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happyandticklish · 4 years

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Three’s A Crowd

Notes: For the anon request. This ended up a bit longer than I expected, and is super late, but here it is. I really enjoyed writing these characters! :)

Summary: Sasha, Jean, and Connie all have a tradition of tickling the others whenever they feel it’s needed.

Really, the whole thing was Jean’s fault for being such a stubborn ass. How could Connie have known that things would turn out the way they did?

“No,” Jean refused, arms tossed absently behind his head as he sprawled out on his mattress. “Absolutely not. You guys are gonna get kicked out of the regiment and I for one am not going to be a part of your dumbass shenanigans.”

“Okay first of all, who says ‘shenanigans’ in all seriousness like that?” Connie pointed out, hanging over the side of his bunk with both arms like a child. “Second, we are not gonna kicked out. Not if we’re careful that is.”

“Yeah,” Sasha agreed, leaning against the wall with her legs thrown carelessly atop Jean’s. When the three had first become friends, he had protested long and hard about their casual affection, but now he begrudgingly accepted it. His greatest reaction when she had first climbed up to join him had been an irritated sigh and nothing more. “Besides, this is important research. Groundbreaking stuff, really.”

Jean snorted at that, shaking his head. “Right. Because sneaking into the stables to race the horses is important research.”

“It is!” Sasha protested, knocking her foot against his leg. “How else are we supposed to discover which horse is the fastest?”

“It’s for the sake of humanity,” Connie agreed solemnly, mimicking the commander, and Sasha snickered from her bedpost. “But honestly, it’s not gonna be any fun if you’re not there. Well. Okay, I lied, it’s gonna be freaking hilarious. But it would be better if you were there with us. Besides, it’ll be good for you to lighten up every once in a while—let loose.”

“I don’t need to let loose,” Jean countered, allowing his eyes to fall shut as he attempted to block them out. “I need to get some rest. We have to get up early tomorrow, you know.”

Connie frowned, narrowing his eyes at the other. This was the fifth time Jean had turned them down on something like this, and Connie was growing tired of it.

He didn’t know where the idea came from, nor how when he cast a glance in Sasha’s direction, she knew exactly what he meant. What he did know was that in the next instant Connie had pulled himself onto the bed and attacked Jean’s ribs with vibrating fingers, while Sasha captured one of his feet in her arms and spidered her nails over his soles.

Jean’s eyes bugged out of his head in the exact same moment that hysterical, roaring laughter fell from his mouth in a cacophonous wave, his body shooting up on the bed. He didn’t know whether to grab Connie’s hands or pull Sasha away from his feet, and this paralysis of choice left him defenseless against their attacks. “A-Ahahah shihihit!”

“If you agree to come with us, we’ll stop,” Connie coaxed encouragingly, digging his fingers in-between each rib and drawing snort after snort from the squirming boy.

“Wehehehe’re gohohohona gehehehet throhohown ohohout!” Jean protested, latching his hands around Connie’s wrists and tugging. “B-Behehesides ihihit’s ahaha duhuhumb ihihidea!”

Sasha curled her fingers into his toes for that comment and he fell back helplessly on the bed once more, his leg jerking against her hold. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making comments like that. Not to mention, Connie and I can both attest that you’re not as mature as you make yourself out to be. So why don’t you get out of bed, come with us, and go race some stallions?”

Jean pressed a hand against his face, choking over stupidly frantic laughter and hitting Connie with his other. This was ridiculous. It was wholly unfair that the only two people who knew he was ticklish chose to use it against him constantly, and it was completely unfair that he couldn’t find it in himself to get mad at them for it.

“Guhuhuhuys!” he pleaded, shrieking when Sasha began to rake her fingers against his soles. “Plehehehease!”

“You know how to end this,” Connie said, shrugging as though to say the decision was out of his hands. When Connie started moving his fingers a bit further up however, Jean finally broke, deciding this was the only way to salvage any of his broken dignity.

“Ohohokay, fihihine, fihihine!” Jean yelped, jerking his arms down in a panic. “Ihihi’ll gohoho wihihith yohohou, juhuhust stahahahap!”

Both Connie and Sasha backed off, allowing the boy a moment to breathe. Jean scrambled away from them hurriedly, wrapping his arms around his shivering torso. “You guys are assholes, you know that? Utter and unrepentant assholes.”

“I think he’s trying to say he loves us,” Connie whispered to Sasha and she nodded solemnly. Jean directed a kick against his leg, though he quickly retreated it when the other reached for his foot again.

In the end, they never did end up discovering which horse was the fastest, as Erwin caught them almost the second they entered the stables. It did develop a habit amongst the group of tickling Jean whenever they wanted him to do something, a fact that Jean protested heavily.

It wasn’t until several weeks later that Jean discovered a method of getting them back. The three were running late to practice, gathered behind in the dormitory. The reason for their tardiness landed solely on Connie, who had somehow managed to get his gear tangled around himself and was struggling to release it. Sasha, who was often late already, waited calmly for him to finish, casually tossing an apple from hand to hand. Jean however was getting quickly irritated; he just knew that Jaeger brat was going to shove it in his face if he was late again.

“C’mon, we gotta hurry this up,” Jean urged, shooting anxious glances over to the doorway. “We’re already five minutes late.”

“Like I said before,” Connie grunted, tugging at his arm which was trapped at his side. “You guys can go without me. I’ll be just another second.”

“No way man,” Sasha protested. “We’re not letting you be the only one late. Jean, why don’t you help him out of that? He could use a hand.”

“Why me?” Jean exclaimed indignantly, but he kneeled down anyway. The main problem was with the belts, which he had, for reasons entirely unknown to them, attempted to put on over his head as opposed to simply slipping his legs threw it. He had managed to get a foot through, in all fairness, but the belt was still stuck around his neck and arms, effectively trapping them at his sides. Jean sighed in exasperation as he tried to figure out how to undo it.

“How do you even get yourself into situations like this?” Jean grumbled, grabbing one of the straps around his middle and tugging upwards. The process quickly became complicated as Connie developed the inability to hold still throughout and kept squirming and dislodging his grip. “Quit moving so much!”

“I can’t help it!” Connie protested. “It tickles!”

Jean paused, his attention snagging suddenly on the word. “It…tickles?”

“Yes,” Connie repeated, slightly hesitantly now as he noticed the look in the other’s eyes. “W-What are you gonna do? Jean? Jean?”

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Jean said, grinning. “You guys have been busting my balls over this for weeks now and you’re ticklish?” He shook his head sympathetically. “You know, I almost feel sorry for you.” He paused. “Not really though.”

Jean set in with a vengeance, wiggling his fingers into the soft material of Connie’s uniform sticking out through the belts. Connie yelped, falling back on the ground and kicking out to try to push the other away from him. Jean avoided him with ease, digging his fingers into the skin in the most devastating way. Sasha had taken notice by this point and threw the two an amused glance, though she seemed ill-inclined to help Connie out of his predicament.

“Connie fucking Springer,” Jean said, enunciating each syllable with teasing intent. “Is ticklish. This quite possibly may be the best day of my life. How many times, exactly, have you wrecked me in the past week—no, the past day? More than once right? And how long does each moment last? Certainly a couple minutes, at least. So if we add that all up, we should be hear well into the next day. How does that sound?”

“Yohohohou ahahahare sohohoho mehehehean!” Connie whined, desperately attempting to get even one arm free. He squeaked as Jean managed to get ahold of his hips, squeezing rapidly. “A-AhAHAhaha! Nahahat thehehere!”

“Not where?” Jean repeated, feigning confusion. “Not—Not here? Not here, on your hips? Is that what you’re asking?”

“W-Why ahahare yohohou lihihihike thihihis?” Connie groaned, though it came out far more giggly than intended.

“Does it tickle?” Jean continued, not letting up once he’d started. Forming his hands into two claws, he gently scratched the area in a way he knew would be unbearable. “Right here, does it tickle?”

“Yehehehes!” Connie shrieked, twisting his body left and right, anything to get away from those damned hands. “Yehehehes ihihit freheheheheaking tihihihihickles!”

“Freaking?” Jean whistled, arching a brow. “Careful throwing around that kind of language.”

“Gehehehet ohohohoff ohohof mehehehehe!” Connie kicked his legs out wildly against the floor, his only method of dealing with the intense sensations. “Sahahahasha! Hehehehehelp!”

Sasha appeared surprised to be called out, as though she had forgotten she was there with them and not merely a spectator. She took to it readily, however. “Of course. That’s what friends are for, after all.”

She bounced merrily over to them, tossing her apple in the trash, and took her own kneeling position besides them. Jean tensed, readying himself for a counterattack, but was shocked and pleased when instead she reached out and squeezed his knees, all while sporting a casual grin. Connie squealed, shooting forward and bursting into a round of desperate, wheezing giggles.

“SAHAHAHASHA!” he complained, squeezing his eyes shut. “NOHOHO FAHAHAIR!”

“It’s his worst spot,” Sasha explained at Jean’s confused glance. “We used to have tickle fights all the time before we started hanging out as a group. His knees always killed him, though.”

Jean raised his eyebrows, nodding in appreciation. “Good to know. Would you like to join me in destroying our dear friend?”

“Always.”

“YOHOHOU GUHUHUYS SUHUHUCK!”

They continued to tickle Connie into a mess of squirming giggles until Eren burst through the door in an annoyed flourish, having been sent by the commander to come retrieve them. A hot blush took over his cheeks at the sight in front of him, and he opened and closed his mouth quite a few times before he managed to actually get his message out. Still, he held firm to his orders and the three reluctantly moved apart, genuinely helping Connie with his uniform this time.

Connie didn’t forget about their gang-up, however, and the next day in the cafeteria he managed to get his revenge. Jean and Sasha were chatting quietly (or Sasha was quiet—Jean lacked that skillset) at one of the many tables scattered throughout the room. The room was near full of soldiers, laughing and joking around as they shoveled down the remains of their rations. Sasha was just reaching up to take a bite of her roll when two hands latched suddenly onto her sides.

Sasha made a noise that was near equivalent to “eep!” and jerked her arms down to protect herself. She threw an accusatory glance back at her oppressor. “Connie,” she said, trying to hide the hint of nervousness from her voice. “Is now really the time for that?”

“Hey, you poked the giant,” Connie said, raising his hands in the air innocently. “I can’t be held responsible for my actions in retaliation. Besides,” he continued, taking a seat beside her and effectively trapping her in-between him and Jean. “You’re the only one who hasn’t been tickled. I think it’s only fair, really.”

“Wait, you’re ticklish too?” Jean asked, turning to face the girl, who was quickly gaining an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. “You never told me about that.”

“It never exactly came up,” she mumbled, her eyes darting around as she tried to watch both their hands at once. “Listen, guys, this is really not necessary—ah! Nohoho, C-Cohohonnie!”

She fell back against Jean as Connie’s fingers curiously explored her stomach, softly wiggling and scribbling over the thin cloth. Fluttery giggles fell from her lips, and she flapped her arms around uselessly, seeming wholly unable to protect herself. “Guhuhuys! Thihis ihihisn’t fahahair! Ah, wahahait, Jehehehean! Nahahat yohohou tohohoo!”

A bit hesitantly, Jean had decided to join in, sticking his hands under her arms and scratching gently against the sensitive area. She squeaked, lurching forward, but that only brought her into Connie’s waiting hands. No matter where she moved, she found herself in ticklish peril. “Guhuhuys plehehehease! Ihihihi cahahahan’t!”

By this time other soldiers had begun to take notice and glanced curiosity over at their table, trying to see what all the commotion was about. Annie rolled her eyes as she realized what was going on, muttering under her breath. From his post with Armin and Mikasa, Eren flushed brightly once more, quickly excusing himself from the table. A couple of the others smiled at the sight, but most were too uncertain to do anything to help.

Sasha herself threw her head back in helpless delight, kicking her legs out. The move gave Connie an idea, and he moved quickly, grabbing onto her knee and pinching right on the bone. Sasha squeaked, jerking her leg in his grasp.

“Shihihihihit! Gahahaha, Cohohohonnie, nohOHOHOHO!”

Her voice pitched in volume as Jean experimentally reached over, grabbing her other knee. Sasha screeched, flailing wildly between them but ultimately unable to escape.

“Holy shit, do you guys have the same spot?” Jean exclaimed, shaking his head incredulously. “That is hilarious. You two really are like twins sometimes.”

“We are not!” Connie and Sasha both protested at the same time, though Sasha’s reply was forced through shrieks of hysterical laughter. Jean merely snorted at the comparison, returning to the task at hand.

They backed off after a while, not wanting to genuinely kill the other. Sasha curled up protectively, leaning against Jean’s torso in exhaustion. “You guys suck. I mean it.”

“Right, sure,” Connie said, raising an eyebrow. “As if you don’t totally love it.”

He accompanied this comment with a poke to the stomach and Sasha squeaked, choosing to ignore the red creeping up her neck. She didn’t deny it though, merely leapt from the table, sticking her tongue out at both of them as she retreated back to their dorms.

“I don’t see why she has to deny it,” Jean speculated as soon as she was gone, furrowing his brows. “I mean, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Connie snickered, shooting the other an incredulous glance. “Right, because you’re one to talk.”

Jean stiffened, glaring back at him. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Connie shrugged, standing up from the table and following after her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go check up on her. See you later.”

He ran down the halls as well, throwing a friendly wave back at the other. Jean waved back hesitantly and returned to his meal, trying not to think about Connie’s words.

After that, it became a habit among the three of them to tickle each other whenever the mood called for it. It was an unspoken thing, a secret kept between wiggling fingers and hysterical laughter; something just for them. And, as Jean curled up in his bed that night, his skin still tingling from Sasha’s revenge, he found he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#attack on titan #tickle fic #tickling #aot #connie springer #jean kirschtien #fanfic #fanfiction #fic request #requests #sasha blouse #my writing

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crowbarstodd · 5 years

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Course Of Nature (6)

TW: Brief mention of suicidal intent. I’ll mark the passage with two asterisks (**) before it starts and two when it ends. It’s really short and the rest of the scene will still make sense without it. Chapter Summary: Growth! Ladybug and Robin might not be at odds anymore, and some weird guy with a white streak in his hair helps Mari out. Word Count: 5,263 (a chonky boi) Rating: G except there’s one T scene so uh. PG???? Pairing: DAAAAAMINETTE Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven The thing about Paris being so dark, even at night, was that it was hard for Marinette to fear the things that went ‘bump’ in the night as a child because she was usually able to identify the source of the sound. That absence of terror followed her through adolescence and was probably the reason she felt so comfortable sitting on her balcony rail at two in the morning, when the night sky an inky, unending expanse, and the world was asleep. Everything that couldn’t be explained away by childhood pluckiness could be attributed to being granted magic via miraculous, and there lay the problem.

The park plan was weak. Now that she was divorced from the situation, she could clearly see that her plan consisted of blunder after blunder, and it was only luck that helped her capture the Akuma. Luck, and Andrena’s fast paralysis.

Robin had told her in one of their earliest patrols that she relied too much on her miraculous. Of course it was yelled in the heat of an argument, but he probably meant it, and he was probably right. She remembered clearly enough what he said; that she didn’t know danger because she had yet to truly experience it.

At the time, Marinette was too consumed by hurt pride to properly consider what he’d meant. Though she couldn’t bring herself to agree with him, she couldn’t help but think that there was merit to his criticism.

Marinette picked the park because it was a wide space, easy to clear of innocents, and easy to see in. She’d failed to consider that the visibility would likely give advantage to their long-ranged opponent, and that the lack of cover could increase the fatality of each attack that the villain sent.

She’d been overconfident, and until Robin and Andrena arrived, she had barely half an idea on how to beat the villain. But she hadn’t been scared, or at least not scared enough to think harder or work better. She hadn’t even stopped to check on Chat during or after his time as a cactus, because without realising it, she’d already accepted that it was something that could be reversed with a ‘Lucky Charm.’

In a way, it might have been better to just see the truth in that and not prod any further, but Marinette was an over-thinker through and through. Now that she’d come to this realisation she couldn’t help but wonder if she was being complacent with her duties. What if one day she came across a problem that couldn’t be solved with a chant of a charm. What would — what could she do then.

Marinette brushed a hand through her hair, closing her eyes as a cool breeze swept past her, bringing with it, an end to her introspection, at least for now. She tapped clean nails on the railing, bopping her head to the new rhythm, humming under her breath.

She should have seen him coming.

**“Don’t!”

She was pushed, not too harshly, back behind her white balcony rails, landing reflexively on her feet with bent knees. Perplexed, she looked up, astonished to see her new patrol partner, in all his traffic light glory, perched on her balcony, looking concerned. Concerned for her.

It took a moment to register his shout, but when she did, Marinette could only splutter out a breathless denial. “No! Oh geez, I wasn’t gonna jump, I swear!”**

Robin nodded firmly, but didn’t seem to accept the answer, if his analytical gaze was anything to go by. “Do you want to talk?” His voice was still gruff, but it was missing the harsh quality she’d gotten used to. To be honest she wasn’t exactly sure how to react to him when they weren’t fighting and he was acting so obviously kind.

“N-no, it’s fine. You can go back to what you were doing.”

He let himself into her room, took a seat on her chaise, and beckoned her over with a gloved hand. His thick brows were cocked, as if expectant, and she found very little choice but to oblige, so she settled beside him, offering him a cushion with wooden movements. This was far too strange for her liking.

“You looked deep in thought,” he commented lightly. She caught his eyes wandering, examining her room, and found that she didn’t really mind. It was a lot less ‘Adrien,’ than last year, but her crush had pretty much vanished completely as she learned to treasure him as a good friend. Where Adrien’s face used to be was now occupied by pictures of herself, her friends, her favourite looks and old design sketches she’d made and loved.

They looked nice, she thought, against the pink wallpaper. They looked like home.

“Yeah,” she agreed, unsure of what to say. “I guess I was... Thinking.”

She expected a snort from him, a huff maybe, or any assortment of disproving noise. Of course he knew she was thinking, he’d just commented that she was lost in thought! Instead he hummed like he agreed, and placed a hand on her shoulder, removing it a second later in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting pat.

“My... Colleague, Nightwing suggests exchanging questions might help. If you would like, you may ask me a question and I will do my best to answer truthfully.”

He looked just a little out of his depth, overly tense but clearly eager to do something to help. Marinette found that she liked this side of him, unexpected as it was. “I’d like that,” she replied.

Robin gave the briefest of grins.

“I was wondering... Why did you want to be a hero?”

“I’m a vigilante, I operate outside the law.”

Marinette could have probably helped her responding eye roll, but why bother. “The question’s the same. Why do you help people?”

Robin clicked his tongue, head turning a little to the left, away from her, as he thought. “At first, I believed that Robin was something I had the right to. That the position was important and that I was important because of it... Now... Well now I see that it is both my honour and my duty. Because I know things others do not, and because I can do things that others cannot, it’s the right thing for me to help. In the right way. Batman and Nightwing taught me that.”

Marinette squeezed his shoulder and shot him a small smile. As easy as he was to dislike, there was no denying he had heart. Intention was important to being a hero (which Robin was, despite his claims), and he had good intentions in spades. Truthfully, he was a good hero. Was Ladybug a good hero? Did people think Ladybug was good?

“My turn,” Robin asserted. His face finally turned back to look at her, and in his eyes she saw nothing but blazing honesty. “How are you?”

There were a lot of questions he could’ve asked at that moment. Many more she would have been happy to answer without much thought. But he asked that in particular, and she had a feeling he had been waiting to ask. He’d let her ask first, and her question was hardly easy to answer, but he did it so she could feel comfortable. So he could prove he was good. Did he always work so hard to prove himself?

The least she could do in thanks was to reply honestly. “I’m okay I think. For the most part, anyway. Sometimes... I just get tired.”

“Physical comfort can relieve stress. Would you like a hug?” The ‘Nightwing says’ that prefaced the question was left unsaid, but Marinette heard it loud and clear anyway. Her lips split to a toothy grin, and she couldn’t help but giggle a little at him. He was so stiff, almost robotic sometimes when he spoke, and Marinette thought it was strange he could be so uncomfortable with showing kindness when it was clear that it came so naturally to him.

“I’d really like that, actually.”

This second hug was much more comfortable than the first that surprised her during one of their patrols (technically speaking this was their third hug but there was no way Marinette was counting the disaster of what happened after Robin ditched the meeting), and now that she was prepared for it, Marinette could appreciate it.

The first thing she noticed was that’s the material of his costume felt pretty similar to leather. After that, the warmth of his hold registered, along with the firmness of his grip. His fingers were glued together like he was some sort of mannequin. It was probably a practiced pose, she surmised. It was funny and a little bit saddening that he had to train in something that should be simple and familiar to him. Maybe this hug wasn’t just for her?

He disconnected from her after a count of ten, finally looking satisfied that she was okay. “I’ll be leaving now,” he announced. Quieter, and less confident, he continued. “And... ahem... I care.”

He jumped off her balcony rather dramatically and disappeared into the night. She didn’t bother trying to make out his shape in the shadows, electing instead to shut her door and get some sleep.

Marinette’s head felt heavy as lead when she awoke (earlier than her alarm for once), but her eyes blinked open without too much protest, and her mouth moved to form a smile automatically. The events of last night were still fresh on her mind.

Yesterday she saw a new side of Robin, one she couldn’t have known he was capable of had he not shown her himself. He cared about his job, and he cared about the people. He cared about her.

The weekend was a welcome break from the usual hubbub that was her life, a much-needed peace. Her morning was spent perusing her collection of cloth samples to find the best match for her new summer dress idea. Anything within the cotton family was usually ideal for keeping cool, and Marinette had her eyes set on a square of grey-tinted, light blue chambray. But she hadn’t ever been fond of chambray dresses… Maybe a romper? Decisions, decisions…

She placed the square down with a huff, eyeing it critically beside her newly revised design. The thing about sketching something new was that she’d probably be needing more fabric, and frankly, she really wasn’t up for walking a whole block to get an extra meter. She glanced back at the design and groaned. She could almost feel it stare back, begging to be made. It’d look so much cuter on a person than on the page…

Marinette stomped her feet, just a little irritated with herself, but too overtaken by excitement to feel any sort of real anger. A quick snack, and then she’d go. With luck, she wouldn’t encounter any distractions and she could come back before one o’clock to finish her piece.

Trailing down wooden steps was a challenge with fuzzy socks on, but she didn’t fall once (don’t act too shocked, now), so she was in a relatively good mood as she entered the family bakery. “Hi maman!” Marinate greeted cheerily, giving her mom a swift kiss on the cheek.

“Marinette!” Her mother beamed, “perfect timing! I was just about to call you dear, your new friend is here.”

New friend?

Slowly, she pivoted on her heel. “Ah!” Marinate startled, placing a hand against her chest. She leaned against her mother, heart still pounding from shock.

It was less Damian’s presence that surprised her, and more his watchful eyes glaring straight at hers, unblinking as she saw him for the first time that day.

He was sipping calmly from his cup of tea, sniggering openly into his cup, as his brother (woah Dick Grayson was dreamy when he laughed) turned in his seat her an apologetic smile. “Hey there, Marinette right?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

Dick grinned, leaning on the back of his seat to get a good look at her face. “I was worried when Dami disappeared yesterday, and when I asked him where he went, he gave me a slice of Gâteau Basque, and I knew I had to come try all the other cakes. Your parents are really good bakers, Marinette.”

He had an energy to him that made him feel welcoming, and seeing Damian scowl at the back of Dick’s head struck her as familiar for reasons she wasn’t quite sure about yet. “Thanks! How’d you guys get here without getting caught by Paparazzi? I saw your other brother get hounded by a bunch of cameras like an hour ago on the news.”

Damian smiled, teeth bared like some sort of feral animal. “We used our superior evasive techniques.” Marinette was tempted to take a step back. Damian didn’t seem like the smiling type, and that look only barely passed as a smile.

Dick sighed tiredly, though his eyes, trained on his little brother, were still fond. “He tipped the paps off about Tim and took the long way ‘round them. They were easy to avoid ‘cause they were all swarming Tim…”

Marinette felt her lip twitch upward. It wasn’t that she approved of his actions, or that she wanted to encourage it, in fact she was sure Ladybug should feel upset about it. Marinette was bemused. “Sounds superior alright,” she allowed. She waved them goodbye as she made her way out of the store, stopped only by the sound of her mother clearing her throat.

“Marinette?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Your shoes.”

Oh. Right, she’d come down to get a snack before leaving. Dick and Damian’s eyes felt like heat lamps against her cheeks, and she did her best to hide behind her hair as she ran back up to her room to slip on her flats.

She sped past the boys, shooting Damian a look when she heard him snicker at her. Her maman was waiting by the door, tin-foil wrapped croque-monsieur extended out to her. Marinate gave her mother a grateful hug, impatient to leave, and even more impatient to get her design started.

‘Lemon Crafts’ always seemed to smell vaguely of lemon zest and fabric softener, the most pleasing combination to Marinette’s nose, and she’d frequent more often than she already did if their yellow lights weren’t so painfully bright. It was lucky for Marinette that she could comb through racks and cloth bins of fabric with her eyes shut; the store was almost a second home to her.

They hardly ever re-arranged their layout, and the speakers were always broken so that a solid thrum of bzz rang through in a delightful tenor that flittered to the back of her mind, and out of her thoughts. Regardless of the time of day, or year, the place managed to look, sound, and feel the same. Marinette felt it was a sort of liminal space, one that was oh so easy to peruse and lose track of reality within.

Today, however, she had her eye on her phone as she sped to aisle three, skipping through a tempting assortment of prints and cloths to find the specific roll of cotton.

There was a tingling that started on the back of her neck that trailed down the base of her spine, which left her feeling antsy and uncomfortable. She heard the familiar click as her purse opened from the inside and kept her back straight and walking pace steady as Tikki stuck her head out.

If her Kwami had suddenly gone alert as well, nothing good could be happening. Or maybe it was something exceptionally good? Probably not, but optimism was always welcome.

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed quietly. Subtle as she could, Marinette looked down at her purse, at Tikki who’s head was hardly peeking out. “The man behind the cashier won’t stop looking at you. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

Marinette looked at him from the corner of her eyes, hands running over denim blends, pretending to examine them. He looked young, just a little older her, probably in his first year of university. His brown curls were tucked behind him in a low pony, earrings dangling from his elf-like ears. He didn’t look particularly dangerous. “I think it’s fine, Tikki, she whispered.”

Tikki let out a disproving sound, but didn’t say anything else, choosing instead to settle herself back in Marinette’s bag.

The chambray was where it was the last time she’d come and bought it. Ten meters seemed excessive for a romper, but it’d be nice to have a collection with a running theme, and the fabric was just begging to be bought.

But was it worth it? 10 meters really was a lot, and it was expensive too! It was sixty-five euros, and while she had that money, she might have something more worthwhile to buy at a later date.

“Marinette he’s still looking at you!”

Her head raised to meet the cashier’s unfeeling, brown eyes.

She dropped the fabric like it was on fire, and left the store, walking as naturally as she could. Her skin itched, feeling his hard stare on her back, and she wanted nothing more than to sprint out of the store.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t ever remembered seeing him, and she knew almost everyone who worked at ‘Lemon Crafts’ on weekends because she visited so often. She really should have listened to Tikki earlier.

She barely made it out of the door, when her ankle twisted painfully, and she tumbled down to the ground.

Marinette gasped as she fell in what felt like slow motion, bag slipping from her hold as it slid against the pavement and away from her. Her blazer fluttered in beats, arms reaching out to catch her body before her brain could even fully comprehend her descent.

Her bag skidded to a stop, the lucky charm Adrien gifted her dropped to the floor with a click, yet she remained suspended, the tips of her toes the only part of her body still flat on the ground, the rest of herself held up by a grip on the back of her blazer.

“Geeze kid,” a rough voice greeted her, as her faceless saviour entered her line of sight, placing her back down. He was smirking at her, as though entertained by her clumsiness, face framed with wild black hair, marred by a strip of white. “Careful next time, yeah?”

Marinette nodded mutely, accepting her dropped items from the kind stranger. She watched his back as he left, hands in his pockets, strides wide and confident. He turned the corner, fluid as water, and slipped out of sight.

Strangely enough, he reminded her of Robin.

____

Marinette sat rigidly on one of the many beams that supported the Eiffel Tower. Her hands folded on her lap, too frozen with embarrassment to brush away the hair of her pigtails that were whipping her face thanks to the force of the winds.

Robin sat on the other side, far looser, with legs swinging, though his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

Between them, ice-cream from Andre’s melted, untouched.

“How can I give you my apology ice-cream if you won’t even look at me?” Robin huffed.

She wondered if there was a difference anymore, between her mask and her cheeks, or if she looked like a tomato with legs. She turned her head to the side, unable to make eye contact with him, as she spoke. “I can’t look at you without thinking of that night.”

You were fine yelling at me just yesterday against that grossly garish villain.”

“Believe it or not, an Akuma is a great distraction.”

“I would argue that the Akuma was the goal and that the night is the distraction.”

“You would argue about anything, Robin.”

Marinette knew he was making faces at her behind her back when he didn’t reply instantly. She could probably operate like this for the rest of their time together, staring at rusted metal instead of his face. She already knew he was rolling his eyes, anyway.

Robin let out a familiar ‘Tt,’ and sighed dramatically. The old iron whined as Robin shifted. “If you’re still hung up about the kiss—“

“It wasn’t a kiss!”

“Well. Anyway—“

Marinette turned to face him at last, insistent and overflowing with humiliation. “It wasn’t!”

And it really wasn’t. The night had started out almost fine. Robin was in the middle of a tantrum so there was that, but he was relatively nice, and she was doing a favour for Chat which was always good for supplying warm fuzzies.

~~~yes this is a flashback lmao~~~

Marinette had found him on a tree at Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, one knee bent to his chest, while his other swung loose and free, like it was at present. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see her come, though he was notably disgruntled.

“What do you want?” He had demanded, though less acidic than usual.

Marinette had shrugged and walked closer. “Just seemed like the right thing to do. Can I sit with you?”

“It’s your city.”

She used her yoyo to swing herself up, landing beside him with a thud, rustling leaves, her added weight pushing down on Damian’s branch. “It’s your tree. For now, anyway.”

They sat like that for half an hour, almost, just staring out at the park, and the late-night walkers, with their partners and their dogs. After that, the two of them started calling out dog-breeds they could see, and only when it was around two in the morning did the proper conversation start.

“Mind telling me why you stormed out?”

Robin’s response was bitten out with a certain degree of aggression. “Are you my therapist now?”

Marinette had shook her head, a little disappointed in her partner, but hardly surprised. “No, but you’re my partner now. I guess I’m a little worried.”

“It won’t affect my performance if that’s what you mean.”

Marinette knocked his elbow with her own, frowning. “No, I’m worried about you.”

Robin had turned his head to look at her faster than she’d ever seen him move before. He looked completely distrusting, but his eyes couldn’t lie, and in them she saw hope. “Why would you do that,” he’d sneered, upper lip curling.

“I’m not sure,” she had answered honestly. “Feelings are just like that.”

“If you mean to say that emotions cannot be rationalised, then you’re incorrect… But, thank you, I suppose.”

It was the first genuine thanks he’d ever willingly given her, and she was floored when she heard it. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it, but now, knowing a little more about his past, and a little more about him (yes, she was still thinking about how sad it was that he didn’t know how to hug properly), her mind lingered on the moment. Why did he look so in disbelief that she would care about him?

“I’m experiencing what many would call jealousy,” he admitted, snapping a twig between his fingers. His eyes were set on the moon, but it was clear that his attention wasn’t. “Your partner— your other partner (The difference between the two was clear now. He was distinguishing between himself and his ‘rival’ and she hadn’t even noticed), seems to get along well with mine.”

Her heart had sunk at his admission, taking it as a jab against herself as a person. “Oh. Sorry, I guess. I’m sure Chat wouldn’t mind a patrol with you—“

“No!” Robin almost bellowed. He had looked completely against the idea. “I’m not jealous of their relationship in that I want it, well.” He let out a frustrated growl. “It’s not that I want us to be like them. Neither of us are irritatingly chatty or bright, we wouldn’t be able to emulate it anyway. No, I’m jealous because your other partner has enamoured mine.”

“I’m sure Nightwing loves you too.”

“I know he does,” Robin whispered back, almost afraid to say the words aloud. “But not at first. And not for a while. I’m sure my personality had a part to play with it, but… Well he liked Chat Noir from the beginning— he wanted Chat Noir from the beginning. Makes me wish I had that luxury.”

He loves you now. I can see in how he looked out you, how he reached out, he loves you now. There were a lot of things Marinette could have said in response, ‘he loves you now, included. Instead, she said nothing, and sat with him in silence, enjoying the browning leaves and almost comfortable seat on their tree-branch.

Her pocket buzzed. Almost embarrassed to have ruined the contemplative mood, she had pulled it out in a rush, shrieking when it slipped from her grip and plummeted down.

She went after it on instinct, momentarily forgetting her peculiar position on a tree, and found the rest of her body following after her phone.

Robin had reacted quickly, diving after her, holding her in a compact hold, his hand on her head to protect her from the fall. He rolled them over so that his back hit the ground first, but the momentum was too much, and they found themselves smashing against one another, lips smacking ungracefully, teeth knocking and foreheads rapping against one another. She rolled off him, hand over her mouth, stunned silent.

Their lips met.

Did that count as a kiss?

Surely not…

No way she could’ve just had her first kiss…

No way!

Robin’s mind hadn’t been as occupied, and he’d simply gotten to his feet, brushing himself off as he spat out a wad of blood. She could spot the gash on his upper gum where her two front teeth had tapped his mouth after their not kiss, and she would have felt a little bad if it weren’t for the fact that “you kissed me!”

Robin looked up at her, uninterested. “It was hardly a kiss, besides, you wounded me.”

“But you kissed me!”

“I didn’t intend to. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saved you, you’re welcome by the way.”

“You kissed me!”

Robin rolled his eyes, checking his utility belt to see if anything had fallen. “Fine, fine, I kissed you.”

It was silly, she knew that then, and she was reminded of how silly she was every time she remembered that night, because her reply would likely make her cringe for the rest of her life. “That was not a kiss!”

Silence fell between them, as Robin raised his brows, a smirk forming it’s way on his face. “Oh? But you said it was a kiss.”

All coherent thought left her mind, and was replaced by loud screaming that was barely louder than the beating of her overactive heart. Blood rushed to her head so fast a headache began to form, and her knees went weak. “It wasn’t!” Even to her ears, the argument was weak.

Robin leered, moving closer. She took a step back for every step he took forward. “But you said it was?”

“I was wrong!” Her back had reached the base of the tree, and Robin was still advancing.

“Unsurprising, but I think this time you might be right.” He leaned in so that he was mere centimeters away from her face, but he didn’t come any closer.

Right as she was about to stutter out another half-baked response, he broke out into snickers that tiptoed the edge of laughter.

She hadn’t ever heard him laugh before. It was husky, more breath than voice, but it was pleasing to the ear. He looked a lot younger when he laughed, a certain lightness took over his whole body, and she remembered he was just a kid, like her. She wished he’d laugh more.

Mortified about what had occurred, she wasn’t exactly happy with the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to be mad, when he looked like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You said it was a kiss?”

Marinette, not willing to have a repeat of their past conversation, shoved a spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth.

Robin tutted again, his trademark at this point, but this time the corners of his mouth were turned upward, and she found herself minding it less.

“It wasn’t a kiss,” she said at last. “My first kiss is going to be with someone I like, and it’s going to be a choice. That was an accident, and it doesn’t count.”

“Okay,” Robin agreed.

Marinette smiled.

“Ladybug?”

She looked at him, properly this time, and without any blushing. “Hm?”

“Why are you a hero?”

A little stunned to hear her own question repeated back at her (not that Robin knew she was the one who asked him), it took a moment for her to even comprehend it. Why was she a hero?

Because she was chosen?

No, she had tried to give away that responsibility once before, but she kept the job for a reason.

“Because I was given the opportunity to help,” she said, finally. “One that a lot of people don’t get. I found that even if I thought I didn’t want the responsibility at first, I couldn’t turn the job down. What about you?”

Robin’s nose turned up to the air once again, reminding Marinette of what a brat her partner truly was. “Because lesser people need someone like me.”

Silly bird. If he hadn’t helped her out, back when she was a civilian, she might have taken his response for its face value. But there was no way she could, knowing what she knew. “I bet you secretly have a really nice reason, you just don’t want to tell people.”

“Don’t act imbecilic. Of course I don’t.”

“Uh huh, sure you don’t”

“Eat your ice-cream and shut up.”

Marinette laughed, extending the cup to him. He took a small bite, nose wrinkling. He kept saying he didn’t like sweets and he kept acting like it too, but he could’ve turned her offer down and they both knew it. What a little liar she had as a partner.

It was the same combination as last time, only tonight Andre had decorated it with black sprinkles and a small, white marshmallow on top. Robin let her have it, not a fan of them, but he said nothing about the sprinkles.

It was divine on her tongue, melting almost instantly (though most of it was soup at this point), coating her mouth in a thick swirl of black and red. “What was this an apology for anyway?”

“I may have spoken out of turn when we fought Bud Omen. Nightwing suggested that I bring a token of apology.”

“Are you gonna get me an ice-cream every time you say something rude? Because I’m not sure you could afford that.”

Robin snorted, taking another bite of the ice cream. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

And really, she couldn’t. She thought she knew her partner that she had his whole personality down when they’d first met, and even more so during their first patrol. But Marinette found that the more time passed, the less she felt she knew about him, and the more she wanted to learn.

She didn’t hate her partner, of that she was sure. In fact, she might even be starting to like him.

End Notes: The ‘like’ is platonic, unfortunately, but we’re not they’re yet. We’ll get there eventually though! Their relationship is starting to shift now that they know more about each other ayyy. This chapter was really all about growth on Marinette’s side. Changing feelings about what it means and what it takes to to be a good hero, and changing relationships with her new partner.

Also! First glance of Jason, yeah the white streaked guy was Jason I really wasn’t tryna be subtle about it. What’s up with the weird cashier tho? And yes! Now you know what happened that night. Nothing big or romantic, but Robin confessed he was feeling jealous and lips smashed. I wanted to bring it up now rather than earlier though bc I feel like Marinette can use this as an moment to really consider. This happened in the past, but I wanted it to be seen through current Marinette’s eyes.

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atamascolily · 4 years

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Tyrant’s Test. Okay, we’re almost done here.

We open with Chewie on Kashyyyk having family time! I may re-read that section because I want to do a Kashyyyk thing later and there’s not that much detail in the TTT. Right now, I’m interested in Luke stuff.

. It’s impossible to work when the Current is in chaos. And it’s intensely uncomfortable to remain connected when the Current is carrying so much pain.

This is interesting - so the Fallanassi live the way they do by necessity as much as choice - they cannot function without peace and quiet.

We start to see more of Akanah’s perspective and realize she’s manipulating Luke to keep him with her. At least Luke is aware of it?

But that threat was also nakedly manipulative, and his reflexive resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to resist it.

It was not that he gave no credence to the threat. Akanah’s conduct on Atzerri had made clear that she was perfectly capable of striking out on her own when her interests so dictated. But he had no compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar demon of Duty had reentered his consciousness during the conversation with the shipwright, and he could do nothing else until he either answered to his conscience or silenced it.

There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke knew his own mind—until he knew if he could allow himself to continue the journey.

Again, DUALITY. fuck. “my way or the highway” - LITERALLY.

For the question gnawing at Luke was not whether Leia wanted his help, but whether she needed it. If his presence might mean the difference between triumph and defeat, then he would go to her—as she had come to him in his darkest moment, aboard the clone Emperor’s flagship.

Leia had pulled him back from the precipice of the dark power, and joined her power to his to defeat Palpatine. If she had not been willing to sacrifice herself and the child inside her in confronting the reborn Emperor, Luke would never have broken the grip of the dark side—and the history of the intervening years would have been written with the pen of tyranny. He could not have done it alone.

But having seen not only the great strength in her heart but also the Jedi power she could summon, Luke was all the more loath to volunteer himself as a rescuer. He knew that Leia had within her extraordinary resources of will and power—resources she had of late become reluctant to draw upon. Luke thought that he was much of the reason, with both his example and his presence creating disincentives. It was important that she find that strength again.

It seemed to Luke that Leia had neglected, even abandoned, her own training, and that her training of the children had become unbalanced, with the disciplines of warrior and weapon excised as if they were dispensable. Luke had not spoken of it with her, but from what he had seen, it was almost as though Leia hoped to delay, training the children as Jedi clerics rather than as Jedi Knights—as if the path before her, the path he had followed, promised to take her somewhere she did not want to go.

It was her choice to make. Her destiny was no more clear to him than it was to her. But whatever that destiny was, it seemed that she was fighting it rather than following it.

And it was certain she would learn nothing from an errant Knight’s well-intentioned but unnecessary rescue—if she would even allow it to happen. Knowing her streak of aristocratic, self-reliant pride, Luke was not at all confident he could count on her to ask for help, even if she needed it—not after the fight they had had the night he left Coruscant.

No, those around her, the others who loved her, would urge Luke to return to her side, no matter what the circumstances. And Leia herself would insist that he stay away, no matter what the circumstances. It was essential that Luke make his own assessment of the situation, that the decision be his alone. And it was better that Luke stay out of sight and out of reach until the decision was made.

Hey, a Dark Empire acknowledgment! And also, again, duality: either/or. Either Leia saves herself or Luke saves her. There’s no middle ground, no compromise, not alternatives. Sigh.

As always, there were hundreds of blind messages—love letters and propositions, requests for personal favors, questions from amateur and would-be Jedi, the occasional diatribe from an Imperialist stubbornly resisting the idea that his world had changed.

Luke almost never looked at any of it. The novelty value of blatant proposals had long ago faded, and the one-two punch of praise and begging had worn thin even faster—it was as uncomfortable as being surrounded by a crowd in which everyone wanted to touch him.

So let me get this straight: Luke is constantly being bombarded with e-mail requests, yet he’s unaware that women want Jedi babies? UNREAL.

The young woman looked up at him with eyes widened by surprise. Her tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her as a follower of the Duality, a popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the twin principles of joy and service.

Oh, wow, DUALITY AGAIN.

“My goodness,” Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level and saw Luke clearly. “My goodness. This is an honor.” As an afterthought, he gathered himself for a salute. “Forgive me, sir—I don’t know your proper rank—”

“I no longer hold one,” said Luke, leaning over one of the data stations.

“Oh—I see. Then I’ll confess that I’ve never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual there, I guess—I don’t know anyone who has. Is there a proper form of address—”

“You can call me Luke.”

LOL.

The event had given both such inexplicable pleasure that he hated to take those memories away from them, but he had no choice. He had already blocked the machine records of his visit from being written to the logs. Compressing a nerve here, a blood vessel there, Luke brought on a moment of unconscious paralysis, and in that moment swept the memories from their minds.

Luke is very cavalier about mucking with peoples’ minds, I’m just going to say. Why not just mind-trick them directly?? Seems like that would be less invasive that cutting off blood vessels.

By the way, this is how we learn Luke and Akanah Did It:

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Have you ever had sex in hyperspace?”

This time she could not contain her bubbling laugh of bemusement. “Yes,” she said, and melted away into the night.

*shakes head*

“Where the Current touches self-awareness, there is a tiny ripple—as when you sense a presence with the Force. The metaphor is more different than the means.”

“But I can’t feel anything here—nothing more than the energy of the ecosystems on the fourth and fifth planets,” Luke said. “Nothing of consciousness—nothing of will.”

“It is not consciousness or will that matters—it is the profound essence of being, nothing more,” she said. “I can perceive the crew just as you would perceive a handful of sand I scattered on the far side of a pool. From a distance, sometimes you can see only the effect, not the cause.” She smiled. “But you must be very still to see even that, for you are also of the Current, surrounded by the ripples of your being.”

Yeah, okay, so the water metaphor is spot-on.

“Best for everyone if they never see us at all,” he said as he charted the course.

“Done,” Akanah said, looking on from behind Luke’s flight couch.

Luke looked up at her quizzically. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Eh—don’t you have to know who it is you’re trying to hide from?”

“Why?” she asked.

“So you have a focus. So you know whose thoughts you’re trying to deflect. It’s done with precision, not brute force.”

“That’s coercive,” she said. “And invasive. You reach into another mind and bind its thoughts, or place your own there.”

“Well—yes,” Luke said. “But the use of that power is constrained. The purpose must be important enough to justify the deed and the consequences.”

“It seems the Jedi are always finding reasons to justify their violence,” she said. “I wish you would try as hard to find ways to avoid it.”

“Violence? What violence?” Luke protested. “More often than not, all that’s required is to induce a moment’s inattention, or reinforce a suspicion. No harm is involved. A sworn Jedi would never—oh, make someone walk off a cliff thinking there was a bridge there.”

Akanah shook her head in earnest disagreement. “You, who’re immune to your own tricks—who are you to judge the harm done? You do this in secret, to lead a suggestible mind, or compel an opposed one. Do you think that those you’ve coerced see the morality of it the same as you do? Besides,” she sniffed, “it’s inefficient.”

“What?”

“Inefficient,” she repeated. “It requires your constant attention and involvement.”

“If you know an alternative, I’m your eager student.”

“What about the way you concealed your hermitage?”

Luke frowned. “That’s different. I created it from elemental substances to have that quality—to blend in with the coastline as though it were part of it.”

“It was a powerful bit of work,” she said. “When I saw it, I knew you had the gift of the Fallanassi. But you didn’t go far enough and apply the principle to its ultimate conclusion.”

“Which is—”

“To make it not merely resemble its surroundings, but merge with them,” Akanah said. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. She let the breath out slowly as she lowered her chin to her chest—and then she was not there.

“I’ll be a—” Luke reached for her where she had been standing, but his hand grabbed only air. “Cute trick,” he said, taking a step toward the refresher, away from the forward deck. “Handy for breaking into libraries, escaping arranged marriages—where are you?”

“Here,” she said from behind him. He turned to find her silting sideways in the right-hand seat, wearing a small proud smile. “Did I touch your mind?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not that I could notice.”

Akanah nodded. “A long time ago, one of the Circle discovered that when she achieved a particularly profound Meditation of Immersion, she would disappear from the view of others. Much later, we learned how to take an object in with us and leave it there.”

“Where do you go when you disappear?”

“Where do you go when you dream? It’s impossible to say. What does an answer from that context mean in this one?”

“Well—is it difficult?”

She shrugged. “Once mastered, it’s no more difficult or mysterious than concealing a cup of water by pouring it in the sea.” Then she smiled. “But achieving mastery is much like trying to remove that cup of water afterward.”

“And you’ve merged this ship?”

“Yes. Some time ago, while I was in meditation.”

“Will the engines still work?”

“Did the floors of your hermitage hold you, and the roof keep out the rain?”

Luke wrinkled up his face. “So we’re completely undetectable now?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing is absolute. But we’re safe from eyes, and from the machines that are like eyes.

gotta say, Luke totally deserves being dragged so hard here, given his behavior in these books.

“If I have to pick between your being an illusion and your being real, Akanah, I think I have reason enough to know that you’re real.”

OH COME ON WHY THIS COYNESS ABOUT THE SEX, LUKE??? Are you never even going to talk about it directly???

Oh, and Luke deduces that the Fallnassi are around him, and he can’t see them, which is clever. Not all of them are human - interesting. Luke convinces them to abandon their vows and help the NR against the Yevetha.

Leia goes to see Mon Mothma, which is kinda nice. They watch birds and it’s nice for Mon to be a mentor figure to Leia.

Leia turned and looked back at her mentor. “But I still don’t know how to choose between the other two.”

“I think you do,” said Mon Mothma. “What you don’t know is how to live with the choice. And there I can be of no help to you. That secret escaped you when the clarity left you.”

“When did that happen?” Leia asked, returning to sit on the edge of the stool at Mon Mothma’s feet. “I didn’t see it go—did you? Never before in my life have I struggled with decisions, or with accepting their consequences. It’s been so strange, watching myself from the inside, wondering why this woman was speaking for me.”

“Your clarity came from your certainty that our cause was just and our purpose worthy,” Mon Mothma said. “But there is little certainty of that kind to be had in a place like the Senate, in a city like Imperial City. Certainty is eaten away by the thousand and one compromises that are the currency of democracy. Causes fall victim to the building of consensus. Accountability becomes so diffused that it vanishes, and agreement becomes so rare that it startles.”

OH NO, there’s the duality again. Luke and Leia are mirrors of each other - see Luke’s ideas about isolation vs. civilization earlier. Sigh.

#star wars #eu fuckery #the black fleet crisis

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

quiet on widow’s peak (11)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 35.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil hates taking public transit anywhere that he hasn't memorized a route and the inevitable issues with it, but he's not about to ask his parents for a ride to the city. In fact, he ducks out of the house with nothing but a 'be back later' tossed over his shoulder. His stomach is making unhappy noises the entire ride to the Rusholme area, and he regrets not putting a cereal bar or something in his bag after his parents went to sleep. He supposes that he could have braved breakfast and his parents' disappointment, but he desperately did not want to deal with that so early in the morning.

He's grumpy from lack of caffeine and food by the time he tumbles into the coffee shop, but he can't help his mouth from curving upwards when he sees Dan behind the counter. They're handling a customer, but their face lights up when they make eye contact with him, like they thought he wouldn't show. Phil gives them a little wave and drops his stuff on an armchair by the cozy fireplace. He's planning on being here for a while, he might as well stake his claim on the good seat now.

The fact that the chair has an unobstructed view of the counter isn't on purpose, but Phil can't pretend he isn't happy about it. He takes his jacket and scarf off, waiting for the stranger to go away so he doesn't have to hem and haw over his breakfast choice with an audience.

Phil should probably be using this time to look at the drinks on the chalkboard menu or the fresh pastries in the case, but he's too distracted.

It's been a day. A single day. Less, even, since it hasn't been a full 24 hours. And yet his eyes keep drifting back to Dan like it's been ages since he's seen them. Their eyes are lined thickly with what looks like black ink and their lips are shiny, but their face is otherwise bare. Phil wouldn't be able to clock the lack of makeup at all if he hadn't woken up beside Dan's clean face and accidentally memorized it.

Finally, the customer leaves, and Phil is free to approach the bar without feeling like an idiot. He gives Dan a sheepish sort of grin as he sidles up, only now looking at his options.

"Morning," says Dan, in that vaguely cheerful customer service voice. They push their sleeves up to their elbows like they need to be doing something with their hands, and Phil gets distracted again by the new shade on their nails and the shape of their forearms. "What can I get you?"

"Uh," Phil says eloquently. "Coffee. And food?"

Dan's smile twists into a smirk and they look like they're barely holding back laughter. "Funnily enough, we do those things here. Do you know what kind of, uh, coffee and food you want?"

It takes all of Phil's self control not to flip Dan off or tease them right back. He wouldn't bother holding back, normally, but there's a man with a 'manager' nametag working the espresso machine and the last thing he wants is to get Dan in trouble. Phil turns his attention to the menu again. He's retaining just as much nothing as he was before. "Uh," he says again. After a moment of thought that lasts far too long, Phil ends up shrugging. "Surprise me?"

"Sure," says Dan. Their eyes are sparkling, and Phil finds that just as hard to look away from as the glitter that had been on their face before.

"I'm kinda lactose intolerant," Phil informs them, just for something to say that he doesn't have to think too hard about. "And I like sugar. Like a lot."

"I can work with that." Dan shoos him away with their big hands, still smirking. "Go on, go sit down. If we get busy back here I'll call for you, but I can probably just bring it over."

Phil glances at the manager. "You sure?"

Dan follows his gaze, brow furrowed in slight confusion, and then rolls their eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Gabe doesn't give a shit if we talk to our friends as long as we get our work done. Right, Gabe?"

"Whatever," Gabe says, almost monotone in how little he seems to care.

"It's fine," says Dan. "Go. Sit."

Phil doesn't have much of a choice but to go take up camp by the fireplace. He takes out his phone and checks in with his friends to make sure they got home alright and to subtly see if any of them are mad at him. He doesn't like the idea of them feeling like the whole weekend was a bust - even if it kind of was - and he likes the idea of them being irritated with him even less. He's having enough trouble with the reality of his parents being unhappy with his choices.

The last thing he needs is for the other important people in his life to be feeling the same way. He fields PJ's concern and Chris' flirting and Sophie's helpful links to sleep paralysis theories with relative ease. He doesn't care about his own problems with the Wilkins place or the situation he's put himself in as much as he cares about what his best friends think.

The fact of the matter is, Phil knows he can't do this forever. He doesn't need his parents telling him that. He likes what he does, more often than not, but it's getting harder and harder to keep pushing himself into a routine that he might have outgrown by now.

He has so many ideas. There are so many stories he wants to tell and far too many different ways he could be telling them. He wonders if he keeps going back to other peoples' ghost stories because it's easier, safer, than putting innermost parts of himself out there for public consumption. Luckily, his friends aren't pushing him yet. He imagines it's only a matter of time before they notice that he's just going through the motions.

Even so, he doesn't like hearing things from his parents about his wasted potential. He doesn't need them to say what he's already thinking about all the time.

"Hey, you still on Earth?"

Phil starts a bit and almost drops his phone. Dan is standing there, setting a steaming mug and a cinnamon roll on the rickety end table at Phil's elbow. They smile at him and he smiles back, just a little embarrassed about zoning out so drastically.

"Sorry," he says, immediately reaching for the mug. "Haven't had coffee yet."

"What a tragedy," says Dan.

"It is," Phil insists. He takes a big gulp of the drink, ignoring Dan's protests that it's too hot. The mix of chocolate and cocoa hit his tongue and probably scald it, but Phil isn't about to start waiting for his drinks to cool down now. He hums happily and fits both hands around the mug to leech its warmth. "Oh, this is good."

He doesn't think he's imagining how pleased Dan looks by the compliment, but he manages to half convince himself that they're just proud of their barista-ing skills.

"Thanks," Dan says happily. They shift their weight from one foot to the other and pull their sleeves back down. Phil wonders if they're actually getting warm and then cold again, or if they just don't know how to act when their hands aren't busy with something. Phil notices that the shop is more or less dead - there's a trio of students with earphones in and textbooks open by the window and Gabe obviously continues to exist behind the counter, but it's not at all the same vibe as spending a late morning in a Brighton Starbucks. Phil has done that many times, and all it ever manages to do is make his anxiety worse.

He doesn't feel like that here, like he's taking up space and not moving fast enough. He feels like he's allowed to loiter here as long as he wants to, as long as he keeps buying coffee and doesn't distract Dan too much. It's nice.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Phil asks.

Dan's cheeks flush a bit, more obvious without the glitter and skin-like paste - Sophie might have called it foundation, once, but Phil thinks that's probably a house term and not a face term and he hadn't actually been listening closely.

"Well, yeah," they say with a tiny shrug. "I can only sit down for a bit at a time until my breaks, but Gabe doesn't care if I hang out over here. I just gotta look busy."

"Okay," says Phil. He waits for another couple of seconds before he gently adds, "You don't look busy."

Something in Phil's stomach twists when Dan blushes deeper and starts pretending to organize the trinkets on the mantle. He wonders how much of Dan's insistence on moving around is because of where they are and how much of it is their inability to sit still. It's unfortunate how cute Phil finds them. He really shouldn't.

He decides to put off this line of thought, again, because he's got a cinnamon roll and an unfortunately-cute person to focus on. He's not going to think about how many times he's already procrastinated this budding crush. He eats and drinks and makes idle comments about where certain things should be and generally winds Dan up a bit. They only manage to sit still for a couple minutes at a time, even though they need to help a total of customers twice more before Phil needs a refill.

The drink Dan brings over this time is a different colour than the mocha, and Phil sniffs at it suspiciously before taking a sip. He was raised well, so he doesn't spit it out, but it's a close call. Dan seems to see something on his face, because they throw back their head and cackle a bit.

"Okay, not a dark roast guy," they tease, reaching for the mug like they intend to give Phil something else entirely. Phil pulls it out of their reach and shakes his head.

"No, hey, I'll drink it," he huffs. "Just point me to the sugar. I need a gallon of it."

Phil doesn't actually get much opportunity to talk to Dan in the handful of hours he sits around the coffee shop, but that doesn't surprise him very much. He gets comfortable with his laptop, legs tucked up under him in increasingly pretzel-like ways, and passes the time by editing the footage they do have. It isn't much, and that almost frustrates him enough to walk out and get the soonest train south, but every time he reaches that point, Dan is there with their big smile and another experimental drink in hand.

He's never really considered himself picky when it comes to hot drinks, since he likes his coffee instant and his tea weak, but Dan is quickly changing his mind about that. Most of the things Dan brings him are gross or just not something Phil would ever voluntarily order again, and Phil starts to think that he's probably the problem here.

"No more," Phil whines when he sees Dan making another mug of something indistinguishable.

The students in the corner have left, although Phil can't remember when, and Gabe is in the back doing... something, so he doesn't feel self-conscious talking across the small shop. At this point in the day, it's just him and Dan.

Dan laughs loudly and shakes their head. "This is for me, you big baby," they say. "My shift is done. I figured I could have a drink, if that's quite alright with you."

"I suppose that's fine," Phil grins. He saves all his work and shuts down his laptop, stretching his legs out for the first time in ages. He's gotten up to pee enough times that Dan probably thinks there's something wrong with him, but he's been in a bit of a research vortex. "Thanks. For, y'know, letting me come hang out here."

"Sure, anytime," Dan says. They sound sincere about it, not like they're just saying so.

"What do I owe you?" Phil asks, digging around in his bag for his wallet. He doesn't have all his equipment with him or anything, but his laptop bag is still cluttered with a bunch of nonsense he doesn't actually need to carry around.

Dan rattles off a number that doesn't sound correct at all, so Phil adds another bill to the pile before heading to the counter. Dan opens their mouth like they're going to protest. Phil isn't exactly in the mood to argue, so he just walks back to his chair without a word. He hears a loud, exasperated sort of sigh behind him, but then the sound of the cash drawer opening. Dan ducks into the back room for a couple of minutes and when they come back they're out of uniform and holding a travel mug with Pokémon all over it.

They're dressed more comfortably than Phil has seen them before. A dark hoodie that's clearly a couple sizes too big is hanging off their frame, falling somewhere around their thighs. It's a different shade of black than their leggings, but Phil doesn't think it matters to them. Their curls are a bit ruffled from being under a cap - still looking as soft as Phil remembers, though.

"Hi," Dan says, grinning a bit hesitantly as they sit in the armchair across from Phil. They hold their travel mug close to their face like it's a shield, but it's no use. Phil already saw the pink tinge of their cheeks and won't be fooled into thinking it's from the heat.

"Hey," Phil says, resisting the urge to hide his own smile behind his hand. "That hoodie looks so comfy."

Dan looks down, as if they'd already forgotten what they threw on. "Oh, yeah, it really is. I basically need pyjamas for this lecture or I'll be grouchy all day."

"What class was it?" Phil asks. He realises that he doesn't actually know what Dan is studying. Then his brain tumbles further down that rabbithole, because there's a lot he doesn't actually know about Dan. They've spent so much of their new friendship just talking about Phil's job and all the nonsense that comes with it.

"Human Impacts on the Biosphere," Dan says with a wry smile, like they know exactly how little Phil knows about the topic.

"You're studying biology?" Phil asks. Dan shakes their head, but they don't laugh or anything like Phil's question is a stupid one. He feels like it probably was.

"Environmental science," Dan corrects him. "But it's a biology class, so you're not far off."

"That's really cool," Phil says sincerely.

Dan blinks a few times in quick succession, and the fluttering of their long lashes is hypnotizing. They seem surprised that Phil is taking an interest, or maybe that Phil finds science cool. He doesn't know anything about it, really, but that's never stopped him from being interested in a topic. Especially when someone who actually knows what they're talking about is walking him through it - like Sophie with her experiments or PJ with his junkyard sculptures. Phil doesn't have to have a working knowledge of something to enjoy talking about it.

"Really?" Dan says, that familiar skepticism behind their sparkling eyes.

"Save the planet and all that, right?" Phil guesses. He must have guessed right, because Dan gives him a smile brighter than the fire beside them. "Yeah, I don't know much about it, but it sounds cool. What year are you in?"

"Third year, ready to be done with it."

Phil remembers what that was like. He also remembers all over again that Dan is twenty-one, like the fact had been simmering just under the surface until now. It isn't that Phil is drastically older than them or anything - more like he's nostalgic for an age he didn't even like all that much when he was experiencing it.

Things were their own kind of screwed up in Phil's third year of uni, but at least he still had... hope. Hope that his parents would come around to the hobby that was slowly starting to make him money, hope that he'd find a guy who liked his particular brand of weirdness, hope that he'd be able to do something with his life that he enjoyed. One by one, those hopes started to feel further and further away until he was here, turning twenty-six in two months and with nothing but a moderate-to-severe anxiety disorder and a couple thousand quid in his savings to show for it. He never even found a guy who'd put up with him for longer than two dates. He wonders what sort of hopes Dan has right now. He tries not to wonder how long it's going to be before they, too, start to feel like it's useless.

"Are you okay?"

Phil shakes himself out of his own thoughts, meeting Dan's eyes again. They're so warm and lovely that Phil feels a bit better just looking at them.

"Yeah," he lies, starting to pack up his stuff. "Just hungry, y'know. Teatime."

"Oh, right," says Dan. They look a bit startled, but whether that's from Phil's abruptness or the time of day, Phil has no way of knowing. "That makes sense. Want me to walk you to the bus stop?"

That sounds nice. Then Phil remembers what's waiting for him at the other end of the bus ride, and he shakes his head. "No, uh. I was thinking about getting dinner in town." He looks down so he doesn't have to see whatever Dan's expression does when he adds, "And I'd love company, if you... want."

"Do I want to have dinner with you?" Dan repeats, like they aren't quite sure if that's what Phil actually said. Before Phil can answer, though, they're already talking again. "Obviously, yes. There's a great sushi place down the street if you like sushi, and if you don't like sushi there's other good restaurants all over the place, like there's -"

"I love sushi," Phil interrupts before Dan settles into yet another ramble. He's too nervous to look Dan in the eye again, even with the positive reaction. "Let's go. My treat."

#it is wednesday my dudes #we're back on a schedule babeyyyyy #quiet on widow's peak #words words words

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sarah--goff · 5 years

Text

T.D.M: Chapter 15: Absolution

You wake unexpectedly in the height of the afternoon.

When you slit an eye open, you let your surroundings sink in, your whole body felt like it was lined with lead, you couldn’t so much as shift your arms. It takes a lot of strength to turn to lay on your side with your legs tucked underneath you. When you manage the fetal position, you’re dripping with sweat and panting slightly.

You feel as though all you really want to do is sleep, you could sleep forever and ever right now you need rest.

You close your eyes again grimacing at the pain of doing so as well as the stabbing pain above your eyebrow. You briefly wondered what the hell had happened to you to cause it when everything hit you like a bolt of lightning.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. Your chest feels tight. You don’t know what to do.

The whole world comes crashing down. The 13 hours were long since up. You’d lost.

You’d lost.

“I’ll give you a challenge: a chance to win back your freedom-if you wish. If you complete my task, you’re free to go. But if you lose, you stay with me- in my castle. Forever” .

You start to cry, softly at first and then loudly sobbing and hate yourself for it. Don’t give him the satisfaction you pleaded but the tears wouldn’t stop.

You could never go back to home, never see your friends, never walk home after a long day at school in the summer evenings, never slope off to the empty park grounds to sit by the green ponds whenever you felt like it, never see your only remaining family, never sit in your tiny freezing bedroom , drawing idly with the blankets huddled around you, cursing Kari for making you do the dishes, cursing your life, wishing to leave…

You’d sold yourself out. How stupid could you have been to think you could have won the Labyrinth?

You had no-one to blame but yourself for this mess, you should have known better, right from the start that the Labyrinth would be rigged against you. He’d done everything in his power to slow you down from the start; the overturned stone, the changing Labyrinth walls, the Riddler Guards, his little distractions, the disguise, the Goblin King was so desperate to stop you from winning. Well now he had, he’d won.

And Hoggle! You felt deeply cut by his betrayal, above all else, the Goblin King was the villain you could excuse his deceit, but Hoggle? How could he have been so cruel to lead you astray twice?

You lie there alone in the bedroom, weeping helplessly on your back, tears rolling down your cheeks, unable to wipe them away or hide the pathetic sob noises you were making. You cried harder, shoulders juddering at every sob.

“I was going to win” you cry hoarsely aloud to make up for the frustrating paralysis “I was going to win ”

The blue coat swings on the peg of the door as it creaks open, with a gloved hand appearing around the frame of it.

“You’re awake I see” Jareth’s voice slices through your buzzing thoughts like a hot knife in butter.

He closes the door behind him, mumbling something in another language at it with a raise hand before turning to you. The sun’s rays burst through the window dancing on the flagstone floor.

You suck your breath in sharply. The game was over. What was he going to do now? Torture you, humiliate you, make you his little jester-play thing when he got bored? It didn’t matter, you were here now. ‘Forever’.

The Goblin King shrugged off his own leather, pegging it over the blue cloak then pulled out a stool you hadn’t noticed by your bed, sitting at it, so he was level with you.

He noticed your silence, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned in “Oh come, come, come now, Sloane, why so much haughtiness and dread? Where is that adventurous little thing who braved every crevice of my labyrinth? I thought you’d be more than glad to be away from it”

Was he really that oblivious? Or psychotic? Or maybe he just assumed you’d forgotten all about the Oubliette episode, haughtiness and dread didn’t even sum up what you were feeling now he had you right where he wanted you. You can feel your thudding pulse in your eye sockets and in your legs.

You said nothing, not even meeting his eyes. You chose to stare straight ahead instead, at the tapestry on the wall, willing yourself not to cry again.

He raised his hand holding a crystal, purple and glowing and you flinch at the sudden movement.

“You stay away from me” you yelp finally finding your voice, edging away from the hand paused over you. “You and your fucking magic”.

He closed the hand with an exhale, evading the light from his palm “you need your healing today, you’ll grow weak without it” he said matter-of-factly.

“Bullshit” you breathe through the rising lump in your throat, you ball the rich quilt you’re lying under in your hands, “you just want keep me this-s way, weak and help-helpless”.

“I would never hurt you” he put his hand over your balled fist and you manage to jerk it away though it feels so weighted down. “My rose-“

“Don’t fucking touch me” you hiss out.

The whole room was spinning, you have to close your eyes, you feel like you’re drunk. “Why do I feel… so heavy?” you turn your head to face him, with narrowed eyes “you’ve done something to me. Druh-drugged me or something”.

Jareth puts the damp cloth in the wash bowl with some leaves floating in it, then extracted it, squeezing the water from it carefully. You watch it run, the trickling noises against the stillness giving you goose-bumps.

“It’s your mortal body reacting to the magic exposure,” he said flatly “it can’t possibly handle it all at once, so it must be fed more in small doses to balance it out” he pushes the little hairs falling in front of your face out of the way to put the clothe to your forehead, holding your arm down at your twisting protests. “It’ll adapt in time”.

In time.

A surging heat passes through your stomach. You squeeze your eyes shut at the pain “oww ughhh ” you curl up clutching yourself “you’ve done this to me” you say, sliding your accusing eyes to him, “you ”

He pauses the dabbing on your forehead to meet your eyes.

“I did not plan for things to go this way. Believe me”.

That meaningful look, so cruel and so kind. You flicker to the ballroom where you had been under the same look.

You turn away to cross your arms over your aching stomach.

“Oh no?” you gasp through clenched teeth “but you’re happy now aren’t you? Satisfied with yourself, you got your own way event- eventually” you cursed yourself at the rising lump in your throat “but me? What did I get? A one -way ticket to servitude. Slap on the shackles now”.

“I don't care for your tone,” Jareth's demeanour becomes more callous, throwing down the clothe in the bowl and putting a hand on his hip “everything I’ve done, ever since we met, I’ve done for you.”

The sky had become overcast and you shivered in the chill of the absent sun.

You scoffed looking at him over your shoulder “keep telling yourself that, it doesn’t change the facts” .

Jareth stood sharply so the stool screeched backwards against the floor. “The ‘facts’?” He spat standing at the foot of the bed for you to look at him properly.

“You want to know the facts? My ‘gift’ to you Sloane, was exactly that. A gift, to repay you. A way out, a way to make sure you could live happily ever after by binding you to fae rules, which I bent for you” he hissed “the facts are, that I gave you thrilling adventure away from your tedious life, gave you gorgeous dreams, made you smile, made you laugh, even given you a place in my kingdom. You chose to ignore what you dislike, what doesn’t fit into this villainous character you’ve warped me into. I have been generous- but I can be cruel”.

“Generous!” you sat up straight, refusing to wince at the pain of the fluid movement “You arrogant prick! What have you done that’s generous?”

“Everything!” he snapped throwing his arms up. “Everything you wanted I have done! You wanted someone to listen? I did. You wished to be “taken away”? I took you. I have re-ordered time-”

Jareth gestured to the grand clock on the wall - like the one you’d seen in the outskirts when you first started the Labyrinth- spinning its thin black hands backwards and then forwards wildly around the face.

“-to ease your hardships in my Labyrinth, a challenge you wanted to enter -and I let you- I have turned the world upside down and I have done it all for you. I’m exhausted from living up to your expectations” he frowned with a defeated sigh “Isn’t that generous?”

You pressed your mouth in a straight line for a while but then a tear brimmed daringly in your eye.

“You tricked me into trusting you, you threatened my freewill -giving me no choice but to run in the Labyrinth then you brought me here, to this bloody place, and I didn’t ask, then you try to scare me into submission when things weren’t going your sodding way” you tick off with as much venom as you can put in a hushed whisper “and it’s not okay. It just isn’t”

He stares you out for a time and you glare back at him. He opened his mouth to say something when you bent double, thudding back against the pillows, writhing in pain “aughhhh”.

The wind outside rose, you could hear the tree by the window drop all its leaves in the abrupt uproar.

He’s by you side in a flash.

“Here, let me” Jareth opened his palm, purple light flooding from it. You nodded frantically, squeezing your eyes shut, forgetting your pride in the burning of your ribs.

He knelt before you, gesturing to you to move your shirt up so he could lay his hand on your skin.

You shivered at the contact but then hissed as it seeped through.

“Gahh !” you clutched his forearm, fingers digging into his clothing and clenching your teeth together. You bit back the tears, writhing in pain. “It’ll be over in a moment” Jareth said gently to soothe you in the pain, you grasped the material harder.

You don’t want to look at the light flooding into your skin and stare down at him instead while he works. From up close you notice only now that he’s wearing more make-up than usual, it’s sharper, darker, his hair looked fluffier, little silver bits among the blonde shining in the purple glow. He’s even dressed up a little. Your heart skips a beat. For me?

“All done” Jareth finishes up, catching you staring at him. You forget that your hand is now relaxed on his forearm and his palm on your rib-cage. The Goblin King’s eyes flicker down to where you’re absentmindedly rubbing the pad of your thumb across his shoulder.

You remove your clutch on him immediately, heat radiating from your face. “It…feels better. The pain’s gone completely” you cough.

The burning sensation disappears from your sides like a weight lifting from your shoulders. You can push back the quilts and sit up properly against the pillows without wincing and then swing your legs over the bed.

You stare at the flagstone floor.

For a moment, nobody says anything. What else is there to be said?

“Your run in my Labyrinth might be over,” Jareth broke the silence, in a tone bordering on grave.

He slipped both of his hands over your own “however, you and I, Sloane Hazel, we're far from finished,”

You blankly stare down at the large hands cupping your own, but you don’t yank them away.

It’s wrong, it’s very wrong to feel wanting. No, you hadn’t forgotten the chemistry in the ballroom, dream or no dream, you'd been so comfortable and you both knew it. Your tell-tale spiked pulse said everything.

Your mouth parts and closes as if to say something but you remain silent. The memories of your first introduction creep into mind.

“Do you want it?” he held it out for you to take. “You’re unhappy here. But I could make you happy” he said it almost in a whisper.

He held out his hand earnestly for you to take “come, leave your little cell of room behind, leave your dreadful family and just run away from it all”.

Why did a traitorous tiny part of you get a dark thrill over the fact that he might have genuinely wanted to steal you away to keep you right from the start? Your stomach flutter at the possibility that his offer might have been selfless, no underlying cruelty? That he wanted you for you, not just something to control?

You glance at Jareth’s face, clearly reading your own. You wait for him to irritably sigh or retreat like he had done before but instead he watched the cogs in your mind turn patiently. All traces of his earlier smug taunting had completely dried-up.

“I know” you said eventually “…I know I lost the challenge . And… I suppose you only did the right thing, bringing me here…” you gestured flatly to the room, and your healed side. “A deal is a deal” you admit as much as it pains your heart, accepting the gravity of the situation that you were stuck in.

Jareth gave away nothing in his expression “go on” he said curiously.

“If I’m bound to stay here I…I think we should set a few things straight” yes. okay. good. Ground rules.

“You mean you have requests?” Jareth stated rather than questioned in a monotonous voice, he folded his arms, awaiting you to continue.

“Well, yes…Maybe given the circumstances…” you said sternly

“I believe I’ve been more than fair to you” he said coldly and for a minute you think he’ll straight-up rebuke you, but instead his expression changes suddenly. He held his chin with his propped hand, mulling something over and continued.

“but, never let it be said I ever refused Ms Sloane Hazel” Jareth exhaled. “I’ll humour you, if you humour me”.

Fuck.

Ah, see what you’ve done? Now doesn’t this scene sound all too familiar?

The voice in your head derided you,

and what did Hoggle warn you about? Shady deals?

You tried not to swallow and give away your doubts, you toy with the red quilt between your fingers when an idea comes to you.

“How about…quid pro quo?”

He smiled wide so you could see those feline teeth “now there’s the Sloane Hazel I was waiting for. My dear, I believe I’m beginning to rub off on you”.

You shrugged like it was no big deal “then we both get what we want” please say yes, please say yes.

“Quid pro quo it is” there was a daring twinkle in his eye. “Go on, go on, I’m all ears”

Stay humble you warned yourself. Tit-for-tat goes both ways.

“First off, no more tricks to get me onside like you did in the Labyrinth, no playing glamour dress up to fuck with me”

“But of course, I need not to now”

You glared at him pointedly.

“It was brilliant though wasn’t it? My performance sterling” Jareth jovially tossed a crystal in the air and when he caught it, you found yourself staring back at Sage, the mysterious, kind, peasant woman who fed you.

“a rose, for a rose?” Jareth croaked in her voice.

He fluttered the crystal in his hands until his withered finger-tips held a yellow rose out to you, but you flicked it away.

“cut it out Jareth,” you said meeting his gaze under the green shawl, the warmth in her smile had vanished and instead sliced through you “it’s creepy”.

Sage- Jareth- gave a withered smile before transforming back in front of your very eyes.

“I thought that was you, you know” you frown, not the least bit surprised that the only person kind enough to you for more than five minutes in that Labyrinth was a rotten glamour trick. “And no more magic drugging. No magic against me in any way, shape, or form, I’m serious” you sniffed. "The soup wasn’t great either by the way- I was just hungry”.

Jareth laughed at that returning to his own rich regal voice.

“Very well, you have my word, no ‘magic drugging’ as you put it. Which brings me onto my request; you will accompany me for meals, morning, noon and night, regardless”.

You raised an eyebrow a strange request “done” but it was harmless you supposed.

“Now that I’m here, I want to see the Underground, properly” you gestured to the small turret room, already the walls were beginning to cave in “I won’t be held in here, it’ll drive me nuts”.

“that can be arranged” he nodded “you’re not my prisoner, Sloane, I fully intend for you to see my land for all it is” he said proudly “you may go wherever your curious heart desires in my kingdom, but the outskirts and the labyrinth itself are strictly out of bounds. That’s part of the deal.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he put his hand up to silence you.

“My kingdom, my rules” Jareth sang. “I know the Labyrinth better than anyone, it submits to me only, it’s not somewhere for strolling. No contentions”

“Whatever, I’m not in a hurry to go back any time soon” you nodded with a shiver, it would take something extreme to get you back in there.

You cross your legs underneath you on the bed putting your hands in your lap. “I wish for at least some privacy, to write and draw, like I used to in my… old room,” you explained looking down at your hands “it would be nice to still do normal things”

Jareth folded his arms across his chest, sticking his hands under his armpits, “of course” he scoffed “you really think I would restrain my favourite artist?” you smiled back at him at that, shaking your head with a blush.

“Furthermore, on the subject of kingdoms, I am your king now and you will treat and respect me as such, like every other citizen, regardless of our association,” he smiled shrewdly.

Oh, he was beginning to enjoy this, you could tell.

“you live in my kingdom now, in my castle, under me, your sovereign. The ways of the Above do not concern me”

You frown “under you?”

He waved dismissively, “I only require what every other monarch would require of their citizens. Please continue, my rose,” The Goblin King inclined his head in a slight, inviting bow.

You licked your dry top lip quickly “I get to see my family”

“No dice I’m afraid”

“What? Why!”

“As I explained to you, you belong to the Underground now, the Above does not concern me, besides, the deal was that you lose and you stay forever, if you remember correctly”

“I …” you let that sink in you should have been paying attention to his wording before you agreed to that stupid challenge. You would never see your aunt and uncle again. Ever.

“My friends?” you suddenly remembered you looked to him hopefully.

He shook his head “Same rules apply. The Above is forbidden”

You held back the strangled gasp. Kari and Brian were family, your mother’s blood, no less, but your life- long friends, Jan, the people you’d practically grown up with. Poof. What would they think happened to you? That you ran away? That you were kidnapped? They would never know.

“You can’t just expect me to leave everything behind!” you stutter. The reality was very much settling within you. “Like I didn’t have a whole life there!”

You felt like you were going to throw up suddenly. Your stomach heaved dangerously.

Jareth only tilted his head in reply. An act that said “you should have thought about that before you were willing to put that on the table”.

“There will be far too many questions. Believe me it’s for the best.”

“I don’t understand! What do you mean!”

“Your time in the Underground is turning you , I already explained that your mortality was being balanced out with magic” Jareth picked his words carefully

“the exposure, will slowly begin to change your mortal being,” his tone became serious “ you’re part magic now at least, like me, you’ll remain very much the same as you are now, it would be difficult to hide it from your acquaintances as time goes, even with glamour magic” .

“I don’t believe you” you reply tartly. “That’s impossible” but your mind was racing already.

“Nothing’s impossible. You’d think you’d come to realise that by now” he gave that Cheshire cat’s grin.

He was right. Any manner of questioning possibility was ruled out the second you stepped foot in the Underground. Another thought crossed your mind

“wait, how old are you ?” you’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t human, another worldly being…That you would come to be too?

The Goblin King grinned cupping his chin “how old do you think?”

“I don’t know…around... forty” you offered generously with a vague wave of your hand.

He threw back his head and laughed and you glare at him. “Well that’s how old you look!” you protested “well go on then, tell me”.

“Why? Afraid I might be too refined for your taste?” he winked suggestively

You shoved his shoulder “I was thinking more ‘cradle snatcher’ ”

The Goblin King’s eyes danced in amusement “more than you know”

“and yet you’re still the biggest child I’ve ever met”

“Ah, the biggest child you’ve met so far”

“You’re a smart-arse, bleach blonde, prick, you know that?” you found yourself smiling.

“You wound, sweet” he said in mock-annoyance, he pretended to ruffle his hair airily “this is all natural Ms Hazel”. Of course that’s what he’d pick up on.

“If you say so. Okay, so we have a deal then?”

“You have my word on all counts,” Jareth gave a short nod

“Me too” you stuck out you hand to shake on it but pushed it away with shaking his head amusedly.

“Don’t you know every deal must be sealed properly?”

“How?”

Jareth whisked his hand and a feathered quill and sheet of paper popped onto the writing table at the far end of the room. “The good old-fashioned way of course, a contract”

You pushed yourself off the bed to spot the long white scroll on the table, the calligraphy golden. You could see the small print at the bottom besides where each of you would sign.

“Well of course I knew that” you said huffily “Can I have a –“

“Here” he pushed the magnifying glass into your open hand before you had even asked for it.

“How did you know I was going to say that?”

“You’re a sharp girl, you’d want to read the small print. Of course, there’s really no need since I would never try and pull the wool over your eyes, my sweet” he blinked feigning innocence but oh boy, did you know better.

“Hmmm” you said plucking up the paper anyway to read it. You read it all thoroughly, as well as the actual details itself, everything you had both agreed on was there.

“Yep it’s all there” you held out your hand for the quill and scratched a messy “Sloane L. Hazel” across the black line, hoping to god this wouldn’t come back to bite you. The quill’s black ink bled into the paper drying out and turning gold. Inerasable.

“Hey!” you snapped when you’d finished, realising he’d been standing behind you staring at your arse while you had slightly bent over the desk. “Merely admiring the view” he chuckled at your sour expression, throwing the quill at him.

Jareth slowly and meanderingly leaned over the table, free palm resting on the wood flatly. You notice a marking on his hand beginning from his index finger and disappearing under his cuff's sleeve.

He'd signed it “The Goblin King of the Underground” alongside yours in large swirling loops which you rolled your eyes at but couldn’t help admiring the hair falling over his face before he stood tall again.

“Sloane L. Hazel” Jareth bobbed an eyebrow, reading your signature aloud “how very professional, what’s the L for I wonder?”

“L is for Lux- like a short way of saying ‘Lucky’ ” you shrug at his puzzled face.

“Lux” he repeated sardonically. “How tasteful”.

“My parents lapped up unusual names” you explain “before they knew they were having a girl, they agreed that my mum would pick the name if I was a girl, my dad a boy, so when they had me, my mum said she chose the name from one of her favourite books and my dad got to pick my middle name since the one he was going to pick was unisex.”

You smiled fondly remembering your dad telling you the story behind your strange name when you were younger. You had been in the kitchen making some god-awful muffins together for a change and set the smoke alarm off, Jeremy couldn’t cook for toffee.

“My dad told me it’s because they were very “lucky” to have me in their life, like ‘thanking their lucky stars’ or something but then my mum told me it was after the name of this bar they met in and he threw some flour at her”.

You laughed, remembering clearly the look of horror on your mother’s face as her entire outfit was splattered with the white powder and for a second your father had looked genuinely terrified of his wife until she had thrown some back at him, right in his face, and then he at you for laughing at the pair of them in the ridiculous scene, within minutes the kitchen was a winter wonderland. All three of you had rolled on the kitchen floor in the snow of the flour, coughing and spluttering- your parents tickling you until you thought you were going to burst. It was one of your happiest memories of them.

You were grinning brightly from ear to ear and staring off into the distance. You blinked rapidly coming back. You noticed Jareth had been listening intently and gave an embarrassed shrug.

It was strange telling the Goblin King about your parents when you rarely spoke about them to anyone. He already knew so much about you when you knew very little of him.

“They sounded wonderful” Jareth said softly with a small smile and you nodded in agreement

“They were. I was lucky to have them ” you swiftly changed the subject, “is this it then?” you nodded at the signatures.

“One more thing, now we each must knock on the wood”

“What?” you tilt your head “you’re having me on”

“Nonsense, you Abovelers say it all the time,” he tilted his head “don’t you know the meaning behind it?” Jareth rapped on the table to emphasise “It’s the only way to properly seal the deal”.

You hum, also knocking on the dark wood feeling silly. Your hand burnt like a flame had been held to it “ow!” you snatched it back, holding your burning wrist “what was that !”

He took your wrist, inspecting it curiously. “It’s the contract, as a reminder, look” twisting it over to show you the marking that had been etched on your skin.

“its sealed on your wrist to provide proof of the oath you knocked on- binding you to the contract” the strange marking was like a white tattoo, in the shape of a circular Labyrinth and an owl taking flight .

“The royal seal no less” he noted, inspecting his own wrist where the same seal was placed.

You took it back, rubbing the soreness. “Will it be there forever?”

“Most likely” he nodded. It was only tiny anyway.

You rolled your sleeve back down. “You mean you’ve never done this before?”

“Not personally no,”

“Then…What happens if either of us …break it?” your heart dropped at the thought. This was magic. There would be consequences surely.

Jareth gave a hapless shrug.

“You don’t know” you said drily in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say beforehand! What am I suppose to do now?”

“I suggest you be a good girl then” he grinned.

“It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you- you’re bound to break it” you put your hands behind your head and exhaled to let off steam idiot!

“Ye have little faith, Ms L. Hazel, I may surprise you yet” he scoffed

“Wait, there’s something else” you say, rubbing your temple one thing at a time, the thought bubbling in you before you forgot about it again.

“What? Don’t tell me you forgot to add something after that entire bloody ritual”

“No no, not about the contract- I mean, I want an explanation”

Jareth cocks his head quizzingly

“About all this, about you. I think I deserve an explanation. More than that actually” you stifled an abrupt yawn.

He smiled, “Very well, I’ll tell all tomorrow, deal?”

“Why not now” you pushed, eager for answers while he was still in the talking mood.

Another yawn hit you like a wave, you found yourself forcing your eyes open. How can you be tired already you’ve only just woken up. Bloody magic. “I’m all ears”.

He smiled ruefully, “You’re much too tired, besides I’ll want your full attention, you have a big day ahead you, so I suggest you get a good night’s rest” you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“tomorrow, I promise ” he rose and moved to the door,

“Jareth?” you called before he disappeared .

“Yes?” he lingered by the door looking at you expectantly.

“Maybe you’re not a bleach blond”

He smiled and nodded, wishing you a goodnight before disappearing, you heard the sound of a crystal ball rolling across the floor on the other side of the door.

Good night? Yeah fat chance of that. How were you supposed to sleep now?

Nevertheless, you climb into bed, the first day of the rest of your life was over. It can only get better from here, you assured yourself. Not like you just signed away your life for real or that you were half magic or something or another. It was also so confusing. Sleep was probably the best solution.

You inspect your wrist and then drop it to stare up at the four poster’s ceiling. What have I done? You'd never imagine you go in this deep.

_*_

In his hands, Jareth clutched the silly beggar disguise he used to hamper your progress, one final disguise. He exhaled air from his nose, amused over it, “hmmf” . It seemed so silly now.

He tucked it away in a trunk at the foot of the bed, it would be a while before he would use it again unless another one of those brat runners called upon him, wasting more of his time, still though it could be fun sometimes to watch their confusion.

He climbed into bed but found himself unable to sleep instantly, instead tracing the seal mark absent-mindedly on his wrist.

#Labyrinth #labyrinth fanfiction #labyrinth 1986 #labyrinthmovie #jareth x reader

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 5 years

Text

EoA ships fluff headcanons part 6

Most unexpected compliments

Eleteo: Mateo praising Elena for her governing smarts. I mean Elena knows she’s smart but she tends to view smarts as in the stem-kind Isabel is or lots of book knowledge like Esteban. She’s more of impulsive type. But when Mateo praised her for natural talent in diplomacy and just the sheer amount of names she had to know plus their habits and quirks, that was a smarts all on her own. As for Mateo, the compliment she gave him would be almost anything about his muscles as minx like she is. Mainly because Mateo is such a skinny thing as a child, he can’t believe someone would call him an Adonis. Gababel: Gabe praises Isabel for her inquisitiveness and how interesting she is even though many people wouldn’t find science as fascinating, whenever she tells her about it, he thinks it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Isabel praised Gabe whenever he showed his emotional vulnerability. All his life he had been put down by Roberto to act like a man so Isabel giving him sort of “permission” to cry and be sweet and gentlemanly, it is another thing that he loves about her. Estenaomi: The time that Esteban complimented Naomi for being prettier than any noble lady was a secret thrill for her. Though she shrugs it off and pretends she doesn’t compare herself to those snobby royal ladies, she can’t help but worry that Esteban will go back to his own class. That praise lifted her spirits to the clouds. As for Esteban, he was over the moon when Naomi told him that he was always number one to her. After being El Segundo, just those words, as corny as he teased her for, he loved it. Estoma: The compliment Esteban loved was when Doña told him that she could see no else being a better Chancellor than him. After all, the circumstances of how he became Chancellor is somewhat undeserved so he never felt like he was truly good at it. Especially with the added guilt of hurting his family and having to fulfill Shuriki’s horrid orders. So for someone to say that he was a perfect Chancellor. That meant a lot. Anyway, once Esteban called Doña adorable. She had thought he was being sarcastic after all she had been called “Gorgeous” “Sophisticated” “Hostile bitch”- “Adorable”? Never. But he meant it. She joked that love was making him hallucinate traits that weren’t there but she secretly appreciated it.

What spirit guide would their SO choose?

Eleteo: I'm just gonna stick with what they have because I agree with the choices and I really liked how well they fit. Elena is like a fox, crafty, sometimes impulsive and loves to be free in the world. Mateo is like a sloth being calm and patient in his doings and can be quiet good at insight to his surroundings. Gababel: Isabel would choose a wolf for Gabe because of it's fierceness, it's loyalty to it's pack/family and it can be quiet caring and nurturing. Gabe would choose a hummingbird for Isabel because of it's inquisitive nature, and the fact they both have a fondness for sweet substances. Estenaomi: Esteban would choose a sassy dolphin for Naomi and Naomi would say Esteban is a total preening peacock! No question about it. Proud of his great hair and clothes and can squawk quite a bit when he doesn't get his way which Esteban protests wholeheartedly. Estoma: I couldn't think of them saying nice ones so here it is. Esteban chooses Doña as a magpie. A shrill, annoying, chattering bird with a penchant for shiny things. Doña would say Esteban is a lapdog, enjoying luxuries people give him but is all bark and no bite when it comes to confrontation so he has to stew with what others decide for him. Whose more protective?

Eleteo: Since Elena inherited Luisa's mother hen tendencies, she's a lot more outwardly protective like when she gave Gabe those warning glares for dissing Mateo in Spellbound or getting a bit more distressed when Mateo is in danger even at the cost of an important jewel like in Jewel of Maru. But that's not to say Mateo is equally protective of Elena when danger comes calling. Spellbound and Song of the Sirenas is a big example of that. The sweet cinnaomon roll gets spicy when someone threatens his beloved shining light, and Ninjateo comes out with vengeance. Gababel: Gabe, obviously. It's part of his knight in shining armor charm. Isabel does want Gabe's protection but sometimes he can go overboard like when they are exploring an island and Isabel just needs to get these last few rock samples but Gabe thinks its too dangerous for her to trek through jungles even though she has done it thousands of times before. Estenaomi: Naomi is. Naomi is generally much more suspicious and streetwise than young!Esteban who wants to go adventuring everywhere and is willing to talk to anyone to get information even if those sources are less than reliable. Plus young!Esteban has a tendency to overestimate his own mortality so she has to pull him away from swinging over lava and crocodile invested lakes among other things even though he assures her he can totally climb that thousand feet mountain without proper safety gear.

Estoma: Esteban is. Blame it on everything he lost, but he is a bit protective about making sure no one hurts his family again. Nor the ones he loves.

Whose more protective of their food?

Eleteo: Neither is particularly. But Elena can be possessive of her pan dulces when she has them. So when Mateo teasingly takes a few from her plate, then the food fight is on. Of course, that just leads to some licking off each other's cheeks and fingers. A bit like that Gababel drabble you did on the private group chat. But Elena would also totally put a strawberry in her mouth and taunt Mateo into kissing her. Or even do an orange smile and think it's incredibly hilarious. Gababel: Isabel is. We all know Gabe will do anything for Isabel, including sharing food. Isa would do the same. Except when it comes to the pan dulces. Isabel loves those pan dulces and will basically hoard them in her cheeks if she is able to manage it. Gabe finds the image adorable and always teases her for the chipmunk cheeks. Estenaomi: Esteban. Let's just face it. Pan dulces and Flores family are like inseparable. So, Naomi often teases Esteban by hiding the food or stealing it for herself. Esteban's "tortured" reaction to her "betrayal" is often amusing to watch but Naomi has learned to be careful because Esteban often retaliates with creative pranks that she never sees coming. Also it bugs him when Naomi sometimes obliviously double dips. Estoma: Doña. Especially if she is already in a bad mood. "IF YOU DARE TAKE MY DANISH, I WILL REACH DOWN YOUR THROAT, PULL IT OUT, AND BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH IT." (Not my quote. But it's such a overwrought reaction to food being taken that I had to use it). Whose more picky?

Eleteo: Neither really. Elena is very enthusiastic about experiencing new cultures which includes eating their foods and Mateo has never been picky, he just doesn't eat a lot due to his studying as you hc. But Mateo is the more hesitant of the two when it comes to trying things like a kelp taco. BUT he also can't resist Elena's puppy dog look and enthusiastic face when she urges him to try a little bit. And that's when he learned that Marisa and Elena have the right idea when it comes to the deliciousness of kelp tacos. (I still can't get over that food choice) Gababel: Isabel is. Not because she is scared of the food but let's just say biology has made a big impact on how she views salmonella and E. coli. But that's more with regular foods. She will say yes to about any sort of dessert. Especially if her handsome baker boy makes it just for her. Estenaomi: Esteban is. Naomi is more adventurous due to having to adjust to eating new foods. Sometimes she likes to taunt him about that like by shoving the fried squid tentacles in his face. But she has also tried to help him get over his pickiness by sometimes putting the food in her mouth for a kiss or dousing it with sugar or using some sort of new meat in a tamale. Estoma: Esteban still is. Though Dona once tried to guilt him into eating new foods with this (not my) quote- "I had a pet goat growing up, Jenny. When I was eight, my parents ran out of food so they made me go outside and kill her. I had to skin Jenny, cook Jenny and eat Jenny. After that, I guess I just tried not to think too much about what I was eating anymore. And, well... I made damn well sure I wouldn't be in a position where I'd have to eat my favorite pet again." The plan backfired and instead of feeling grateful for food, Esteban lost his appetite completely.

Insecurity/flaw they help the other with

Eleteo: Elena tries to help Mateo with his insecurity and self doubt that eats him up inside. After years of hiding in the shadows of his basement (and okay partially inspired by Becky’s Mateo backstory from Magic Within) Mateo really doubts his worth, his ability and his value within the kingdom as a wizard and as a person. He berated himself for not being enough. Elena has a similar problem that though Mateo can see her greatness, sometimes Elena is too consumed with her failures as a queen. But moreover, he tries to help her ease the burden of when she tries to take on everything herself. That somehow all responsibility falls to her all the time. Gababel: Gabe tries to help Isabel when it comes to her perfectionism and need to have everything right. Though he adores how Isabel’s mind works, he gets concerned about when she overanalyzes and overthinks to the point of paralysis. Meanwhile Isabel helps Gabe with his need to repress his weak emotions and how no matter how much glory he achieves as Captain, the doubt in his head in the sound of his father’s voice that says he’s not doing enough and that he’s letting people down. Estoma: Isn’t it obvious what Esteban deals with. Survivors guilt. Big time. Also a overwhelming bouts of anxiety, depression and hopelessness along with a bit of a superiority inferiority complex coming from being “El Segundo.” She tries to help ease past the sins that make him an “evil man” and see that sometimes it’s okay to allow yourself to be loved. Which is almost like pot calling kettle since Doña has major emotional repression issues. Or asEsteban says emotional constipation since it annoys her. He tries to encourage her to you know, talk about her feelings at the moment instead of bottling it up for months, cracking and being an useless emotional wreck for a week. First impressions and how they’ve changed

Eleteo: Mateo’s first impression of Elena was first like freaked out amazement that they lost Princess was alive. Then just awe because of how brave, talented, etc etc she was. Though that sort of hero pedastle stayed, Mateo slowly got over his amazement of Elena as his queen and princess and began seeing her as a friend. He appreciated her kindness and that song during Spellbound made him realize how much Elena truly trusted in his magical expertise and cared for him. I also hc that was when Mateo first started feeling signs of a crush. Elena’s first impression of Mateo was one of relief since he got her out of the amulet. And she mainly saw him as adorkable. He was blushing, geeky wizard and of course she saw him in a very kind way but that also began to change as they developed their friendship. She saw his bravery, his dedication and enthusiasm and his moral need to do what was right and she began to see him as a true confident and ally and friend and eventual lover. Gababel: Obviously Gabe’s first impression of Isabel was that she was Elena’s kid sister. Nothing particularly big. But he did find her enthusiasm for science and inventions to be amusing even when they had been younger and the gap mattered more. The change came after Isabel grew up, went to college and returned home. He began to see her enthusiasm and sweetness in a new light. He came to know her dedication to science that was so similar to his focus on become a guard. He learned how fierce she was when it came to those she loved and her sweetness was not because of any passiveness but because she cared. Isabel saw Gabe as Elena’s cool, brave Guard Captain friend when they were younger but she did also note his kindness to her even when he didn’t really need to. So when they grew up Isabel began to see that kindness even more. How Gabe’s sense of duty wasn’t a need for glory and control but because he cared too about the well beings of those he loved. She became to understand how his anger connected to how he was raised by his father, and that confident exterior shielded a more complex and strategic mind underneath that she admired. Estenaomi: Naomi saw Esteban to be a snooty, impulsive guy-guy that thought too much of his ill-planned out plans. Esteban saw Naomi as someone who was much too sassy and hellbent on annoying him in every which way. But as the two began to hang out more together they gained a deeper understanding. They both bonded over how they wished to become something special, to do something more and make a lasting contribution. They also bonded over some of their similar insecurities in just staying in the background, Naomi as a commoner and Esteban as a pity case. Besides that Esteban began to appreciate how Naomi tried to keep things grounded and her practicality while Naomi enjoyed Esteban’s overdramatics and sense for adventure despite the consequences as thrilling and fun. Estoma: Esteban saw Doña as universal retribution sent to make his life even more difficult with her judgmental comments and two default modes- disdain or superiority when pointing out his mistakes. Doña saw him as a know it all, unfairly entitled, incompetent royal (to be fair Esteban was working for Shuriki who probably kept a long list of demands and orders that Esteban had to do while dealing with all the issues of the kingdom that she was neglected so he was more than a little harried and couldn’t give it all his 100%). However, at sometime during all their talks about finances, Esteban decided it would be a challenge to break her ice queen act and started pointing out all her mistakes in order to get her to snap. It took at least two months but it worked and then their great rivalry went off. And though it seemed like they never stopped bickering long enough to properly talk to each other, their first impressions did change a little bit. Doña saw that Esteban wasn’t incompetent, just overworked but that didn’t change just how much effort Esteban did put in when he was put in charge of something. He was methodical, dedicated, still too proud about his knowledge but he also had a soft heart. Esteban began to see that under the haughty arrogance was someone who valued hard work even above the amount of riches earned, still far too opinionated but also concerned with tradition and stability which he could appreciate after what he had lost. How do they handle disagreement between each other and making up afterwards?Eleteo: It would be tense I think with clipped words and some high emotions. But generally, they try to keep calm and they have a rule that they cannot walk away from the other in anger. The two talk out their disagreements and then have a cooling off period. By the time they return to the other, they both apologize and hug. Making up consists of extra time spent together so to assure each other that there are no hurt feelings and to calmly discuss that previous argument which means so little in the long run. Elena heaps up a lot of cuddles too. Estenaomi: The two usually separate after they have a major fight so they can cool off and think about things in a more rational manner. Then Esteban might come by her house with a treat or Naomi would stop by his room. Then they would try to talk it over like adults. Afterwards, they would spend some time on her ship, eating food and go back to their usual bantering since that is their version of normalcy and everything is okay again. Gababel: It would actually have a lot of yelling. Isabel is as stubborn as Gabe sometimes so they both refuse to budge on the issue. There would be a point that neither has anything else to argue so they stop, take a breath and return to the beginning. Most of the anger/passion is gone so they could approach things more rationally. Making up consists of lots of apologizing from both ends, hugging, and reassurances. If Gabe made Isabel cry, you can bet there would be some groveling too even if it goes a bit overboard. Estoma: In business disagreements, their general professionalism allows them to look past it to get a solution. In more personal disagreements, they are just very passive aggressive until one of them snaps and they start yelling at each other. Their make ups comprise of reluctant apologies and cautious small talk with a calming dinner afterwards. If one really feels bad, there might be a present the next morning. Gababel: It would actually have a lot of yelling. Isabel is as stubborn as Gabe sometimes so they both refuse to budge on the issue. There would be a point that neither has anything else to argue so they stop, take a breath and return to the beginning. Most of the anger/passion is gone so they could approach things more rationally. Making up consists of lots of apologizing from both ends, hugging, and reassurances. If Gabe made Isabel cry, you can bet there would be some groveling too even if it goes a bit overboard.

Nickname they give each other

Eleteo: As taken from a fandom consensus, Elena calls Mateo, ““Wizard King” along with other endearments like mi amor and mi querida. Mateo does the same, but also calls her “Shining light” (Never while they’re in Paraíso of course).

Gababel: Isabel calls Gabe all the usual affectionate terms and he does too, but her significant one for him was “My Knight” both for the literal description of him and for how she admires his strength and chivalry. Gabe calls her his brain, and more often, his soul because she is able to help him come down from the stoic battle guard captain mask he had to take on when in a fight and remind him of the lighter sweeter things he is protecting Avalor for.

Estenaomi: I put this under embarrassing nicknames but over time, Esteban comes to sincerely mean ““Miss Fiestypants” as an endearment since that feistiness is one of the things he loved about her. Naomi calls Esteban the Duke of Sin which she meant as a joke but he took as the highest of compliments and he insists on living up to it. Not that she’s complaining. Estoma: Doña calls Esteban, “El Primero.” Well the full nickname is “El primero en mí corazón.” But El Primero is shorter and a nice reverse of his loathed El Segundo nickname. Esteban calls Doña the usual mí amor or mí querida. He’ll occasionally call her “Pretty Bird” or “Labia Plata” which means silver tongue.

#estoma #estenaomi #eleteo #elena of avalor #gababel #my headcanons #my hcs #headcanons #elena castillo flores #isabel castillo flores #mateo de alva #naomi turner #doña paloma #gabe nuñez

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aurelieparra · 5 years

Text

It always amazed her how excited people were to ring in a New Year. They counted down the seconds as though they couldn’t wait to be rid of the last.

Wishing the time away could only be the pursuit of fools who hadn’t lost as much as she had.

The crowds had gathered at the front steps of The Kingdom, and the excitement amongst guests was palpable. Things had gone off without a hitch thus far; an expected feat, given the person she was lucky enough to be co-hosting with. People were happy. Hopeful for what was to come. It was a helplessly contagious feeling, and as the woman squeezed her husband’s hand, stepping outside so they could have a better view of the night sky when the fireworks began, she realised she’d spent more of the last decade missing that feeling than experiencing it.

To say the years before had been difficult was an offensive understatement; so inadequate a description of the hurt she had suffered that she’d selfishly laughed in the face of all empathy.

Aurélie’s mother had been pried from her by the cruellest of Russian hands, and she knew then, the same as she still knew today, that she didn’t have it in her to recover. Losing her little sister had only compounded the pain. It’d hit home the fear that everything dear to her was at risk. That she could be without those closest to her at any moment. That they would never have enough time. Launceston had taken so much from so many people—it’d almost taken her best friends, it’d almost taken her—that calling it home for a lifetime wasn’t enough to keep her from leaving.

A fresh start. Surely she deserved that much.

As she looked up at Oliver, she considered their life now, and how different it was from where they had started. To this day, she was sure she had never regarded someone with such awe. Had never loved someone so completely that the idea of ever being without them physically hurt in a way she wouldn’t have imagined possible before him. They had lost so much but gained even more. Aurélie wasn’t too proud to admit that he was the reason she had survived. The only reason, in her darkest hours, that she’d wanted to.

She thought about their three beautiful children.

About a grandfather she wished they’d had more time with.

“I love you,” she mouthed, no hope of being heard over the chants as the countdown began.

The woman smiled, her arm loosely finding its way around his waist as she leaned into him. Blocking out the rest of the crowd was always easy when he was her company. The very first time she’d met Oliver Parra, he might as well have been the only person in the room, and whilst they both might’ve changed over the years spent at each other’s side, that never would. Never could. Aurélie rested her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes as her body fought bittersweet tears.

The crowd shouted ten.

Nine.

Aurélie had never been a fan of resolutions, but this year she had a big one.

For all she could cry about what the last decade had taken from her, she was the only one who had the power to make the most of what she had left. Jenifer and her mother were gone—no amount or mourning, or revenge, or punishing herself could bring them back—but no matter what had transpired between them since the divorce, she still had her father. A man who had tried, despite the protests from a scorned child, to be a part of her life even when she had done nothing to deserve his kindness.

This year she would fix things with her father.

She had to.

She owed him that. She owed herself.

She owed her children, Nicolas, Éliza, and Célène, the same relationship with their grandfather as the one that’d defined her entire being. The one that had encouraged every meaningful part of her. The one that had made her the woman she was today.

When the clock struck midnight, she was holding Oliver so close.

They might not have been big on public displays of affection, but given the nature of the evening, she didn’t leave him with much choice. The kiss was gentle. So was her smile.

A moment later and her head found its way back to his shoulder, glancing lazily up at the colours that flooded the night sky overhead. Her fingertips clung to the back of his jacket, and she found herself hoping, as the sky turned red with light, that she got to spend all of the New Years she had left like this. With him. Content in the realisation that for as long as she had the love of her life, she could work through whatever the decades to come would throw her way.

Aurélie had drawn her attention away for just long enough to scour the crowds for Veronika’s face.

Another she was sure she couldn’t be without.

She couldn’t help but grin at the sight of so many looking as happy as she felt.

When she’d heard the screech behind them, she was sure that somebody had let loose a bottle of champagne on another guest. It seemed like they were already trying to flood the streets outside with the stuff. Out of mere curiosity, she turned back to see what the commotion was about; eyebrows raised as though ready to judge someone for crying about their Versace ten seconds into the new year.

The scene she was greeted with was anything but.

The confusion of the guests out front faded into insignificance. They pointed to the sky—stopped cheering only to mutter amongst themselves—but she noted little.

All she could see was him.

Blood.

As though her muscles ceased to work, her grip faltered, and the hand she’d been holding onto Oliver with fell away. Her knees almost gave out with it. Her chest. Her everything.

Aurélie had opened her mouth to call to her uncle and yet nothing came out.

It was as though the air had been sucked from her lungs; desperate to shout to him, but physically unable to do anything but watch as she witnessed him fading. Leaving them. Her.

When the others began to notice—as though the mere acknowledgement of those around her made it real—panic began to flood. The support she’d had from her husband’s hold was gone in an instant as Oliver reacted, on reflex; so sure of himself whilst she could only stand there like a deer in headlights. Still, after all this time, useless in the face of this.

Fran was unresponsive.

Maya screamed out and she could feel it.

Until she couldn’t feel anything.

The sound of the fireworks would surely mask the echo of gunfire to those at a distance, but to them—those who were right in the middle of the chaos as it began to unfold—it sounded as brutal and real as she’d come to expect.

When she fell to the ground she was choking.

For a moment, she wondered if it was shock that’d put her there.

Then her hand found the blood pooling in the hollow of her throat; spilling down the sides of her neck, into her hair, down to her dress with each attempt at a breath…

The gunfire didn’t seem so loud after that.

Nothing did.

Maybe time had slowed.

Aurélie had been near death once before—amusingly, at the last attempt she’d made at opening a hotel—but she didn’t remember it being like this. It had hurt then. Seared with such agony that she had wanted it to end, even through the shock.

Was that how you knew you were going to make it?

Was the fact she felt nothing at all a sign that she was leaving them, too?

When Oliver clambered over to her side, pure panic, hands pressing to her throat in an attempt to find and stem the bleeding, she almost smiled. She wished desperately to reach up to his arms but her body was not her own; everything was disconnected, cold, wrong.

She wasn’t sure who helped him drag her out of the firing line.

“I love you,” she repeated as they did.

Never had she struggled so hard to say it. Never would she again.

It felt as though she needed to cough, to clear her chest—no doubt she was inhaling enough of her own blood to drown in it—and yet she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t allow. It was crushing. Taking away every chance she could to breathe.

“My—my dad,” she attempted, desperate to get out even strangled words whilst she still could. Every ounce of energy she had went to keeping her focus on him. “The kids. Make sure.”

“It’s the fucking Russians!”

The bellowing from another Commandant was so loud that it had snapped her back to reality.

To the gravity of the situation around them, instead of only hers.

The Russians.

Once again, taking a mother from her children. They were good at that.

Wishing the time away could only be the pursuit of fools who hadn’t lost as much as she had.

Couldn’t she have had more with them?

With him?

“Rutherford party,” she said, despite the protests of a woman trying to silence her.

People were still screaming and the gunfire was still sounding, yet a kind stranger had still tried to help save her. Help a lost cause.

Would Oliver cope without her?

Would it be easier for her children than it had been when she’d lost Emily? They barely knew her, after all. They hadn’t gotten the chance.

“They brought them here.” A final act of bitter defiance against them—one last burst of energy enough to break from her paralysis—had her reaching up to grab at Oliver’s shirt. A little strength, but a whole lot of meaning followed: “Kill them all.”

#self para #event: nyethekingdom

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tenyatrash · 5 years

Text

Foundations: EraserEdge

EraserEdge (Aizawa “Eraserhead” + Kamihara “Edgeshot) has been one of my favorite "what if" pairings since the Hideout Raid arc.

They're age appropriate for one another, they have similar values and a focus on not letting their emotions rule their actions, and they've got a beautiful aesthetic together. The more I thought about them, the better I thought they'd be as a couple. Since no one else has had the same idea (at least, in the tags I checked) I figured I should just be the change I want to see in the world and fill the tag myself.

Foundations is the baseline headcanon I have for their relationship with one another. I've already got all seven chapters outlined and I'm hoping that once I get this one fully fleshed-out, I'll have a good jumping off point for a more in-depth set of stories about my two ropey boys. Maybe someday other people will even join in and write about them.

Read it here or on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536584/chapters/43934878

Chp 1: Advice

There’s incense in the air, and all at once he’s fifteen again, choking on ambition and bitterness as he claws his way into the famed Hero Course, body and mind thrumming with potential and pain. He’s made it, he’s done enough to get through.

It’s nothing like what he hoped.

He’s not sure if it’s the cynicism of age or if he felt this way, even then, but in his memories, his classmates are the biggest disappointment of all...immature children playing pretend. There’s potential, and friendship, and good times, he knows. But underneath it all is a persistent anxiousness that roils in his gut and warns him that he’s not doing enough.

That they’re not prepared.

The feeling follows him. It colors everything he sees, and keeps him awake at night, fitfully turning in bed or pummeling into himself at the gym. As he gets closer to his classmates, the feelings only intensify, the dread only grows. His emotions are consuming him in a silent paralysis that he can’t seem to escape.

Until he meets Kamihara-senpai.

Shinya’s older than him by two years, just about ready to take on the world as a bonafide Pro, and he’s everything Shouta hoped for when he first came to UA. He’s talented, he’s calm, and he’s never unprepared.

They meet in the gym one night, by chance, and it changes his life.

Shouta is wrapping his hands to stave off bleeding blisters, aching muscles protesting against another, unnecessary round of capture practice. It would work better with a partner or two, but he makes do with practice dummies and punching bags. Sensei already warned him against this kind of over-indulgence and it seemed his friends agree, so he’s left to train alone.

He’s not technically breaking the rules. He’s just...engaging in supplemental training, as befits a transfer from General Studies.

---

Shinya’s been at the traditional archery range, finding his center and striking his targets true long after the other students had called it a night. Shouta will later learn all about these little rituals, these pieces of history that Shinya clings to like a man out of time. But for now, they’re strangers. Two young men haunted by a drive that their classmates can’t seem to match, by a hunger that pursues them late into the night.

They’re the same, not that they know it, yet. Where Shouta is hungry-eyed and frenetic, Shinya is calm and deadly sure. Yet they’re both storms made flesh, two boys that know they have to strive or die-- one the swirling energy of a hurricane’s outer edge, the other the deceptive calm in the eye of a typhoon.

In the gym that night, they make landfall on one another’s shores.

---

Shouta’s hands flex against too-tight binding wraps, willing calluses to form. Shinya catches his eye from the shadows, looking like a ghost from another time. Shouta waits for the interloper to say something, but he doesn’t. Just watches like he’s making some kinda choice.

Shouta keeps going.

Naturally, that’s when Shinya starts to speak.

“Hand-to-hand isn’t your strong suit, huh?”

Shouta bristles at the comment.

“What?”

Shinya steps out of the shadows, letting his gym bag fall to the floor as he advances into the training circle.

“You’re unsuccessful because you’re too big.”

Shouta rolls his eyes. Clearly whoever this guy is, he’s here to take the piss, not help.

“What, exactly, about me is too big?”

He lazily waves a hand down his body, which is just short of average, both in height and weight. Given his family history, he doubts he’s ever going to be “too big” for anything.

Shinya waves off the erroneous inference.

“Not your body. Your movements. You still act like fighting is hard work. It’s only hard because you’re making it hard, over-exerting yourself with telegraphed moves and too-wide punches.”

“My fighting got me into the hero course.”

“Yeah, I saw. It was beautiful. But it’s enough to get you in, not to get you out and graduated and, you know...good.”

“Then show me.”

Shouta’s got plenty of bad qualities, he’s sure. But an over-abundance of pride has never been one of them. If the older kid has something worth learning, Shouta’s happy to listen. Shinya steps up to the bag and cocks his head, as if to make sure the underclassman is paying attention.

Shouta’s waiting for him to start already, and suddenly, he is. There’s no wind-up, hardly any sound.

One second, the grey-haired kid is staring at him, the next the bag is moving, jabs and punches and uppercuts building beating a rhythm across the surface while grey eyes stay impassive, breathing stays controlled.

The boy starts moving, feet seeming to glide across the sticky mat as he orbits the bag, adding in crosses and roundhouses with the same unbroken fluidity of those more basic punching patterns. It’s almost like he’s dancing, but the hits are landing strong. Shouta watches it all. He doesn’t understand where the power is coming from, how so much force is being created with so little movement, but he’s ready to learn.

There’s nothing quite like seeing a master at work, and before the end of the first minute, Shouta knows he wants to know everything this ghost is willing to teach him.

Eventually, the bag stills.

“Teach me.”

“Suit yourself. I’m Shinya Kamihara, by the way.”

“Shouta Aizawa...Yes, you’ll teach me? Just like that?”

“Just like that. After all, it’s the duty of older students to help younger ones, right?”

Shouta’s not so sure, based on what he’s seen so far. Sure, there are helpful people here, but there are just as many that jealously guard secrets and techniques, already planning how to climb over their classmates. How to become top heroes, as if selfishness should really be part of that at all.

Still, it’s nice that Kamihara-senpai seems willing to share. Shouta wants to be able to move like that. He wants to learn.

It’s elegant and efficient. Almost surgical in its fluidity, which is what he’s always wanted. He’s got no interest in being a blunt instrument, smashing walls and lighting up apartment blocks as cameras flash and blood pours. It sounds exhausting. He wants to be in and out and done before the first hunk of concrete falls, before the first reporter comes sniffing.

“Then, please teach me.”

Shouta climbs into a nearby sparring ring and listens to a soft chuckle as the older boy follows along, evidently not planning on the lessons starting so soon, but being a good sport about it anyway.

“Alright, then. Put your hands behind your back and grab your elbows.”

Shinya demonstrates the slightly-odd positioning and Shouta follows.

“Good. Stay that way. There’s no point in doing anything else until you master footwork and balance. I can tie your forearms if you need it, but it’s better if you can control yourself.”

Shouta is determined to control himself. Shinya shows him a run of three fighting patterns and Shouta wants to be offended at the simplicity. These are three-steps that he recognizes. Even General Studies kids get this. But when Shinya goes through them, it’s like he’s walking on water, and Shouta starts to realize that knowledge isn’t the same as mastery.

He keeps his mouth shut and wills his weight out of his heels and into the toes and balls of his feet. Practices over and over until he feels like he and Shinya are dancing in some strange ritual, until he can hear a non-existent beat in his mind and see the ripples of sound that slowly fade from his steps until he’s just a whisper covered by the rustling fabric of his gym clothes.

Shinya watches with a smile, mimicking every step in time as he watches the other learn to float.

Kid’s not half-bad.

Shinya calls an end to the lesson before Shouta’s ready to leave. It’ll become a feature of their relationship, Aizawa always looking to rush ahead, Kamihara always urging him to find a more sustainable pace.

They meet most nights, and even when they aren’t together, Aizawa is practicing forms and patterns in his room, on the stairs, in the streets on his way home late at night after everyone has already gone home. Up hills and through supermarket aisles, the shaggy-haired boy steps lightly to a beat that only he hears. He lets the fluidity enter his every movement, wills himself to float above the ground, only ever planting his feet when it’s time to land a hit. He separates his body and his mind from the weight of the world.

The other students notice. Shouta stops falling in practice, stops being easy to sweep when you catch him unawares. Teachers start to notice. Acrobatics start to weave themselves into his escape tactics. His capture weapon morphs from a lasso to a cloud of ribbon that only he can track and pull. No good hero can be a one trick pony, and Eraser’s not relying on his quirk and sheer will so much anymore. He’s smarter and smoother and harder to hit. He loses less. He gets hurt less. He starts to climb the ranks.

Shinya watches and smiles.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha rarepair #edgeshot #eraserhead #eraseredge #my writing #foundations

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liquorisce · 7 years

Text

The Substitute, part 1

Pairings : EruRi, Rivetra (Shingeki no Kyojin)

Rating : T (at least for this chapter), with some angst, romance, and a little bit of shitty humour in the middle

A/N : I couldn’t write anything for Rivetra week and of late I’ve been having major Levi feels, so here goes.

He’s always hated hospitals. He doesn’t understand the enthusiasm behind rushing the near-dying to this under staffed pit of chemicals and misplaced hope.

Shrouded in despair, It smelt of tears and corpses.

It reminded him of his mother.

…

Light eyelashes flutter soundlessly as blue eyes awoke in a drugged haze.

Levi hears them anyway.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he mutters, having materialized by the bed side, holding on to the tubes gingerly so that Erwin could sit up straight.

There’s a sharp, gutting pain in his left rib as he changes positions but serving in the Survey corps has helped him master his ability to mask his emotions.

Serving under Erwin Smith, a man who never gives anything away, Levi has become a master in reading these emotions, regardless.

“… The mission was a failure,” he says quietly.

A small smile forms on Erwin’s rough, chapped lips. It infuriates him.

“… No. We learnt something important.”

That even the Commander of the Survey Corps can be crushed in the hands of a Titan, in less than a fucking second, he thinks bitterly.

“… We cannot have freedom if we keep hesitating, Levi.”

And once again Levi understands the depth of the distance between them, the myopia of his vision, and the inevitability of his heartbreak.

“Keep this up,” he snarls, before storming out of the medical ward, “… and all I will have left is your dead carcass.”

…

It’s past midnight, and 3 bottles of whisky and his squad is engaged in conversation that he’s pretty sure makes sense to none of them.

“… She said she doesn’t want to marry me,” Gunther cries, with real, fat tears in his eyes, clutching his glass like it was his only lifeline. “She-she,” he stutters with a sob, “says that if I’m so hell bent on going beyond the walls and getting myself killed, she doesn’t want a future with me.”

Erd pats his back awkwardly and reaches to refill his glass.

“… It’s the sex,” Auruo declares. “Women will never say it to you straight, but it’s obvious that the sex isn’t good enough.”

“… Auruo!” Petra gasps, “I’m sure she,” –

- “… You’ve got to give it give it to her hard and fast. You can’t be a pussy in bed the same way you are while fighting Titans. The last woman I banged just couldn’t get enough of me, you know. She kept begging,” –

- “FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Just the shut the fuck up, you pig head,” Petra bit out, unable to take his self-indulgent sniggering any longer, “We all know that the only woman who’s ever given you the time of the day was your mother, and that’s because she didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

Erd guffaws, choking on his drink. “Erd, stop drinking already, you’re piss-drunk and you know we wanted to save the last bottle for next time. We don’t know when we’ll get this luxury of time and alcohol again.”

“… The love of my life hates me,” comes a whine that nobody really wants to deal with anymore.

She sighs, “Gunther, you two obviously just had a fight. She’s scared, for obvious reasons. We all are. She’s just worried about you. You’re lucky you have someone like that in your life. Just go talk to her before we leave tomorrow, okay?” She squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“Now you idiots just go get some sleep already. We’ve got drills in the morning.”

“�� You’re not the boss of us, Petra,” Auruo pouts, sticking out his lip in an utterly childish way that he will deny tomorrow, with all his sobriety, that he ever did.

“Well I am,” says a voice from the corner, a unique mix of faintly amused and beyond irritated, “and I agree with her. She’s the only one that ever speaks any sense among you loons. Now beat it. We’re done for the night.”

“… Ah, Captain, I didn’t see you there,” she says meekly, running a self-conscious hand through the back of her hair. “I apologize for being so noisy.”

The corners of his mouth lift up in a smirk. “… Don’t. It was entertaining.”

She feels the praise heat up her cheeks and turns away awkwardly. “W-wow, would you look at the mess we’ve made!” She bends and begins to pick up the bottles and glasses, “I’ll just finish cleaning this up and then go to bed, Cap,” –

- “I’ll help,” he says, and it takes a second for her to realise how close he is.

It takes another for that very same realization to completely screw with her head and cause her to lose her balance, letting the glass fall to the floor.

“… I’m so sorry,” she squeaks, utterly mortified by her gracelessness. There’s alcohol all over her white uniform shirt, shards all over the floor and under her hands, as she tries to lift herself off the floor -

- “Slow down,” he snaps, “You’re fucking bleeding everywhere, Petra!”

She glances down at her palms and sure enough it’s oozing deep red. “… It’s fine,” she gulps, more as an affirmation to herself than him, “I’m fine, I’ll just,” –

He grabs her up by the arm and seats her gingerly on the chair, before heading to the supply cabinet. “Captain,” she starts, her voice still a little shaky, “I can,” –

- “Just sit,” he commands, in this voice that he rarely uses outside out of emergency Titan-related situations, the kind that says I’m your superior, so shut the fuck up and listen to me.

So, she does. He’s quite as he wedges the shards out of her skin, holding her hand delicately as she winces. The sting of the medicinal alcohol is a welcome distraction from his fingers on her and his ridiculously delicious proximately.

Ridiculous, because she knows she’s the only one harbouring these unneeded, pesky feelings.

“Be careful,” he scolds, his voice low, “… we shed enough blood as it is.”

It was the sombre, cold, hard truth. The SC were little more than a rapidly exhaustive resource.

She tries to shift his attention. “Why weren’t you drinking with us today?”

He’d been drinking by himself in the corner anyway, he could’ve just sat with the squad even if he didn’t verbally participate in their nonsense, like he usually did.

He takes so long to answer that she almost thinks he won’t.

“… There were some things on my mind,” he murmurs, finishing up the wrap on her bandage and standing up. “There, we’re done. Now you can go upstairs to your bunk, I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

He expects a protest, typical of Petra, but instead, “… Was it about the Commander?”

He swivels to look at her. “Why would you ask that?” He blurts, tone harsh.

“… Is he getting better?”

“They haven’t ruled out the chances of lower limb paralysis yet,” he states quietly.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to keep talking but he continues, “… maybe it’s better this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“… Maybe this way he wouldn’t have to go out there anymore…”

“Captain,” she says in a low tone, “he’s the Commander of the Survey Corps, he can’t just sit inside,” –

- “Exactly,” he snaps, exasperated, “how is he supposed to be humanity’s hope if he’s fucking dead?”

“Humanity’s hope…,” she hesitates, wondering if she’s pushing too far, “or yours?”

He narrows his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

…

She’s afraid to say it. Not because Levi is her superior and speaking out of turn may jeopardize her career. Not because she’s afraid of him.

She’s afraid that the moment she does say it, she’ll know it was true.

“I saw you,” she whispers, “when you took him to the hospital.”

The fear, the anger, the helplessness.

“… You didn’t move, didn’t eat, didn’t look away from him, till he woke up. For 3 days, Captain.”

She had heard it when she lingered back a little longer because she was worried for him.

The broken, undeniable note of a sob.

“… You wouldn’t understand,” he murmurs, bitterly.

She didn’t need to see his ashen face to know it was true.

She’d known, suspected his feelings for the longest time.

Ever since she’d known hers.

“… You’re in love with him… Aren’t you?”

~TBC~

#eruri #rivetra #rivetra week #shingeki no kyojin #ramblingpug fanfiction #levi ackerman #erwin smith #petra ral

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