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wastefulreverie · 2 years ago

Text

how disarming you can be

word count: 3921

see end of post for content warnings

Danny woke up to a familiar tingle in his throat.

Then came the beeping.

Something was in his wrist and oh—fuck. Something was on his face. He was strapped down and this was it. The GIW had finally caught him. It was game over.

When he opened his eyes he caught sight of a thin white sheet wrapped around his body and wires and tubes and speckled gray ceiling tiles. When he moved his arm, the IV tube moved with it and before he knew it there were warm hands on his arm and Danny flinched.

Danny tried making out the words spoken to him, but everything sounded like he was underwater.

“—up his drugs a bit more. He’s coming to soon.”

In his peripheral vision, two white-clad agents in shades stood by the door with matching grins.

And the world went dark.

The next time he woke, there was a woman in front of him wearing scrubs. He couldn’t make out the words but there was a badge clipped to her chest with her face on it and the logo for West Amity Hospital—he remembered that much from after the accident at least. In the photo, her eyes were kind. They were a deep chestnut color and if Danny focused enough they could almost make the incessant tug on his wrist and nose disappear.

“—said, can you hear me, Danny?”

Oh, right. Danny was his name.

He nodded.

“Good. Now, can you tell me what year it is, Danny?”

Why wouldn’t she know?

But she seemed so sincere that Danny couldn’t not help her, so he told her the answer.

“And the current president?”

He told her the president.

She reached somewhere to her left and grabbed a clipboard. And jotted something down. Because this was a hospital, or it seemed from the looks of it. What happened to him that left him in the hospital—?

Oh God. He was a ghost. He couldn’t be here.

They’d know from his vitals alone that there was something wrong with him and then they’d call the government on him—and worse they’d tell his parents he was a ghost and so then he wouldn’t even be able to go home or back to his life and—

“Danny. Danny, are you with me? Your heart rate just went up by a lot.”

The world seemed to swing from a pendulum, and Danny had to pat the bed to make sure that he actually hadn’t floated off of it. He dug his nails into the thin, hospital bed and scrunched his eyes shut so that the world would stop moving but it didn’t help because he could still feel the swaying movement, tying knots in his stomach, and oh God why wouldn’t it stop.

“—having what looks like a panic attack. Danny, I need you to focus on the sound of my voice. Can you do that for me?”

“Stay—stay away from me!”

He couldn’t have them find out. If they didn’t already know. He was fucked. He needed to find a way to leave, to turn into Phantom. But he couldn’t have them find out about his ghost powers, so as long as he was monitored he was screwed. Where were Sam and Tucker and Jazz? They’d planned contingencies to make sure Danny never ended up in a hospital. How had he even gotten here in the first place?

The last thing he remembered was—

Ember.

She’d been at the mall, releasing her new demo. It’d been a quick fight all things considered, maybe she was still weak from the last time they’d clashed or maybe he’d just gotten the jump on her, but it took under fifteen minutes for him to wrap up the fight. All in all, not a personal best for Ember but close to it. He’d just gotten the cap on the thermos secured when the GIW arrived guns blazing.

Danny made a run for it. They chased him to the outskirts of town and Danny was so close to just jumping into a ditch, turning human, and hoping for the best. He couldn’t let them catch him, no matter what. And then they got a lucky hit. There was a glowing green spear jutting out of his shoulder and he had just enough time to register that fact before his flight gave out and he plummeted to the ground. Hard. It’s been a while since he’s hit the pavement that hard, but usually he’s able to bounce back given enough time to recuperate.

They were waiting for him on the ground. White boots surrounded him.

The last thing he remembered was the mechanic whir of a thermos and then squeezing tight darkness.

It just didn’t make sense how he ended up here.

The woman was still talking. Trying to assure him to calm his breathing, doing some kind of counting exercise that sounded like one of those meditation things Jazz liked to rattle off. Danny couldn’t afford to be off his guard.

“How did—how did I get here?” he ground out.

The woman paused.

“How much do you remember?”

“Answer my question first.”

“A lot has happened while you’ve been out, Danny. I’m not sure which parts you are aware of or not.”

“Fine. I remember being at school. Then I can’t remember anything after that.”

“School?” She paused, as if deciding how to phrase something. She gave a nod. “You were found injured on the shoulder of the road near the edge of town. You’ve been unconscious for several days.”

“That’s not right.”

Because the GIW had him. They’d put him in a thermos. Then they just let him go?

“You were found by a truck driver passing through the area. When we contacted your friends, they said they weren’t sure why you were out there.”

“You’ve talked to Sam and Tucker?”

She smiled. “Yes. Sam and Tucker. And your family, too.”

“Where are they?”

“Well, I imagine they’re at home. You’ve been out for several days, but they’ll be here eventually. Though, there is the matter of…”

“Matter of what?” he asked.

“I think it’s best that the doctor tells you,” she explained. “Now, is there anything I can get for you, Danny? Anything at all?”

“You could start by discharging me?”

She chuckled. “Not till you have a clean bill of health. Now, I have to go for a bit but I promise I’ll be back.” She tapped the remote built into his hospital bed. “Feel free to watch whatever you want in the meantime.”

In a matter of seconds, she strutted out. Left alone with the soft hum of the machines.

If he was going to escape anytime, it would be now.

He leaned forward, but as he moved there was a sharp pang of pain in his upper left shoulder. He pulled down his hospital gown and found that his shoulder had been bandaged thoroughly. As he shifted his weight, there was also a sharpness at the back of his neck that made black spots dance at the edge of his vision. Nausea pooled in his stomach and Danny slumped back against his hospital bed.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Shit.

Danny didn’t know why his ghost powers weren’t kicking in to heal him, but since the doctors obviously hadn’t caught on, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His vitals were also less fucked-up-looking than he expected. He’d checked his vitals in human form with Sam and Tucker several times, all of which were within impossible ranges for human beings (a resting heart rate of thirty beats per minute and normally hypothermic) but none of that was directly reflected in Danny’s vitals.

From what he could figure, the weapon that the GIW had hit him with must’ve done something to his core which explained why he wasn’t healing like he normally would. It rendered him visibly human. As long as it didn’t tip off the doctors, Danny didn’t really care about what it did. Though, there was the eventual issue of potentially permanent damage to his core, but he’d deal with that once he wasn’t being monitored by nosy doctors twenty-four-seven.

Now that he was awake, the doctors informed him that for some reason or another, some long string of word soup that Danny’s drugged brain couldn’t follow, they thought it best that neither his family nor friends would be allowed to visit him because of something with the stress levels of his injuries yada yada yada. Danny told them that sounded illegal. They asked him what law said that, and reminded him that he was still a minor. So, Danny shut up.

At least it spared him from Jazz’s flavor of overbearingness.

Though, admittedly he did miss his friends. He could only watch so much cable TV. The hospital’s channels sucked ass, hard. It was all shitty reality TV shows, movies from the ‘80s, and Cheers reruns. They didn’t even get the local news stations, so Danny couldn’t really keep up with the town at all. Unfortunately, the hospital said his phone had been smashed whenever he was found (made since, from the height of that fall—not his first broken phone nor his last) so his only way of knowing what was going on in the world was through his TV and the hospital staff and the hospital staff wasn’t budging.

The only person on staff that Danny liked was Carmen, the nurse from when he first woke up. The doctors kind of just brushed him off as a stupid mouthy kid, but she actually took the time to have a conversation with him.

“You know, your parents are good people,” she told him. “Must be cool with all their ghost-hunting gadgets and stuff. Or I bet you get tired of it after a while. Loses its charm when you’re around their stuff all the time.”

“Yeah, I mean their job has always been cool but it’s also a lot to deal with. Their stuff… is a little aggressive sometimes.”

“Aggressive? You don’t mean it ever targets you or anything?”

“Uh, I mean. It’s not supposed to,” he assured. “But Mom and Dad are still working out the kinks. It’s just part of their process. Stuff is a little sensitive around me, I think.”

“Just you? Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve just been exposed to a lot more ecto-radiation than most people. Growing up in a house like that, it uh, you run into experiments eventually.”

“Your medical record shows that the last time you were with us, you were admitted for an electrical shock from one of your parents’ inventions.”

“Hehe, yeah. Um. The Fenton Ghost Portal. Don’t recommend getting too close to that during its power-on. Just a little shock, nothing too bad. I mean, Sam and Tucker made it sound worse than it was and so of course Mom freaked out and I didn’t even need to be admitted because nothing happened.”

“You were electrocuted by the portal?” Carmen’s eyes widened. “Did it hurt?”

Did it hurt…

Lightning wracking his body, pain touching every single nerve. The pain ended where Danny began and both bled into each other until they were one and the same. His body seized up, unmoving, except he could feel himself twitching as he was caught in the portal’s start-up, and he knew in that moment that he wasn’t going to survive. Screams ripped through his throat but he couldn’t hear them, didn’t even register their echoes because he was too far gone. Danny was dead. He wasn’t coming back.

And then he did.

“It was a pretty nasty shock, I guess.”

Her brow furrowed. “So, could that have made you sensitive to your parents’ inventions? You said something about—what was it?—ecton-radiation?”

“Ecto-radiation,” he corrected. “And yeah, that was probably it. I mean, their inventions started malfunctioning around me after the accident, but I don’t think it means that much.”

She hummed. “Probably.”

Danny needed surgery on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what they could do exactly, but he was starting to panic because if they had him under the knife, then surely they’d see that his insides are a little too ghostly to be human. And even if they fail to notice that he bleeds a little green, what if by fixing the injury to his shoulder his core starts healing and they notice that his vitals aren’t right and then they never let him go home because he’s a freak of nature?

Danny’s fucked.

“I’m sorry, Danny, but your parents have consented to your surgery.” Carmen smiled. “They also told me to tell you that they love you and know you’re strong enough to get through this.”

Carmen squeezed his hand and Danny tried to believe her, even though he knew it was futile. They were going to find out he’s part-ghost and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Now, let’s get you ready for surgery.”

When Danny came to after surgery, there were no government agents lurking at the edge of his bed. There were no baffled stares from the doctors. There were no ghost cuffs around his wrists.

There was one of the surgeons, Dr. Nguyen, and Carmen, standing to his left.

“Danny,” Dr. Nguyen greeted, “glad to see you’re awake. The surgery was a success and you’ll be able to regain use of your shoulder in the next few days or so, so no worries about that.”

He waited for it.

The ‘but.’

“But—” he held his breath “—when we were doing examinations after the surgery, we noticed something weird.”

Oh God. Here it is.

‘We found out that you’re actually some sort of weird human-ghost hybrid and we’re going to have to release you to the care of the Ghost Investigation Ward. Sorry about that!’

Dr. Nguyen shuffled through some papers. “Your appendix is pretty inflamed, enough that we’re worried it might be cause for concern. Do you know what appendicitis is?”

What.

They had to be the least observant doctors in the world or something really, really weird was going on here.

Danny was a freak of nature. There was no way they couldn’t put two and two together and not come up with ghost physiology.

Now, the doctors were preparing him for a second surgery and none of them seemed concerned about the fact that Danny’s blood was a lot thinner than it should be and was also, you know, somewhat green. Maybe whatever damaged his core had affected his blood-ectoplasm proportion or something?

He was at a loss.

He was almost tempted to ask, but the last thing he wanted to do was give them something to look for if they hadn’t noticed on their own. So he kept his mouth shut and ate his stupid, sugar-free hospital jello and watched the stupid hospital cable. He was getting sick of Cheers, but it was somewhat favorable to the Real Housewives of Whatever Fresh Hell they’ve descended on now.

(Note to self: Real Housewives parody set in actual Hell. Sam would like that.)

“Any word from my family?”

Danny had been in the hospital for almost two weeks now, and he was about to go in for his appendectomy. Carmen had been at his side almost the whole time and it seemed like she was the only one who cared enough to relay messages from Danny’s family to him.

“Jazz says she knows this surgery will be a breeze for you and your parents know you’ll be out in no time,” Carmen said. “Is there anything you want me to tell them back?”

“Tell them I’ll see them soon.”

Danny would be out before long. He didn’t care if the doctors didn’t think he could handle seeing his friends and family, he was getting sick of being trapped in this stupid hospital room and he was going to make them discharge him. He had a life to get back to, after all.

“Will do,” Carmen said.

Danny was knocked out before arriving in the Operating Theater. He expected to wake up in his bed like he had during the previous surgery. He hadn’t been expecting to wake up on a cold, metal surface with a light shining in his face, white barren walls framing his vision, and a gloved hand streaked with red and green ooze digging into his torso.

Oh God.

There was a fucking HAND in his chest—!

“—subject’s heart rate spiked, I think he’s awake.”

“Knock him back out. Now!”

“—working—on it—!”

Danny wanted to cling to the vestiges of his consciousness because something was deeply wrong here. His blood had been green and there was no mistaking it.

But the world sank into nothingness all around him.

White walls.

Fading.

To black.

He awoke with a gasp. Carmen sat on a stool across from his bed. Expectantly with those oh-so-kind eyes he’d grown to know.

He wasn’t sure if he trusted them anymore.

“You know,” he exhaled.

They all knew he was a ghost hybrid. They’d been lying to him. And for—for what!

“I’m not sure what you mean, Danny,” she said softly.

“I woke up.”

“The doctors told me. That’s a traumatic thing to happen. The drugs don’t often wear off, but it’s a frightening thing when they do and—”

“No. I saw my blood. I know that you know about the ectoplasm, and for some reason you haven’t—why haven’t you—”

“Oh, Danny. We have been meaning to tell you everything, it’s just with your powers, the doctors and your friends were afraid that you would react the wrong way if we told you the truth.”

“My friends?”

“Your friends, Sam and Tucker.” Carmen stood from the stool and hovered beside his bedside. “The truth is, the night that you were found, you were captured by the GIW in a thermos. But then—we’re not sure what happened—they lost you somehow. You were brought here, bleeding out. Your vitals were off the charts, all of which your friends told us was normal. The GIW tried to get you back—”

“They what?”

“They did. But because you’re part-human, they can’t touch you here. You’re safe. As long as you’re in our care, they can’t harm you. Though, the drawback is that you’re also an ecto-entity and you can’t receive any visitors, which is why your family and friends haven’t visited. We thought it best that you have no knowledge of this because you might try to escape and put yourself in danger’s path before you receive medical treatment.” Her eyes were pleading. “Do you understand why we hid this from you, Danny? To keep you safe.”

So the doctors weren’t stupid.

He was.

“So that—so my vitals here. They’ve been fake?”

“Yes. We have access to your real vitals.”

He took this in.

Then there was nothing wrong with his core. Except.

“Then—then why didn’t—?" He touched his shoulder. “Why was I not healing?”

There were holes in her story. He wasn’t sure what they all were yet, but things still weren’t adding up.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

When he’d woken up the first time, he’d thought it had been a trick of the mind, but he’d sworn he’d seen…

And when he woke up during surgery, all the walls were…

He looked beneath his hospital gown and etched onto his chest was…

No.

“Carmen,” he said tentatively, “did I ever escape from the Guys in White?”

She looked at him with wide, doe-like eyes. “Danny, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

There were no windows in his room. She was standing between him and the door, so he’d have to make a run for it and fast. If there really was a real hospital outside of this room, then no harm no foul—Carmen would just chalk this up to extreme paranoia.

The other alternative was that there was no such thing as Nurse Carmen.

Danny didn’t waste time ripping out his IV. Instead, he just phased his arm out of it. After not using his powers for so long, his arm felt tingly and numb when he pulled on his core (and not in the familiar way). He leaped to the side, and his chest BURNED and he was suddenly aware of the stitches up and down his torso but he didn’t have time to think about that now because Carmen had just snapped out of her stupor and realized he was making a break for it.

Danny made a mad dash for the door and outside there was a dimly lit vacant corridor. There were no other medical personnel in sight. Danny pulled on his core and let his full transformation sweep over him. He wasn’t sure what he was doing yet, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He tapped into intangibility and flew upwards. He hit the ceiling with a resounding SMACK and careened down toward the floor.

Ghost shield.

“Danny,” Carmen shouted somewhere behind him, “Danny, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

If he couldn’t go up, he would have to follow the corridor until he found a way out. Danny shot down the corridor and noticed as he passed that there were plates for each room number, but none of the doors were open. All were shut. Lights off inside.

Because Danny was the only patient here.

He finally reached the end of the corridor. Where there should be a turn or a door, there was nothing. He tried phasing, but just as he’d tried phasing through the ceiling he hit a ghost shield.

Shit.

Carmen, frizzy hair in a high ponytail and donning teal scrubs, caught up to him.

“Danny, come to your senses. If you leave, the GIW will capture you. You need to recover. Let us buy you some more time.”

“I’m not falling for your tricks again!”

If the ghost shield was inside the wall, he couldn’t do anything as Phantom. However, if the wall wasn’t there… Fenton could step through.

Danny fired up an ectoblast.

Just as he did, there was a pinch at the back of his neck.

No.

Not a pinch.

Waves of white-hot pain—!

Electricity. He was being electrocuted.

He knew the feeling like nothing else. You never forgot how you died.

He crumpled to the floor like a rag doll and Carmen stood over him, a slender white button in her hand.

“A shame,” she frowned, and her voice was sapped of all the warmth he’d come to expect. “I’d hoped our game could go on for a little bit longer.”

Footfalls. More people were coming, from somewhere. Somehow.

Everything hurt.

Everything was on fire.

Carmen crouched down and lolled his head so that he looked her in the eye. “I want you to know that when I agreed to do this job, I was afraid I’d find something human in you. A scared kid. A sympathetic hero. Something.”

His nerves were BURNING—!

Carmen smiled, but not her kind smile. A twisted facsimile of what it once was. “And when I got to know you, I didn’t find it.” She let his head drop to the floor. “Ghost.”

He just wanted it to be OVER oh God oh God oh God—

“What now, Agent C?”

“Put him in the cell with the others. He’s had enough luxury treatment. We got the intel we needed from him.”

Her voice echoed. Quieter.

“Now, the real fun begins.”

content warnings: brief description of vivisection, gaslighting, dehumanization

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Phicc #Phic #Fic #wrwritings #if you can see the linebreaks im sorry bc some versions of tumblr show them and others dont so i added astericks for this brokenass website

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 2 years ago

Text

Ikemen Vampire (JP)

Before You Become My Beloved

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. JP SPOILERS under the cut. Expect mistakes.

Flowers bloom without anyone begging for them.

Their beautiful colors, sweet fragrance, and soft touch are etched in people’s memories, along with joy, surprise, sorrow, and anger.

This is the untold story of a vampire known as the Son of God.

Woman: “Which flowers do you think are appropriate for the workplace?”

Vlad: “I recommend dahlias and gerberas. They both have the word ‘gratitude’ in their language.”

Man: “Today is our wedding anniversary. What flowers should I give my wife?”

Vlad: “How about red geraniums? In the flower language, it means you’re happy to have them.”

Vlad’s wagon, full of colorful flowers, was immediately surrounded by smiling people.

As the customers left with bouquets in their hands, Vlad gently narrowed his eyes.

Vlad: “Flowers have the power to make people smile.”

I smiled when I heard him mutter such kind words while helping him.

Mitsuki: “I don’t think it’s just the flowers that made everyone smile.”

Vlad: “Huh?”

Mitsuki: “It’s because of you.”

Mitsuki: “They were happy when you told them the language of flowers.”

Mitsuki: “They bought the flowers from this shop because you relate to their feelings.”

Vlad: “Thank you. I’d be happy if that was the case.”

Despite his words, his crimson eyes shook a little sadly.

Vlad: “The language of flowers is something I learned to get along with humans.”

True, Vlad told me before that he learned the language of flowers because he hoped it would help him get to know humans better.

Vlad: “I remember all of this because I read that book.”

Mitsuki: “I see.”

I imagined Vlad as a child, holding a thick book unfit for his body, tracing the words of the flowers one by one一It was a heart-wrenchingly sad and lovely image.

Mitsuki: “Hey, what was the first flower language you learned?”

I casually asked, and his crimson eyes narrowed nostalgically.

Vlad: “I think it’s the devil’s charm.”

Mitsuki: “Huh?”

Vlad: “It’s the language of the snakeberry flower. After blooming its pretty yellow flowers, it produces small, red berries.”

When he suddenly stopped speaking, Vlad smiled and looked at the sky.

Vlad: “This takes me back. The one who told me about those red berries was a human.”

A long, long time ago一

The story is set in Vlad’s childhood, when he still had no idea of the meaning of eternity.

One day, under a blue sky, Vlad stepped out into a deserted corridor.

Vlad: “Phew.”

Vlad: “I need to hide the rope so they won’t find it.”

He moved the broken cobblestones he had found earlier, hid the rope inside, and put the lid back on.

Vlad: "That should do it!"

Vlad: "It's time for some adventure."

He escaped from the room through the window and ran into the forest, his fine, flowing silver hair swaying.

Being born a pure-blooded vampire, he was considered special because of the blood of his ancestors.

His family considered him sacred, so they banned him from going outside as he grew up.

However, for a curious child, the inside of the mansion was too boring.

Vlad: "Wow! A creek! The sunlight glistening through it is so beautiful."

Vlad: "There are lots of fish! Ahahaha! Some little birds and foxes are here, too."

Perhaps because it has been a long time since he went outside, everything he sees makes his heart flutter.

Vlad: "The world is so full of lovely things."

He spread his arms out to embrace the glorious view and breathe in the fresh air.

At that moment, a lovely red berry caught his eye.

Vlad: "What kind of fruit is this?"

(Wild strawberry? Raspberry?)

He crouched down on the spot and was about to touch the fruit when…

???: "If you're going to eat it, don't."

???: "That's a snakeberry."

Vlad: "!"

(Who?)

He turned around and saw a grown man with a tanned face, brown curly hair, and hands stained with mud standing there.

He was wearing a long apron and boots, but the scent of earth gave him the idea that he was a gardener.

(Human.)

He sat down on a nearby stump and gently plucked a snakeberry.

Gardener: “It’s not poisonous, but it tastes so bad you can’t even eat it.”

Vlad: “Are these berries called snake berries?”

Gardener: “Yeah, these things grow where snakes are likely to come out.”

Gardener: “So you have to be careful when getting this. Make sure there aren’t any snakes around.”

He smiled happily and put his big hand on his head.

(It’s so warm.)

It was the first human warmth he had ever felt.

(But...)

Vlad: “Why are you patting my head?”

Gardener: “It doesn’t mean anything, but if I had to answer, I suppose it’s because all children are God-given lovely beings.”

(Lovely?)

The moment the gardener said that, his heart overflowed with warmth.

(Just like I loved this world, this person loved me.)

He recalled all the ideas and beliefs his family repeatedly taught him.

(Everyone in my family says that vampires are the ones who rule over humans.)

(I’ve always thought otherwise.)

(I thought that since we live in the same world, there is no difference between the creatures.)

(I wasn’t wrong in my thinking.)

Vlad: “Hey, hey. Are you still gonna be here tomorrow? Can I come and see you?”

He blinked his eyes like he was momentarily amused.

Gardener: “Yeah, I usually rest here during my break from work.”

He replied with a smile.

That night, Vlad took every book he could find about plants from the library to his room.

Vlad: “Snakeberry, a perennial herb of the rose family.”

Vlad: “The flowers are yellow with red berries.”

Vlad: “So it was the berries I saw.”

He read through the description of the snakeberry and reached for the next book.

The book, entitled “The language of flowers” was a collection of flower-related anecdotes and sayings.

Vlad: “Does it also mention the language of flowers of the snakeberry?”

Curious, he flipped through the pages and found its name.

Vlad: “There it is! The language of its flowers is...”

Part 1 || Part 2 || Premium || Epilogue

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp jp #ikevamp spoilers #ikemen vampire vlad #ikevamp #cybird #ikevamp translation

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queenvhagar · 7 months ago

Note

So I saw a video on TikTok about the night Rhaenyra and Criston ‘get together’ about how in canon, there was no consent for both sides but in canon, there was consent.

And the comments are making me feel quite conflicted because they’re saying that a child cannot rape an adult: Rhaenyra was an intoxicated child whose title was not taken seriously and didn’t have that type of power that the king had to dismiss him and therefore couldn’t give consent while Criston was a sober grown man twice her size, a trained knight fully armored sworn to celibacy that could’ve left but didn’t and even liked it in the end, and who even asked her to marry him after. Also that the creators said they both wanted each other and that it was a consensual seduction.

I’m mainly feeling conflicted because yes, a child can’t consent to sexual activity with an adult. But isn’t the concept of that distinct from the ability of a teenager to commit sexual assault? I’m confused about this because I haven’t seen the scene and they’re saying he didn’t leave when he could’ve and that he liked it in the end.

And were the consequences of him sleeping with Rhaenyra way heavier than the potential consequences he might of faced if he denied her?

Your thoughts?

In the show, Rhaenyra was of age when this happened, so she wasn't a child. She was young, but she was probably about 18 at this time with the time skips up to that point. An adult by our standards and certainly in-universe. Young, yes. But not a child. Criston on the other hand was likely in his early to mid 20s.

While her position as heir was not taken very seriously, her status as the daughter of the king was. Not only the king's daughter but the king's favorite child. The sway she holds with her father is immense, and her word would be taken more seriously than that of a simple knight. Add in the fact that Criston is not from an important family and he's Dornish, and it's clear who people would believe if there was a situation of her word vs his.

She had been drinking with Daemon, yes, but she was also sober enough to navigate through King's Landing, which she had never visited before, all the way to the Red Keep while alone in the middle of the night after Daemon left her. So she clearly has a decent level of mental capacity at this point if she can walk through a new city at night as a young woman all the way home and not have any problem at all.

The writers say it was consensual, but I question whether it really was considering the fact that Rhaenyra is the person responsible for hiring Criston Cole to Kingsguard and she holds direct authority over him. Despite him trying to go against her words and wishes, he ultimately does not have much of an option to say no without some major risks, as is the case with going against the wishes of the royal family you're sworn to obey.

Maybe a similar (imperfect) minor analogue to the event would be this: you're a person of color from a low-income family in a small town who, upon graduating from business school having worked your way through, just got the job offer of a lifetime and hired to a hugely successful, high-profile company in the big city thanks to the CEO's daughter, a senior manager in the company and part of an ultra wealthy, ultra powerful white family. She directly hired you for the position as she was the one who interviewed you. Despite the fact she is a few years younger than you, she has a lot of influence in the company thanks to her family and specifically her father, who gave her the job she has. Your job represents everything that you've struggled for and worked to achieve in your life. In your day to day tasks, you're working directly under the supervision of this woman, and she clearly has the authority in what decisions are made and what you do. You maintain a professional and respectful relationship for years, and sometimes she talks with you about her unhappiness with and frustrations about the work, feeling stifled by the burden of the family business she will one day take over (and assume all its wealth and power). Then, one evening, after she's had a couple of drinks, she calls you into her office. When you get there, she starts coming on to you. You politely decline and try to leave. She keeps taking it further, not letting you leave, and she starts to undress you despite you continuing to say no. Now, you have one option in which you forcibly leave the situation and risk that she is offended and tells her father a version of the story that will massively affect your career and possibly get you fired or worse. There's no guarantee that she wouldn't. She has the power to ruin your life, despite everything you've done for her and the company and all you've done to get to this point in your career. Or, you can let it happen and pick up the pieces afterward to try and smooth over the situation while still making sure you have security with your job.

Back to the show, Criston had similar choices when faced with Rhaenyra's advances: force his way out and risk trouble with his position or worse should Rhaenyra take offense at his disobedience and/or tell her father a different version of the event. Or he go along with her wishes, despite the risk it poses to his life if it is ever discovered what happened (which is an agonizing and slow death) and try to figure it out once it's over. He chooses what he thinks is the safest option at that moment, which is a choice he shouldn't have had to make in the first place.

I also want to add the context of why Rhaenyra wouldn't take no for an answer and why she decided to get with Criston. She just came from Daemon's lesson in the brothel in which he wanted to teach her about what he thinks is the true nature of the dragon: the blood of the dragon can take what it wants, who it wants, whenever it wants because they are inherently better than everyone else. That's what Daemon proceeds to do by kissing Rhaenyra in the brothel (and he's surprised when it's what she wants to, despite his years of obviously grooming her to be close to him, because his plan was to shock her and ruin her reputation enough to be able to marry her). When she's left by Daemon, she decides that her sworn knight is who she wants and she decides she wants him now, so that's what she makes happen, regardless of Criston saying no and trying to leave and regardless of the vows she knows that he's sworn as part of his position.

Criston looks uncomfortable and conflicted the next morning. On the boat, he tries to rationalize the whole event: he'd been by her side as her protector for years, and she wouldn't put his life in danger and wouldn't insist he break his vows without good reason, so she must actually care about him and that's why she wouldn't take no for an answer. Plus, she's done nothing but tell him how unhappy she is with her situation of being heir and not being taken seriously and desiring freedom. So, Criston talks to her about running away together. I think while it's possible he found some enjoyment while in the moment with her, that wasn't the main reason he proposed that she leave with him. Rather, he needed to try to make sense of what happened and attempt to right the wrong. But in this conversation it becomes clear to him that she views him as a plaything, as a body to have fun with and nothing else. That she just wanted him on a whim and doesn't really care how that impacts him or what happens to him now beyond him being available to her to use again. This kind of breaks his whole worldview a bit concerning knighthood and royalty and honor and loyalty and leads him to spiral until he is saved by Alicent, who is able to help him renew his sense of lost identity and purpose by allowing him to buy back into the mythologization of knighthood by swearing anew to protect a perceived virtuous, selfless queen who won't take his commitments and vows lightly.

In the book, the events are more ambiguous. Some say Rhaenyra tried to seduce Criston Cole and he turned her down. Some say Criston Cole tried to get with Rhaenyra and she turned him down. Either way, we know that Criston Cole was upset about whatever happened, and he went from being her "staunchest defender to bitterest foe." Alicent then made him her sworn shield. In the book, there is also a larger age gap between the two. Rhaenyra is 16, the age in Westeros when people are considered to be adults and the age she officially takes possession of Dragonstone. Criston is 31. In the books, he is not mentioned as being Dornish, just the son of a steward at Blackhaven, seat of House Dondarrion, under House Baratheon. There is still the imbalance of their relative power and influence in society, and she still holds authority over him, but the age gap being wider does muddy the waters a bit depending on the scenario that actually played out.

#asks #criston cole

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dyemelikeasunset · 1 year ago

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now i'm thinking about Dom & Mor's zodiacs and wanna share their greek natal charts (only up to mars, I'm not good enough at them to go beyond that lol)

Rising: Mor: Taurus | Dom: Scorpio

Sun: Mor: Pisces | Dom: Gemini

Moon: Mor: Cancer | Dom: Pisces

Mercury: Mor: Libra | Dom: Capricorn

Venus: Mor: Scorpio | Dom: Taurus

Mars: Mor: Pisces | Dom: Taurus

Breakdowns and explanations under readmore

The rising sign is essentially the first impression, so Mor as a rising taurus comes across loyal and a little stubborn, kinda old-fashioned but likes to relax. Sun signs are the base of our personalities, and Pisces is a very overpowering sign in general because of the emotionality and deep thinking. Mor being a pisces really colors the rest of her natal chart with a heavy pisces overtone. The moon sign is the emotional self, and as a Cancer, Mor is nurturing and sensitive to other people's emotions, but also very moody and broods easily. Mercury rules our communication, so with a Libra mercury, Mor is always trying to find middle grounds and solutions that make everyone happy. She's a very friendly and clear communicator, but may keep things from people to avoid hurting them. Venus is the sign of love, and as a scorpio venus, Mor can be a little controlling and easily jealous bc of her insecurities, but she's ride-or-die loyal to her lover and very VERY passionate about them. She's the type that lowkey gets obsessed with her lover and wants them all to herself. Mars rules our anger, passion, and sex, and Mor is once again a Pisces, so she isn't the type that really expresses her anger at people, she stews and bottles lol. But her passion is very otherworldly, she sees beauty in a lot of things and manifests her desires in ways that speak to spirituality and destiny

Dom's rising is scorpio, so her first impression is very dark, mysterious, and potentially a little toxic. But as a Gemini sun, her base personality is honestly kind of flightly, funny, and easily swayed. She doesn't have very strong personal opinions, and can be influenced quite easily. Being a Pisces moon, her emotions are actually very deep and powerful and influence her decision-making more than she might realize. Her communication style, with a Capricorn in Mercury, is dry and to-the-point. She tries her best to describe things as carefully and accurately as possible. Her Taurus in venus makes her a very loyal lover, and the type that doesn't change her mind once she has made her decision. She's in it for life. She also expresses love in very luxurious ways. Her Mars is also in Taurus, making her passions very practical, but her anger extremely stubborn. When she's decided she doesn't like someone, she hates for life too. That's a woman with a grudge

#dom and mor #text heavy

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manawari · 1 year ago

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Solo Leveling AU! Choi Jong-in and Cha Hae-in as half-siblings through Antares!

Once, Antares fell in love with a mortal woman and in his normal disguise, he managed to charm her and soon got her pregnant. Shocked upon learning it, Antares chose to leave her by making an excuse that he must fly to another country for a business trip and promised that he'd come back. Little did the woman know, it was a lie coated in sweet words.

Nine months later, the woman gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who had red hair just like his biological father. The woman felt her heart shatter at the sight of the hair color because it became a stark reminder of the man who had made her heart flutter in thousands of ways.

Sure, the woman wanted to love her son more than anything, but it appeared her love was not enough to erase the traces of her baby's biological father. Now, Jong-in grew up under his nanny's care while his mom was a busy woman who hardly spent a day with him due to her work.

His mom never missed his birthdays and other special occasions in his life, so Jong-in was happy. But what he couldn't grasp was how other kids had lots of memories with their parents whereas he, having only a mother, felt completely out of place. He wondered where his father could be, yet his mom always refused to answer.

Going back to Antares, the Destruction Monarch had once again fell in love with a woman. She was a master at taekwondo and also an athlete. Her skills made him impressed. However, unlike his first woman, Antares felt quite challenged at the blondie beauty — she was not easy to be swayed despite being soft-hearted and was always busy.

After a few more attempts, Antares finally got the woman to go out with him. They'd mainly spend dinners together. And eventually, Antares got her pregnant; he was joyful when he learned that he was becoming a father.

Unfortunately, with his duties as a Monarch being called, Antares had to leave his lover behind. But when he came back after one earth year, he discovered that his lover was now engaged to someone else, along with a little girl who was likely his. Enraged and betrayed, Antares decided to disappear from earth for good.

Cha Hae-in was born to a loving family. Her mother was a sportswoman and her father was a literature professor. But little did she know, there was a secret her mother was hiding from her and that secret was about her biological father.

A few years passed, and when gates began showing up, Jong-in and Hae-in instantly awakened as S-Rank hunters. Not just by fate, rather by their inhumane genes that had also given them innate powers. Choi Jong-in, who had inherited his father's flames, and Cha Hae-in, who had inherited her father's unrivaled determination for battle.

They worked under the same guild together. Jong-in's mother had long passed away before the gates arrived and Hae-in's parents had been killed during the first invasion of monsters.

And somewhere in the dimensional gaps, Antares felt a strong connection that was directed to his children, which meant that they had gotten their awakening. His lips tugged into a grin. He was the first and only Monarch to pass his genes to a new life — not one, but two. The Dragon Monarch has two successors.

How did he tell them? Simple, Antares came to earth and instead of clashing with Jin-woo, he teleported himself to the places where his children were battling the monsters. And for the first time, he witnessed how powerful they had become, and he couldn't be prouder. It was like he was seeing himself in two different humans.

Jong-in was the first one to notice him. "You! You're— you're that—"

"Your father." Antares said to him.

Jong-in stood in both bewilderment and shocked.

And not long after, Antares caught something that was heading toward him. He looked at the corner of his eye and saw a familiar force. He immediately blocked the sword with his hand and faced the furious eyes of none other than his daughter.

"You fight good, daughter," he told her.

Hae-in almost tripped from her balance at those words.

To prove himself that he was indeed their father, Antares released his mana and summoned theirs where all three of their mana matched together like mirrors.

Now, everything dawned on the two hunters. Jong-in realized why his mom refused to answer him about his father and why she was frequently avoiding him when he was a child. Hae-in thought the man who raised her was her father, but no, he was actually her stepfather.

After a while, Antares made a deal with the hunters. He would cease the war under one condition: he was going to take his children with him.

Many of the hunters protested, especially from the Hunters Guild, and Jin-woo, who had arrived in the scene just in time, was willing to fight the Destruction Monarch until the end. However, Jong-in and Hae-in stepped up and gave in. They were going with their father.

And of course, being the Guild Master and the Vice Master, Jong-in and Hae-in knew they must do what they thought was best, and that included leaving everyone behind. Jong-in entrusted Tae-gyu, Dong-wook, and Yoon-ho to take his guild members. And Jin-woo, who still wouldn't want to surrender, watched in disdain. Hae-in had to walk toward him and say that everything would be fine, that she would be fine.

Jin-woo didn't say anything else as he was too hurt to know that his friend was a child of his biggest enemy. Though, that wouldn't change the way he saw her anyway, it was just that seeing her leave was more painful.

True to his words, all of the remaining monsters had turned into dust when Antares took his children to his realm.

Jong-in, knowing that he must light up the atmosphere a bit for Hae-in, said: "well, would you look at that! Who knew my second-in-command is actually the sister I never thought I would have?" The corner of Hae-in's mouth twitched. Their friendship was one thing, but finding out they were related was a whole different thing.

Sure, he may be contented with Hae-in as his half-sister, but Jong-in felt hatred against Antares, who was his father in the entire time and had not once showed up where he needed a parent. On the other hand, Hae-in felt neutral about her true father, though she felt bad for Jong-in, who practically yelled at Antares after a minute since they had arrived in the Monarch's realm.

Antares just spoke a single "sorry" and was unfazed at the scowl his son had given him. He did not regret that he hadn't showed up in Jong-in's life since he had duties to fulfill as a Monarch. But now that he finally got to be with his children, he would do anything to make them more powerful and live up to being heirs of the Destruction Monarch.

#jong-in has potential to be a descendant/child of antares #jong-in and hae-in as half-siblings hmm???#this is mainly an introduction of this au — i'll post more headcanons about this family #solo leveling au: heirs of destruction #solo leveling #choi jong in #cha hae in #antares #sl antares #solo leveling au: ruler and monarch successors

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miqojak · 10 months ago

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Character Associations: Jak

(Funny, I had this same prompt in two different versions saved in my drafts from the last two times I did it in past years, intending to do it again since it has been years! Good time to tag me...even if I took a month or so to get to it! xD )

I'll smash together these two old ones and put them into this one, resulting in a bit more things to fill out: "5 Things" and "Character Features" - with 3-5 things per category.

✴EMOTIONS/FEELINGS✴

✧ Paranoia ✧ Disdain ✧ Curiosity ✧ Confidence ✧ Arrogance

✴GREETINGS✴

✧ Silent Nod ✧ Clipped wave or nod ✧ Silent, judgemental stare: first impressions don't always go over well ✧ Faint smirk, almost as if she knows something you don't ✧ Fanged grin, if she likes you

✴COLORS✴

✧ Red ✧ Black ✧ Gold ✧ White

✴SCENTS✴

✧ Handmade, perfumed oil (Spiced and earthy/citrusy) - a connection to her past, and the family she lost ✧ Well-oiled leather - what she's often garbed in ✧ Campfire smoke - another reminder of her family/past ✧ The scent of a savory meal on the stove/in the oven - she loves to cook! Having suffered with hunger and near-starvation, the ability to cook good food now is something she relishes.

✴CLOTHING✴

✧ Leather mini-skirt/pants/clothing in general - good for sneaking, or for drawing the eye where you want it...away from where thieving hands might be wandering ✧ Loose-fitting cloth fabrics - the better for the hot places she likes to live/dwell in ✧ Sandals - for when it's hot! (Boots or sneakers when practicality + comfort is the goal.) ✧ Lots of piercings - in her face, and ears.

✴VICES/BAD HABITS✴

✧ Drinking - She drinks now and then, and no longer tends towards being an alcoholic ✧ Drugs - She no longer abuses somnus, and smokes moko a little now and then to relax ✧ Works out too much/pushes herself too hard, out of the paranoia associated with having been a Garlean prisoner of war. If she's fit and fast enough, no one can catch and cage her again! ✧ Holds herself (and others) to incredibly steep, almost unachievable standards out of a belief that one should always be bettering themself. ✧ She loves breaking and entering as a hobby! She doesn't even steal things, most times - maybe moves things around, or breaks things, and just makes herself at home...it's about the power and control, not the stuff.

✴OBJECTS✴

✧ Throwing knives - often coated in non-lethal toxins, and sheathed in hidden holsters in her clothing. ✧ Lock-picking tools, if she's out to do some B&E ✧ DRK soulstone set in a bangle on her tail

✴BODY LANGUAGE✴

✧ Languid, but alert - in the manner of many a large, feline predator; she may seem to be completely at ease...while simultaneously ready to act at a second's notice ✧ Shoulders squared and chin lifted, a stance of stubborn pride ✧ A tail that lashes in anger, or sways slowly when in thought - this body part betrays the otherwise carefully controlled actions of the rest of the little woman. ✧ Feline ears that are almost always on a swivel for sounds that are out of place, or words spoken softly - seeking things meant to go unheard. ✧ Examining her nails - either truly bored, or trying to project disinterest

✴AESTHETICS✴

✧ A weathered, leather-bound sketchbook ✧ A desert campfire, as the sun sets on a sandy horizon ✧ Piano music drifting from another room ✧ A dark, viscous, canine shadow with too many eyes and teeth that hungrily slinks across snowy wastelands ✧ Opposing aesthetics of dark leather, and gold jewelry set against pale, flowing cloth; the street rat, and the empress, juxtaposed

✴SONGS✴

✧ Cold-Blooded - Zayde Wolf ✧ Somebody's Watching Me - Madelyn Darling ✧ Knife Under My Pillow - Maggie Lindemann ✧ THAT BITCH - Bea Miller ✧ Here Come the Wolves - Lola Blanc (An especially poignant and multi-layered song for Jak!)

Tagged by: @hares-and-hounds

Tagging (a bunch of people from my notifs, but do it if you want to, and tag me so I can see!) - @briar-ffxiv @xmimiteh @wpip-raham @uldahstreetrat @captainqster @shieldandarrow @merlwybs-wife @alannah-corvaine @madalyn-maeve @ashenbun @thedawnforged @why-raven @ivyffxiv and...anyone else! YOU, reading this! Do it, and go ahead and tag me so I can read about your OC! (This took me ages to think about and finish, so no rush on knocking it out - in some categories, I even had a hard time coming up with three things, much less five!)

#rp meme #oc aesthetic #oc meme #ffxiv oc #ffxiv rp #sometimes it takes me forever to do things I'm tagged in...but I usually get around to them when the spoons recharge xD

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shrineofprophecy · 1 year ago

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@blckswnstm / continued from here

The bright light of a sparkling firework continues to color the environment around her, the life of Sparkle has been one of adventure and search for joyfulness of life. There is chaos in her footsteps, there are colorful splatters that create a picture of hedonistic pursuits. Aha laughs in her shadow, delighted in the chaos she brings. Black Swan finds it adorable, she finds it amusing, she finds it intriguing to see where and how her end will be met until she will become a reality through memory with a beginning and an end. Gloved fingers trace along the cards that are faced down on the table, her eyes never leaving Sparkle's visage. She's bubbly and jumpy, a powerful young lady with an ability to cause great changes to gain what she wants the most. Masked Fools always dance on the edge, laughter and cacophony of sounds uniting in alluring the Aeon of Elation to watch a new theater play. But Memokeepers are those who take part in observing, watching, and recording. They will keep the chaos immortalized. "How, I wonder?" She doesn't answer to the question, instead finding this exchange to be more intriguing if there is more mystery surrounding it. Wouldn't Sparkle find this to be a rather boring time if she were to answer every question right away. "There are cards to tell me of what may come or what you may enjoy, but there is also a dance of all Masked Fools they favor leading." The soothsayer chuckles softly, eyes half-closed as she takes indulgent joy in having such unique company. She chases, she runs, she jumps and skips her step. There is energy in each part of her; it is the direct opposite of the elegant and enigmatic Memokeeper. They are the opposites, but it makes their greetings that much more intriguing. "The answer hides in laughter of elation, remembrance will always record its presence." As she finishes saying it, Black Swan taps one card, making all but that card disappear. As the woman remains in silence for a moment, she turns the card around to show Sparkle her putting on a fox mask, a bright and playful smile playing on her face. "Your joy is a combination of circumstances and choices you've made. They reflect in your past and are known to me. Does that satiate your hunger for knowledge?"

There was always a mysterious air hanging around the memokeeper and it definitely caught Sparkle's eyes. The kind of power they had, their knowledge of people and their past memories... She knew a lot. Perhaps too much which made her dangerous but also fascinating. Fooling around with her would be like playing with fire. It might scare most people away but it attracted the Masked Fool like a moth to a flame and she wasn't afraid to get burned.

Sparkle knew she wasn't going to get a serious answer to her question so there wasn't any disappointment. It rather made her want to read Black Swan's mind all the more and how she could keep it on herself with interesting memories and more to come. She wasn't planning to end her theatrics anytime soon and wanted the memokeeper on her side for personal reasons. A powerful ally yet at the same time a potential enemy that was better kept close.

Leaning in with her right elbow and the table and her chin resting on her hand, her eyes were on the card in front of her. An image showed up that was all too familiar. Like a real fool, she enjoyed life and its antics without a care in the world — or so most people thought. There are parts of her that are curious about her past, the memories long faded away, hidden in a place she can't reach herself.

"That means I don't sway from my path and continue to follow The Laughter the way it was meant to be." Sitting up straight, she reached out to take the card between her fingers, mindlessly observing it.

"Since you know so well what I enjoy, how about we play another game? We can create fun memories together and I can guarantee you won't get bored. It'll be worth your while."

#blckswnstm #⤜ character【 sparkle 】

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sadnesslaughs · 1 year ago

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Being a magical girl is an extremely dangerous and short-lived calling. Due to your horrific injuries on the job, you’re retired. You’re trying to teach the next generation of magical girls, but feel they don’t trust you due to your physical appearance.

Carol wasn’t what one would expect when they heard the term ‘Magic Girl’. She was ill-mannered, quick to anger and had none of the civil elegance that one expected from someone of her prestige. Even now, she sat on a wooden stool with her one leg planted atop a bucket that she used as a footrest. The woman scowling at the girls who stormed into her house unannounced, each one getting a whack across the back from her staff.

“And what do you piss ants want?” She spat out, glaring at them through her one eye. At least the girls thought she was glaring at them, her pupil pure white, not having a splash of color anymore. When the girls stayed in their shocked silence, Carol scratched the scar on her neck, grumbling. “Well, who's the queen in the hive? Come on, speak up, ya lot.”

“U-um.” Kylie, the oldest of the group, raised her hand, the glitter rings on her fingers dazzling with a flavor of color.

“UM, UM, UM…. HURRY UP.” She raised her leg and slammed it into the bucket, creating a loud metallic ring. The girls winced, covering their ears. Kylie swayed, gulping down any of her fears. She pushed a strand of blonde hair back before speaking.

“I’m not sure what to say?” Kylie looked at her friends for support, both shaking their head, wanting no part of this.

“You, the one biting her nails. Enjoying the treat? Want to bite mine too?” Carol raised her right hand, the fingernails missing from her hand, as well as two entire fingers. She grinned when Gabby choked down a bit of sick, having to keep herself together.

“I wasn’t… biting nails. I was thinking.” Nia kept nibbling the tips of her fingers, wondering if they had stumbled into a demon’s lair. She had spent so much time making her brown hair look extra pretty today, she even added a few emoji hairpins to make her more relatable. Now all the effort felt wasted.

“Think too hard and that head of yours will pop off. Alright, last one. Got an answer, stick?” She pointed to the smallest of the group, who didn’t even dare to look up. Instead, she rocked in her chair, her silver hair a ruffled mess from her hands running through it.

“Na….nah…..” Brittany mumbled, continuing to stare at the pink skirt she wore, feeling rather stupid about trying so hard. If she knew she was going to get trapped by a monster, she wouldn’t have bought a new outfit.

“The world really is in trouble. What a mess. This is the next generation, ay? Hah, think the world would be safer if I came out of retirement. Even with one leg, I could do a better job than you three.”

“ARE YOU THE LEGENDARY GODDESS OF LIGHT?” Nia said, having to spit out a nail after she said it.

“I am,” Carol answered, not adding anything more to that.

“Are you really?”

“Yes.”

“Like-“

“YES I AM THE BLOODY GODDESS OF LIGHT YA IDIOT.” Carol’s words sent Nia back into a quiet state, as the three just stared at their idol. No one able to believe this was the same woman they saw in all those posters and statues.

“You’re the one the demons were afraid of? The one that kept the demons away for ten years even after she retired?” Kylie enquired.

“It was fifthteen years, actually. Even when they learned of my retirement, they remained too scared to come to our realm. They believed it was a trap.” Carol explained, hopping onto her one leg, using her staff as a walking stick. “Do you all want some coffee?”

“Too…bitter.” Brittany said, keeping her voice low.

“Fine, one hot chocolate and two coffees. Coffees ok with you two?” The other two nodded, and Carol hobbled her way into the kitchen.

“Miss. Let me help you.” Brittany offered, about to grab her staff, planning to offer her shoulder instead.

“DON’T TOUCH MY STAFF. A staff is a magical girls’ connection to our powers. It’s also my walking stick. Sit down. I’m not as frail as you think I am.”

Brittany scurried to the couch, sitting with the other girls. The three whispered to each other while their drinks were prepared. Carol got herself a glass of brandy, sitting back on her stool. Her expression had softened since their initial meeting, looking at them with a hint of pity now.

“You’re the next lot. Feels like we’re throwing away too many people. How many more can we lose? Why don’t you go back to school? This isn’t the life you want,” Carol explained, sipping her brandy.

“It is the life I want. My mother was a magic girl. I want to follow in her footsteps.” Kylie smiled, eyes gleaming with determination.

“And where’s your mother now?” Carol asked. She had no way of knowing if Kylie’s mother had died, but given the life expectancy of a magic girl, it was a high chance. When she saw Kylie’s eyes water, Carol cursed. “Shit. Sorry.”

“What sort of magic girl are you? Why are you so mean?” Nia put an arm around her friend, comforting her while giving Carol a pout.

“I’m mean because the demons aren’t nice. Kill them with kindness isn’t a real thing. The only way to kill something is brute force. Anyone that’s lived in this lifestyle this long knows that. It’s not as glamourous as you think it is. I’ve watched demons pull the heads off people. I’ve seen them revive bodies just to kill them again. Demons are heartless and if you aren’t willing to stoop to their level, they will exploit your softness.”

“But cuteness and love powers us.” Brittany said.

“True, I was cute in the day and filled with love. Love for animals, people, art, music and everything. Then, when my cuteness faded while protecting what I loved, I grew to stop caring as much. The world shoved me aside when I stopped being cute, so I stopped caring. I was weak.”

“Then, train us,” Kylie said, the other two not expecting Kylie, of all people, to make the request after Carol’s earlier comment.

“You three wouldn’t handle my training.”

“Please. We don’t plan on giving up. Even if you don’t help us, we will still go out there and fight. And when we die, it will be your fault.” Kylie stared into Carol’s one eye, the two daring the other party to look away. Kylie eventually had to blink, and Carol laughed when she did.

“My fault? You little bitch, are you really going to pull that card?” Carol didn’t hide her amusement, curious about what she would say to that.

“I will. If I die in a bloody fashion, it will be because you, the goddess of light, turning away someone who's trying to do the right thing.”

Carol stared at her before shrugging. “Fine, you want to die to some demons? Don’t let me stop you.” Kylie’s head dropped, only to raise when Carol’s next words followed. “Training starts tomorrow. If any of you give up during any stage of my training, you’re getting kicked out. Not only that, if you fail my class, you will have to promise to never become a magic girl for as long as you live. A magic girl can’t break a promise, remember?”

The three girls thought about Carol’s words, before all nodding.

“Good. Then come back tomorrow.” The three quickly finished their drinks and gave another polite nod, going to clean their glasses before heading home. As they left, Carol smirked, contemplating what training exercises she would create.

#short stories #writing #writing prompt #story

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henneseyhoe · 2 years ago

Text

P POWER.

Killmonger X BLACK!FEM!reader.

WARNINGS:SMUT, daddy kink, sugar baby AU, No protection(wrap it df up), kinda short

SUMMARY:Erik finds himself absolutely infatuated with a woman he meets on a business trip. He would spend his free time buying her anything she laid her pretty little sight upon.

I would be completely wrong if I said this woman didn’t have me completely pussy whipped. I mean look at me.

I was going on constant shopping sprees with the Vixen I had met on a recent business trip I took to Barbados, the woman catching my attention just with one sway of her hips that night. she was that powerful.

I was seated in the back of my Rolls-Royce, looking up at the woman that was bouncing in my lap, her dress rolled up to her hips and the top of it trapped under her titties. She rode me like a champ, her hands gripping my broad shoulders and her feet planted on the leather seats of the truck, her diamond riddled Dior heels digging into the creases of the material.

“Ride that dick, princess. Make daddy nut all in that good pussy!”

I instructed her, holding onto her ankles to keep her stable as she bounced faster on me, her cream staining my navy blue slacks, considering I hadn’t even pulled them down all the way yet before she had started sucking the soul out of me through my dick.

“Cum for me, daddy!”

Her voice was smooth like butter, her words sliding right off of her tongue in a dark like seductive manner, yet the sound of it was so sweet to me. Like candy. She had a way about her that was so enticing and intriguing. I never felt so interested in a woman, so much that it almost felt wrong. as if I wasn’t allowed to want her this much, this bad.

At this point, I didn’t care how loud we got or who heard us from outside of the tinted windows and bulletproof doors.

We had been parked in the far corner of a 5star restaurants parking lot for about an hour now, apart from the time we took dining.

If anybody walked by close enough, if they didn’t hear us, they damn sure saw the bouncing of the truck, the tires pushing up and down, back and forth with every movement we made. Or should I say she made.

“Shit, baby”

I mumbled. I felt my abs tighten, looking down at my opened shirt and blazer, a thin layer of sweat coating my brown skin.

“Tell me when, daddy”

She swirled her hips and cupped her breast with one hand before starting to tweak her hard nipple, a moan erupting from her mouth as she threw her head back. The sight made my dick twitch inside of her three times in total, indicating that I was near my end.

“Fuck!”

She quickly pulled me out of her and maneuvered herself down to her knees, her hands wrapping around my dick. She stroked me fast, her tongue being stuck out and pressed against my tip, the woman looking up at me simultaneously as her brown eyes twinkled in the soft lighting from the starlight roof.

“Cum on my face, daddy. Gimme that nut”

And with just those words, I began to shoot ropes of cum on her face, the white ribbons covering her lips and cheeks, some getting in her freshly pressed, hot pink colored hair. My hips bucked and she attached her lips to the tip of my dick, sucking and licking up any of the remanding cum I had on me.

Her tongue flipped on the underside of my shaft, her head bobbing up and down as she went down further with every bob until her nose touched my pelvis, my tip reaching the back of her throat.

Exhibit A as to why she could have whatever she wanted from me.

My eyes rolled back and my hips bucked up once again, the girl choking and pulling up off of me, a string of spit connecting from her mouth to my dick. She continued to stroke me with her hand, using her own cum and spit as lube before she began to suck my balls, popping them in and out of her mouth.

I gripped the back of my seat and let out an animalistic grunt, having no choice but to push the woman off of me in a fast motion, the overstimulation beginning to get almost impossible to bear. She fell back against the front seat, a devious smirk on her face as she licked her lips.

My chest rose and fell slowly, my mind trying to gather the last pieces of me so I could form a proper sentence.

She wiped the rest of me off of her face with a baby wipe she had pulled out of her purse and fixed her dress properly before sitting next to me, leaning over and kissing my lips, speaking right after.

“So…you’ll get me that new bag I want, daddy? The crocodile Birkin. Pretty please?” She smiled at me, batting her long lashes. I turned my head and looked at her, nodding with a satisfied smile.

That pussy had POWER.

#smut masterlist #masterlist #michael b jordan #killmonger smut #killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #erik kilmonger x reader #erik killmonger #smutty #black reader #black panther #black!fem!reader #black fanfic writer #black!oc #black!reader #black fanfiction #black actors #Spotify

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years ago

Text

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man.

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off.

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men.

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot.

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried.

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one.

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point.

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day.

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man.

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn.

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering.

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard.

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above.

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you.

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible.

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman.

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath.

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do.

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks.

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?”

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something.

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that.

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’.

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch.

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans.

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even.

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut.

What’s wrong with you today?

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again.

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person.

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark.

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair.

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins.

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close.

“When?” you question.

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement.

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine.

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself.

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half.

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones.

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response.

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings.

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused.

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike.

A man, as usual.

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory.

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will.

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time.

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand.

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually.

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment.

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change.

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all.

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot.

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank.

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again.

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all.

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately.

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth.

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something.

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last.

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed.

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away.

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him.

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around.

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly.

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly.

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes.

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time.

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him.

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl.

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally.

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it.

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding.

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject.

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food.

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat.

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question.

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond.

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought.

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible.

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump.

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one.

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense.

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend.

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe.

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt.

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded.

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help.

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder.

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes.

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips.

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly.

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it.

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building.

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

That night, it rains.

Thunder echoes, with ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands.

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes.

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning.

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it.

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual.

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think. Please protect me. Please do this for me.

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android.

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are.

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you.

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now.

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in.

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good.

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor.

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself.

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes.

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea.

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators.

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him.

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy.

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does.

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying.

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead.

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second.

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 2 years ago

Text

The mighty fall

Timari January: Day 18 (It’s good to be king) by @maribat-calendar-events

Summary: Blood red lips curled into a smirk. “Interesting of you to look down on me when you just picked a lock to get in here. What were you about to do?”

Back to Timari January 2023 Masterlist

Tim poked his head into room after room. He was, of course, looking for one room in particular, but he wasn’t able to ask where the private office was unless he wanted to draw suspicion immediately after he had walked into the dumb masquerade he was infiltrating. This, unfortunately, led to a lot of awkward moments where he had to stumble back out because the people inside of the rooms were partaking in activities that many Christians would disapprove of.

Not that he was Christian. But that didn’t mean he was all that fond of walking in on or watching people enjoy themselves in that particular way.

So, he continued on, his face heating up under the masquerade mask he had to wear. It was made of simple red lace, which he was hoping would somewhat wash out the pinkness of his cheeks.

He found a locked door and his eyes narrowed behind his mask. He glanced from side to side, checking for guards, and then knelt to pick the lock as quickly as he could. Which was pretty quick. Rich people tended to be overconfident, assuming that if they simply paid enough for an expensive security service they wouldn’t have to bother doing anything else. There weren't any cameras dotting the halls, and the locks were so simple that he could pick them without even taking out his usual lockpicking jack.

The door swung open.

It looked to be a private bedroom. A rather nice one, yes, with its velvety duvet and a small chandelier being used for light, but it was nothing more than a place where the Powers – or maybe their most beloved and esteemed guests – slept. He might have groaned to himself over the waste of time if it wasn’t for the weird way the light in the room swayed. The chandelier was moving just slightly, the crystals making the light refract strangely.

His eyes were pulled to it.

There was a woman there. She, too, wore a masquerade mask – a white one with a design that could have been a fox or a cat, he couldn’t quite tell from his current angle. She wore a long dress that trailed just past the chandelier, but there was a slit on one side that would have allowed her to bunch it all up on her hip and run if the need arose. One high-heel-adorned foot hung over the side, bouncing to a beat he couldn’t hear.

Not that he thought she was actually listening to music. He couldn’t see her eyes through her mask, a thin black fabric was stretched beneath the eyeholes and it would likely take getting too close for comfort to tell what her eye color was, but he could feel her gaze on him just fine.

He froze up. Some dumb part of him wished he had gone through more effort to make his outfit stand out. Most of him just recognized that she was a threat and didn’t want to find out what weapons she had hidden on herself the hard way.

She apparently dismissed him, her head going back to pointing at the necklace in her hand. It was gaudy, with large pearls that had to be worth thousands each and a large piece of aquamarine in the center. She hummed, quietly appraising it, and then smiled and stuffed it into a shimmering black purse.

“Well, since you saw me, are you going to join me?”

She hopped off of the chandelier. She started back to the vanity, which had an assortment of jewels strewn across the top in a way that seemed careless. He wasn’t sure if that was because the Powers didn’t bother to take care of their expensive items or because the thief had torn through the jewelry in search of something of use.

“You’re decently cute, I’d be happy to let you run home with something. For a price.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in hopes that it would stop her from seeing the way his face reddened at the sudden compliment. “I don’t think –.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m giving you a great deal. All you have to do is leave without telling the guards and I’ll give you some pretty new things. I’ll even help you up into the chandelier if you want. It’s fun up there – makes you feel powerful… it’s good to be king for just a few minutes.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “Not interested. I don’t like the idea of stealing their stuff for no good reason.”

“Mine now,” she said lightly.

“Afraid it doesn’t work like that,” he said, shaking his head.

She gave a low hum. Blood red lips curled into a smirk. “Interesting of you to look down on me when you just picked a lock to get in here. What were you about to do?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it, now?” She said, pulling her face into a mocking pout. Heels clicked as she made her way over, her hands laced behind her back. “Tell me, how is it different? Is it because it’s you? Because you can’t be a bad person?”

His jaw set. She was trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t stupid, he could tell that much. She wanted him to reveal something.

“Or is it because you think you’re doing something for good? You said ‘for no good reason’, and that implies you think that stealing is okay in specific circumstances...”

His shoulders tensed just slightly, and her expression contorted into something cold and cruel. Like a shark that had just smelled blood in the water and was circling in for the kill.

“So that’s it. I guess it makes sense, you clearly do fancy yourself a hero. Trying to stop me and all,” she said. She shook her head. “I would rethink being a hero here, though. Getting on the bad side of a rich person… well, it’s not a smart thing to do in Gotham.”

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” he scoffed.

She gave a light laugh, though it sounded off. Wrong. “Little things like their jewelry don’t matter to them. Look at how they treat their things. I doubt they’d even notice anything gone.”

She leaned close. Close enough that he could see the outline of her eyes. They were crinkled at the corners, mirth hiding in their expression.

“But if you really want to act like a hero, then you can go ahead and die like one.”

#late bc my computer bugged out on me #haha welp #maribat #timari january 2023 #timari #timinette #shutterbug #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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nny11writes · 2 years ago

Note

Catrapta - Catra was dragging her giant pile of study books when she heard heavy boots racing around the corner.

You love me, you really love me! :D

Rated T because I couldn't stop myself from having Catra curse at least once and also because she is thirsty. It's really a good thing that Entrapta is pretty slick about the whole thing.

Catra was dragging her giant pile of study books when she heard heavy boots racing around the corner.

The world slowed to a crawl as Catra realized a few things far too late to stop them. She had taken too many books. Her greed and hubris had come for her once again, because Catra hadn’t wanted to walk back and forth more than once for her study session. Additionally, Catra was struggling beneath the weight of her literary sins down one of the smallest and most cramped aisle in the whole library. She was on a sub basement that didn’t allow for much wiggle room but she’d hoped to avoid people this way mostly because she didn’t like them. Finally, the boots were getting way too close, way too fast.

And then it happened.

Someone rammed into her from behind, causing her to yelp as her books flew out of her hands and up into the air, she scrambled to not fall flat on her face and teetered dangerously close to toppling before getting her feet back under her. Cat-like reflexes were really saving her ass right now, but it was the curtain of purple hair that shot out around her that caught her attention. The whole world condensed into a tunnel of hair holding all of her books, backlit by the dim light of the library. It was surreal looking to say the least, and a little like that one nightmare she always had after consuming too much cosmic horror.

What in the world?

“Sorry about that! I know I’m not supposed to run in here but I didn’t think anyone came all the way down here. So, I assumed that as no one would be down here, running would be okay too.” The hair pulled back and Catra turned slowly to look at the woman behind her.

She was shorter than Catra by a few inches, although her chunky work boots kept it from being too much. She had a brilliant smile and magenta eyes, an oil stained shirt and overalls. Correction, a sleeveless shirt and overall shorts. And a boob window? NIcenicenicenicenice!

“...am I dreaming?” She asked, feeling a little floaty.

“I don’t think so, not unless you do a lot of sleep walking.” The woman nodded before lifting herself to hover just a bit taller than Catra herself. Apparently via hair power. Unfortunately, this put the boob window at eye height. She felt a little like that one cartoon wolf and sputtered on what was probably some drool as the woman conintued, “Or we could be sharing a dream-like state, I suppose. I don’t think that’s ever happened, but never say never!”

With her lesbianism test passed with flying colors, Catra craned her neck to look up at the woman again. “What if we’re both dead and in purgatory? We’ll never be able to leave the library if we wanted to.”

The woman didn’t seem to notice the way she was swaying back and forth, almost like she was shifting her weight back and forth as she hummed thoughtfully. “I think that’s just a regular day here. Do you know how many people get genuinely lost down here every year!? On average, 27, that’s basically one person every two weeks!”

“...huh, is that why there’s all those bells at the end of stacks?” Catra had always wondered about them. She’d once found some poor twink ringing one desperately in tears, and ended up begrudgingly sitting with the poor guy until his boyfriend picked him up from the library coffee shop. At the time she’d assumed he’d abused a system to get help and had a little respect for the maneuver.

“Yup! They added those back in the late nineties, about the same time they started locking the study rooms.”

Way to go Kyle. Catra thought sarcastically to herself, removing the guy’s only source of respect. I should’ve known better when you ordered a pumpkin spice latte then asked for it to be decaf.

“Cool. Can I have my books back?”

“Hmm?” The woman looked up having been flipping through said books while they were talking. “Oh, sure!” All of them neatly stacked up in the woman’s arms as she saluted. “Just point me where we’re going!”

Catra had never had someone offer to carry her books before. It was like some disgustingly sweet fifties romance meet-cute, and for all it made her grateful her fur hid the blushing it also made her gag a little. Can’t complain about the arms though, damn. When had she gotten this into muscles? Maybe it was whole they were attached to? “Sure, follow me.”

Because Catra might think it was a little stupid, but she was not stupid enough to turn down someone else doing the heavy lifting.

“So, this is a lot of material and it seems to range a pretty broad set of topics and fields. What do you want all this information for?” The woman asked.

“Look, no offense, but I didn’t even catch your name so I’m not gonna tell you what I’m doing.”

“That’s because I never told you my name?” The woman peaked around the mountain of books looking confused.

There was a very long awkward pause before Catra realized she was supposed to say something. She snickered a little bit, “Okay, that was me prompting you to give me your name.”

“...it was? It’s not a very effective means to get the information you wanted. Why didn’t you just ask?” As if she was on a gyroscope, the woman kicked her legs back and forth but the books still seemed secured. She seemed genuinely interested in an answer though and it only made her blush worse.

“W-well, why didn’t you just say your name?” Catra countered because she really wasn’t sure how to answer that question without getting into a whole lot of bad habits she was trying to break with limited success thing. Also because how was she supposed to explain, "You're hot and I'm shooting my shot here, please don't move the basket, I'm sensitive." So much for being smooth, cool, and approachable.

The woman tilted her head and frowned, “Because you didn’t actually ask me for my name. You’re not very good at talking to people, are you?” Catra sputtered. She was a little affronted by the completely true accusation, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything before the woman barreled on apparently not bothered by or not noticing her pathetic previous attempt at being suave. “That’s okay, I’ve been told that I’m not very good at it either! We could practice together if you’d like, I’ve been collecting a LOT of data on conversing with other human beings!!”

Catra laughed, the anger going away instantly because, yeah, she was starting to see that. But the woman suddenly got quiet, pulling the books back up to cover her face. The temperature in the library seemed to drop ten degrees as she carefully asked, “Hey, you okay up there?”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost wooden.

“...okay,” Catra mumbled unsure why she felt guilty all of the sudden. She hadn’t even done anything? Ugh, being nicer was a fucking chore some days. What should she do now though? “Hey, uhm, we can totally study together if you’d like. For the whole, you know, talking to people thing.”

Ah yes, smooth, suave, and charming to the last. No wonder she was single.

“You…want to study human interactions. With me?” The woman’s eyes peaked around the side of the books gingerly as if she was looking for a trap.

Catra tried to not melt with relief that she had rescued this encounter from I was an asshole to a stranger again for no reason hell. She smiled and shrugged, “Sure, but I’d like to know your name first. So, uh, can you please tell me your name? I'm Catra.”

“Greetings Catra, my name’s Entrapta.” Entrapta once again shuffled things around to smile brightly at her, voice getting louder again as she got excited. “You really want to study with me? No one’s EVER wanted to study human behavior with me!! Oh, this is so exciting, what should we practice first!? Talking? Listening? Casual touches???”

Catra finally unlocked her study room, ushering Entrapta inside the dimly lit and cramped space even as her brain tripped unhelpfully over casual touches. She squeaked, “I don’t know! Tell me about your data first?”

Big yikes, but Entrapta didn't care instead launching into a nonstop stream of words that Catra only caught half off as Entrapta bounced around the tiny room, forcing them to brush arms and hands pretty frequently. Cool, starting with casual touching, I'm digging it, very nice, no complaints, nice, neat, cool-

By the time they left the library two hours after closing, making their escape through an unlocked window on the third story, Catra had forgotten all about her pile of books and her stupid essay. She was far too interested in spying on people in the student union building to care. Catra was, in fact, a little too interested in Entrapta to mind when her tater tots got stolen one by one by non-stealthy strands of hair. This was only exacerbated when the two became too tired to continue and fell asleep on the pylon they’d set up camp on with Catra curling into a little ball on Entrapta’s hair. Entrapta assured her neither of them would fall as long as they stayed close together.

Muzzily, she wondered to herself, “Wow, is this what love feels like?”

"Quick log," Entrapta whispered, which was still way too loud for Catra's sensitive hearing when her mouth was inches away considering they were practically spooning up here. "Operation cute cat going super well!"

"'m not cute," Catra grumbled, already half asleep and too tired to really consider what she was hearing.

"Incorrect, you are very cute. And have great hearing! Is it because of the feline-" Entrapta cut herself off and went back to whispering, "Sorry! I forgot we are trying to sleep!"

"Mergh," Catra mumbled, snuggling closer into Entrapta's back.

Entrapta almost squeaked, "Okay, quick log over!"

The next morning Catra woke up to Entrapta taking not at all stealthy photos of her, a huge grin, and incomprehensibly a large coffee. It was the large grin and cheery, "Good morning!" that really made it the best wake up call she'd ever had.

#catra #entrapta #catrapta #she ra #spop #I CONTINUE TO HAVE MY CATRA/ENTRAPTA TENDECIES FED!!!#modern AU and college AU I guess????#I went into the library at UofI one (1) time when my sister was doing her master's out there #the place was scary huge lol #anyhow I didn't know how to end this but basically Entrapta takes Catra on the world's longest date and when they actually say bye #Entrapta clarifies that they are casually dating and does that mean Catra's her girlfriend #Catra (of course) says: yeah! Yes! I mean that'd be cool. I'm down. It's whatever. Sure if you want to!

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky x you #BOY OH BOY THE FORMATTING I WANNA SCREAM

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aliensunflower-fics · 5 years ago

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Marinette The Perfect Daughter In Law: A Prompt

[ I've seen a few ‘everyone loves Marinette AU’s’ and a couple Marvel DC ‘all the mentors want THEIR kid to end up with Marinette AU’s’ and well frankly! I felt inspired! So I present to you my new prompt / AU thing! In which all the most powerful / rich / popular people in Paris decide to play matchmaker… ]

It starts when Adrien and Kagami have a less than AMICABLE break up according to their parents and the media anyway in reality it was a really REALLY dull break up. The pair have been ‘dating’ (using each other as an excuse to go out and experience normal teenage stuff) since they were 15. Now at 17 soon to be 18 the pair decided to publicly break up in order to pursue other people and interests. The problem is they never told their parents the truth so both Gabriel and Kagami’s mother Tomeo feel protective and concerned about what must surely be an upsetting first heartbreak for their child. And okay maybe both parents take that out on each other and both get a bit defensive and protective. And MAYBE it ends with Tomeo vowing to get revenge for her daughter. Enter, Marinette. Up and coming fashion designer for the rich and famous! She’s single, talented, and as far as Tomeo knows Gabriel is interested in the girl for her talent. So what better revenge could exist but having Marinette take an interest in Kagami!

Kagami has no idea why her mother suddenly has an interest in Marinette but she wont complain about having more time with her very cute designer friend. And all the outfits Tomeo is paying Marinette to make for Kagami is giving the young fencer plenty of up-close and personal moments with Marinette. And okay Marinette is VERY cute and Kagami wont question why she suddenly has all this tine with Marinette, eating ice cream with the girl and having brunch. But she knows shes absolutely head over heels when Marinette shows up at her fencing tournament gives her a luck charm and cheers her on wearing HER colors. Obviously Kagami wiped the floor with all the competition she cant be seen hesitating in front of Marinette!

On Tomeo’s side of things she makes sure that the paparazzi still lurking around after Kagami and Adrien’s breakup catch photos of what could easily be interpreted as dates between the girls. After all this is a revenge ploy but also Marinette is fantastic so Tomeo is 300% down with Kagami ‘bringing her into the family’ something she tells Kagami after the first paparazzi ‘date photos’ leak into the news. Kagami still has no idea this was an orchestrated affair and just thinks her mothers caught on to her feelings and is overjoyed that Marinette is approved of because after the cheek kiss Marinette gave her for winning the fencing tournament Kagami was preparing to fight her mother for the right to pursue the young designer seriously. After all she never hesitates!

But Tomeo never realized Gabriel isnt the only one interested in Marinette. Audrey Bourgeouis has been keeping an eye on Marinette trying to find a way to get Marinette on to her side and away from Gabriel. So when she sees the photos of Kagami and Marinette she sees an opportunity. After all if Marinette isnt exclusively into men (and those photos of her flushed cheeks as Kagami cleans ice cream off her bottom lip are a clear indication shes not) then Audrey smells opportunity. After all Marinette was Chloe’s first crush! How cute would that be! The next day Marinette is being offered yet another opportunity to intern under Audrey this time with much looser restrictions. When Marinette accepts she suddenly finds herself working with Chloe… A LOT. The pair are modeling together, often paired together for shoots in perfect complementary clothes that screams ‘opposites attract’. Chloe is also helping manage Marinette’s brand and the two start to get along very well. The model photos and their business lunches are soon plastered alongside the Kagami and Marinette outings with parisian gossip blogs finding their interest picked by this potential love triangle.

Chloe for one, was confused at first. Sure she knew her mom was interested in Marinette but she never thought SHE would be working so closely with her first crush. And Chloe tries to ignore it, after all those are dead feelings! And Marinette woud never forgive her anyway so why even- Wait. Is that Marinette in a downright gorgeous golden dress? A-and she will be posing right next to Chloe for their shared shoot? Well… Chloe always thought herself deserving of royalty and damn if Marinette aint the princess of her dreams. Sorry Adriken’s you had your chance to get the girl, but now its winner keeps all and Marinette is the only prize shes interested in. For the record Alya is freaked out by Chloe being nice, but shes more weirded out by Chloe being protective and handsy and downright shamelessly flirty with Marinette. Audrey is pleased when she hears the news and is quick to give her daughter encouragement acting as if none of this was premeditated at ALL.

Oh but they have no idea that this is just the beginning. Because guess who's moved back into town. Adrien’s favorite cousin and aunty. And Felix’s mom is quite the busybody and dammit Felix needs friends! And maybe a cute girlfriend! And oh whos that pretty girl on the magazine cover? Marinette? The one her celebrity connections have nothing but praise for? Perfect! Shes invited to lunch with Felix and herself on friday to discuss movie costumes! And oh Audrey dear dont you think Marinette would look fabulous sandwiched between TWO blondes! Felix hasnt modeled in a while but come now. So suddenly Marinette is being spotted with Felix guiding him about paris and modeling with him AND Chloe under AUDREY’s brand NOT Gabriels.

Felix thought hed really hate Marinette; he tried to ignore her he really did. But shes funny, witty and sweet. Not to mention trustworthy, so a good candidate for a business partner. And thats it, but then he has to admit hes impressed when he rolls up to a photoshoot and Chloe! The definition of brat personified is acting… Bearable. Yes, somehow Marinette has done the impossible! She has tamed the beast known as Chloe. And yes fine he will admit shes drop dead gorgeous and how intelligent of her to learn all sides of the fashion industry and boost her rep with modelling! Soon hes spending more time with her, he tries to argue he needs a guide, that shes the most bearable person to be with! That she is just a friend- Oh god. No it cant be! He sounds like-! Like ADRIEN! And Chloe already told him about THAT mess! No! Absolutely not! He will not lead on Marinette like his idiot cousin! Marinette is a rare and beautiful woman! She could be his queen! And god he has to admit it much as he loathes too Marinette’s smile is enough to make him thank every non-existent god. He will win her heart, show her that she deserves better than his brain dead cousin! Felix is sure mother will approve of his decision to pursue the girl, now he just needs to do more shoots with Marinette...

And that's what finally gets Gabriel to snap. Because REALLY Felix!? Is there no loyalty to FAMILY. Not to mention he was totally drafting a potential contract for Marinette when Audrey snapped her up the witch! But its fine! Marinette has always been interested in Adrien! Surely she still is? Surely she's not been swayed by any of her new suitors! Right? Gabriel knows he can't mess with Audrey’s contract so he goes through Adrien, freeing up his sons schedule and telling him to spend time with Marinette to help her ‘adapt’ to the harsh world of fashion and modeling. He uses Adrien’s heroic nature to make it sound like hed be saving her from Chloe and Felix. And sure enough Adrien bites, using his friendship with Chloe to worm into fittings, meetings, and photo shoots. At first hes just there to make sure Chloe and Felix arent hurting sweet Marinette. But when he sees the blondes fighting for her attention, flirting with her, posing with her in some rather romantic settings. Suddenly hes less worried and more… Jealous? No! Not him! Hes concerned, confused, suspicious! Obviously he needs to spend more time with Mari- Wait! When did Kagami get here to take Marinette to lunch! And why are they all ignoring him!!!

Now Marinette is fully in the public's eye. Gossip blogs are being fed bits of info writing up each ‘candidates’ appeal as THE romantic partner to the Marinette Dupain-Cheng paris new darling, the girl with a heart of gold too oblivious to see the trail of hearts following her around! But there is still another contender yet to enter the game! Jaggeds been away on tour teaching Luka his up and coming protege all the tricks. And lets not lie Luka has his own fans now, enough to rival all the others. Jagged sees Luka as his own son, even calling him as much! Hell hes even adopted Luka and Juleka and when I say adopted I mean Jagged literally got shared custody of the kids when their real dad tried to start trouble once Luka started gaining fame. Luka and Juleka for one love their adopted father and his wonderful fiance Penny. But back to Jagged, being Jagged.

The moment Jagged is back in Paris he's checking up on his favorite designer and hopefully future daughter in law! When… WHAT'S THIS?! All the other ritchies in Paris are playing his game! Trying to get Marinette married into THEIR families! Not rock and roll at all! He was here first! And so being Jagged he decides to make Luka’s stake in the race for Marinette’s heart clear! By spamming social media with photos of Marinette being cute with Luka, taking his measurements, going out with him, the pair babying Fang, the two passed out against each other after a long concert. And he has photos going back at least a year or two! Soon Luka’s fans pick up the hype starting a trending hashtag finding the pair cute! Jagged feels confident that hes won! When Audrey retaliates, and from there its a complete train wreck. Before long each pair has a hashtag filled with cute moments and arguing over whos dating the model / fashion designer!

Meanwhile Adrien is drowning in denial as he goes through each hashtag seething about how many MORE photos everyone else has with Marinette, when HE is her very good friend and was here first! Felix, Chloe and Kagami on the other hand have declared open war after they tried to talk to each other about the hashtags reasonably only for it to devolve into “so you agree Marinette is best with me!” - “WHAT! No! Thats not what I said! Besides she clearly is best with me!” - “Ridiculous!” And so on. Poor Luka is having an entirely different reaction hiding in shame unsure how to face Marinette because he WAS going to ask her on a proper date now that she seems over Adrien, because even with everything she's the melody playing in his heart and he had a plan! But now his mom and sister are texting him and teasing him and apparently he has MORE competition! Who do these people think they are to deserve Marinette! No! Luka won't lose Jagged has been teaching him to be bold and confident! And Marinette is worth all of his efforts! Jagged REGRETS NOTHING even if Penny confiscated the tv remote!

Marinette meanwhile has no idea what's going on because the whole class made a dumb bet on when the designer would notice with one of the bet conditions being that no one could tip Marinette off and that they have to keep her away from Paparazzi so they dont spoil it either. And sense Alya is helping manage Marinette’s social media Marinette hasn't looked at it yet so she has NO idea what's happening. But her birthday is coming up next week and Chloe definitely didn't get dibs on planning a surprise party for her all so she could spoil the girl and RUB her GREAT relationship with Marinette into her competitions FACES! The competition however (and Adrien JustAfriend Agreste) have decided that they really aren't going down without a fight!

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