, you jerk!” Sam laughs.

“Cut!”

The PA said, “Back to One!”

YN returned to her beginning place in the scene with a grin on her face.

“Hey!” Jensen yelled for her attention. She froze. “No laughing in Supernatural!”

YN almost dropped her books from laughing so hard at the variation of the famous line from the show. The cast joined in when she continued to giggle. YN took a breath and sat down at the booth to start the scene over.

They did the scene a few more times before moving on. She sat in her official cast chair while the cast and crew worked. It was amazing to see them in their element.

“How’d you like that?” Jared asked.

“So fun! I mean, I’m angry at Dean all the time for being an ass on the show anyway,” she giggled.

“HEY!” Jensen growled. “I’m offended!” He put a hand to his chest.

_______

“I’m still a little out of it.  It’s tough tripping over everything, and I have to gain some skills back.  I talk slow and I can’t carry a conversation.”

“Jared.”  YN interrupted him. “What have you improved on?”

“Oh gosh. Not you too.  Jensen was asking me that earlier,” he chuckled as they ate their lunches together.

“Take the wins.”

“I am just struggling so much.”

“I know.  It’s okay.  But struggling means you’re getting somewhere.  Fight.  You know you have to.”

“But what if I don’t want to?” 

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[mediocrity-at-best]

A Hero’s Death

A Hero's Death

This is a Sander's Sides fanfiction! It's...heavy, so watch out. The writing isn't stellar or anything, but it's pretty decent.

Words: 3,013

TW: death, battle, loss, swearing, unhappy ending (this whole thing is just really bad, so seriously, be careful when reading.)

Pairings: implied/pre-established romantic and qp LAMP (it's a strange mix and not really expanded upon,) focuses on romantic Moxiety.

Message me or send an ask with any other tws or tags or anything I need!

That's all I guess. Here we go:

The bridge had collapsed.

Or, was collapsing?

Patton didn't know which term would be more correct-phrasing and language was far more Logan's area of expertise, and right now Patton did not have time to call Logan and ask. The point was, the most massive battle between people with powers was happening right now, and Virgil-Patton's Virgil, one of the loves of Patton's life-was caught in the middle of it.

Rather, he was caught under it. Virgil had thrown himself under the bridge when another Superhuman had knocked out the supports. His strength and resilience and pure stubborn will was allowing him to hold it up, but even that had a limit and Patton knew, he knew, that that limit was going to be reached soon.

Too soon. God, Patton knew if he could just get there before the inevitable, then he could help, they could fix this-

Patton, the only Normal Human present, went scrambling over the rubble of once-standing buildings. (Already, four different Superhumans, heroes and civilians, had tried to usher Patton out of the war-zone. But they didn’t have the time to argue with some idiot, rushing headlong into death. All Patton had to do was insist he wasn’t leaving, and in some cases rush away when they grabbed at him. He was lucky, he supposed, that no villains had spotted him, but they weren’t really looking for civilians anymore. No, they seemed to be intent on destroying as much of the city as possible, everything-and everyone-else be damned.) Rocks and debris scittered down the mountains he crossed as his reckless, clumsy feet dislodged them. He twisted his ankle and then twisted it again and kept running. He was so close, so close to his love. Not his first, not his last, but the one in the middle. The man who taught Patton acceptance of his own flaws and problems. The man who taught Patton that just because something is different does not mean it is bad or makes you worth less.

Patton ducked a bright green thing flying for his head and fell. His glasses hit the ground, and one side shattered. The frames were still intact, so Patton shoved them back on his face and kept running. He wouldn't have stopped even for the glasses, but he couldn't see anything without them. His sight was worse than Logan's, and that was saying something.

Now half-blind and bleeding, Patton was stumbling through a veritable war-zone. The projectiles were coming faster now, and buildings were still slamming into the ground. How were there still buildings left to fall? How hadn't all the Superhumans killed each other? How could this all still be happening when Virgil, Patton's sweet and sour shadowling, was being crushed? How could the world still be moving when they needed to stop and help him?

Patton tripped down the last rubble hill and there, not twenty feet away, was Virgil. Sweat and what looked like blood-please don't be blood- soaked through the long sleeved maroon shirt he wore. (Roman had bought him that two years ago for Valentine's Day. I know our love is not romantic, but I love you all the same, and Valentine's Day is celebrating all love, Roman had told his qpp with his usual flare. And look! It's even in our colors! Virgil had played it off like it was nothing, but it was the shirt he wore whenever he felt bad, or when he needed to feel braver.) You couldn't tell how absolutely stick-thin Virgil was under the huge shirt. He was the last person you would think had super-strength.

(Patton remembered the day he'd found out. They'd been dating for almost a year and in typical Virgil fashion, he'd become too anxious to simply tell Patton that he was Superhuman. (He was scared of rejection, or that Patton would be angry that Virgil hadn't said anything sooner. Like a disclaimer, ya'know? Patton, in typical Patton fashion, had only been delighted.) Instead, he came back from a week of radio silence. Patton rushed him for a hug, and Virgil had wrapped his arms around Patton, lifted, and spun. Patton was stunned. Rare was the person who could lift Patton. (He wasn't tall, but he had a particular affinity for cookies, and he was a baker.) Virgil smiled sheepishly and ran a shaking hand through is hair. After his initial shock, Patton had squealed and demanded to know everything. Virgil was kind enough to comply. Now, Virgil's hugs and spins were some of Patton's favorites.)

"Virgil!"

"Patton?" There wasn't even enough space for Virgil to lift his head from how he was squatting an entire bridge, but the shock in his voice was obvious enough. "What are you doing here? Go! You need to get out!"

"Virge, honey, you need to come out. Alright? You have to drop the bridge."

"There's still people under it, Patton! I can't let it go. But you need to leave. It's not safe here." Virgil twisted his head to look up to Patton. (Virgil had never looked up at Patton before in his life. Patton was five foot nine, but Virgil was six foot four.) Virgil was shaking as he did it, like he could barely stand to move his head at all.

Patton took a second to glance to the side. Virgil was right; other Superhumans were running and flying and leaping and crawling under the soon-to-be-wreckage, pulling out civilians and animals and other Superhumans alike. He jerked back to Virgil.

"I'm not leaving without you, Virge. And if you don't let the bridge down, you'll die. You can save so many more of them if you keep living, Virgil. So many more people will need your help, and you can help them, but you have to live to do it. Please, Virge. You need to get out from under there." Patton dropped to his knees in front of Virgil. Virgil's head dropped down with him, like a puppet who's master lost the strings. Patton cupped his face, and felt the trembling-in his cheeks, his arms, his legs. Like Virgil was experiencing his own personal earthquake. "Honey, if you don't let it go, let this go now, you won't be able to. Please, Virgil. Please, I need you. Roman and Logan need you. Virgil, you'll die if you don't get on top of this now." Patton tried to smile at the word-play, but it was too much.

"Patton, I can't." Virgil looked stricken, and Patton could tell he was an inch closer to the ground now than he had been.

"Virgil, please. I-I can't leave you here, a-and I-"

"No. Patton, I can't. It's-it's too late." Virgil smiled, watery and brave. "It was too late before you got here. I-I can't lift it, my angel. So you need to leave. Because-because I can't protect you, and I don't want you to see this. Okay, my angel?" The expression of Virgil's face crumpled like paper, and Patton stared, horror and denial turning him to a punching bag.

"Virgil, you have to. Please, I need you, Virgil. You-you have to try. For me. Try for me, Virge. Please try." Patton was gasping, tears running down his face. Virgil looked at Patton, and he forced a heavy breath out. Then in. Out again.

"Okay, Pat. For you. I'll try for you." Then, Virgil's face twisted up into a feral snarl, and he shook and he shook as he pushed against the weight of everything. In that moment, Patton saw the man who was locked at a crossroads in the public eye; the man who stood between a dozen debates. Half the population thought him to be a villain, and the other half thought he was a hero. The dark choice in clothes, secret identity, avoiding the press, and ever present snarl was more than enough to put a doubt in the masses. Was Purple Shadow good? Was he really a villain? (Patton remembered Virgil picking the outfit, when he'd decided to be a hero. (I'm not a hero. I'm just going to help people.) He'd nervously fingered the stiff black fabric, and muttered what if it's too dark? What if they think I'm going to hurt them? What if they hate me? Patton had patted his back. Kiddo, what you wear won't matter. They'll see that you want to help. But Virgil had been antsy, so Patton had learned to sew. He sewed swirls of dark and iridescent and bright purple into the cloth. Not so dark now, but still dark. Do you like it? Virgil had loved it. And Patton had even made him a royal purple cape that could function sort of like a hoodie, but ripped off easily so that it wouldn't hinder him in battle. It's perfect, my angel. I adore it.)

The bridge lifted a centimeter at a time. Patton kept mumbling praises and pleas, and begging every god Logan had ever mentioned from school or that Roman had ever mentioned from his plays to please, let Virgil live, take Patton instead, switch their places, let Virgil have a life damnit, he deserves one.

Except, the bridge stopped moving upward. And Virgil let out a shuddering breath. And then slowly he began to fold again, stone bridge pressing and pressing and gravity stomping Virgil lower and lower and fuck Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein whoever else made gravity so goddamn irreversible.

"Virgil, honey, please. Just, keep trying. Keep trying, Virge. You were almost there. You were so close, Virge. Just-"

"Patton, I can't. I can't do it. It's too much. It's too heavy and I can't get out, and I'm sorry I'm so sorry this is all my fault I shouldn't have-"

"Virgil, listen. It's alright. It's alright. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault." Patton forced a smile, tears streaking his dirty face. Virgil was terrified, and having a panic attack, and Patton could never let his Virge hurt like that. He could smile through this pain for Virgil. He would grin and bear it if that's what Virgil needed to be okay. To not be scared.

"I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm so sorry, my angel. I-I don't want to die. I don't-"

"I know, Virge. I know. You'll be okay. Somebody will help. You just have to last a little longer. Deep breaths, honey, okay? Just keep breathing." Patton looked wildly around, trying to find someone who could lift the bridge. Just a for a second, just long enough to pull Virgil out, but the fight was still raging around them. Not one Superhuman spared a glance for the man holding up the world.

"Pat-Patton, I'm scared. I'm scared. Please, Pat. I-I don't want to die alone. I don't want to be alone. Please, don't leave. It's selfish, I know I'm being selfish, but please Patton. Please don't leave me. I-I don't want to die. I'm scared-" Virgil broke off. He was shaking even more, barely a foot above the ground, and he was crying. Virgil was bawling right where everyone could see, and Virgil would never do that. Virgil hated crying.

"Virgil, honey, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be right here. I will stay right here, okay Virgil? Can you hear me? I'm going to be with you. It's not a selfish thing at all Virgil, and I love you, and it's not your fault, and nothing could move me from this spot. Alright, Virge? I am staying with you. I chose you and I choose you and I am staying right here." Patton scooted forward and pressed a kiss to Virgil's lips. He reached under the bridge and wrapped his hand around Virgil's wrist, rubbing his hand soothingly. "I love you, Virgil. Nothing could move me from this spot. Nothing."

Selfish? Virgil thought that not wanting to die alone was selfish? That was the least selfish thing that Patton had ever heard of. Virgil, of all the people Patton had met through charity work and non-profit organizations, was the least selfish person Patton had ever met. He was amazing and kind and didn't ask for help because he didn't want to inconvenience others. Patton had begged to do the stitching on Virgil's costume. And Virgil had barely agreed. He did everything for everyone and asked for nothing back. And now he was scared and thought asking for any comfort was selfish? He was beautiful and perfect and he never saw that and he was never selfish.

"Patton, I-I can't hold it. I'm gonna fall. I'm gonna fall. I-It's-" Virgil stuttered off again, and Patton looked around desperately before tensing. There was no help coming, no one who cared enough about a lesser known Vigiliante-hero combination. Not one single other person was going to stop and help, and that alone made Virgil worth a thousand of them.

Patton forced back tears. He knew what he had to do.

"Virgil, it's okay. If you can't hold it, you don't have to. You can just let it go, okay? Nobody will be mad, nobody will be disappointed. You tried your best and you saved so many lives, and everybody knows that. Okay, honey? I-I want you to keep trying, but I understand if you can't. I-" Patton let out one sob. "If you need to let go, you can. I will be right here with you Virgil. You will never be alone, okay? I will be here, and if you need to let go, then it's okay. I understand. You can let go." Tears ran down Patton's face, but he refused to sob. Virgil needed him to he strong. For once, Virgil was asking that Patton help. He wanted Patton to help him, and Patton wouldn't fail him. Not now. Not when it mattered most.

"I-I love you, my angel. I love you so much." (Patton remembered the first time Virgil had called him my angel. They had been together for three years. (Roman was already in the picture by then. He had completed their happy quartet.) In all their time together-three years of friendship, one year of something more, three years of dating-Virgil had never used a pet name. He had never called Patton anything other than Patton or Pat. (Patton didn't mind. He was a little sad at first, but he got over it. It was just another piece of Virgil to learn to love.) It hadn't been a particularly special day, but they had been at the house alone, Logan and Roman both busy with other things at the time, and Patton had been sad. There wasn't a reason, just the chemicals in his head acting up again. (They did that sometimes. Virgil assured him it was nothing that needed fixing. He wasn't broken. He just needed a little help.) And Virgil had come up and whispered, what's the matter, my angel? What do you need? Patton's brain had malfunctioned a moment, not feeling sad or numb or anything but shocked. Virgil went red and began apologizing, trying to take it back. But Patton's brain caught up, and the sadness came back, and he grabbed Virgil's wrist-like he was now-and burst into tears. They stung his eyes, but that didn't matter. The name didn't magically clear up the sadness and it didn't make the chemicals work right, but it did make Patton's heart flutter. It did make Patton feel a little warmer. It did make the tears in his eyes feel not so bad as before. I need you to say it again. Please, Virge. And Virgil had been kind enough to comply yet again. Virgil sat next to him, held him close, laid them both down on their too-small couch, and whispered my angel over and over. He whispered it until Patton closed his eyes, he whispered until the tears dried up, he whispered until the sun set and Patton slept, and Patton's pretty sure he heard him whispering still while he slept. Virgil never said it around others, and Patton never mentioned it to anyone else. It was Patton's name. His title. Patton was Virgil's angel, and that was among his greatest prides.)

The bridge fell.

Patton screamed as Virgil was shattered and smashed under an impossible weight, and Patton screamed as his own hand went with his second love. Patton screamed as the blood began seeping out from under the bridge, and Patton screamed as the blood soaked the knees of his pants. Patton screamed as his world fell apart, and Patton screamed as everything else did too. Patton screamed as everything kept moving and fighting, and Patton screamed as it all became too much.

Finally, hours or days or weeks later, Patton went quiet. He had no sound left. And then he noticed a shimmer of purple. The detachable cape Virgil had worn. Torn off in the battle, or dropped from Virgil's bag when he rushed to help? Patton didn't know. Logan probably would, he thought quietly. Logan would know what was going on and why it was happening. And Roman would make a joke to let Patton know it was alright.

Patton reached for the sooty material, and he felt with immaculate clarity the agonizing pain as his wrist moved from where it was smashed, made to be one with his love. The pain didn't make Patton pause. He just kept reaching and shifting until he could grab the cape. He pulled the material into his lap and sat, hand smashed and a third of his world gone. He sat and he toyed with the material. He sat and he cried because Virgil did not deserve this. He cried because he didn't deserve this. He cried because Roman and Logan didn't even know yet, and they didn't deserve this, and who would have to tell them? Patton thought he should. He was in love with them both-different kinds of love, but still love. He owed them the news himself. They should hear it from him.

Patton sat in the debris and blood in the midst of the largest battle in a century, and he cried because he had lost. They had all lost.

So, so much.

[twopoppies]

Do you know any larry fanfics on either ao3 or wattpad with 20+ chapters?

Hey there. So, I actually don’t read anything on Wattpad, and I don’t often read fics with that many chapters because I worry that they’re so long because they need a lot of editing and that drives me a bit bonkers. Having said all of that...here are some that I’ve really liked that I hope fit your request:

Long Fics

Night Out and Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere (Symphony Hall Series: 4 chapters and 19 chapters –– 137K total)

Night Out

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

Saving Symphony Hall

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

Yellow by 13ways / @13ways-of-looking (19 chapters –– I’m cheating because this one is amazing)

The city of Gotham turns blood red with a new, mysterious criminal element, a beautiful woman named the Blind Cupid.

She threatens to tear the fabric of the city apart, aided by her deadly protégé, the Cat.

Can Batman stop them?

Will he resist the bewitching allures of the Cat?

A Batman/ Catwoman AU

No One Does It Better by nodibs (22 chapters)

Harry's an alcoholic and Louis is a bartender. The first time they meet isn't the first time they've met.

This got longer than I expected so the rest in under the cut

Victorian Boy by DonnaHaywardsHead (29 chapters)

Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

Young & Beautiful by velvetoscar (34 chapters)

Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

Gods & Monsters by velvetoscar (20 chapters)

The instructions were simple: seduce and destroy Harry Styles. Not once did they discuss the option of Louis actually falling in love. So, naturally, that's exactly what he did.

These are some I really like that don’t have a lot of chapters but have a really high word count, so you might like them as well.

Domestic Monsters by @g-uttertrash (9-part series - 234K total )

Part 1: come on, jump out at me

Harry is a witch from a long line of power, an ancient line that’s one of the strongest left alive in their hemisphere. He can cast spells without a word if need be, fly on a broomstick, and has a black cat (a kitten, really) named Felix that is his animal familiar. He can shape galaxies in his cupped hands and can destroy them just as easily. He can choose exactly how to use his power, for encouragement and support, or for more nefarious causes if he wishes to.

And as fate would have it, he’s scared of haunted houses.

(Harry is a witch who carries around a stuffed pumpkin, Louis is a vampire with too much time on his hands, and their best mates Zayn & Niall aren't exactly what they seem...

Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) by aimmyarrowshigh spibsy (Lucy and Ramona) (430K over 10 chapters –– read the tags on this. It’s polyamory/BDSM)

Part 1: The World, It’s Turning Inside Out

The night before the first live show of X Factor's ninth series, George meets Harry and Louis in a nightclub.

Lightening Strikes Twice by dinosaursmate / @catfishau (104K)

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said slowly, shaking his head and betraying a slight grin. “What the fuck are the odds?”“Small world,” Louis said lightly, shrugging and holding his hand out to Harry, smirk playing on his lips. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”“Haha! Please.”Harry slid his palm into Louis’, grasping and shaking it. It must’ve been… what? Thirty years?---Two tales, one story. One: a tale of a rock star taking a shine to a fan who is different from all the others, and two: a tale of an older, washed up rock star, who - on the brink of resigning himself to a life of loneliness - finds fate intervening.

For Reasons Wretched and Divine by @indiaalphawhiskey (94K)

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

An AU in two parts. Two boys, two stories, and hopefully, two chances at love.

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites (86K)

“Sir, I can help you. Just let me — “ He tried moving closer but the eldest child blocked his way. He backed off, putting his hands out in a passive gesture. “I’m a physician. I can help,” he tried again.

The man shook his head vehemently, passing the cup back to his grandchild. “Tol’ ya. Don’t need ya.” All of the fire had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a frail, sick old man with barely any breath to talk.

“I have medicines...I could make you comfortable…” Louis’ voice was still small, but pleading.

“Mountain Mama cares for wha’s ailin’ me. Don’t need no fancy city doctors.”

Louis blinked at the man, still shaking from the coughing spell. Mountain — well, fuck. That backwoods, uneducated scam artist…

“Of course he is,” Louis said curtly.*****OR a Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

Atlas At Last by @louisandthealien (84K)

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting out of the road trip itself besides burping contests and too much shitty gas station food with Oli and Stan, but in the brief moment before Harry ambles up his driveway, Louis idly wonders if this is about to become some sort of Gay Coming of Age story.

Maine to California in ten days. In which Zayn’s an open-shirt hippie they meet somewhere in Ohio, Liam’s the pastor’s son running away from home, and Niall’s the number they call on the bathroom wall.

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction (153K)

There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.

Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.

I hope that gives you some fics you haven’t read before! Enjoy!

[adotblog]

The One Who Always Made The Grade - Chapter 1

Pairing: LMM x Reader

Warnings: none?! Wait, did I write this??

Notes: Lin is workshopping ‘Heights while subbing at a college. Reader (a post-grad) is assigned as his TA. There are a thousand ‘Heights references, obviously and my Shakespeare geek is showing again. Started with a prompt (thank you, lovely lady), and now a 5-part monster.

I couldn’t think of a title, so...!

Words: 2872

Tags: @alexanderusnavilindelahamilton

——————————————————

You groan as you run your fingers through your hair. The room has been silent for half an hour or so as you both worked. You look over at the professor, then up at the clock. There are still another 15 papers to grade. He eyes the stack of essays. “We need more coffee.”, he says. “Definitely. I’ll go to Joe’s, Mr Miranda”, you say, getting up from the desk. “Please stop calling me that,”, he cringes “You’re not my student, Y/N”. “Sorry...Lin”, you say with a smile as you grab your bag and head for the door.

—————————————————

“He missed the point entirely?”, Lin asks, putting down his pen and looking across the desk you’re sharing. You have your head in your hands as you grumble. Lin laughs “Didn’t quite catch that, Y/N”. You straighten up and exhale with a loud sigh. Still you can’t stop your frustration leaking into your voice. “He’s lifted the entire quote, right to ‘I will be horribly in love with her’...and he just basically says ‘Benedick realises that to win, he must be more in love than her’”.

Lin grins, amused by your derision of his student’s work. “What would you have written?”, he asks.

You throw your hands in the air. “Maybe, just MAYBE, I’d have mentioned that there’s nuance there-that the actor can decide whether Benedick is newly introduced to the idea of loving Beatrice in this moment or that he could reveal that he’s always been in love with her, but in denial, for so many reasons-both sensible and foolish. Honestly, that’s high school Shakespeare-and he doesn’t get it?”. You stand and pace as you continue.

“MAYBE, I’d have realised that that isn’t even the best quote to focus on-that this play, this amazing play- which he clearly hasn’t read properly- has so many truly magical passages.”. You spin on your heel “Write about ‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?’- the stark beauty of the abrupt admission. Write about Benedick saying he ‘cannot woo in festival terms’, contrast their private, informal love with Claudio and...what?”. You stop-Lin is watching you, leaning back in his chair, arms folded and a goofy smile on his face. He shakes his head. “Nothing. I love your passion.”, he says simply.

“Well...The kid is butchering my favourite play, damnit.”, you sulk as you sit down. “You’re going to make a great teacher”, he says warmly, shocking you into a small smile. “Here, you mark this one”, he says as he hands you a different student’s paper. “She gets it”, he winks.

A little embarrassed now, you hand him the offending paper. “It’s probably not that bad, I…”, you mumble. “Oh I’m sure it is”, Lin says “Damn kid never listens to a word I say.”.

——————————————————

You check the clock- 10:30. These late night grading sessions have become a habit over the last few weeks. It’s perfect because this part of campus is so quiet at night-just professors who’ve holed away in their offices, the occasional grad student in search of a computer. Mostly it’s just you and Lin, and mostly you’re grading.

You also talk a lot. Sure, about literature. Or at least that’s how it started. Now it’s sometimes movies, or music, even campus gossip occasionally. He’s excitable like a puppy-boundless energy...until his caffeine runs out, anyway.

You look over at Lin now. His brow is furrowed as he squints at his email, clearly displeased at the content.

“Lin?”. “Yeaaaahhh.”, he answers distractedly. “How come you aren’t tenured somewhere?”, you ask. “You’re great, students really work for you...most of them anyway… how come you’re just doing this one semester?”. Lin sits back in his chair. “This isn’t my life’s work.”, he shrugs. You deliberately leave a silence for him to fill. He does. “I’m a writer...a playwright actually. At least, as soon as someone puts one of my musicals on, I will be I guess…”. He looks embarrassed.

“I love musicals. Wow, I’m going to be able to say I knew you when…!”, you say. He’s surprised by your reaction, and grins. “I hope I get good enough that you can…”, he says. “Anyway, I need to balance temp work to give me time to write, with earning money to pay the bills-that’s why I just sub.”. He looks a little weighted down by the admission, it’s clearly something he’s having to struggle with-ambition and failure, uncertainty. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll succeed.

“Make me a promise right now.”, you say impulsively, getting to your feet. He looks up at you as you stick your hand out across the desk. “I get tickets to opening night when you get to Broadway.”. He stands too, a slow smile creeping to his face. “Deal.”, he says softly. You return the smile, suddenly acutely aware that you’re effectively holding his hand. And neither of you has let go yet. You can’t be sure but you think you see his gaze flick down to your lips before he releases your hand, his expression awkward.

——————————————————

An instant message alert pings at your terminal.

Lin: These tests are a hot MESS. Are you free after hours?

Y/N: I finish at 5, can be with you by 6?

Lin: You’re sure? Don’t want to keep you.

Y/N: I’m sure. Bring coffee as payment.

Lin: Deal.

It’s just before 6 when you track him down to the rehearsal room at the very back of the building. “What the…?”, you question as you throw your bag on a chair. “I know. French department’s being fumigated, a bunch of them are camped out in our normal room.”, he complains.

You stand in the middle of the room, assessing the layout. Beaten old upright piano in the corner and a million plastic chairs. No desk, no whiteboard. “Aha!”, you exclaim as you dash across the room to the curtained off area. “What?”, Lin asks, having watched you the whole time. “Behind the curtain, there’s always a folding table.”, you say. “How can you possibly know that?”, he laughs. “Didn’t you ever do community theatre? There’s always a table so they can have committee meetings and feel important.”.

You pull back the curtain with a dramatic flourish. Puppet theatre. Wooden benches. Random bits of scenery. Trestle table. “Score!”, you yell and begin to manhandle it out of the recess. Lin runs to your aid, grabbing the other end. You walk it to the middle of the room where you do battle with the folding legs, both falling about laughing, and eventually get it standing. You pull over two chairs and start unpacking papers from the plastic crate Lin’s brought.

“Huh.”, Lin says as he sits down and opens his laptop. “What?”. You stack papers between you. “We’ve never been on the same side before.”, he says, looking over at your chair. “Umm, of the table. Desk.”, he adds and hands you a coffee. You smile as you take your seat next to him. “Always on your side, Lin”, you joke.

——————————————————-

You push open the door with your butt and reverse into the room with your coffee tray. Lin’s at the piano and plays clown entrance music as you struggle to keep the cups and bags from falling. “Cut that out or no cookies for you!”, you chastise. He comes to take the cups from you and places them atop the piano. He sits back at the keyboard. “I fancied a musical interlude for our coffee break”, he says.

“Like...karaoke?” you ask. “Ha, maybe. What’s your favourite musical?”. You unwrap the cookies as you answer. “Rent. No, Les Mis. No, Rent. Ugh, don’t make me choose things.”. He plays the intro to “A Heart Full Of Love” And you give him a death stare. “NO. Also, eww I’m not Cosette!”, he laughs as he keeps playing. “You’re Eponine?!”. You posture next to the piano. “Duh, I’m Enjolras!”. He laughs so hard he has to stop playing, nearly falling off the stool. You hand him a cookie. “So, cut to the chase.”, you say. He cocks his head to the side. “Lin, you’re at the piano, you clearly want to play me something from your musical”, you tease. “Get on with it.”. You lean your elbow on the top of the piano as he pretends to be outraged.

“Yeah you’re right.”, he concedes after approximately two seconds. He bites the cookie then hands it back to you. He chews super fast, hurriedly takes a sip of coffee and then says “This is called ‘In The Heights’”. He plays a bouncy melody on the keys. “I can’t sit still at all tonight…”.

He plays like someone living the melody. He inhabits the song, it’s just an extension of him. The song, by the way, is utterly charming. It’s a ballad, clearly a love song, but upbeat. It really feels like Lin. Halfway through the verse he looks you in the eye. “So take these dreams

And sing them back to me”.

You weren’t expecting to react to what he was going to sing. But as you hold his gaze and listen to the lyrics and he sings “Please come back to me”, you swallow thickly, wetness gathering at the corner of your eye. He hits the final chord of the song and for a second he just stares at the keys. He’s clearly in the emotion of it and it takes a second for him to slip back into himself. “Uhhh. It needs some more work and..”, he shuffles on the bench.

“Lin, it was beautiful.”, you say, aware there’s a catch in your voice. “You wrote that? You really wrote that?”. He smiles “Yeah.”. “Do you realise how good it is? I...I really am gonna see you on Broadway one day!”, you say excitedly. He smiles and gets up from the bench, heading back to the table/desk. “Break’s over”, he smiles. You chase after him. “No! I need to hear more! Do they get together?! Are they happy? Did you break them up?!”

——————————————————

From that day, you never go back to the old room. Instead you always use the rehearsal room for grading and lesson planning. You always plan a coffee break and it always happens at the piano.

You always ask Lin to play something he’s written. He always does-he is a natural show-off after all. You love everything he plays, he’s a genuine talent and his songs easily stick in your head so you find yourself humming snippets even when he’s not around.

——————————————————

“I believe Ms Y/L/N might have some thoughts on that”, Lin says from the whiteboard. Your head snaps up as all the students turn to look at you. Lin grins and beckons you to the front of class. You make your way through the desks, hoping the look you’re giving him accurately conveys your feelings about being put on the spot.

“Much Ado is an infinitely better love story than Romeo and Juliet...Go!”, he says and gestures like a starting pistol, jumping out of the way to give you the floor. You sigh. “Alright. I hope you’re writing this down I’m gonna test you later. First: Beatrice.”.

——————————————————-

“That was...unexpected!”, you scold him later. “Ahh, I’m sorry-but I knew you’d make the case so well”, he grins. You fold your arms. “You had them enthralled.”, he says, more serious now. You begrudgingly thank him “Don’t spring that on me again, though”, you say. “Couldn’t if I wanted to”, Lin says as he packs his messenger bag. “That was our last class together.”.

Oh. Right. He’s a sub, he won’t be back next semester...you’ll be someone else’s TA. You feel a little pang of you don’t know what. “But hey, we’ve gotta get through finals first”, Lin grimaces. “Oh god. Do you have a plan?”, you ask. Lin gets out his diary and you talk through when you can go over the content of the test and then grade it. “We need to post results early that Monday morning so really we need to work through the weekend-can you do that?”, he asks. “Sure. The rehearsal room?”, you ask. “Well, that room seems to be perpetually empty other than for you and me, so yeah.”, Lin chuckles. “I’ll bring the snacks!”, you say happily.

——————————————————

And so, two weeks later, it’s Saturday night and you’re both cross legged on the floor in front of 30 papers. You’ve laid them all out, trying to sift them into piles of great, good, not great and terrible. Lin sighs. “Honestly, Y/N, if you have somewhere to be-just go. Saturday nights should not be spent like this.”, he grumbles.

“Nah it’s fine.”, you shrug. The truth is you like his company. You look forward to your musical coffee breaks. “Then at least let me buy takeout or something.”, he says. “Lin I literally brought every snack there is, stop procrastinating.”, you say.

“Ugh, fine. How long til we said we’d take a break?”, he asks. “Half an hour-can you manage that?”, you ask sarcastically. He sticks out his tongue before going back to work. Exactly 29 minutes later he jumps up and runs to the bag of snacks you’ve brought. He throws you some gummy bears and rips open a bag of pretzels on his way to the piano.

“Alright what’ll it be tonight?”, he asks, playing a few chords. “Something by you”, you say through a mouthful of gummy bears. “You always say that. I ain’t your performing monkey!”, he jokes. “Please, you live for an audience-you’re everyone’s performing monkey!”, you laugh. He gasps. “How dare you. Ok this one is called Hundreds of stories-but it’s not finished yet.”.

He starts singing a tale of a guy looking for his place in the world. The theme is fairly unremarkable but his lyrics…”memories like dyin’ embers From a dream I can’t remember” strikes you so hard that you miss the next couple of lines. You can easily imagine how an actor will bring these songs to life on stage.

When he finishes you clap. He grins as he grabs another handful of pretzels. “Loved it”, you say. “It’s gonna be an amazing musical, Lin”. “I hope so”, he says. “Hey you should come next time we present it!”, he says excitedly. “I’d love that! Can I sing along?”, you joke. “Absolutely not! You couldn’t anyway…?”, Lin says. “Oh yeah?”, you clear your throat, make a big show of straightening your posture and looking out over the rehearsal room before singing “This is my street, my childhood esquina…”. You only know the first four lines or so but when you turn back to Lin he is grinning ear to ear.

“How’d you remember that?!”, he asks. “Lin you played me it twice and it’s been my ear worm for a month. It’s GENIUS.”, you declare. Lin looks both embarrassed and pleased. “Thank you.”. There’s an awkward pause. “I should go get coffee”, he says and trots over to the door.

——————————————————

“Agreed?”, you ask, as you both stand in front of the stacks of papers. He takes one last look. “Agreed!”, he says. “Yes!”, you holler. Lin leaps up and down, whooping, then throws his arms around you in a celebratory hug. It only lasts a second before he breaks away and starts piling the papers into his crate, but it takes you longer than that shake yourself back to his conversation. “...and honestly, they’re a good bunch of kids”, he’s saying. You nod and smile.

“Oh! Lin, I forgot I got a favour to ask you.”, you remember. “Sure, What?”. “Umm, well I’m applying for a couple of jobs here-night school teaching, that kind of thing….”. “Y/N, that’s great! You’d be great at that!”, he interrupts excitedly. You smile. “I just wondered if maybe you would give me a reference?”.

“Of course!”, he says “gimme your phone.”. You hand him your phone and he adds his number. “Just call me when you need something.”, he says. “Great, thank you!”, you say in relief. “No problem. Honestly, it’s been great working with you. You deserve to get a good position next year.”, he says warmly. You place your phone back in your pocket with a smile.

Lin picks up the crate as you check around to make sure you haven’t left anything. “That’s it.”. “Thanks for everything, Y/N”, he calls as he heads for the door. You stay rooted to the spot, a strange pit of disappointment in your belly that you don’t quite understand. “Wait, Y/N?”, Lin calls back through the door. “Yeah?”, you shout. He comes back into the room, balancing the box in the doorway. “Call me in a minute and hang up, so that I have your number too.”, he says with a small smile. You return the smile. “Sure.”. “Bye.”.

A few minutes later, as you head to your apartment, you call him and hang up after three rings. As you throw yourself down on your bed, your phone lights up.

Lin: Thanks. See ya around, Y/N.

See ya around.

——————————————————-

[justjessame]

Avery Emerson Clay: If You're Going to Tie Someone Up, At Least Use The Proper Knot For It...

I wish I could say that I went out and got everyone in from the wonders of a dark backyard to have their evening meal, followed by loving pats, and then snuggles and a quiet slipping off to slumberland, but that shit doesn’t happen on a normal night in Casa de Clay.

Instead, I corralled as many of my furry pals inside as I could, calling quits when I realized that some cats are happier making their own choices about when they come in the house, and a few of my puppies were the same, having been raised by those headstrong kitties. Yes, I did do this every single night, and no, I’m not willing to take suggestions, but thank you for opening your mouth to try to offer some.

Once I was back inside, tucked away in my own suite at the far end of the house, at least in terms of my big brother and his latest mistake, I got ready for bed. Makeup off, hair brushed and braided so I didn’t end up with a mouthful of it during the night, and in deference to the guests I’d had thrust upon my person, a set of real pajamas instead of a tank and boyshort panties I’d normally wear when the parents were out of the country doing ungodly things on foreign soil. I’d just turned off the overhead light, settled in my huge cloud-like bed with a book and my bedside lamp on when my cell rang.

“Hey, Daddy,” I answered, trying like fuck to remember where he and Mom were shacked up this time and what the time difference was. “You know you don’t have to check in-”

“I do when you have unexpected deliveries.” Great, fuck. Just because I don’t turn on the heavy handed security shit didn’t mean my overprotective father wouldn’t do it remotely. “I wanted to let you know that I knew the package would show up eventually.” Clay, he was saying he told me so, that big brother was alive, ha ha. “Your mother and I have a few more-” I heard Mom’s giggles from behind him and him chuckling and shushing her and sighed heavily at their newlywed antics at this late stage in their fucking lives. No wonder Clay was a hornball. “We have some things to tie up, but we’ll be home soon to figure out what to do with the package.” Ew, tie up Mom? That was a fucking image in my fucking brain bank that I couldn’t un-think. Or was it Mom tying up Dad? Shit fuck shit. Stop it, Avery.

“Great, I’ll just toss the package in the corner and ignore it until you guys get home.” He chuckled again and I knew he understood that I was unfazed by Clay’s reappearance. “Give Mom my love, and remember a Pruisk head knot can get too tight if it’s under too much pressure, I’d hate for one of you to lose a limb.” Fuck it, if they were into kinky weird shit, better safe than sorry. “Love you, Daddy. Night.”

“Love you too, Princess.” He choked out, and I knew that I’d won checkmate in the TMI Olympics. Good, now maybe they’d keep their weird shit out of polite conversation. “Sweet dreams, goodbye.”

Morning came far too soon, for the group that showed up from out of the damn blue. I was awake early, since my rescues liked to get me up and going before the sun crested over the horizon. I was fucking beyond thankful when I remembered Rose came every other day, and she was due. It would really fucking suck for a woman who helped raise me to die of a stroke or heart attack because she wasn’t warned that Clay had risen from the dead.

I was in the kitchen, with a glass of juice and a bowl of Cinnamon Chex, reading over a stack of reports I needed to edit and release when she arrived. Humming a jaunty tune as she always did, I took a deep breath and asked her to sit down with me at the kitchen table.

“You look far too serious for this early in the morning, Ave.” She was grinning, but I knew she was worried. Rose McGinty was like family, she’d been working for us for so damn long. “What is it?”

Another breath and I told her, in the only way I could. “You know how Clay’s team ‘died’ in Bolivia?” She nodded, looking at me like she wasn’t sure how much worse the news could be than the day we got that particular tidbit. “Well, Dad kept saying that Clay wasn’t dead, right?” She nodded again and I bit my lip. “He was right.”

And like every fucking member of our damn family, Clay picked that moment to round the corner and come into sight. Rose squeaked, paled, but didn’t scream or pass out, a true sign she’d been around us for too fucking long. “Surprise,” he offered and then he was kneeling in front of her and she was hugging him to her, the little boy she’d helped rear back to life and in the flesh.

“Damnit, Clay, couldn’t you have put some fucking clothes on?” I rolled my eyes, taking in my brother’s boxers and open white button down combo. “I mean, I get that most women think this shit is hot, but we’re family.” I cringed and pushed my cereal bowl away. Causing Rose to laugh and brush her tears away, thankful that I broke the emotionally charged moment and even more so when Rose announced that she’d be making a celebratory dinner. But less so when she added that it would be full of Clay’s favorites. “Great.”

I spent most of the day going through my normal routine. Rose had her day to day, and I had mine. When Daddy was home, he’d be at the office, Mom would be doing her thing with the charities she founded and chaired. Me? I’d be writing up reports, press releases, and playing fetch and laser tag with dogs and cats. Look, we all have our purpose in life. This was mine.

It was during a game of fetch, with Otis and Sweetie, because Ali would NOT play it wasn’t her style, that Clay came out to spend some quality time with his little sister. More or less.

“Does Dad still have a cache of supplies in the barn?” The barn, as we called it, was a huge warehouse like bunker that Daddy had put in on the far back end of the acreage. Tucked all the way back, amongst the trees and foliage, it was camouflaged to the point that unless you knew it was there, you wouldn’t find it. Not even from the air. I nodded, and sighed. I’d forgotten the call.

“Yeah, about Dad.” I threw the ball and laughed as Sweetie tripped over Otis to grab it. She was tired so she ran off to the shade of the dog patio to hide the ball with Otis hot on her heels. “He called last night, seems he’s been spying on me while he and Mom are off doing what he and Mom do.” Clay chuckled and shook his head. “He knows you’re here and he did the whole ‘told you so’ in code of course, and then maybe let slip that he and Mom are into bondage.”

“Kinky,” Clay took it in stride, a true Clay family trait. “They coming back soon?” I nodded as I watched Sweetie denying Otis his wish for the ball. “Great, Dad’s always so open with suggestions.” I snorted, knowing that Daddy and Clay were far too alike at times for comfort.

“Let me see if I can do him justice,” I turned to Clay and tilted my head, thinking about how Dad would start. “Son, first you got burned, which was bad enough.” Clay’s lips were quirking as I deepened my voice to a growl. “But then, it seems that you didn’t just get your whole team involved, but you didn’t notice you had a viper in your midst.” He hadn’t told me about Roque, the silence did. His teeth were worrying his lip, fighting the laughter as I went on, knowing I was hitting Dad’s stride. “And on top of that, you went and got involved with another fool woman.” That did it, he gave a guffaw and let go. Laughing and then his long ass arms yanked out and pulled me to him, hands ruffling my hair.

“God I missed you, Ave.” I rolled my eyes, feeling strangely content in being hugged by Clay since I couldn’t really pin down the last time I’d seen him in the flesh. “This shit has really put shit in perspective.”

“Like how fucking awesome I am,” I tilted my head back to look up at my scruffy faced big brother. His smile was blindingly white and his dimples deepened. “Shouldn’t have taken fake dying to notice that, asshole.”

[dramaqueeenamby]

Space Between (13)

TAGLIST: @katshrev @elaindeereads @soulmates8 @naturallyqueenie @onyour-right@msincognito67@janellemonaenae @afraiddreamingandloving @hutchj @90sinspiredgirl  @airis-paris14 @dolphinpink310 @purplemuse @amberkay284 @leafdragon117 @meeky-imagines@aieyr @h-challa@quietemptydiariess @katasstrophey @wakanda-inspired@destinio1@dessianna1@blackpantherimagines @httpjex @palmsofgranate@dessianna1@armani9-9@melanisticroyalty @stressedgyal@profilia@theestrangeddreamer@mixedmelanin@almostpurelysmut@writingmarvellousimagines@amberthegamer @sisterwifeudaku@texasbama@lcb7 @kumkaniudaku@lavitabella87  @dessianna1@httpjex @armani9-9 @melanisticroyalty@stressedgyal @idilly @blue-ishx@beautifulbashfulblackqueen @twilight-sapphire-lover@derangedcupcake @thiccdaddy-mbaku@kaytauru @sonofnjobu @wakandamama @LUCI-HER@FRIENDLYNEIGHBORHOODKIRBY@spacequeenstuff @masterbeautyy @thenamesaj

Words: 5K

❤️#BUNBUNWEDNESDAY ❤️ (early)

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T READ TWELVE. YOU WILL BE UTTERLY CONFUSED.

ALSO......PLEASE DON’T HATE ME AFTER THIS.

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN THIS STORY, CLICK HERE.

MASTERLIST

SPACE BETWEEN (12)

“He’s lost his goddamn mind.”

“He really had her arrested?”

“Come now, he can’t seriously believe her to be guilty of these accusations?”

“He is clearly hurt by this and not thinking straight.”

“And what of Bunme? What is he to tell her?  Oh, your mommy is in jail for alleged crimes against Wakanda?”

“I’m not sure he’s going to tell her anything. Bast, he hasn’t even let her know that he’s returned.”

“We think she doesn’t know,” N’Jobu sighed. “Bunme is a very smart and crafty child. She very well may have caught wind of their return.”

“I can’t believe that she’s really his child,” Nakia shook her head, her face filled with astonishment. “I can’t believe she lied.”

“She must have had a good reason,” M’Baku chimed.

“Just like he probably thinks that he had a good reason for locking her up like some criminal.” Hawla hissed, pacing across the floor, rubbing her growing baby bump. “He was wise to have his wing of the palace guarded by Doras and that I am with child cause if not for them....” She finished with a groan, her husband placing his hand on her knee to calm her down.

Just then, Shuri and Erik walked into the room, both of them wearing irritated expressions.

“He still will not allow you access?”

“It’s a smart decision cause as soon as I get close enough, I’m knocking his bitch ass out.” The prince growled.

“We can’t just leave her in prison,” Shuri threw her hands up. “What are we to tell Bunme?” The general prayer among the group of concerned individuals was that the little princess would sleep later than her usual 10:00am wake-up-time in order to give them extra time to figure out a course of action.

“We shouldn’t have to tell her nothing. She should be free to tell her herself.” Erik was visibly and soundly irritated by everything. “Damnit, I knew she should have told him. If she would have just listened to me-“

“Wait, you knew?” Nakia pressed.

N’Jobu spoke up and explained how he and his son came to figure out the truth. Erik then chimed in toward the end to inform how Y/N was stopped from telling the truth after a phone call with her sister.

“At this point, does any of that even matter? Our number one concern and priority is figuring out how to get her out of this mess.” M’Baku informed, everyone offering various nods and small quips of agreement.

“You two are the highest in terms of the chain of command, can’t you free her?” Hawla sighed in desperation.

“Unfortunately, with the amount and severity of the charges being alleged against her, only the king can authorize her release.” N’Jobu shook his head, a deep scowl on his face.

“We could break her out-“

“And make her look even more guilty?” Nakia rolled her eyes at Shuri’s kind but naive suggestion. “No. Our only course of action is talking sense into T’Challa.”

“Or beating it out,” Erik muttered earning a glare from his girlfriend.

“I second that motion.”

“M’Baku!”

At that moment, Okoye entered the room full of mixed emotions.

Shuri stood up from her seat and wasted no time. “Can we see him?”

The general hesitated, aggravating Erik.

“Talk, Okoye.”

The fierce warrior glared before sighing. “He is not here.” Variations of “what” and “where has he gone” were thrown at the woman before she loudly and plainly stated. “He went to go see her.” Silence. “Alone.”

“To free her?” Hawla’s voice was full of hope.

“No.” Okoye’s eyed dropped to her ground. She was ashamed. “To take her testimony.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

Prisons in Wakanda were far different from the cells back in Niganda. This was something Y/N learned upon being locked in her “cell.” Though she hated even being there, she had to admit that a square shaped cell, covered by transparent walls of vibranium with a bed, mirror, table, and other pieces of furniture was far from what she was expecting.

Perhaps she received such a room because of her status as a royal. However, aesthetically pleasing surroundings could not make up for the inner turmoil that she felt.

She knew that telling T’Challa the truth would be a difficult task, but she never imagined that it would bring about such detrimental consequences. Laying on her side, staring at the wall across from her, all she saw was the broken man before whom she pleaded. All she could hear were his harsh words.

Yes. The fact that she was being accused of such vile treacheries bothered her to her core, but her main concern was getting through to T’Challa. If only he could give her time to explain herself, stress to him that she was going to tell him the truth that very night, but circumstances beyond her control prevented it from happening.

However, her biggest and main concern was Bunme. She didn’t know how her baby girl was doing and prayed that she was not told of her mother’s current whereabouts. How could you explain to a five-year-old that her mother was in jail? She didn’t want that stress on her daughter.

She just prayed that T’Challa felt the same way.

The princess sat up and looked straight ahead, her eyes immediately connecting with a stoic-faced lover of hers.

She wasted no time in standing up and walking toward him, stopping in the middle of the cell, his eyes raking over the stretch pants and an oversized shirt that she’d been given as part of her detainment.

She had so many things that she wanted to say to him yet her mind kept drawing blanks. Words failed to leave her mouth. It took a good minute for her to garner a sentence and even that was marked by brevity.

“Bunme-”

“She believes us to still be away on our mission.”

That bit of information brought some comfort to the young woman despite the remaining anxiety that ate at her. “So she doesn’t know that I’m here-”

“No.”

She winced from his tone and dropped her head. “Good-”

“Five years,” he spoke, his eyes focused on the floor, his jaw tense as he struggled to maintain composure. “I’ve missed five years of her life because of you.”

Her slumped shoulders and red eyes gave away her dejection. “T’Challa-”

“I was not there for her first steps, her first word, her birth.” She clenched her eyes shut at his pained delivery. “Why?” She sniffled and went to speak when his fist banged against the wall, causing her to jump back in shock. “WHY?”

“I was scared, T’Challa!” Y/N shouted, wiping at her eyes. “I was terrified at how you would react! I didn’t even know how to react.”

“You should have told me, you knew how I felt about you.” He was legitimately hurt by her deception, not that she could blame him. She’d done this, created this mess. “Did you honestly believe that I would turn you away?” It was damn near unbearable. She couldn’t take the disappointment in his question. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” she sniffled, her eyes avoiding his as he was now staring directly at her. “I was already hesitant on what to do and then I talked to my sister-”

“Your sister?” He interrupted, his tone starting to transition into anger. “So you trusted someone who you’d told me time and time again treated awfully over me? You allowed her to dictate what you did with my child?”

“If you would give me a chance to explain,” she crossed her arms and moved closer to the barrier between them. The physical barrier. “My parents we-”

“Inkosi Yam,” Okoye came running into the room. She sent an apologetic and sympathetic glance to Y/N before looking over at T’Challa. “It’s Klaue. We have a location.”

The Black Panther straightened and turned to a despondent Y/N whose eyes told a story that he’d yet to hear, but his first duty was to his people. He had to get Klaue behind bars before anything else.

Without another word, he turned to follow his general out the door.

“I didn’t do what she said, what they all believe me to have done.” Y/N called out as soon as Okoye was out of her line of vision, her voice barely above a whisper. “I would never betray you or your country. You must know that.”

He stopped, his fist clenched at his side as he looked over his shoulder. The queen held a little hope that her last-minute statement got through to him, penetrated the dense wall of betrayal and pain that she’d created.

Instead, her heart broke even more as he kept on walking. Once he was gone, she released the sob that she’d been holding in the back of her throat, covering her face with her hands as she went to go sit on the bed.

“Well,” she jumped from the introduction of the new voice, going to her feet, the tears continuing to stream down her face. “That was rather…...anticlimactic.”

Her eyes narrowed to crinkled slits. “You son of a bitch.”

Dumi smiled, walking up to the glass, his arms crossed. “I know you must be upset.” He laughed as she went to hit the glass, her eyes glowing white. “Now, now, princess, let’s not behave too recklessly.”

“This whole time you’ve been lying to me.” She hissed, her mouth trembling from a perfect combination of anger and hurt. “I trusted you.”

It made her sick to know that such a person had been around her poor child for five years. The man was practically a father figure and not once had she picked up on the underlying sinister nature. Truthfully speaking, she blamed herself. She should have seen through his facade.

“You mean as he trusted you?” His eyes widened with faux innocence as he motioned to the area where T’Challa and Okoye walked out just minutes prior. “Such a shame how that all turned out. Truly.”

“Why?” She whispered, her heart yearning, needing a reason.

“That comes later,” he nonchalantly waved her off. “What I will say is….do you remember Atu Arziki? No? What of Sibusiso Nuru?” He stepped closer to the glass, his eyebrows raised. “Still nothing?” She was silent, her brain wrecking for an idea as to who those two people were, but the names weren’t ringing a bell.

Y/N gasped loudly when he punched the glass. “Well, let me refresh your mind, princess. Atu Arziki was my older brother who just so happened to be unlucky enough to be forced to serve as a training partner for a young mutant child who refused an order from her dictator parents to kill him-”

She started to move back. “No-”

“Well, the dictators didn’t like their precious daughter’s act of obedience. Not at all. They were just requesting the death of the boy, no one else, but that little bitch couldn’t even do that.”

“Stop,” she squinted her eyes and covered her ears.

“So do you know what they did?” His smile dropped as his eyes hardened with anguish and heartache. “They killed him and his entire family, letting only one lucky child live to know to never again make the same dire mistake.”

She dropped to her knees.

He shrugged. “And Sibusiso Nuru? Well, he was a decorated Wakandan War Dog, one of the best. You remember him from your conversation with your sister, yes?” Y/N didn’t even bother to express surprise. She’d already garnered that Dumi was listening in on her phone calls with Anajah. She would have also bet that it was him who filled Ramonda’s head with all those lies regarding her working with Klaue. “Until he was captured, tortured, and murdered while stationed in Niganda. His family took it extremely hard, but none harder than his poor daughter….Ayo.”

“What?” Her eyes were bug-eyed as the second in command stepped from the shadows with a smirk on her face.

“Ah, yes, but Ayo always swore she would extract her revenge on her father’s killers.” Dumi continued, eyeing the warrior from head to toe. “It was such a perfect pairing, her and I. You know, guarding your little brat while she was at school became much more bearable after the union of Ayo and me.”

“You bitch,” Y/N sneered, her nose turned up at the sight of the woman who’d not only betrayed Y/N, but her king, and her country. A thought crossed her mind. “You two helped Klaue escape….didn’t you?”

“She talks too much.” Ayo rolled her eyes and looked over at Dumi. “Let’s speed this up, please.”

“So impatient,” the man snickered. “Ah, yes, of course. We are actually here to break you out.”

“And why in the hell would you do that?”

“To take you back to Niganda to answer for your crimes against our country,” he continued, his head tilted. “Did you really think we would allow you to escape? You or your sister?”

At the mentioning of Anajah, she froze just as her heart stopped. “What? What have to done to her?” She placed her fists against the wall. “If you even think of hurting her-” She was cut off by the Zenzi member rolling his eyes and lifting up a tablet with a video playing. Y/N gasped as she took in the sight of her bleeding and bruised sister, tied up by his wrists and ankles being savagely beaten by four men, members of the Zenzi.

“No!” She cried out, her heart breaking at the sight. “Stop! Please don’t hurt her!”

“Oh, don’t worry, princess. She’s fine…..for now.” Her forehead dropped against the glass. “You parents on the other hand…..” He sucked his teeth, hitting a button on the screen before pained screams of agony filled the princess' ears. She looked up and immediately felt her stomach drop.

On the screen, were her parents, tied up against two wooden poles, surrounded by hay and flames.

They were being burned at the stake.

Melting skin, intestines oozing out, and just the horror of it all prompted the princess to dub over and start vomiting.

“Yeah…..not an easy sight to stomach, huh?” He chuckled in jest. “Oh, and while I hate to be the one to pile on the agony-”

“The children’s hospital has been planted with bombs that will go off with only a simple phone call,” Ayo interjected. “500 children. Dead. If you don’t cooperate.”

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N sobbed, palms flat against the floor. “Why?”

“Niganda has suffered for too long under the rule of your family. No longer will we be repressed.” Dumi hissed. “Your parents are dead, yes, and eventually, your sister will be too unless you come with us.”

“And do what?” She screamed before another wave of projectile vomit hit.

“Share the same fate as your parents.”

She stared ahead, momentarily paralyzed by his statement. “W-w-what?”

“Your brother left long ago and is no longer a problem. Your sister could care less about us, but you, you are the anomaly that we cannot underestimate.” He narrowed his eyes. “If we are to truly become free from the terror of your bloodline, we must eliminate all possible threats to our new age.” A beat. “That includes you.”

So overcome by her grief, she didn’t even notice Ayo walk over and disable the shields as Dumi stepped into her cell, standing over her.

“Of course, you could always stay here and face Wakandan judgment, but then you have the blood of your sister and 500 children on your hands.”

All she could do was cry. They wanted her dead. She knew that the Zenzi wanted her family off the throne but she never could have imagined the brutality that would extend her way. She never pictured herself being punished along with her parents.

Her parents….they were dead.

She didn’t know how to process that. On one hand, she felt nothing. They were far from good people. On the other hand, she felt everything. They’d given her life, brought her into this world.

Did that not count for anything?

“So princess,” Dumi smirked, watching as she threw up, her stomach in shambles from the grisly and disturbing video. “Would you like some time to think about your options?” His smirk transformed into a sinister smile as he watched her hunched back begin to shake from the intensity of her sobs as her vomiting ceased. “How about ten minutes? No, that’s too long. Five?”

Y/N was stuck between a wall and a hard place. Going with them meant that she was signing her death warrant. Not going with them meant that her sister and 500 innocent lives would be lost.

Y/N wasn’t even sure if they would stay true to their word and spare the innocent if she agreed to forfeit herself, her life.

But was she willing to risk it?

She wanted to scream.

In a flash, Dumi had the princess up against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat. “You have thirty fucking seconds to make a decision, thirty seconds till I make the call, thirty seconds till they’re all dead.”

The thought of all those innocent babies dead….because of her. It gutted her.

Almost as bad as just the thought of what she was about to say.

“No,” she managed to get out despite the lack of available oxygen. “I’ll-”

He tightened his grip, lifting her up so that her feet were starting to dangle.“What was that, Nala?”

“I’ll do it,” she forced out, her eyes clenched shut to keep the sight of the monster before her out of her vision. It was no use though because she was still haunted by the graphic execution that she’d just been forced to watch. There was no escaping this terror. “I’ll do it.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

“I want an autopsy done immediately,” T’Challa hissed, storming into the palace.

The lead that they had on Klaue was accurate sans one bit of information.

He was dead.

Stabbed through the chest some type of object, his body collecting insects and smelling of rotting flesh once they found him.

T’Challa was livid. He wanted the man alive, to stand trial, to see him suffer as they sentenced him to death.

Twice he’d been deprived of the justice that he so desperately sought.

T’Challa was preparing to head up the stairs when he felt someone coming behind him. The skilled warrior immediately grabbed the attempted assailant by the throat and forced him against the closest wall.

“Erik?” He was confused not just by the fact that his cousin was apparently trying to attack him but by the terrified look in his eyes.

“We gotta do something.” Was all he said as T’Challa released him.

He truly was in no mood for his cousin’s games. “About-”

“Come on,” Erik did not wait. He immediately headed for the library, the king surprised to find the bulk of his companions waiting for him.

Except that wasn’t the most surprising. No, what was surprising was the sight of Y/N interacting with Bunme who was sitting on her mother’s lap.

What?

The child’s eyes lit up as they landed on him. “Baba!” Bunme quickly jumped down from Y/N and scurried over to T’Challa who crouched down to lift her up and hug her against him. “You’re back!” She giggled as he struggled to find the correct words.

He wanted to act as though nothing had changed, like she was still the same little girl whom he’d grown to love, formed a bond with.

But she wasn’t.

Before, he viewed her as the daughter he always wanted but never had.

Now, she was the daughter that he always wanted and always had.

Slight change in wording.

Extreme difference in meaning.

“I’ve missed you, sam isipho.” He murmured into the top of her head, kissing her cheek.

Bunme giggled and pulled back with a broad smile. “Now we’re all back together again!”

His heart ached. If only she knew….

“Baby,” Y/N spoke as she stood up. That’s when T’Challa saw it. The anguish in her eyes and the strange bracelet on her wrist. It looked so familiar. “That’s what I need to talk to you about….mommy….” Her voice broke. “Mommy has to go.”

Bunme frowned as she wiggled in his grasp, prompting him to carefully place her down on the floor. “Why?” She started walking towards her mother. “You just got back.”

“I know,” she sniffled as T’Challa looked around the room and finally picked up on the fact there wasn’t a single person in that room who wasn’t fighting tears if not openly shedding them.  “But….you know the bad people back in Niganda….right?” Bunme nodded as Y/N got down on both knees and lightly grabbed her shoulders. “Well….they’re going to do something very bad if mommy doesn’t go back.”

T’Challa was utterly confused. What in Bast name was going on?

He pulled Erik to the side. “What is she-”

“This terrorist group called the Zenzi executed her parents, has her sister hostage, and are threatening to bomb a children’s hospital if she doesn’t turn herself over in the next hour,” Erik spoke in a rushed, quiet, and dangerously controlled voice.

T’Challa moved back ever so slightly as his eyes widened from all of the information. “Turn her over for what?”

A brief look of hurt flashed in Erik’s eyes before he calmly responded with, “What do you think, T’Challa?”

“But what if you get hurt?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bun Bun.” Dumi’s voice sounded as he walked in the room, his signature smirk on his face. “I’ll be there with her the whole time.”

T’Challa growled and went to lunge at Dumi when Erik and M’Baku moved to restrain him.

“He’s with the Zenzi, T’Challa.” Erik hissed in a low voice as the king kept his deadly glare on the former guard. “Do anything to set him off and one phone call damns everybody to death.”

The king stopped. Dumi was a spy. 

He suddenly wished that he’d killed him when he wanted to. 

Bunme ignored Dumi, untrusting of the man ever since she was told that he wasn’t “nice anymore” by her mama following his firing, her pout still as prominent as she proposed the question that Y/N had been dreading. “When will you come back?”

It took everything in her not to break down right then and there.

“Do you remember what I told  you when the bad people tried to hurt us in Niganda before we came here?” Bunme reluctantly nodded. “I told you to hide in the closet while mommy fought them, and you asked me the very same question….so I’m going give you the very same answer.” T’Challa heard his sister's quiet sobs as an equally distraught Nakia tried to comfort her. “Where’s mommy?”

Bunme slowly lifted her index finger to her heart. “Right here.”

Y/N smiled through her pain. “And how long is mommy going to be there?”

Again, a pregnant pause. “Forever.”

“That’s right, baby girl.” Y/N sniffled, reaching out to caress the top of her head. “Mommy loves you so much.”

“Mommy, why are you crying?” Bunme questioned gently as Y/N dropped her head to try and blink away her tears even though she knew it was no use. “I’m scared….I don’t want you to go.”

Y/N felt all resolve break as her little girl threw her arms around her, clinging on to her for dear life, her own tears staining Y/N’s shirt. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m always with you, Bunme.” She promised, tightening her hold on her daughter for one last embrace. “Always.”

“Alright,” Dumi rolled his eyes and walked over, grabbing Y/N by her upper arm and yanking her to her feet. “Time to go, princess.”

“Hey!” Bunme shouted, crying and rubbing her eyes. “Leave my mommy alone!”

T’Challa immediately went over to grab her. “Bunme-”

“Baba,” she turned to him, the sight of her crying breaking his heart, but he maintained his stoic expression. “You gotta help mommy! Please!” At that point, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even M’Baku was blinking away tears. “You promised you’d always protect her!”

T’Challa looked at his former lover, the anguish in her eyes, and then over at Dumi who was watching them closely, waiting for the king to make a move.

He only had one option.

T’Challa delivered with all the coldness that he could muster, “There’s nothing I can do.”

Heartbreak….just….heartbreak.

“It’s okay, baby.” Y/N tried to reassure as Dumi started to drag her out the room. “I’ll be okay.”

“No!” Bunme went to run after them, but T’Challa restrained her. “Mommy, please don’t go!”

The older princess looked from her daughter to her love one last time and whimpered out: “I love you.”

With that, she disappeared from their site.

“Mommy!” Bunme was screaming at that point, trying to hit at T’Challa. “Let me go!”

“Sam Isipho,” he attempted to calm her down, but it was no good.

“No! I hate you!” Those three words rendered him speechless as he unconsciously let her go, Bunme making a sprint for the door.

Nakia quickly jumped up and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll go get her.”

T’Challa couldn’t even respond as those words oscillated in his mind. Well, before he felt himself being pinned to the floor.

“You weak ass son of a bitch!” Erik yelled, raining fists on his cousin. “You just let her go like that?!”

T’Challa broke from his trance and easily pushed Erik off, jumping to his feet. “Er-”

“Man, fuck you!” Erik was in no mood for excuses or explanations. “You foul as shit, T’Challa!”

“Erik,” Shuri attempted to speak up but was cut off.

“Naw! You know they gon kill her right?! Probably torture her too! And yo’ ass didn’t do shit to stop it!” He continued as M’Baku moved to hold his arm. “You really gon let her d-”

“SILENCE!” T’Challa finally snapped, marching over and snatching him up by the collar. “I would see myself dead before I allowed that to happen!”

Erik maintained his fierce expression. “Then why the fuck did you just allow him to take her like that?”

“If I had given him any indication that I plan to go after her, who knows what he would have done?” T’Challa retorted harshly.

“Wait. So we’re going to save her?” Hawla questioned with the first hint of hopefulness to enter the room all day.

“Of course,” T’Challa did not hesitate. “But we’re going to need some help.” He informed, pushing Erik away and pulling his Kimoyo bead to his mouth. “Has he arrived?”

“I have,” everyone turned to the door where a dark-skinned man with a deep accept and solid build spoke boldly. “And just in time, it would seem.”

Erik sized him up. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man also eyed him from head to toe and scoffed before walking over to T’Challa. “We must hurry. My sister is in more danger than she realizes.”

“She’s powerless too.” Shuri chimed as T’Challa regarded her with confusion. “That bastard managed to break into my lab and steal the power disabling device that I’ve been working on. Somehow he gained access and knew that I’d completed it.”

The bracelet. T’Challa suddenly realized. That was why it looked so familiar.

“You don’t understand,” Belay shook his head. “Y/N is an extremely powerful mutant, but her weakness always has and always will be her love for our people. Whoever plans to take the throne should want her at his side, using the lives of Nigandans as collateral to secure her as his queen. The love of power would certainly overpower the hate and contempt for my family.”

“What are you saying?” T’Challa pressed. He was in no mood for riddles.

Belay’s eyes softened ever so slightly with fear.

“I think she’s walking into a trap.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

Y/N stirred from her sleep to find herself being dragged through the grand palace of Niganda.

Well, it wasn't necessarily sleeping. 

She’d been knocked unconscious as soon as she walked into the plane.

“Wh..” She tried to talk, blinking several times to clear her vision as she looked to her left to see Ayo and Dumi walking side by side. “Where are you taking me?”

“To our leader, of course.” Dumi scoffed. “And future queen.”

She stalled. Queen? What?

“You fool,” she managed to insult but cried out when one of the men dragging her on her knees hit her on the side of her head. “Niganda doesn’t allow women to rule.”

“Correction,” Y/N’s head shot up as she desperately searched for the source of the voice. That voice. She’d know it from anywhere. “They used to not allow women to rule.”

Y/N’s heart was beating erratically as she finally zoned in on the individual who emerged from the shadows. “Anajah?”

The bruised woman smirked. “It seems we have much to catch up on.” A beat. “Sister.”