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tastesoftamriel · 4 years ago

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I was asked about what dishes you should never offer to Daedric Princes by a follower who's probably a little too curious for their own good. Here's an interesting question I certainly have not thought of, because I generally try not to invoke the wrath of Daedric Princes! However, if you really want to potentially bring the punishment of Oblivion down upon yourself, please feel free to try the following...

Mehrunes Dagon

Instead of fiery destruction, I propose something...cute. A classic chilled custard tart topped with warm berry compote and some Hammerfell-style rose-and-vanilla pashmak is bound to melt hearts, just not in the way one of his Dremora would.

Peryite

I love making healthy foods just as much as indulgent dishes, and as the popular adage goes, an apple a day keeps Peryite away! A classic rucola and feta salad with a balsamic and Cyrodiilic olive oil can be made even better with an extra handful of spinach, a sprinkle of fresh pomegranate, halved walnuts, avocado and cucumber slices, and a few diced apple pieces! Simply delectable, and sure to keep scurvy and pestilence at bay.

Molag Bal

What should you not offer the Daedric Prince of domination and creator of vampires? Probably a soft, delicate vegetarian dish. A Breton vegetable quiche with an all-butter crust, goose eggs, sun-dried tomatoes, delicate baby spinach, fresh chanterelle mushrooms, squash, lots of garlic, and a spot of chevre. Mouth-wateringly good, this little beauty makes for an excellent meal at any time of day, and is bound to make Molag Bal sneer.

Namira

I'm going to be a little cheeky here and turn something gross and creepy into something delicious that even the fussiest nobles I've served love: garlic butter snails. Namira's followers are known to chow down on live, raw snails, shells and all, but I prefer mine with a garlicky gratin and a sprinkle of cave-aged West Weald parmesan. Oh, and don't forget to eat them with a fancy silver snail fork like a proper diva!

Boethiah

Plots? Destruction? Snakes? Not with this dish! What you see is what you get with a traditional Nord bread-and-butter pudding! It's a great way to use up your leftover bread scraps and stale butter, and is one of Tamriel's most satisfying desserts in my humble opinion. Served with hot custard and dried snowberries, this pudding is the perfect, least deceptive dish I can imagine.

Hircine

You were spot on with a salad, but let me raise the bar a little. Not just any salad will do, but you'll want all your ingredients to be gently cultivated by hand and farmed, as opposed to wild foraged. Iceberg lettuce and pink pear salad with some crumbled goat cheese and honey hits the spot, but how about topped with some marbled fatty beef? The historic Gweden Farm near Anvil has won countless awards for its pampered cows who are given a daily massage and the best fresh grass and Cyrodiilic grain. Domesticated, happy, and wonderful...unless you're a hunter, that is.

Hermaeus Mora

You'd have to be downright stupid to try a traditional Argonian worm bowl unless you're Saxhleel, and even then, most of them don't want to touch this nasty, wriggling dish. Fresh, live mealworms and kotu gava eggs are drowned in a fermented blood worm sauce, with shredded catapult cabbage and flame-grilled, toxic haj mota flesh. I once commented that it looked a little like Hermaeus Mora himself, before taking a tentative nibble and spending the rest of the day throwing up in the swamp. Please don't try this. It's the dumbest dish in Tamriel, and a pox on whichever Argonian invented it.

Sheogorath

No cheese or strawberry torte here! In fact, the least madness-inducing food I can think of is a nice, mild pistachio ice cream profiterole, dipped in sweet milk chocolate and topped with fresh nuts is the perfect Breton summer treat, yet far too boring for the Prince of Madness to bother with. Which leads us to...

Sanguine

I really dislike coming up with bland, mundane dishes for the occasional fussy eater I come across during my travels. Sanguine, Prince of hedonistic pleasures, probably lurks over my shoulder at the average feast I throw, so I admit I was a bit stumped here...until I remembered my Granny Matilda's chicken noodle soup. As basic as soups come, this simple broth is made by boiling leftover chicken carcasses for a night and a day, and served with plain egg noodles. The perfect food for when you're feeling under the weather, or have the palate of a small Nord child.

Malacath

Altmer cuisine seems like a good way to get Malacath really mad, because it's basically the antithesis of what he stands for. Delicate Quicksilver Lingwe cerviche with a yuzu drizzle and Crystal Hannia caviar, with a light avocado mousse flavoured with apple blossom? A sensory delight, and bound to make any Malacath-respecting Orc gag.

Jyggalag

Fried, hand-pulled buckwheat noodles with a spicy Pellitine-style curry sauce is a good way to make this Prince quite cross with you. Not only is it messy to eat, but your furniture will likely suffer bright orange and yellow stains from the turmeric and tomatoes, and your bowels will also be as tangled as the noodles after consuming a fiery Khajiiti curry.

Vaermina

So mundane and boring, you're definitely not bound to have any dreams or nightmares about a bowl of saltrice porridge with comberry preserves and scrib jerky. The staple food of the common Dunmer, it's tasty enough to eat on a daily basis, but hardly the stuff dreams are made of.

Mephala

This spidery Prince enjoys interfering with us mortals, so it's time to fight back with a dish that'll probably make most other Daedric Princes frown too. Imperial food is famous for its balanced flavours, textures, and fresh ingredients, and a Gold Coat seafood stew is a vibrant dish bursting with the best fresh fish, mussels, lobster, and crabmeat the region has to offer. Mild but but with a tangy punch from the sun-dried tomato based soup and a dash of crisp white wine, this is a dish that both young and old enjoy across Cyrodiil.

Meridia

Charred jerk wild boar stuffed with timber mammoth cheese and a delicious bloody jus-and-honey sauce is sure to make any Bosmer's mouth water! It's definitely dead, it's definitely cooked, and it's definitely bound to disappoint Meridia. Just a warning- try this for a laugh and you'll never be able to get rid of her beacon.

Azura

By Azura, please don't offer this to the Lady of Dawn and Dusk unless you want to irreparably have your race changed! Love and devotion is what this Prince craves, so why not damage yourself with a fiery Dunmeri Vvardenfell fondue, made from scuttle, crab meat, and extremely spicy fire petal blossoms? Enjoyed by the most pain-seeking of Dunmer, my version comes with fried hackle-lo leaf and saltrice-and-wickwheat bread for dipping. It'll have your guts in a twist for days, which is the price to pay for this deliciously hot "cheese" dish. Oh, and did I mention that it's best washed down with a nice cup of Vivec's Gingergreen Chai?

Nocturnal

There's absolutely nothing dark about a Redguard sun-jelly, made with fresh fruits from coastal Hammerfell. Coconut, palm fruit, watermelon, and bananas are the stars of the show in this dessert, set in a chilled agar jelly that keeps the heat at bay. The fanciest Redguards love mixing edible gold flakes into the jelly itself, giving it a delightful luster that is sure to put a smile on your face and chase the shadows away.

Clavicus Vile

You're not going to want to strike any bargain to give up a delicious baked chub loon gratin with echatere cheese, over hasselback potatoes and crispy radish chips. This Orcish delicacy is surprisingly so good it's even tickled the fancy of the fussiest eaters in Tamriel! The chub loon meat is juicy and melts in the mouth, and the echatere cheese melted into the cracks of a hasselback potato are wonderful with radish chips for dipping. Admit it, you're drooling aren't you?

#Asks #Daedric Princes #Daedric Lords #TES #the elder scrolls #World building #worldbuilding #long post #text post

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sevlgi · 4 years ago

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bubblegum pop

requested: no

group: twice

pairing: sana x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: rich girl!sana, college!au, cashier!reader.

warnings: none

synopsis: An unfortunately hostile encounter with the school’s sweetest rich girl might just lead to more than you ever expected.

a/n: inspired by @pearicot‘s mean girl rosie series! (by the way, i’m not trying to feed into the “dumb sana” stereotype with this; i just thought that her personality fitted the character i was trying to achieve! does anyone wanna request continuations or scenarios in this universe 👀

word count: 3.3k

Something about Mondays the week of finals always got you in a bad mood, especially when you had to work double shifts at the same stupid ice cream shop you’d worked at for the past 2 years of college.

So maybe, just maybe, there was reasoning behind you snapping at the love of your life during your first meeting.

Actually, there really, really wasn’t.

There were plenty of mean girls on campus who you wouldn’t regret yelling at whatsoever, but you just happened to blow up at one of the considerably nicer rich girls.

Minatozaki Sana didn’t mean anything bad when she innocently held out a hundred dollar bill to pay for a $5 ice cream. She didn’t mean to seem pretentious, nor did she mean to mock you and your minimum-wage job, but you just so happened to take it that way.

“Really? You have to rub it in my face like that?”

Sana stared at you, the money that she held out wavering in the ear. “Sorry?”

Pinching the space between your eyebrows, you huffed out an exasperated breath. Luckily, there was no one else in the shop about to witness the stupidest meltdown of your life. “You think I don’t know that I’m poor? It’s five dollars for God’s sake, no need to bring out the big guns. Oh, or are you doing this to avoid seeming more pretentious with your daddy’s black card?”

The brunette’s hand retreated quickly, the heels of her Louboutins clacking softly against the pastel-toned linoleum of the ice cream shop. Fuck, you hated that linoleum. “I... I didn’t mean any of that, I swear! Um, is there an ATM near here?”

Once again, the girl meant well, and you took it badly. You scoffed, glaring disbelievingly at her. Some part of you was screaming out that you were putting your entire job at stake, and your morals as well, but you disregarded any common sense remaining in your brain. “An ATM for 5 bucks? Dude, just don’t.” Dipping your hand into the tip jar, you scrounged out a lousy crumpled bill and threw it down on the counter, shoving the bubblegum-flavored sweet to Sana. “Okay? Now get out, I don’t want to see your privileged ass anywhere near here.”

The dense gray clouding your mind somehow missed the hurt expression on the girl’s face as the staff door swung open. Wendy’s hands, though gentle on your shoulders, shoved you behind her with surprising force. “I am so sorry, Sana, it’s finals week. Surely you can understand? The ice cream’s on the house.”

“No, of course it’s okay!” Sana sounded genuine enough, that was for sure; you caught her glancing worriedly at you a couple times, nothing malicious whatsoever in her eyes. “I can pay though, are you sure?”

“I’m sure. See you in class,” Wendy called out, smiling all the while until the girl disappeared into the Lamborghini parked by the curb. As soon as that happened, she turned back to you, concern tugging at the corner of her lips. “Y/N...”

“Yeah, I know,” you mumbled as you crossed your arms. Already, you were regretting what you said, though you were far too stubborn to actually apologize on the spot. “No arguing with customers about capitalism. Sorry, Wendy.”

The girl bit her lip, scanning the store to make sure that there wasn’t about to be an influx of customers. Usually she enjoyed working with you; you just had absolutely terrible mood swings sometimes, and those days were nothing short of hellish for her to deal with. “Just head home. Focus on your finals, and come back next week. Okay?”

You hesitated to agree, knowing that you needed the money, but the grim expression on Wendy’s face told you that you had no other option. “Okay. Sorry.”

As you snatched up your stuff and shoved the door to the street open, you missed the sight of Sana watching you through the tinted windows of her 6-figure car.

“Really? Sana?”

“I know,” you groaned, biting down on the plastic spoon in your mouth. The flavor of the month (the only one you could eat completely free) lingered unpleasantly on your tongue, the taste of it oddly salty. “She was so nice about it, too.”

Jeongyeon and Mina exchanged glances, not touching their respective cups of “Ocean Caramel” either. It was extremely kind of them to come and accompany you on the slow days, both of them even offering to suffer through the gross ice cream with you. “If it was Park Roseanne I might understand, but Sana,” Mina winced. Jeongyeon nodded in agreement; after all, everyone on campus knew about the reputations of Roseanne and Sana.

On one end of the “rich girl” spectrum, Roseanne was quite possibly the bitchiest one of all. She and her Bugatti Veyron, the college upgrade from her old McLaren, absolutely weren’t to be messed with. People who went to high school with you often told story of the G Wagon she smashed, the locker room she lit on fire, and so many other horror tales of a spoiled girl gone wild. You were sure that had you gone off on her, even Wendy wouldn’t have stopped you.

But on the other end, Sana was notoriously kind. Sure, her family raked in an income close to that of the other girl’s, and her wardrobe was just as expensive, but she made a point to donate to charities every time she went shopping. She tipped in the hundreds, and she didn’t ever ask for her designer clothes back when she lent them to strangers. She paid any dinner bill in full when she was there, and sometimes even when she wasn’t invited.

No one was entirely sure about the relationship between the two, but Roseanne seemed to hate Sana more than she did other people. The two fought publicly occasionally, but Sana’s kind heart made it so that even Roseanne couldn’t carry a fight very long. She didn’t respond to insults, it seemed, nor did she ever seem to actually take them personally.

Stirring her half-melted soup, Mina continued, “Hopefully she doesn’t hold it against you. She doesn’t seem like the type, but...”

Jeongyeon shook her head, opening her mouth just as the doorbell rang. You froze when you looked up to find a designer-dressed bombshell, a sweet smile outlined in Chanel Rouge Allure. She looked completely out of place amidst tired college kids spending their last paycheck on ice cream, white gauzy sleeves and blue dress shimmering under LED lights. If you were being honest, you’d say that she was the most beautiful person you’d seen in your life, but you were always well versed in lying to yourself. “Y/N, you better go.”

“Why?” you whined, pouting at your much more responsible friends. They ignored your puppy face, though; Jihyo was usually the only one you could sway, Momo sometimes if she was feeling merciful. “I’m on break.”

“Only when there’s no customers,” Mina argued, shoving you to stand. Jeongyeon smiled at you, waving you away. “Go, and don’t screw it up this time.”

You forced a smile onto your face when you reached the counter, bowing and adjusting your name tag. “Hi, what can I help you with today?”

“Hi, Y/N!” Sana grinned, bowing back. The fact that she remembered your name only made your guilt worse; if she forgot who you were, you could at least pretend that she didn’t remember the incident at all. “Ah, could I have the same thing as last time? Bubblegum Pop ice cream, on a sugar cone today. 3 scoops?”

Nodding, you moved to open the case, avoiding the girl’s gaze as you did. “Of course.” She was quiet at that, staring at the ceiling so as not to rush you. Without prompting, you blurted, “I’m... I’m really sorry about last week, by the way. I don’t know what I was thinking, blowing up at you like that.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay!” she protested, waving a manicured hand in the air. “I promise I understand you. We all have our bad days.”

You wanted to apologize again, if just to assuage your guilt, but you held off on it, joking, “How do you deal with them? Yell at Gucci assistants?”

Sana looked honestly offended as she accepted the cone proffered to her, eyes widening in shock. “I’ve never done that, I swear! Besides, I don’t like Gucci much.”

A light smile quirking at the corners of your lips, you handed the receipt to her as well. She didn’t ask for it, probably not caring about the measly price or having the space for it in her tiny bag, but took it anyway. “I’m sure you don’t. Your total is $5.23, will that be cash or card?”

“Cash!” She held out a 10 dollar bill, pride shining behind that gorgeous face as you raised your eyebrows in surprise. When your hands brush together, you were reminded of how much better she was than you, how you probably weren’t worthy at all to be touching her with your shop-issued baseball cap and grimy apron. But Sana doesn’t seem to mind, still smiling that airy smile at you and not moving away. She broke your stare by offering, “I don’t want to sound rude, but keep the change.”

“Not rude at all,” you fully laughed that time, dishing out the remainder to stuff in your tip jar. You still felt terrible that she felt the need to apologize about such a normal comment, asking, “Are you sure it’s okay? You can have this one free too, if it makes up for me shouting at you...”

Sana shook her head, sugary light pink already mixing into her lipstick. She walked away, still waving with that gorgeous smile on her face. “It’s okay. I’ll see you soon, Y/N, you look really pretty today!”

Turning back to your friends, you whispered, “Damn. She’s really nice.”

You planned on spending your one day off from school and work cozied up with a good book and your favorite hot drink, but you supposed that getting into a fight with Park Roseanne wasn’t the worst way to go either.

As soon as you entered campus, book in hand and blasting music in your earbuds, you found a crowd of at least 3 dozen people right in front of the library building. It was unlike you to butt into others’ business, especially when it might lead to a ruined day, but Roseanne’s voice carried loud over the hushed whispers of everyone else. “--huh, Sana?”

It wasn’t any of your business, but for some reason, Roseanne’s tone when saying Sana’s name angered you immensely. Frowning, you shouldered your way through the crowd. The closer you got to the center, the more expensive the clothing that brushed against your own rough jean jacket was, cotton and leather becoming silk and velvet. You originally planned to just fit in with the other spectators, but with a shove at the small of your back, you were thrust into the center too.

To your shock, Sana’s eyes were red and shining with tears, the tip of her nose cherry-colored as well. Her head was almost bowed as she stared at her shoes, but she looked up to you when you almost bumped into her. You stuttered out, “H-hey. What’s going on?”

Instead of an explanation from the Japanese girl, though, your gaze was drawn to the blonde across the courtyard. “Didn’t you hear? Little Miss Perfect here got broken up with,” Roseanne scoffed, an infuriating smirk on her perfect face as she tilted her head at you. “By a future CEO, no less. I guess she isn’t a gold-digger, or maybe there’s some other reason that he didn’t want her anymore.”

Your hand shot out to protect Sana, a scowl making its way onto your own face. “Excuse me? From my standpoint, any future CEO is still way outta her league, so forgive me for doubting that he’s the one who didn’t want her. You’re the one dating someone who makes a tenth of what you do.”

Roseanne rolled her eyes, lips thinning. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that, Y/L/N, or you’ve got another thing coming. There aren’t many lesbians in this damn school.”

“You know me, don’t you?” Sana’s voice was wavering as she spoke, but it was strong enough to echo in the courtyard. To your surprise (and somewhat satisfaction), the blonde girl’s eyes widened as Sana stood forward, her lips jutting forward. “That’s why I’m not dating him anymore. I like girls, too.”

Somehow, you’d never expected that Sana was attracted to girls, but it made perfect sense. An irrational part of you wanted to cheer, but instead, you forced yourself to speak.

“R-right.” You continued to glare at Roseanne, who finally seemed to be speechless. “Yeah, so how come you’re tearing Sana down? We should be supporting each other, but you’re being so rude to someone so kind, and that says all I need to know about you.”

Reaching out, you latched onto Sana’s upper arm and pulled her out of the circle, people parting to let the two of you through as Roseanne wasn’t able to conjure up something to respond with. You didn’t stop walking until there was only silence surrounding you under the shade of a swaying tree, finally stopping to let the girl sit. “Are you okay?” you asked, brow furrowed as you knelt to be mostly face-level with her.

Somehow, there was a smile on her face; a slightly snotty smile, but nonetheless the most beautiful one you’d ever seen in your life. You ignored the uncomfortable leap of your heart when you reached out to take her hands into your own, somehow forgetting about the hostility you’d felt towards her from the beginning. “You- you stood up for me.”

“Yeah. I did, I guess,” you shrugged, smiling slightly. “I’m sure that was rough, though, to come out. How’re you feeling?”

“Honestly, much better,” Sana sighed. She leaned back, fingers curling slightly around yours as the afternoon sun shone golden brown in the locks of hair spread out on her shoulders. “It was good to get it off my chest. I didn’t even know you were into girls, you know.”

Reaching up to scratch your head, you chuckled, “Well, I am, if it makes you feel any better. What happened between the two of you, by the way? She seems to hate you so much.”

The girl laughed, as bubbly and airy as her regular voice. “I may or may not have dated her girlfriend before. But it was a long time ago, and I’m still friends with her! Roseanne just can’t forgive me.”

You feigned shock, swatting at her arm. “How terrible of you! I’m so disappointed.”

You were stuck simply smiling at each other for a good minute or so before you looked away, picking at your shoelace for something to do. “So. Uh, Roseanne knew the whole time?”

“She did,” Sana confirmed, nodding. “She just never talked about it.”

“Well, it’s good to know that she isn’t the only other one in the school with me,” you sighed, sitting back on your heels.

Sana lurched back forward, hands clasping together at her chest. “Then we should celebrate! We can go shopping or something, and we can just be happy that we aren’t alone anymore.”

It suddenly struck you how quickly you could change the girl’s entire outlook, a smile coming onto her face with no effort from you whatsoever. But even more surprising, you smiled even larger than she did just looking at her.

Laughing, you sat back on your heels and shook your head lightly. Seeming to take it as a rejection, Sana’s eyes widened. “Oh, only if you want to, of course! We can go wherever you want, we don’t even have to go shopping if you don’t want to!”

“No, we can go shopping,” you answered, reaching back over to squeeze her hand and pulling her up with you when you stood. “Come on, then. Let’s go celebrate.”

Sana wasn’t a great driver, but you didn’t expect much else. You were practically sick to your stomach by the time that you reached the mall, face green as you swayed out of the car.

“Ah, Y/N, I’m sorry!” Her hands rubbed lightly at your back as you squatted in the parking lot, fist held tight to your mouth. It wasn’t like you were actually going to throw up, but you didn’t want to risk ruining the girl’s expensive shoes. “I’ll let you drive next time.”

Next time? you wanted to ask. But you managed to stand, nodding quickly to ease Sana’s worry. “Yeah. It’s fine, I’m fine. Should we go?”

Immediately, she latched onto your hand, swinging between the two of you as she started to rush forward. “H-hey, lock your car first!”

Sana had unsurprisingly expensive tastes, but also surprisingly understated ones. She was fun to shop with, that was for sure- she loved to offer you clothes and also to offer to pay for them, but you didn’t necessarily hate a pretty girl telling you you’d look gorgeous in a certain sparkly dress.

She didn’t do any of the typical stuck-up things you expected her to- Sana carried her own bags, and she never forced you to follow her instead of doing what you wanted to. She did like to try on outfits and show them to you, but that could be ignored when it was just another opportunity for you to stare at her.

Eventually, you ended up having ice cream at one of the stores in the mall. You balked at the price, but Sana swiped her credit card without hesitation. “I have to admit, this bubblegum doesn’t taste as good as yours,” she pouted.

Chuckling, you savored the rich flavor on your own tongue. “You should’ve picked an expensive flavor then. Vanilla and chocolate are always good in these kinds of stores.”

“You know a lot about ‘these kinds of stores’ for someone who claims to be poor,” she teased, eyes widening as soon as the words slipped out of her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, it’s fine,” you smiled, leaning on your palm. “I’m good with it, since we’re friends now.”

Sana grinned at that, her eyes curving charmingly. “We’re friends? Most people don’t want to be friends with me, I’m really glad you’re willing to.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Looking down for once, the girl mumbled, “They say I’m dumb. You know that everyone says I’m nice, but they also think I’m dumb because I pay for everything. I just want to be kind, but no one takes me seriously.”

A wave of guilt rushed over you for previously feeding into the stereotype. The more time you spent with Sana, the more you realized that she was as brilliant as any other, and far more kind. “Well, that’s stupid. You are kind, Sana, and you’re amazing. I’m lucky to be your friend.”

She clasped your hand over the table, soft skin warm over yours, pink flushing in her pale cheeks. “Thank you, Y/N. You know, this is the best time I’ve had in a while. My boyfriend didn’t even listen to me this well,” she laughed.

Despite the fact that she treated it as a joke, you felt horrible. She was all too used to thinking the worst about herself and not believing that she was worth any better, and that was the worst possible thing you could imagine for a girl with a heart of gold. Jabbing your spoon into the remaining ice cream, you blurted, “Then go on a date with me. A proper one, not just a normal hangout like this.”

Sana instantly blushed, looking down as if it’d hide her face at all. But she missed the heat that rose to your cheeks too, the nervous biting of your lip as you waited for a response. “I would love nothing more,” she smiled, her eyes shining brilliantly. “And I can’t wait.”

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currentfandomkick · 4 years ago

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Marinette did Not sign up for this part 5

so, this happened. i would feel bad, but the characters hijacked this story after chapter 1 and i’m just along for the ride and checking that words makes sense.

First part here Previous Here ao3 Here

“Hey Alya, you haven’t been getting more hits on your blog from Gotham lately, have you?” Marinette asked.

Alya rolled her eyes as honestly, could her bestie be any less obvious? She could see the “new” necklace. The one that only shows up when Multimouse is on call. Honestly—why is it everyone keeps thinking she doesn’t know who’s who? She’s the Fox—Illusions and Truth are her bread and butter.

“Now that you mention it,” Alya pulled up her latest stats. “Yes. The whole site—jeez these guys must have just found out and want the scoop from the best source in Paris,” Alya preened.

Marinette acted… different after she got that answer. Moved in on herself. Alya could feel the attempt at a cover-up before she even asked.

“Hey, is something up?”

“Nothing! Nothing is up, why would something be up! Ha, that’s a good one Alya!”

Ah, the miraculous-related tic was in full swing then. Marinette isn’t exactly the most in-the-know miraculous user, and the Mouse is always taken back after its been used. She could be forgiven for assuming Alya, the expert in all things Miraculous second only to the Original duo and their boss, would not know that something was going on in a certain spotted heroine’s life, and it was all hands on deck.

“Okay,” Alya switched to her theory notes, “Any new names to add to the ‘would not be surprised if they were Hawkmoth’ list?” Marinette is a goldmine on this topic, and while miraculous adjacent, definitely able to ease the whole ‘not in control’ and helpless feelings this situation was probably stirring in her girl. She knew it was for herself atleast.

Marinette perked up with a familiar ‘I know what you will say, but lets do this anyway’ type of sly smile. “Okay, so we do agree that it has to be someone that knows Gabriel’s schedule and doesn’t want to interfere with it for the most part, right?”

“Well,” Alya wasn’t letting this hunch go anytime soon, no matter what LB and Chat said about evidence against. She knew she was onto something with it, and for all she knew, some miraculous magic could be interfering. “I still say it could be him and Natalie taking turns, but that doesn’t rule them both out.”

Marinette shot Alya a look, of the ‘I strongly disagree, but feel it is futile to remind you why’ variety.

“I’m kidding, your boss isn’t Hawkmoth, I know… He’d totally have better designs for akumas if he was.”

Marinette leaned forward conspiratorially. “You should have seen him tear into the Bubbler one when I brought it up as an example of horrible design. His face was perfect!”

Alya would love to imagine the many, many ways to torment Gabriel after what she and Nino have come to understand about the man from their friends. Ranging from negligent and uninvolved control freak at best to manipulative, victim-blaming, and abusive POS. If Adrien and Marinette were a little less attached (re: not pedestalling the man so much), then she could get them to see the truth and they could go over the pair’s options to get them both away from his BS and make the man pay for the all the crap he put Adrien through, and was starting to put Marinette through. Why else would the girl be running herself ragged—especially the past week—if the man wasn’t a demanding asshole boss?

“That’s great, next time, get a pic or vid and share the love.”

“I will, so I met another one of his suppliers and…” Alya began to take vicious notes, glad for Marinette’s attention to detail on these things. It made looking for possible Hawkmoths much easier on her and Max—yes she knows who Pegasus and Cowboy are, Markov in a hat is still Markov in a hat. It was a wonder that no one else noticed.

Alya grinned when she saw Trixx peek out of her hiding place, a wide smile that reminded her exactly why Alya could catch everyone’s identity while her friends still hadn’t put together she’s Rena; a Fox casts illusions. To do that well, you have to learn to seek and see the truth, and get your evidence. And Alya? Is a damn good fox.

----------

Tim hates his stupid insane list of designers. He managed to knock of half by using his own damn filters, thank you very much for dominant genes from the Wayne side that could be seen visually. It knocked out a good chunk (about two thousand out of five thousand) on hair alone. He decided he would let it keep running for those that linked their socials to their psueds and aliases.

The problem was the handful (about ten) that didn’t. He’d have to meet them in person, used his glasses to get pictures, and run those against social media posts in Paris to find out who these more private designers were—all to find out if they really are in the right age range, and if their natural features do put them in the ‘likely a Wayne’ category for Wayne dominant traits (and those possible given Bruce’s own DNA makeup, which he doesn’t know Tim has. Hey, he’s the Robin that Gets Shit Done, never said he was the polite one. That’s Dick’s job, not his.)

---------

Adrien hates not having Plagg with him. Not that Tikki isn’t great and all! Really! Just… he misses him and his stinky cheese, okay?

“Adrien,” Natalie knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Natalie entered the doorway, but no further. “When is Marinette free for consultations next? we have a high end client who would like to commission her as soon as possible.”

“Give me a minute…” Adrien checked his ‘overseeing Marinette’ schedule on his phone. “Uh, she has walk-ins around four until five tomorrow.”

“Excellent. Will she be at her home or the studio Gabriel has provided for consultations?” By her tone, he could tell which Natalie and Father would prefer.

“Let me check with her.”

“See that you do.”

Adrien sent a lipstick, X arm lady, and house emoji to Marinette.

In a minute she sent back a thumbs up and apartment building emoji.

“Studio it is.”

Natalie nodded. “Excellent choice. I will let them know to be there at four ten, given Marinette’s… difficulty arriving on time.”

Adrien grimaced a bit on that as yeah… no longer having a Danger sense meant her punctuality was… not very good. “Are they speaking to Marinette or MDC?”

He’d need to know if he should just pick her up or not. MDC didn’t have to get picked up—designers to celebrities are allowed to be late and can blame it on getting caught up in a few details on a commission design for a walk-in consultation. Marinette was tied to the Gabriel Brand and needed to reflect that, therefore, be there on time and ready.

“Marinette for now, though they expressed an interest in MDC as a budding designer, and they are well within the MDC price range,” Natalie hinted.

Adrien kept the hiss growing in the back of throat quiet. Marinette chooses who MDC works with, not his Father.

--------

Stephanie is both delighted and upset when she sees Cass. As its Cass—she probably figured it out already damn it!—but its Cass and she missed her since she left a few months back for a mission and got caught up in the Chinese crime scene again.

“Hey Cass!”

Cass grinned when she saw Steph and made her way over.

“Found her!”

Stephanie was gutted. She really wanted to win, just this once, at a detective thing. You know, be the normal one that managed to out-do the prodigies and geniuses. Not to be again. “Oh, that’s great. Where is the baby bat?”

Cass shook her head. “Not her, Soup Girl.”

Stephanie opened and shut her mouth. Then lit up as she still has a chance! “Oh, right—right! You said you wanted to meet her a while back.”

Cass nodded. “Her family is nice.”

“Did you talk to her or…”

Cass shook her head. “Busy.”

“Ah.” That made sense. “Well, uh, still competing?”

Cass raised an eyebrow. That was a yes.

“Maybe we should work on helping her on the hero side of things together, you know, so we don’t freak her out when we all swarm her place. Make the whole thing a bit less…”

“Dramatic.”

Stephanie nodded. It would help ease the girl into the family, and keep Cass on that case instead of finding Baby Bat for a bit. Win-Win for Stephanie and Baby Bat.

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

Chatte Noire really, really hates dealing with akumas. She's built for strategy, to see tricky parts and work out how to make them safer for the team and minimize risk. She is not made to be Chatte Noire. Yet here she is, in an akuma attack, trying to play the role of a Black Cat—identify and destroy threats to the team. Problem is, she lacks Chat Noir's heightened ability to sense danger. In fact, she lacks it completely--and she knows the team isn't happy.

The attack is taking longer than it would if she was Ladybug. This would be over if she had just managed to keep her big mouth shut and not talked to Aquaman. Then the Justice League wouldn’t be involved. Then the whole promise to Murder Robin would not be broken and Paris would already be saved for the day instead of dealing with another Sandboy attack going on well into the night, with a cure that won’t be able to handle fatigue, energy renewal or relax the body for sleep post ‘I’m scared out of my mind’ fear.

She made sure to avoid this Sandboy’s attacks and she would save whoever got caught. Her Cataclysms may not be as strong as Chat’s (his do make the whole thing go away) but she is just as quick on her feet and just as good at getting civilians out of danger.

“Chatte!”

“On it Buggaboy! And not yet!”

It was too off for the Lucky Charm. They’d need Viperion, and he was stuck underwater with Aquaman trying to get him out at the moment. Until then, she just had to minimize damage, keep civilians away from their nightmares hunting them down, and keep moving and planning and work everything out while playing bodyguard for the team at Cha—At Mr. Bug’s call.

She hopes things turn out okay.

Then she sees a bat symbol and the world vanishes.

----------

Red Hood blinked when he saw some girl running around on rooftops in… Isn’t Chat Noir supposed to be the cat one? Where the hell is Ladybug—and why is some guy in her place? Shit, did the baby bat lose her miraculous or was it stolen? Damnit, now he has to steal it back for her!

“Okay, how did LB get hit when she isn’t even here?” The fox girl groaned as she dodged another attack. “Aren’t these guys supposed to go after who’s scared of them?”

The bee girl rolled her eyes. “More than just Ladybug can be terrified of the bats. They’re the Ghosts, remember?”

“Hey, can we argue about fears and who has rights to them some other time?” fake ladybug asked, flinching and moving closer to the Turtle guy. “Uh, Chatte, that way!”

Cat girl—Chatte— said something he didn’t catch and grabbed a kid stuck in a mob and bounce out.

“I—” the boy threw his hands up. “We’re screwed. She really, really isn’t getting the whole Cat thing.”

Red Hood pulled out his guns, checking that the darts were loaded and aiming for Spots.

“Chatte---guy with a gun!”

This time cat girl managed to look over and froze. She started… hyperventilating? Shit—kid’s having an attack.

Red Hood lowered his gun and made sure to get closer to her---seeing as the other heroes—Dragon girl, Monkey boy and Snake Guy were busy with the bee and fox girls trying to circle some kid on a pillow. No clue where the other kid in black was, but the cat girl losing it? that was his current focus.

“Kid, come on, breathe.”

“Oh my—” the kid looked at him like he was the threat. “Fuck, no—I shouldn’t have talked back to---shit. Shit, now I’m gonna—”

“VOYAGE!”

Just like that, Red Hood was dropped into Gotham harbor. Jason didn’t even get to look around to see what happened. He did manage to tread water and work out which was to go to get to shore.

“Oracle!”

“Jesus Hood—sending Robin to your location. What happened?”

“Some kids stole baby bats’ jewels, some akuma attack, the actual cat thief was hyperventilating and then I end up here.”

“Oh, B is not going to like this.”

“I already don’t like it.” Batman growled out over comms. “Did someone say voyage?”

Red Hood wracked his somewhat waterlogged brain. “In French, yes.”

“One of the local heroes.” Jason could feel Bruce’s annoyance. “Why were you in Paris.”

“Well,” Red Hood kept swimming to shore. “When you find out a long lost bat is in life threatening danger, one must locate and meet this possible winner of the ‘avoided having crappy parents raise me’ lottery to give a well-earned ‘congrats, you’re a well-adjusted person in a family of crimefighter! Mazel tav.”

“Hood.” Robin began on a private channel. “We need to talk.”

“Gotta go B, life to live, baby bat to find.”

“Red Hood!”

“Bye!” Red Hood climbed out of the harbor, finding his baby brother on his motorcycle that was definitely not Bruce-Approved.

“What’s up buttercup, didja miss me?”

Robin scowled at him. “Of course not, the world is more peaceful without the drivel that falls out of your mouth.”

Red Hood snorted. “Yeah, and that’s why you hide in my room all the time.”

Robin refused to make eye contact, shoving Red Hood onto his bike. “Is it true, did my sister lose her miraculous?”

“Unless she’s B and Catwoman’s lovechild and she decided to embrace it.”

Robin was quiet on the way to the cave. “…how long would it take to get the pilot to return and take me to Paris?”

“…you’d make it there around their in time for dessert.”

Robin frowned. “that’s not soon enough.”

“Closest you’ll get. And don’t’ think you’re going alone.”

Robin frowned. “I am not exposing my sister to you.”

“She’s our sister first of all,” Red Hood corrected. “and second of all, I have a bet to win, and I’m behind thanks to this portal guy. So I’m coming.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Only if you get past Father and Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Robin smirked as they pulled into the Batcave.

“Father, I believe Red Hood needs your full attention given he was in the harbor for so long, and we all know how cold they are this time of year.”

Jason decided Damian was by and far his least favorite sibling in that moment. “Wait, B, no, look—no signs of hypothermia, no shaking, just need to change and—”

“I will check and ensure you don’t develop it with Alfred on standby.”

Jason glared at Damian, already stripping from his Robin gear with that self-satisfied smirk. “Traitor!”

“I simply want what is best for my siblings, how is that wrong?”

----------

I hope this gave you all a good idea of what’s going to happen next… I do love the Batfam and all, but some of their approaches here… no good and need to have that hit over their head.

And if I’m screwing up ladybats characterization, feel free to let me know so I can fix it---going off what I could find from DC fans and lore but I also do not know these characters inside and out, and want to do them justice.

OH and for anytime i refrence princess Justice, got a refrence for you now! picture the one made by @tinymelonbug right here with the only (maybe?) change being that below the cut it is cut off as a romper: Here

TAGS:

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace @jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #marinette did not sign up for this #part 5 #long post #ml au #my writing #how do i tag?

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normal-thoughts-official · 4 years ago

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Agh I read your recent post and realized: the entire Polycule absolutely commissions Magnus for gifts for birthdays/anniversaries/holidays. And he always insists they don’t pay bc it’s who he is but they all make it their personal

Lmao last ask sent too early. But the Polycule absolutely makes it their mission to pay Magnus by force if necessary. Simon literally hides money in the loft. Maia pays him back in free meals at Taki. Mel brings him Seelie weapons/charms/etc. Clary brings paintings as gifts, and maybe she ends up investing in a gallery and gifts a portion of the profits to Magnus. Izzy always pays for things on their shopping trips.

god yes hello how does it feel to be a genius? i absolutely adore this

truly tho this is so great. i particularly love the mental image of maia’s birthday since she’s dating everyone in the Polycule (love how we capitalize it that’s so hot girl summer of us) plus there’s also her pack and just generally she has a lot of friends and everyone loves her, as she deserves. so like 4 months before maia’s birthday magnus just starts sending ppl shit like “if you wish to commission a gift to maia roberts please come forward now so i have the time to properly work on all the requests. requests are open for the following month starting this date, and no later” because MAN the workload. one would think he’s the only warlock in this stupid town or something. seriously

but anyway they all want to get maia a little magical something to make it special, so he has to actually like, figure out a lot of spells. raphael’s first request of a gift to her is to make something that tastes exactly like chocolate, but isn’t, since she can’t eat it anymore after the lycantrophy and raphael is a softie who wants her to have all the food and sweets she wants. and raphael is obviously like “i know i’m asking a lot, which is why i came to you, because if anyone can pull it off, it’s you, but you can say no if you’re too busy-” and magnus is like “hush, my boy, you know i’d never say no to you. besides, i’d be happy to give maia this” so there magnus is, studying the chemical composition of chocolate and the werewolf digestive system like crazy. in the end he lowkey cheats - he creates these magical tablets that are actually tasteless, but look and have the texture of chocolate, and when eaten have an enchantment that activates all the same parts of the brain that chocolate does, so it “tricks” maia into tasting chocolate. but hey, it works, so, that’s a win! maia is so happy she just jumps in raphael’s arms and almost topples them over but raphael has the biggest smile on his face and kind of spuns her around a bit. she also gives magnus a kiss on the cheek, and it’s the sweetest thing aaa im so soft

then of course magnus refuses to take any payment because he’s not going to charge his son for a gift even if it was a real fucking bunch of work. so basically raphael comes to him on clan business and he’s like “you have to charge me because if you don’t charge the clan on official business this can create a diplomatic problem and all the other clans are going to come for you or us” and magnus is like “okay that’s fair what do you want” and raphael asks him for like one (1) bag of blood and pays him A Thousand Dollars (it’s his own money, not the clan’s, but like, it’s officially a clan transaction). i’m exaggerating but you get the spirit. and magnus is just like “that is not the price-” but raphael bolts

and just other little things. meliorn is a practical nonbinary entity so they get her a little necklace that basically protects her clothes when she transforms, then magics them back on her body once she goes back to human form (i know that meliorn has seelie magic but it doesn’t work the same way as warlock magic so maybe they can’t do that themself for some reason idk. like their magic seems to be more a “playing with nature” stuff). easier than having a bunch of clothes hideouts. simon gets her a kind of mirror that play whatever memory she’s thinking about when she touches it, so she can watch it like a video u kno. izzy gets her, like, A Real Lightsaber. clary draws a little comic book enchanted so the figurines actually move. etc. every year they get sweeter and more convoluted and obviously they don’t all always come to magnus (simon for example makes her a bunch of songs, izzy is lowkey an engineer so she can make her a bunch of stuff herself, rapha also takes pleasure in the mundane things and knows that maia feels the same way so he likes to get her special, mundane gifts sometimes, meliorn obviously has their own magic, etc), but it’s always something special when they do

and then there’s always the fun little cat and mouse game of Forcing Magnus To Take Payment. they aren’t afraid to play dirty. izzy gives the money to alec under strict instructions to only spend it on magnus, but magnus can’t pay it back because it’s technically alec’s money. meliorn gets magnus some seelie magic gifts so precious and rare it would be essentially disrespectful to give them back (both in the form of like, powerful charms and trinkets, and also like, priceless spellbooks that very few have access to, etc). maia tells him that if he doesn’t take her payment, she won’t take his tips, which leads to a battle of him tipping her exactly the amount of money she’s paid and maia finding new, stupid stuff to “pay” him for (sidenote: my dad and one of his friends do essentially this every time they go out, as does most of my mom’s family. his friend once literally stole my dad’s wallet when he wasn’t looking so he couldn’t pay for their meal and the friend could treat him. no joke). simon and raphael hide money in the loft and when magnus goes to them they’re like “what? no, this isn’t mine. i agreed to take it for free as a gift from you” with the absolute most innocent face you’ve ever seen in your life. and so on

raphael’s birthday is also convoluted because like, 4 partners, a clan, a thousand people he helps with taki’s and the soup kitchen, and he’s magnus’ son, so of course everyone goes to him for help. simon has a major freakout every year because he doesn’t know what to get him (look. raphael is very refined and simon. is not. plus he’s been known to fuck up with raphael so he’s always Nervous even if all the clary bullshit was decades ago), so he comes to magnus, like, begging for help so he can figure it out. which is just straight up stupid because he usually actually has extremely sweet, beautiful ideas (like the time he recorded rapha a CD with a bunch of songs he made for him in spanish and raphael teared up so hard) but he gets insecure and agitated so magnus’ job there is mainly getting him to chill. then it works out. he ends up not even needing magnus to do anything because again, raphael enjoys the simple things and everyday gestures and just... regular, mundane stuff. he misses it. you know?

but that’s not stopping simon from paying for the counseling because he’s sweet like that, and magnus deserves it

and then of course there’s magnus’ birthday which always comes with a bang and he has so many gifts he’s basically drowning, what with all his friends and kids and warlocks and just. people who love him. he’s a bit surprised every time, which makes everyone exasperated because he’s such an important member of their community, like wtf. but it’s always sweet when his birthday arrives and there’s a fuckton of magical gifts manifesting at his doorstep until he’s almost drowning in them lmao. i just aaa i love this they’re all SOFT

#ask #anonymous #magnus bane #raphael santiago #maia roberts #simon lewis #The Polycule™#brief meliorn izzy and clary but not too much so dunno if i should tag #maiaphael #saphael #saiaphael #saia #brotp: i'll do whatever it takes to protect them #q

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notaburgler · 5 years ago

Text

Grocery Shopping

The grocery store. A place to gather the essentials, or if you were Soramitsu Tabe, a source of power. Normally, this was a solo job delegated to some subordinate. But Overhaul felt the need to go himself, the rest of his posse following behind.

They gave him a list of what to get, but Overhaul and his short fuse snapped, ‘if you all want this so bad, just come with me!’ He was regretting that outburst already.

It wasn’t that his men were unruly or loud; it was more so that Overhaul found solace in grocery shopping. It was a relaxing moment in time where he wasn’t the boss of the feared yakuza. He was just a simple civilian out getting the week’s food.

With his own reusable basket over one arm and a quick adjustment of his gloves, he was off. He did his best to ignore the ramblings of the rest, but since he was the one with the credit card, it was only reasonable that they would be bothering him with questions of whether they could get something or not.

He sighed. He did, in fact, ask for this.

Rappa, the rebellious and hot-headed man he was, just tossed what he wanted in the cart Chrono had grabbed. Why ask? He needed it, even if it was the sugar-coated cereal Overhaul hated.

But if he was trying to piss off the boss, he failed. Overhaul was actually happy he had just made the decision for himself. They were only down the first aisle and he was already getting irritated with the small group. Maybe offering to let them come along, even if it was out of anger, wasn’t the best call.

****

Arms crossed and a scowl on his face, Shigaraki grumbled, “Why do I have to be here?”

The league of villains had needs, too. It wasn’t odd to consider that their fridge needed replenishing, and even with a moderate, but small budget, Kurogiri would manage to get what was needed.

“Because Tomura Shigaraki, you are our leader and as our leader, you must make decisions for our little group.” Kurogiri stated, pushing the cart into the store.

The rest followed the two. They loved this. Dabi intended to cause a scene. Toga wanted Lucky Charms and a body pillow so she could draw a picture of Deku on it to sleep with. Spinner was still searching for the perfect lotion to help with how hard his scales had gotten. Twice was trying to stick to a diet, but the other half of him felt eating instant noodles and cookies for dinner was perfectly acceptable. Mr. Compress had a new recipe he found on Pinterest he wanted to try.

There was a fear that, since they were villains, they would be caught. But Kurogiri chose the store, and Costco couldn’t have been a better choice. It was huge and there were a lot of people swarming the isles. He insisted Shigaraki leave his hands at home and wear his hoodie. After a quick hissy fit, the hands remained behind and he tossed his hoodie up, ‘I’m not doing it because you told me to… I’m doing it because I want to.’ His stubbornness was endearing.

“Chrono,” Shigaraki perked up at the overheard name and glanced through the aisles, “make sure Tabe doesn’t eat us out of house and home.”

Overhaul. Shigaraki scowled at his voice. “Our funds are limited and we can’t use it all up here.” He continued on, Shigaraki following them as they walked down the aisle. “And make sure that Sakaki stays away from the liquor aisle,” Overhaul noted nodding.

Shigaraki’s glare was joined by Dabi. Both glaring holes through the yakuza boss. “Tomura Shigaraki,” Kurogiri gained the attention of his leader again, “we need your input.”

Shigaraki, being the adult that he is, had a new plan, “Kurogiri, you do the shopping. I have something else I have to do.” He said with a devious smirk.

****

“Boss,” Mimic rode in the child’s seat of the cart going over the budget, “here is what we can afford. If we can spend less, that would be ideal.” He held out his calculator, “don’t forget, we have to get a few things for Eri.”

Overhaul sighed, but he knew keeping the kid happy— or at least content— was important. A new doll house or a stuffed animal should suffice. Her daily food rations would come from what they gathered for all, but he did intend to get something a bit more fun for her as well. She was, after all, the reason he had gotten so far in his research. A nice gift would do the trick in maintaining her submission.

Overhaul glanced at his list, then at the prices, then back at his list. It should be doable with the budget Mimic had placed, but it would be tight. He had to remember that toilet paper and laundry detergent weren’t cheap; and with the monstrosity that was that store, and the countless opportunities to go over budget, he’d have to keep a watchful eye on what they got.

Overhaul scanned the men in front of him. “Get what you like, just don’t go too crazy.”

Chrono pushed the cart, Mimic had hopped to the floor and grabbed the lower items so Overhaul didn’t have to bend over or touch anything. The reason Overhaul preferred to go alone was silence and space. The selections he made were precise. He’d always grab the item farthest to the back so the least amount of hands had touched it. Mimic knew this. He handed it to Chrono, who plopped it in the cart.

The trip was surprisingly relaxing. Overhaul would hate to admit that his subordinates were quite well-mannered in public, even if they all didn’t look the part. They were polite and kind. A few of them would gain a passing glance and a look of horror from the other patrons, but that was expected. So long as they minded their manners and didn’t cause a scene, they would be left to do their shopping in peace.

With a half full cart, Overhaul stopped to examine their findings. Several extra bottles of wine gained Sakaki a glare. He quickly took a few out and returned them to the shelf.

An overabundance of food was crammed to the side like a rat hoarding food for the winter. “Tabe…” Mimic sighed, “I said only get what is needed. If you plan to buy all of this, get your own cart and pay with your own money.”

Again, the men scattered with their designated items as Overhaul scanned the aisles. He placed a few things in his cart and moved on. Chrono stepped away and Mimic followed his boss talking about how many extras were tossed in that weren’t on the list.

****

Dabi chuckled watching them leave, “Now’s our chance,” he smirked.

Shigaraki slipped into the aisle and pulled the cart back, Dabi pushing another into its place, “This always drives me up the wall,” he laughed as he got back to his leader.

Shigaraki went through their cart, checking it out and decaying anything he didn’t like. “Serves them right,” he huffed, placing all five fingers on a giant can of soup.

****

Rappa passed a free sample stand and stopped. He loved the store for this reason. Tabe would go nuts at these if it wasn’t for the looming threat of their boss scolding him— or worse.

“Care to try a sample, good sir?” “Come on, you loser! What are you? Scared?” The sample vendor was an odd one.

“Have I seen you before?”

“I don’t think so…” “Just try the food, you overgrown weasel!”

Rappa, as confused as he was, gripped the small cup in his massive hands. His eyes never left the strange vendor. He felt like he must have seen him before. Taking away the comically large chef’s hat and the pink apron, he looked so… familiar.

With a wondering glance, Rappa scooped the yogurt sample onto the tiny spoon and shoveled the entire thing into his mouth. “Well that’s damn good!” he said, reaching for more.

“Please, take another.” “Save some for the rest of the people, fat ass!”

Rappa left with a few more samples to share. He knew his comrades would enjoy them and there hadn’t been many other samples available that day.

“Here.” He handed one to Tengai and another to Tetsuno. “Free samples,” he said, eating yet another.

****

Overhaul walked alongside Chronostasis as they gathered more items and put them in the cart. There seemed to be a bit more than Chrono remembered before they left.

Chrono hummed to himself, “Maybe Hojo put more in. He didn’t want to come here to begin with anyway.” He shrugged moving along having a harder time with the cart than before.

It seemed that in the short time he had walked away, the back wheel to the cart had jammed up. He was using more strength to push the cart than before. And now the front wheel on the opposite side had a mind of its own too. If he did manage to get the cart moving, the front wheel would flip in the wrong direction and send the cart hurling into the aisle. He grit his teeth, bearing it with stoicism. Overhaul hated complainers.

It was a petty thing to be upset about, and his boss had no patience for the like. When they arrived, Chrono made well and sure that the cart he grabbed was perfect. He made an ordeal out of it holding the lot of them from even entering the store before he selected it. If Chrono had a major pet peeve: it was a faulty shopping cart.

His pride, and dignity, prevented him from returning to the front of the store and getting a new one. He was a leader in this group after all; and after making a big deal out of which cart to grab, he couldn't turn around and claim his selection unworthy. No, Chrono would have to bite his tongue and press on, fighting the urge to admit defeat via a shopping cart.

“Everything alright?” Overhaul hummed.

Chrono forced the words out as he powered through the stubborn cart’s resistance. “Yup. No problems here,” he said, breath strained.

He kicked the wheel hoping to knock it back into place so it would work properly again, but to no avail. It was as if this cart had been struck by his quirk. And now, Chronostasis would suffer for it.

****

Shigaraki and Dabi chuckled at the sight. He hadn’t even noticed that their new cart was littered with junk food and frozen items. Dabi made sure that the frozen food was at the bottom and had been thoroughly thawed out before exchanging the carts.

“Stupid yakuza.” Shigaraki snickered, sneaking away as they turned a corner, out of the other villains’ line of sight.

The two caught up to their own small group reassembling in the frozen food aisle.

“Spinner…” Dabi pointed.

Shigaraki glanced at his reptilian ally and a wicked grin spread across his face. With a ‘borrowed’ can opener, Spinner opened some tuna.

His eyes flicked to meet Shigaraki’s and he locked up in fear. Yet upon seeing that sickening smile, he proceeded with his plan knowing his leader approved.

With a short grunt, he tossed the can over the tall row of food. Shigaraki and Dabi, now hiding behind a stack of potato chips and pretzels, watched as the can landed just behind the group. The yakuza pressed on without noticing the splattered fish a few feet away from them.

Shigaraki nodded to Spinner as he hastily opened another can and adjusted himself according to Dabi’s directions.

A step to the left, then to the right. A small shuffle back to the left and he was in place.

****

Overhaul glanced inside the freezer for his favorite meal and nodded to Mimic to grab a few. He graciously plucked the food from Mimics hand, paying close attention as to not touch him, and gently placed them in his basket.

“Boss,” Mimic scooted along the floor, “we come to Costco, the bulk capital of the food world, and you shop with a tiny basket?”

As Overhaul began to answer, a can of tuna fell from above, landing between them, and splattering across the floor.

Overhaul held back his urge to destroy everything in sight. This trip was turning into a nightmare. His men all stopped and stared, wondering what the boss would do. His arms held out in disgust and a rancid look on his face made them fearful of the outcome of this mess.

Overhaul took a deep breath in and let it out slowly with closed eyes. He had a reputation to uphold and couldn't go killing random citizens because of this. If he was going to continue his experiments, he needed to keep a low profile; and murdering people in such a public and crowded place would not help him in the grand scheme of things.

“Well!” Mimic yelled, “get something for the boss to clean himself up!”

****

Kurogiri was enjoying the silence. On occasion, one of his comrades would pop by and toss something in the cart. They would leave as quickly as they came, off to grab another useless item. He would spend a moment looking it over and deciding if it was worth the money. Most of the stuff the League of Villains would throw at him was junk food and unhealthy. He had tried so hard to get them off of this instant noodles and chips diet, but Shigaraki was a tough cookie to crack. He was so stubborn and hard to convince that a healthy diet would help his work later.

He tossed a few bags of chips back on the shelf and shook his head at the amount of soda and energy drinks piling up at the bottom of the cart.

“You can have one or the other.” He said putting back the energy drinks and changing them out for coffee instead, “this will be much better for you anyway, Tomura Shigaraki.”

Kurogiri really was the glue that held the League together. Without him, they would have already been caught by the heroes or starved. He took pride in his position, and made sure that at least once a week, a good hearty meal was on the menu.

****

Overhaul cleaned up the best he could. His pure, unadulterated rage had calmed to a gentle frustration. Clorox wipes definitely helped. He could still smell the fish on his pants, but at least he got the majority of it up. Now he didn’t care about getting what was on the list; he just wanted to go home and take a properly scalding shower.

The next aisle was his favorite though. A soft heat throbbed in his chest. His eyes sparkled with a ray of happiness. The once fuming aura of pure disgust was erased and replaced with a shimmering delight. He passed a wet floor sign and stepped around a large puddle of detergent on the floor and stopped to admire the beauty.

The soap aisle.

The bleach. The detergent. The smell of freshness. It made his heart, as black and emotionless as it was, flutter in his chest. This aisle was as dangerous to him as a liquor store was to Sakaki. If he didn’t have someone stopping him, he’d end up buying the entire aisle. Luckily, Tengai had come to his side seeing him alone.

“Boss,” he piped up, catching Overhaul off guard. “Only get what you need.”

Overhaul hated being told what to do, especially by those he deemed expendable like Tengai. But he was right, they couldn’t afford to spend so much money on cleaning supplies. With a hopeless sigh, he placed the box of gloves in his basket and moved along to the detergent.

“Got the coffee.” Rappa stated, rounding the corner.

Tetsuno followed with the tea in hand. With all of this, they wouldn’t have to get more for quite some time.

All three men suddenly stopped in their tracks as they moved along, Overhaul leaving them behind.

“Oh….” Tetsuno gripped his stomach.

“Oh man….” Rappa whined.

Tengai remained silent, standing still.

“What’s wrong with you three?” Overhaul looked back at them with raised brows.

“Bathroom… now…” All three collectively turned and rushed as one toward the restrooms.

Before they even managed to leave the aisle, they slipped on the puddle of detergent. All three tried so hard to use the others as a means to stay on both feet. They were sliding around, a moving pretzel of villains, before inevitably falling flat on their asses.

Overhaul ignored them, enjoying the sweet scent of the detergent. He took in a whiff of the fresh linen smell and smiled. Even through his mask, he could smell it; it was wonderful. But that scent was quickly destroyed by a truly awful smell. He glanced back at his men, all three of them looking ashamed and embarrassed.

Rappa growled. “This is your fault.” He held Tengai by the shirt collar.

“I don’t understand how this could possibly be my fault.” He rolled his eyes trying to hide that he too, had shit his pants.

“Who cares whose fault it is…. I need new pants now.” Tetsuno scanned the aisles until he saw the clothes.

He made a beeline for them hoping the smell wasn’t as bad as it felt.

****

Toga held back her laughter, clutching the wet floor sign to her chest in glee. All she wanted was to watch them fall. Watching the light leave their eyes as they voided their bowels was the delicious cherry on top she desperately needed. It was sweet, sweet payback for what they had done to poor Big Sis Magne.

Shigaraki had called a truce with them; but that didn’t mean messing with them was out of line with her leader’s orders.

She chuckled, pinching her nose. “Nice job Twice. Laxatives in the yogurt samples… classic.”

****

Katsukame scanned the bulk dry foods section. They needed more rice and he was selected to get it. Normally, he would grab a large bag of it from another store, but being on a tight budget made him come here.

He grimaced at the faint scent of feces and shook his head, “Damn kids.” He glared at a mother and baby.

The white rice was on sale too. This was a good thing. Any deal they could get would be a winner, and anything to get praise from the boss or Mimic was a good thing.

He would never outwardly admit it, but he loved the praise he got for a job well done. He loved being the go-to guy. Getting the job done right the first time was his life’s motto.

“Lucky me.” He said, hefting a 20-pound sack in his arms.

He walked the store in a bit of awe— this was his first time in such a large establishment. The free samples, the huge variety, the giant TVs, even furniture! What didn’t this place have?

He made note of a rice cooker he passed. The one at the hideout was getting beat up from its constant use. Once he got paid, he might come back and buy it for the group. They all had been working so hard lately and a nice treat like this would be appreciated.

****

Dabi followed Hojo around the store wondering what he would select. He’d scan a few items and pick them up to examine, but never bring them back with him. He seemed to be looking for something specific but couldn’t quite find what it was he was looking for in the vast array of gifts this store had to offer.

He hummed, holding up a bundle of leeks. “This should do us well,” he said, placing them in his grocery bag and continuing on.

He was looking for ingredients for a recipe.

Dabi kept a close eye on him and his mission, each ingredient thoughtfully selected and put into his bag.

“Now for some sugar.”

Dabi cackled lowly and slipped past him. Hojo’s attention was directed towards the commotion in the detergent aisle. He could only assume someone had told his boss he couldn’t buy it all.

He shook his head, “Fools. Just let the man get what he wants.” He dropped the sugar in his bag and moved along.

****

“I don’t get it?” Shigaraki huffed at Dabi’s seemingly stupid move.

“His meal is gonna be great. But replacing salt with sugar is gonna make it even better.”

Shigaraki grinned. This evil work was more fun than he had thought.

Tormenting the Shie Hassaikai. This was a great stress relief that even he wouldn’t think would help. The undeniable desire to get even with the man that not only belittled him and destroyed his hideout, but also killed his comrade was fulfilling.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.”

The loudspeaker cut off his next thought. That voice was familiar. “Toga…”

“The young man in the plague mask and green coat has had a horrible day. He’s in the detergent aisle. He loves getting tightly hugged and cuddled when he’s feeling down.” Shigaraki’s smile split his face. “If you see him, please, give him a big hug and tell him how important he is. Suicide is not an option and many people will miss him.”

“Thank you!” “Tell them he loves it when you touch his dick.”

“Shut up Twi-”

The crackle of the loudspeaker screeched before turning off.

****

“Oh no…” Chrono left the cart in Nemoto and Mimic’s hands and dashed to his boss.

With how busy the store was, there was already a small crowd surrounding him. This wasn’t good. If even one of them touched him he’d break out into hives and start disassembling each one of them.

“Please, everyone.” Chrono announced making his way through the small gathering, “the boss is fine. There is no need to hug or touch him. We, his… friends, have made sure he won’t do anything drastic. Return to your shopping.”

An old lady passed, “here’s a candy young man.” Her voice broke and sweet like a grandmother.

Her wrinkled smile flashed to the young boss. He wasn’t the least bit amused by her presence. He already felt his skin start to bubble just from the people looming around him so closely.

****

“Clean up in the detergent section... and the clothing section…”

Twice snickered as he and Toga tiptoed off, seeing Sakaki stumble past them. They couldn't get caught yet.

“Hey,” he reunited with Shigaraki and Dabi, “this is fun!” “Let’s make them cry!”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Calm down. Where’s Spinner?”

“Right here.” The lizard man’s smile made them all giddy, “just had to take care of a…. rice situation.”

****

“Boss,” Hojo waved, “I got the rice like you asked.” He held up the bag by the cloth handle.

Half empty, rice trickled out of the hole in the bottom. Overhaul watched silently as it continued to drain out onto the floor in front of Hojo, a small pile of rice forming at his feet.

Hojo kept his hand up, letting the last few grains fall before lifting his gaze to the boss. This was embarrassing. His one job, the only job he was given, was a complete and utter failure.

He fell to his knees, “I’m so sorry boss!” He begged for forgiveness, “Please, let me try again!”

Overhaul was over this trip. He was frustrated and irritated— not to mention he still smelled like tuna. The store reeked of shit and half of his gang had somehow been hit with an illness. He’d have to correct that before getting into the same automobile as them. Maybe he’d just leave them behind and make them walk. A good brisk jog should do them well.

“We are leaving,” he sighed. “Gather the rest.”

Hojo took his orders seriously and rushed to get them together. Mimic and Chrono had made way to the checkout counter and waited as Overhaul grabbed a few more things he needed.

He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes. This trip was bringing shame upon his group. A rice trail scattered along the floor showed exactly where Hojo had gone. An exceptionally large pile of rice sat in the lingerie section; what an embarrassment.

He still needed something for Eri. She hated the tea set he got last time. Refused to play with the doll house from the time before. She loathed the stuffed animals. Normally this task would be given to her caretaker, but an unfortunate ‘accident’ rendered him useless and disposed of immediately.

Overhaul lifted a giant sucker up and examined it, “this should do.” He dropped it in his basket and headed to the checkout stand.

He passed Tetsuno, Rappa, and Tengai getting escorted to the back. For a moment he panicked, but seeing the clothing section a mess and covered in layers of runny shit made him turn a corner and go the longer way. Somehow, those three managed to get sick at the same time. It was disgusting. He had settled on it, those three would walk home. Either that, or they’d be sprayed with the hose outside before getting into the same vehicle as him. The thick stench of human excrement was filling the entire store.

“What an embarrassment…” he shook his head.

Once at the checkout line, he felt the calm return. It was almost over.

Chrono and Mimic knew better than to place the groceries on the conveyor belt without him. He had a routine and a method and he wouldn’t allow anyone to mess it up.

Frozen food first, then the fresh meats, a blockade of boxed or bagged items to keep the meats from touching anything, and the fresh veggies. Last was the cleaning supplies and his own basket of items. The checkout lady knew him from past visits and prepared to separate his basket from the rest.

“Boss, I don’t think we wanted this…” Chrono held up a box of plus size tampons.

“Or this…” Mimic showed the bulk extra strength deodorant.

Chrono looked over all of it, “none of this is ours!” he stated furiously. “Someone switched our god damn cart!” He gripped the handle to hold back his anger.

Overhaul remained silent. He grabbed his basket and went to another line, “I’ll be in the car when you are done returning all of this to the proper place and getting what we need.”

****

It took forever, but with teamwork and cooperation, they all managed to get what they had come for and out of the store without any more incidents. Rappa, Tengai, and Tetsuno were given adult diapers to wear home after cleaning up in the employee locker room.

The clothing section was closed off and was still getting cleaned as they checked out and left. “Finally!” Chrono groaned.

They quickly started to pack up the SUV. All they wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.

****

The League of Villains excitedly packed the car. Shigaraki knew he could trust Kurogiri to get what was needed. He did throw a bit of a tantrum when Kurogiri didn’t buy the chips they all asked for, but they would get over it soon enough.

“Compress,” Dabi got his attention. With a hum, Mr. Compress turned. “What exactly were you doing this entire time?”

The league rolled past Overhaul and his gang— windows down and sunglasses on. Dabi took it upon himself to blast some gangster rap to try to look cool.

They smiled, waving at their rivals. Overhaul’s eyes widened as he finally caught on to why this particular trip was such a disaster.

Mr. Compress smiled. He hung out the window as Twice slowed. With a snap of his fingers, their entire car practically exploded. Canoes, couches, TVs, bookshelves, refrigerators, all of them came bursting out of nowhere, effectively destroying the car and everything inside of it. His quirk had come in handy, dropping small marbles into their bags as they left.

Shigaraki, making eye contact with Overhaul, nodded and puckered his lips as he flashed the peace sign like the gangster he is.

Twice sped away laughing.

Shie Hassaikai would never forget: members of the League of Villains were petty and cruel.

#overhaul #8 precepts of death #leauge of villians #shigaraki tomura #dabi #bnha fanfiction #bnha #my hero academia #funny shit #revenge for magne #Shigaraki is a dick #the league gets revenge #overhaul never saw it coming #I still laugh reading this #please like this #please tell me im funny

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snezfics-n-shit · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 27: Flu

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth

Notes: Some 7-year-gap sick!Hobohodo fresh outta the oven. The flu is a powerful beast. Phoenix has been sold the ever common lie that the flu is “no big deal” and “just a really bad cold.” Today he pays the price for his naivety. Also do I really gotta say, established Wrightworth ahead.

Miles couldn’t help but look at his watch as he witnessed another extended coughing fit that sent Phoenix curled up into a ball. He sighed through his nose as he remembered Phoenix swearing up and down how he had every intention to get his flu shot. Actions or, more accurately, inaction spoke louder than words.

“I think that was,” Phoenix wheezed, “the longest one yet.” He rolled himself on his back on the bed he hadn’t left since returning from the walk-in clinic. “I was kidding when I asked you to keep time.”

“I thought it would be worth a try.” Miles took the oversized water bottle from the end table and handed it to Phoenix. “You’ve barely touched your water. The first rule of the flu is to stay hydrated.”

“How can I drink anything if I’m busy coughing?” Phoenix frowned as he took a long drink of the water. “I’m never calling a bad cold ‘the flu’ ever again.” He groaned. “I think I’m dying.”

“You could have gotten your flu shot when Trucy and I went to get ours, you know.” Miles gently took the water bottle and placed it back on the end table. “I have to admit, I never knew the flu was quite like this.” He pressed his hand on the cooling patch stuck to Phoenix’s forehead; it was still cold enough to stay a while before needing to be replaced. “I, too, was under the assumption it was hardly different from a cold.”

“It felt like one at first.” Phoenix recalled; his breathing was labored as he spoke. “Yesterday morning I thought I was just getting a cold, then I just went to lie down for a couple hours. When I woke up, I--” The coughing started again. Miles rubbed his back and made gentle shushing noises until the fit subsided.

“You did that, yes.” Miles remembered the previous evening vividly. Phoenix had just gotten out of the shower when he started coughing like he was now. Miles found him on the cold bathroom floor, coughing up a storm. By the time Phoenix was done, the strain had discolored his cheeks, which is what originally prompted the trip to the walk-in clinic this morning. “It was a sight I think I would rather never see again.”

“I’d rather never cough like this again.” Phoenix complained. “Not to mention everything hurts.”

“Oh, love.” Miles cooed. He kissed Phoenix’s cheek. Despite Miles having had his flu shot, Phoenix wasn’t willing to take the risk in kissing him on the lips. “Does blinking still hurt?”

“Yeah, that’s the most painful part.” Phoenix turned his head, putting the dark circles under his eyes on full display for Miles. Between the pain that came from the slightest movement of his eyelids and the near endless coughing fits that sent him doubling over, sleep was hardly an option despite him desperately needing it.

“I hope this means you’ll take flu season more seriously next year.”

“Believe me, I will.” Phoenix promised and kissed his boyfriend’s hand. “I wish I could just go back and get the shot, knowing what I know now.”

“I’m afraid that can’t be done.” Miles sighed. “You’ll just have to remember this for next time, dear.”

“You know, just the fever dreams alone scared me straight, I think. I keep having this one where I’m in court cross-examining a witness, but he starts making clones of himself. The witness was also a turnip for some reason.” He liked seeing Miles find amusement in the surreal productions of his fever-influenced subconscious. “You can laugh, it’s pretty funny when I’m awake enough to think about it.”

“In hindsight like that, maybe, but it wasn’t at all funny when your fever spiked early this morning.” Miles fought his smile just as quickly as it formed. Even with Phoenix’s permission, it didn’t feel right to laugh at his suffering. “And you woke up in my car screaming because you thought you had been kidnapped.”

“You could’ve told me what was going on first.” Phoenix wiped his nose on the edge of the comforter. With any other ailment, Miles might have gently directed him to a tissue, but in this case, he was far more lenient.

“I tried to. You were just completely out.” Miles caught a glimpse of the current time on his watch, paying more attention this time now that he wasn’t simply keeping time. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

“There were some ice cubes that melted in my water. Does that count?”

“No.” Miles stood up, making the decision that Phoenix was going to eat something. “I’m going to make you some soup.”

“I just said I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’re getting something in your system. That’s final.”

. . .

Something didn’t feel right when Miles set foot in the kitchen. Every time he opened a drawer or the pantry, he felt his heart sink as he thought of just how miserable Phoenix must have felt. Miles had to keep reminding himself Phoenix would benefit from the brief peace and quiet. He fought the urge to disturb Phoenix’s potential sleep as he followed the recipe on a laminated card that once belonged to his father. He had only been granted ownership of his father’s recipe cards a few years ago, so he hoped he could do them justice with so little experience. Knowing Phoenix’s reluctance to eat anything in the past 24 hours, Miles poured the soup in a mug rather than a bowl. Perhaps if it was presented as a drink, his boyfriend would be more willing to take it.

“Where were you!?” That was Phoenix’s greeting of choice when Miles entered the bedroom. “I tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up!”

“I was, wait,” Miles pulled his phone from his pocket to find notifications for several voicemails, “you called? I was in the kitchen for hardly an hour.” If only his ringer stayed on.

“You disappeared on me!” Phoenix accused. “Why would you do that?” He rubbed his right eye with his wrist; his face was redder than before. Whether that had come from more coughing or possibly crying didn’t matter, since neither one was preferable. “I can’t believe you would just leave me alone. The room was spinning and you weren’t here!”

“Well, it’s obvious your fever hasn’t gone down at all.” Miles took a deep breath. “I told you before I left, I was going to the kitchen to make you soup.”

“O-Oh.” Phoenix looked down, ashamed of his rash assumption. “I think I forgot that part.”

“It’s alright.” Miles sat beside him and handed over the mug. “I know you said you weren’t hungry, so I thought I’d give it to you as a drink.” His thoughtful approach got a laugh out of Phoenix; that was good.

“You should, uh, delete those voicemails.” Phoenix blew gently into the mug. “They’re kind of embarrassing now that I think of it.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. You were afraid.” Miles gave the same assurance Phoenix had shown him many times before. “I will delete them, however, as you requested.”

“Thanks.” Phoenix pressed the mug to his lips and smiled as the warm liquid met his tongue. “This is amazing.” He drank some more.

“I’m glad it could please the man who insisted he wasn’t hungry.” Miles teased. “You’re actually the first person I’ve made this for. The recipe belonged to my father, but it was under Mr. von Karma’s possession until he passed. I also recall my father saying it was my mother who wrote it down. I think of this as a sort of game of cooking telephone.”

“I bet you’re a cooking telephone champion.” Phoenix expressed his opinion by taking a longer drink from the mug.

“Slow down!” Miles instinctively took the mug just in time before Phoenix needed to cough again, likely caused by drinking too quickly. “I’m glad you like it, but don’t push yourself.” He set the mug down on the end table so he had free hands to rub Phoenix’s back. “Let me know when you think you’re done.”

Phoenix needed to catch his breath for about half the time his coughing fit took. He flopped backwards onto his pillow with a weak groan.

“I hate having the flu.”

“I can understand why.” Miles offered him the water bottle, frowning at how little Phoenix drank since Miles left for the kitchen. Phoenix hesitated at first, but gave in as soon as it was clear Miles would not be backing down. “I’m relieved you’re not trying to go to work like this.”

“I was already stupid for not getting a shot.” Phoenix took a few more small sips of water before Miles allowed him to put it back on the end table. “I’d be a real idiot to go to work on top of that.”

“Phoenix. Darling,” Miles locked eyes with him, “I’ve let a lot slide because you’re sick, but I won’t allow you to speak of yourself in that manner.” He scolded lightly, softening his words with a kiss on Phoenix’s forehead. “Do you understand?”

“I think so. You already have let me get away with a lot.” Phoenix tested the waters by wiping his nose on the comforter again.

“You’re starting to push it, love.” Miles chuckled and caressed his boyfriend’s cheek. “Remember, I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.”

Miles didn’t leave his spot as he watched Phoenix doze off into what he hoped would be a peaceful sleep. He noted how pale Phoenix was and how his slightly overgrown stubble somehow managed to make him look more sickly. Was it unrealistic to hope if Miles watched him long enough, he could witness the color returning to his face within the hour? Possibly, yes, but that wouldn’t stop Miles from staying by his side for as long as he could.

#whumptober #whumptober 2020 #sickfic whumptober alt #snez attorney #the flu changes you man

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feathersandpaintbrushes · 5 years ago

Text

Entye

ENTYE, “Debt”

— Chapter 2: Sparks

Chapter 1 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4,

Summary: The Mandalorian and Kas land on a desert planet in search of a new ship, but find trouble waiting for them.

Warnings: blood, injuries, language

Characters: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), the child, original character

A/N: If you want tagged, just let me know:) Find me on AO3! Heading art belongs to me (Feathersandpaintbrushes and night-feather-designs)

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

It was too fucking hot.

Three frostbitten years on Hoth had forced her body to acclimate to icy winds, and the dry heat of this new planet sucked the moisture from her eyes and mouth and dried the sweat as it beaded on her forehead.

She was miserable.

She shot a baleful glare at the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet. Getting her out of Hoth and onto a new planet – one with an actual town and spaceports – had been their only deal. She regretted not specifying which planet; it seemed he’d taken her from one extreme to the other.

A gust of hot wind blew sand in her face and she screwed her eyes shut, an explosive sneeze slipping out before she could help it.

The Mandalorian – curse him – glanced back at her and she could swear she heard a chuckle behind his mask.

“How much further to the town?” She gasped out, hating that she sounded like an impatient child, wishing her voice sounded like steel, but she was thirsty, and she’d already drained her canteen after a measly fifteen minutes of walking.

The Mandalorian stopped and she caught up to him, forcing her breathing to sound even despite the stuttering of her heart. He stared quietly for a moment as she swallowed, doing her best to keep her face blank. She wished she could be wearing her mask too, but she needed her mouth free to catch every baking mouthful of air this planet had to offer.

“Not long,” he replied eventually, and with only the faintest of sighs, handed her his own full canteen. Pride warred with thirst, and she clenched her fists, willing herself not to grab for it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, pushing the canteen at her chest. “You aren’t used to the heat, I am. Just take it.”

She did, hands shaking slightly as she uncapped it and took a sip of the still cool water.

“Thank you,” she reminded herself to murmur, looking at the horizon to avoid looking at his mask.

He began walking again after she’d taken a second sparing sip of water, and she did her best to keep up with his long stride.

When they finally got to the town, she was torn between the sheer relief of being in something that passed as civilization again and a sudden panic at the noise and press of bodies around her. Clenching her fists at her own cowardice, she slipped into the Mandalorian’s shadow, letting him clear a way for her while she acclimated herself to what living in a society entailed.

There were humans. Lots of them. And dozens of different species she didn’t have names for. There was laughter and the smell of cooking and a child ran past her chasing some small lizard creature. She stopped and stared at a stall filled with spices, her mouth suddenly watering as she remembered all the flavors she’d missed out on when trapped on Hoth.

Someone large bumped into her, making her fingers fly to her blaster.

“Watch it,” they snarled in a deep, garbled Basic. Gripping her blaster tightly, she spun to catch sight of the Mandalorian only to hit a different alien, who’s damp skin stuck unpleasantly to her arm. They hissed at her in a language she didn’t recognize. A hand grabbed her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin, shoving her blaster against the chest of the Mandalorian who had appeared from thin air.

“Come on,” he said roughly, yanking on her arm and dragging her behind him into a dimly lit building. The darkness and the sound of loud music threatened to overwhelm her still further until the bitter tank of spirits hit her nose.

A cantina. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar stenches wash over her and ground her. It had been years since she’d been in a joint like this. Years since she’d had anything stronger than the watery meat soup she made in the cave at Hoth. But one cantina is much like another, and the sights and smells here were more familiar than anything she’d seen so far on this sun baked planet.

“Stay.”

The Mandalorian pushed his gloved hand down hard on her shoulder, forcing her to sit at one of the sticky booths while he disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

She took a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the familiar beat of her heart. A metallic clang made her open her eyes to see the Mandalorian set a cup of something in front of her. She raised her eyes to him and smiled tightly. “Thanks,” she said, taking a gulp of the bitter alcohol. “It’s just –“ “Been a while. I figured.” The smile she gave him at these gruff words was more genuine.

“I haven’t had a decent drink in three years,” she added, taking another gulp. “Okay,” she said coughing, as the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side in what she imagined to be his equivalent to a raised eyebrow, “I haven’t had any drink in three years. So maybe I’m a little biased.” He definitely snorted this time, and she hid a smirk in another deep gulp. She still felt jerky and droid-like with her expressions. Three years was a long time with only Tuantuans and herself for company. She’d talked, of course, to keep herself from going insane. But smiling – well she’d gone without a genuine smile for nearly as long as she’d gone without a drink.

“So,” she said, setting the empty glass down with a decisive clank. “Where can I go to find a ship of my own?”

-----

It was a hunk of junk. Its hull was badly scarred, and the inside smelled like the rotten insides of a dead tuantuan. The pilot’s seat was vaguely sticky, and she was afraid to look in the bathroom. But it was cheap. Cheap enough that she could buy it with the few credits she had left over from before Hoth. And it could, in theory, fly her far enough to get her to a nice mild weathered planet where she could start work doing who knows what. It didn’t matter. Anything to keep her fed and clothed.

“I’ll take it,” she said firmly. She could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes boring into her back, even through his helmet. She ignored his judgement and set her jaw. Not everyone could have a ship with an actual bedroom in it thank you. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was grateful to find something that she could fly away on today. She couldn’t stand another moment of the heat. Her nose was already red, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get the sand out of her hair.

“Are you sure?”

Kas turned and blinked up at the Mandalorian’s helmeted face as he appeared suddenly by her side. “It can fly me off this desert. That’s good enough for me,” she pointed out.

“There’s got to be something less,” he gestured with a gloved hand, annoyance coming off him in waves.

“Less what?” she demanded, stepping closer to hiss under her breath so the seller couldn’t hear. “Less cheap? Less available?”

“Less trashy.” The Mandalorian snapped, even his modulator failing to keep the contempt out of his voice. “The guy’s ripping you off. He should be paying you to take it off his hands.”

This was undeniably true; the seller’s eyes had gleamed when she’d offered her meager credits. Still, she wanted to be free again. It left a foul taste in her mouth to be in debt to anyone, especially a Mandalorian.

“Well what do you suggest I do?” she snapped, unable to resist curling her hands into fists.

To her surprise the Mandalorian’s voice was calm again when he answered.

“Wait a day. Maybe two. Either he’ll come down in price or someone else will have something for sale.”

his carefully controlled tone did nothing to convince her; if anything, it set Kas’s teeth on edge and strengthened her resolve. She took a step back and frowned up at the Mandalorian.

“I’m taking it. Thank you for getting me here,” she added. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Turning decisively, she walked up the seller and pressed her credits into his hand with a murmur, aware the whole time of the heavy gaze of the Mandalorian piercing into her back.

------

Night had fallen by the time she’d finished stocking her new ship, and weariness dragged at her eyelids. One more night here wouldn’t hurt her; she’d gotten her ship, and while it didn’t have a bedroom, she’d scrubbed the pilot’s seat into a semblance of cleanliness, and it was comfortable enough with her heavy coat draped over it.

She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw flashing lights through her eyelids. Biting back a curse she opened her eyes to see blaster fires lighting up the desert night. Curious, she grabbed a pair of binoculars and aimed them at the flashing lights. For a moment the night was dark, then another red flash illuminated a ship in the distance. Zooming in, she felt her stomach drop when the light flashed again, revealing the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Fuck.”

She put down the binoculars and rubbed her forehead. She did not owe him anything. She saved his life from the sapphire worm, he got her to this planet. They were even. More than even.

But.

But her hand still lifted the binoculars to her face again and her heart still pounded when she saw the silhouettes of stormtroopers illuminated in the red of blaster fire.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sticking her nose where it didn’t belong is how she got dumped on Hoth with no ship and no radio. Sticking her nose out where it didn’t belong had earned her scar after scar. She owed this guy nothing. He was a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter. The second someone who knew her put a reward on her head, it would be someone like him who brought her in.

But.

But there was that child with him. That weird, tiny little green thing that had curled in the Mandalorian’s cloak while he’d been passed out in front of her fire.

Before she could think about it any longer, she turned, grabbed her weapons, and ran out the door to the Mandalorian’s ship.

The desert night was not much cooler, even without the heat of the sun. Dry air pushed Kas’s hair off her face as she ran towards the Mandalorian’s ship.

As she neared, the battle slowly came into sight. Troopers were standing on the ramp leading into the ship, weapons firing at the Mandalorian as he tried to get inside. Kas slowed and hid behind a small rocky outcropping, some ten meters from the fight. Settling onto her stomach she pulled her a long, rifle like object off her back. She’d modified a normal flame thrower to project balls of flames that she found went further than the normal stream of fire from a normal flamethrower. It was one of her most prized weapons, and the modification had helped her against many sapphire worms on Hoth.

Taking a breath she leveled the weapon, aiming for the troopers closer to her. It admittedly wasn’t the most accurate weapon. It didn’t always fire, and couldn’t send out more than a dozen bursts in one fight. But, it was a decent distraction.

She fired, a fierce surge of joy flashing through her as the fireball ripped through the air, hitting a stormtrooper in the chest. She had maybe one more shot before she became too obvious of a target.

The second shot went left, hitting the feet of one trooper but skimming the Mandalorian’s cape, which promptly caught fire.

Cursing, she shoved the flame thrower back onto the holster on her back and grabbed her staff off her back. It was her own version of an electrostaff that had been used by the empire. Hers was much smaller, built for close combat and easy storage. It folded in the middle when not in use. Between the flamethrower that strapped to her back, the blaster hanging from her right hip, and the small dagger she kept sheathed on her belt, she didn’t have room for a long swinging pole. While not as strong, the electrified end hurt like hell, and the other end sported a blade, strong enough to pierce most armor if she gave it a solid thrust.

Kas ran quickly towards the fight and pressed the electrified end of her staff against the side of the trooper who was approaching the Mandalorian, who was busy beating the flames off his cape.

“Sorry about that,” she gasped to him as she spun to block a blow from a different trooper. The Mandalorian recovered quickly, shooting a grappling hook out from his bracer and tripping a trooper before shooting it unceremoniously in the head.

“I had it covered,” he shouted as she grappled with a trooper, grunting as their fist punched into her stomach.

“Duck,” a familiar voice growled next to her ear, and she dropped quickly, watching as the Mandalorian’s arm lunged above her and buried a knife into the trooper’s neck.

The fight was a blur. There had to be at least a dozen troopers, but there were two of them at least. And the Mandalorian was a good fighter.

So was she.

She reveled in it, a savage grin stretching her lips as she parried a blow from a trooper and then followed through with a stab of the bladed side of her staff.

They were both quick in their movements, and they slid past each other and watched each others backs like they'd been at this deadly dance together for years.

Pain sliced through Kas’s arm and she snarled, throwing herself at the trooper whose blaster fire had carved a shallow groove into her flesh.

The only problem, she thought grimly as she pushed the electric staff against the troopers neck, was that she didn’t have armor, while the Mandalorian did. He could take hits and even some blaster fire, protected by the shiny beskar that covered his body. Her only protection lay with how fast she could move.

A flash of movement flickered in the corner of her eye, and Kas turned to see the Mandalorian, flinching slightly as his gloved hand grabbed her injured arm.

“The child,” he gasped before turning, distracted as a trooper fired at him from a distance.

Kas felt a lurch deep within her stomach as she turned, catching a glimpse of a trooper through the front window of the ship.

She turned and ran up the ramp, hearing shots and realizing the Mandalorian was covering her with fire.

Inside the ship was dark, and she holstered her staff, grabbing the blaster off her hip instead.

“Stop right there.”

Kas froze and turned around with her blaster raised to see a trooper step out of the shadows, a bundle in their arms.

“Drop your weapon.”

The blaster fell to the ground with a metallic clang that echoed in the dark ship.

The bundle in the trooper’s arms moved, a small hand pushing its way out of the cloth. The sight of it, so small and fragile, filled Kas’s heart with a black rage. She didn’t know what the troopers wanted with it. Didn’t know why the Mandalorian was fighting with them. But she knew deep within her that they should not have the child.

The anger was hot within her, flames twisting in her stomach and up her throat, choking her with the desire to kill whoever stood against the child. Her hand grasped the dagger sheathed in her belt.

She was fast. The blade left her hand in the space between heart beats and landed in the troopers neck. The trooper fell, the child with them, and Kas lunged forward to grab it, heart beating too loud to hear the blaster shot, fire inside too hot to feel the burn of the hole that sizzled in her flesh above her heart.

But the sound of heavy boots walking up the ramp had her moving, gripping the precious bundle to her chest as she snarled, blaster she’d snatched from the ground pointing out at the Mandalorian as he approached her.

Her ears were buzzing, and she stared blankly at him for a long moment.

“…over, we need to go….. to me”

She blinked and swayed slightly, not lowering her blaster as the Mandalorian kneeled beside her, taking the child from her unresisting hands.

“It’s over,” he repeated gently. “We need to go.”

---

She looked horrible.

Din had helped the girl up to the cockpit, brows furrowing with concern behind his mask as she slumped in the copilot’s seat. She was bleeding heavily from her shoulder and was pale in the dim light, but he wouldn’t be able to offer her help until they got into hyperspace.

The ship came to life with a soft whir as he began moving switches and pulling levers one handed – he was still too keyed up from the fighting to put the child down.

Once safely in the air he pulled the med pack down from where it was stored and walked slowly over to Kas. She stirred as if waking from a slumber, and when she met his eyes he was startled by the sadness there.

“So much for getting my own ship, huh?” She said with a weak smile.

Guilt settled into the bottom of his stomach, and Din kneeled beside her, placing the child on her lap.

“Thank you for helping back there,” he murmured, and the smile settled more firmly on her lips.

“I couldn’t let them hurt this little guy,” she explained, uninjured hand lightly touching the tip of the child’s ear.

“We need to stop the bleeding. Is it okay if I help?”

Her eyes were hazel, he noticed, and looked wary as she nodded her permission.

The blaster shot had hit the fleshy spot of her shoulder, below the collar bone. Another shot has carved a shallow groove into her bicep. He did his best to be gentle as he cleaned the wounds, but she went even paler and hissed loudly when the antiseptic touched her skin. The cauterizing pen was even worse; both of them were sweating by the time he’d finished sealing the deeper wound, and Kas’s nails had left grooves in the leather of the seat, a low growl sliding between her clenched teeth all the while.

The difference between the pale, pained woman in front of him and the ferocious fighter from an hour ago was startling to Din. Before her eyes had snapped and gleamed; he’d even caught sight of her smiling savagely as she killed the troopers attacking them. Now she was just… human. Weariness showed in the purple shadows under her eyes and the tightness of her lips. She smelled like blood and sweat and blaster smoke. Yet under it all he still saw the woman who had been hunched in the shadows, cradling the child in her arms like the most precious jewel in the world even as blood dripped down her arm.

He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust her.

But she’d fought with him, fought for the child.

She could have left them; she had her own ship, her freedom. But she’d turned back to help them.

He couldn’t trust her.

But he did respect her. And she was a fucking good fighter.

He could use a good fighter.

“We can find a way to get you back to your ship,” Din offered, standing.

“Or?”

Kas turned her head, keeping her eyes on him as he put the med pack away and sat back at the captain’s seat.

“Or,” he said evenly, feeling as his her eyes were locked directly on him, despite the helmet separating them.

“Or you could come with us. You’re good in a fight. And the kid likes you. I can’t offer you anything, and I can’t promise that it’d be safe. But I can offer my help when there’s trouble, and a place to stay.”

Kas’s face was still pale and clammy, but a look of peace washed over her features. Her eyes were blazing as they met his, and he was startled by the hope he saw in them.

“Where to next, partner?”

tags: @knockbeforeyouspeak

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fan fic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #star wars fan fic #my writing #entye #baby yoda #the child #my art

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omgjasminesimone · 5 years ago

Note

66 from the winter prompt with hunter x mc? ;u;

66 from these prompts. Thanks for the request! Now I finally get to write a Hunter x MC modern AU!

Julia nervously knocks on Hunter’s door, wondering if she should be here. She’d almost been turned away by the doorman, but then he remembered her from Hunter’s Christmas party, and assumed she was a friend of his so he’d let her up to his penthouse.

But she and Hunter aren’t friends, not really. They’ve known each other forever, both growing up in the close knit Capital City of Cordonia, a small Mediterranean country. They’d gone to the same schools, been in many of the same classes, but there was always a gulf between them.

Hunter was rich and popular, a star on the football team, well liked by teachers and students alike, and he threw all the best parties. Julia was an orphan, who’s best friend Annalisa eventually convinced her parents to adopt, but no one besides her sister really looked at her as a true Rosario. She was quiet, and shy. People only talked to her when they wanted to copy her homework. She played flute in the marching band, staring after Hunter like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t even know she existed.

Hunter’s father was the president of Cordonia for almost 16 years. He only stepped down when term limits were instituted. And he’d then become a top political advisor, many said he was still the one truly running the country.

But now Damon Fierro was retiring, and he was grooming Hunter to be the next president.

It didn’t really seem like something Hunter truly wanted to do, but the other candidate was Cyrus Vescovi who everyone knew would run the country into the ground, so Hunter agreed to run.

This pushed them back into the same orbit. Julia works for the mayor as his campaign coordinator. The mayor had endorsed the Fierro campaign, so anytime Hunter threw a fundraiser, or a watch party, or a Christmas party, the mayor and Julia were invited.

That Christmas party, and the mistletoe, is why Julia is now standing outside Hunter’s door with a thermos of her great grandmother’s tomato soup.

There’s several moments of silence, and Julia is contemplating knocking again, when the door swings open.

“Julia, what a pleasant surprise.” Hunter says with a smile. He looks very ill. Nose red and stuffy, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Julia feels even worse about her likely role in his current ailment.

“Hey Hunter, I heard you were sick, so I brought you some soup.”

Hunter takes the thermos, unscrewing the lid and sniffing at it. “This smells amazing. Thank you Julia, you shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I think I’m the one that got you sick, so I definitely should.” Julia admits, the guilt eating away at her.

She was just getting over a flu when she got the invite for Hunter’s party. she couldn’t miss it. She’d never pass up an opportunity to be in Hunter’s presence. Plus, she was feeling better. She was pretty sure she wasn’t even contagious.

So Julia had thrown on her best green dress, and some make-up, and made her way to the party.

And when she and the mayor had been discussing the 2020 re-election campaign, and Hunter had joined them, making his rounds of the room, when the mayor pointed out that Hunter and Julia were under the mistletoe, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to finally feel Hunter’s lips on her’s. She’d wanted this since third grade! And she didn’t feel sick. It was only going to be a peck.

“I’m not one to ignore tradition.” Hunter said with a smile, after the two looked up and saw they were indeed directly below the mistletoe. And then he’d leaned down, and she’d leaned up, and for three blissful seconds she was kissing Hunter Fierro.

He pulled away, smiling at her again, and she had hoped her face wasn’t as red as her hair. “Merry Christmas Julia.”

Julia sighs as she takes in Hunter’s current disheveled appearance. Apparently, a peck is sufficient to spread the flu. “You remember the mistletoe at your Christmas party?”

Hunter nods. “That’s not something I would forget.” He says flirtatiously. Julia blushes, and then reminds herself of Hunter’s reputation. He’d flirt with anything in a skirt.

“Well, I was just getting over the flu, and I think I must have passed it on to you. I’m so sorry! The soup is an apology present.”

“Apology accepted. A bout of the flu is a small price to pay for a kiss from Julia Rosario. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since at least sophomore year.”

Why does he have to say stuff like that and somehow look so hot, as in attractive, although his temperature probably is high as well?! He’s definitely lying though. She didn’t even know how to do her make-up in high school, and Hunter could, and did, have every girl he wanted.

She needs to get out of here, before she does something stupid. Like declare her undying love to him. “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep.” She says, turning to leave after offering him one last apologetic smile.

“Wait! So, you’ve already had this strain of the flu? I can’t get you sick again?” Hunter questions when she turns back to look at him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then, would you like to watch a movie with me? I was just about to put on The Christmas Prince.”

Julia fully turns to face him now. “You were not.”

Hunter raises a brow. “What? I’m not allowed to like cheesy netflix Christmas movies?”

“I’d definitely pegged you as more of a action Matt Rodriguez movie type.”

“Then maybe you should get to know me better Julia. Because I absolutely hate Matt Rodriguez movies.”

Julia laughs, and Hunter smiles, opening the door wider and inviting her in once again with a tilt of his head. After a moment of hesitation, Julia walks through the door.

Three Christmas movies later, an empty thermos sits on his coffee table and Hunter’s head rests in Julia’s lap. He’s out cold, trying to sleep off his sickness.

Julia tries to free herself without waking him, slowly transferring his head to a pillow. She’s almost free when his hand suddenly reaches out, gripping her hand and pulling her flush against him on the couch.

“Stay. That’s an order from your future president.” He murmurs, voice raspy from sleep.

‘That sounds like an abuse of power.” She teases, fingers mussing his dark hair.

“Only if you didn’t actually want to stay here with me Julia. Plus, since you got me sick, shouldn’t you stay and take care of me?”

His logic is sound, so she stays.

#wintery prompts #hunter x mc #hunter fierro x mc #the royal masquerade #choices fanfiction

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wilwywaylan · 5 years ago

Text

In only seven days (or the life and times of a sullen convenience shop employee) (part 1)

Fandom : Les Misérables

Modern AU, Montparnasse x Jehan Prouvaire, various other relationships in the background, 5027 words

Based on I don’t remember which post exactly, that said that coffeeshop AU was passé and the rage was now convenience store employee. Which is of course perfect for Montparnasse.

Dedicated to @kujaku-myoo, @jesvisfarovche and @aux-barricades. Thanks for your help and support !

Also on AO3 !

For the third time in one hour, Montparnasse changes the hand his head is resting on, and sighs, the longest sigh he'd ever uttered (or it's pretty high in his top ten). His palms and elbows are starting to hurt, and he will probably get very inelegant bruises, staying like this. But the only other options are either getting up and doing something like sorting some merchandise or maybe cleaning a little, or lay his head down on the counter and take a nap. Or scream for two hours straight. And as much as he really wants to scream, it won't be very good for his image. Or job. Or throat.

To think that someone like him could be caught in this predicament. It's all so stupid, he feels like hitting his head against the counter. Except that it would probably ruin his face, so he doesn't. But it would very well deserve it. Because only an idiot would get roped into working at a convenience store for a week, and the night shift at that. Granted, he's lucky. Anyone else trying to rob a convenience shop (stupid enough to rob a convenience shop) would have gotten jail, or something worse as a punishment. Luckily - or not - for him, the owner seems to be under the charm of his robber enough to make a deal with him : one week of free work will reimburse the window he broke and the prejudice, and he's free to go, without any charges pressed. Montparnasse doesn't like it, not with the way the man leered at him, but he can't really choose in this situation. Anything is better than jail.

And to make matters worse, that deal has been overseen by none other than Javert. Javert, who seems to have made his mission in life to make Montparnasse's a living hell. Montparnasse is sure he dreams of it at night, most delicious dreams where he locks him in a very dark jail and throws away the key. Not that he wants to think about what Javert dreams of at night. Of course he was the first to arrive when Montparnasse was caught, and of course, he was delighted when he could finally put his dirty hands on him. And of course, he was seething when the owner instead made his offer, to "give a poor boy another chance at life". Javert's face at this declaration will probably be Montparnasse's only comfort during that ordeal. Had the cop had a bit less restraint, he would have grabbed both of them and locked them somewhere. Instead, he glared at Montparnasse all through the negotiations, and left with the promise that he'd always keep an eye on him. Absolutely not creepy.

So here he is, bored out of his mind, sitting behind a counter made of very cheap plastic, with a register that has known better days staring at him, waiting for the crowd of weird people, idiots, drunks, self-proclaimed funny guys, thieves, creepy guys, or any combination of the above to roll by. It sounds very much like the plot of some kind of stupid movie where the hero is stuck in an uncomfortable situation that will change his life forever. For now, it doesn't seem very life-changing, more like life-numbing, and he's not the sullen hero of a teen movie. Just a very, very, very bored guy. Well, he thinks, it's only for a week. You can do it. Be on your best behaviour for a week, play the good guy, and you'll be free. One week. You can do it.

~*~

On Monday, nothing weird happens. Montparnasse stays behind the counter, vaguely nodding at people as they come and go, ringing the purchases. He doesn't make small talk, barely mumbling the prices. Maybe it's better like that. The shop is very cleverly set at the corner between two streets with a very high student population, and they make the main crowd during the night hours. So Montparnasse is the lucky soul blessed with the vision of countless students clad in old clothes or pajamas, wandering through the aisles and watching the displays under the crude light that give them blemish faces. This, and their shuffling gait between the shelves, give him the impression the zombie apocalypse has already happened and no one but him realizes yet. They all look half-dead, and exhausted, too much to talk to him. Good. Not that he wants to, anyway.

One of them, erroneously thinking that he may be interested in anything else than his money, mutters "Finals week, you know ?" above his change. Montparnasse just nods. No, he doesn't know, he doesn't care, either, can he just go and leave him to count the remaining seconds before he can dash out of here ? Luckily, the man grabs his cigarettes and goes away, to his relief. No one else tries to say anything, not even a small lady buying a bunch of sad-looking vegetables - who makes soup at one in the morning -, probably sensing his murderous mood.

As soon as he sees the door open to reveal the daytime clerk, Montparnasse rips the ridiculous cap off his hair, shoves it in his pocket, grabs his jacket and bag in the tiny cubicle they call a changing room, and rushes past the other, out in the street. The sun is not even out, barely shining behind the buildings around him, and the wind is cold, almost cutting. There are a few people hurrying down the side-walk a bit farther. For a Tuesday morning, it's really silent. During a few seconds, Montparnasse feels at peace, with the wind stroking his face and the first rays of sun reaching him. But the magic doesn't last. It's just 6AM on Tuesday, people are going to work, and he just spent ten hours locked in a convenience store, surrounded by weirdos. He's exhausted, hungry, and he's sure his hair is awful. And he smells of cheap cleaning soap and desperation now.

Luckily, he makes it home quickly enough. The others aren't home. Good. He wouldn't want them to see him in his apron. Or talk to him. The only thing he wants right now is food, sleep, and something freeing him from that store. Sadly, all he can find is some chicken leftover that escaped Gueulemer's appetite, and a bed that's not made but is horizontal and more or less comfortable. He'll have to find something to get free, he thinks, munching on his chicken. But for now, two out of three is not that bad of a score.

~*~

On Tuesday, Montparnasse is almost on time, and takes his place behind the counter, ignoring the disgruntled expression of his coworker while they leave. He pulls the cap out of his pocket, flattens it a little - no way he'd put it properly in front of a mirror at home, he'd have to cross the town with that hideous thing on his head - and put it where it belongs. He then leans on the counter and gets ready as must as he can for what is awaiting him.

The first hour is very quiet. Two people come in, buy a few things Montparnasse doesn't pay attention to, and leave. Good. The only downside is that time seems to get to a screeching halt each time he takes his eyes off the clock, but at least it's mostly silent, if he cuts off the muffled screams from the students, bar patrons and various other individuals making a show of themselves in the street.

The hand is barely past ten when the bell over the door ring loudly when it's all but slammed against the door and someone barges inside. Montparnasse looks up from the nail polish he's carefully applying, just fast enough to get a glimpse of something very colourful dashing between the aisles towards the back. The person is talking, or at least is using their voice. Unless it's the air-conditioning he can hear. Either way, Montparnasse doesn't care and goes back to his art.

It takes him a few seconds to notice that the buzzing noise is getting closer. It sounds a bit like words, mumbled together. The person, a boy with short hair, is wrapped in a scarf at least a kilometre long, in colours that clash horribly. He's muttering to himself, too fast for anyone not under a hefty dose of crack to understand a word, and drops a load of bandages on the counter. Montparnasse can only look, bewildered. There're at least fifteen boxes there, all the pre-cut ones they had in stock, a bunch of small ones for blisters, and two of the extra-long rolls. He half-tempted to ask what he plans to do with all that, but he doesn't. First, because he doesn't care. He's not there to make friends. And second, because he doesn't really want to know what a guy could do with that many band-aids. He's extremely clumsy, or maybe he's planning something sinister. Either way, none of his business. Montparnasse rings the supplies, and the boy piles them in his arms again. He smiles at him - smiles ! like they're friends and he's happy to see him or something - and leaves. Montparnasse just watches after him, bewildered. And shrugs. Not the first weirdo, not the last. And it's none of his business, what he wants to do with a hospital’s worth of bandages. Not at all.

No one comes in during the next hour and Montparnasse is ready to chalk the meeting with the Strange Guy With The Bandages to that one weird encounter you have to have one per night and hope that maybe the rest of the night will be as quiet, when the bells above the door tear his wishes to shreds. At least the man who enters is not talking to himself. He looks calm and collected, nerd glasses on his nose and a book stuck under his arm, not-too-bad undercut carefully combed on the side. He's wearing a sleeveless sweater on a shirt, and Montparnasse is half-tempted to roll his eyes loudly - because that's one of his talents -, but he goes back to his nail polish instead. If nothing else, at least the man isn’t wearing a bowtie to go with the rest of him that screams "already old and stuffy at twenty and probably horribly boring".

The guy is back two minutes later, and Montparnasse looks at his face because if he does, he doesn't have to look at the ugly thing he calls a sweater. And the guy probably proud of it. Luckily, he's not too bad looking, if one is into tall nerds. Which Montparnasse is decidedly not. The guy holds his gaze for a few agonizing seconds. Then he puts a whole case of energy drinks on the counter. Montparnasse can't help but look down, then back at his face. The man's expression doesn't change, save for a raised eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

Montparnasse slips back into his expressionless mask, and rings the cans, one by one, without breaking eye contact. The monotonous ringing is the only noise in the shop, and the man doesn't move or blink, to the point that Montparnasse starts wondering if he's really human or an alien trying to find something on Earth to fuel his spaceship.

He almost doesn't want to avert his eyes and see how long they can play this game, but he doesn't want the guy to think he's flirting with him or something. He glances at the price on the register, looks back up. The guy is grinning - grinning - at him. He holds up the money, still without looking, and Montparnasse doesn't even need to look at the coins to know it's the exact sum. He probably counted while Montparnasse was distracted, but he's not even sure of it, he looked away for maybe one second. He all but shoves the receipt in the other's face. The guy grabs it with his case, addresses Montparnasse – who can only glare in return - a very polite "good night", and strolls out. Montparnasse can only stare after him in disbelief, not really sure of what just happened.

He regrets it immediately, because the next guy who comes in is an eyesore. It's a shame, because he's tall, buff, and quite handsome in a lumberjack kind of way, and not the fake-lumberjack-true-hipster way. The true and tried man-from-the-mountains-who-carries-chopped-trees-for-fun lumberjack. This would be a sight to behold, especially with the tattoos on his arms. Except that all this muscular glory is clad in the most godawful shirt Montparnasse has ever met. To say that the man got dressed without the lights on would be a good guess ; that shirt is such a shade of neon that it probably glows in the dark. Montparnasse can't even look at it for more than five seconds, and he lowers his eyes. Big mistake : the socks he's wearing are exactly the same shade. He fixates on the counter, where a shirt-shaped blob keeps swaying back and forth on the white plastic, so stark that he's sure they're burnt on his retinae forever. Or they will be once the guy walks to the register and he's faced with a very large expanse of neon fabric.

Montparnasse dives under the counter, grabs his bag, and riffles through it with the fury of a man lost in the desert looking for his last ration of water. For a minute, he thinks he has left them at home, and he's going to have to endure the neon nuisance without any protection. But just before he abandons all hope and runs out of here, his fingers find the protective case, hidden behind his emergency waistcoat. Quickly, he pushes the shades on his nose, and gets up as the man walks up to the counter. Said man looks him up and down in a way that doesn't make Montparnasse very comfortable, stops on the dark lenses.

- Nice glasses, he simply says.

Of course, nice. They are Prada, Montparnasse thinks. But to be fair, he expected something way more aggressive from someone who seems to exude fratboy out of every pore. And wears neon. He nods, because nice or not, he's not going to start small-talking with anyone. The man doesn't seem to formalize. He grabs his bottle of gin, pays, addresses a salute to Montparnasse and leaves. He's followed later by a bunch of customers, no one dressed as badly as him. Still, Montparnasse keeps the shades. At least it weirds people out, and they don't try to talk to him. Perfect. Now, if only they could not come in, things would be as perfect as they can in that situation.

And of course with that line of thinking, it doesn't last. He's well in his last hour of work before sweet, sweet release, and already counting the minutes that still prevents him from enjoying his freedom, when in comes none other than the man responsible for his predicament. Javert strolls to the counter, stops two feet from it, and stands there, hands in his back, feet martially apart, eyeing Montparnasse up and down. The silence stretches, very uncomfortable, and Montparnasse lets it, because he'll be damned if he talks to a policeman without being prompted. Not that it would be funny to see Javert's face when he uses his corporate voice on him, but no. He just crosses his arms and glares him down. Well, tries to.

- Are you behaving ? Javert finally asks

Montparnasse doesn't move, doesn't blink.

- Are you behaving ? Javert repeats, louder.

Montparnasse makes a show of rolling his eyes, remembering too late that Javert can't see it behind his shades. He adds a flick of his head and a heavy sigh to get the message across.

- Yes, Mr Officer. I'm behaving. Like a good clerk.

Javert doesn't smile. Then again, Montparnasse is sure that he doesn't know how.

- You know what you have to expect if you step out of line.

- Yes, Batman. You'll throw me in the deepest, darkest cell you have and leave me to rot. Or you'll drink my blood, I'm not really sure which one. Sacrifice me to The Law.

Javert frowns, and for a second, Montparnasse is sure he's going to explode and arrest him on the spot. Which kind of annoys him, he doesn't really want another mark on his file. Especially since that one will be way heavier than the last. But Javert seems to discover a hint of humour hidden under all his layers of sternness and righteousness, and he just scoffs.

- Be careful, boy. I'll keep my eye on you.

- Oh, I don't doubt it.

It's maybe better that Javert seems to be impervious to the sarcasm dripping from his words. He glares him down for ten very uncomfortable seconds, then turns around and stomps out of the shop, his coat floating behind him like weirdly-shaped bat wings. Montparnasse just lets his head fall on the counter and stays like this until his coworker comes in. This time, he doesn't even take to take his cap off, just grabs his bag blindly and runs out of the shop, bumping into the other. He doesn't stop, doesn't hold at red lights, just dashes right home, buries himself in his bed, and tries to forget this day even existed and that he still has almost a week to go. Without any luck.

~*~

On Wednesday, Montparnasse almost falls back asleep after his alarm rings, and he has to run to be on time, which he hates, because he has to cut his skin care regimen short and spend less time on his hair, and he can already feel greasy and pimply twenty feet outside his home. But there's no time to run back and fix it, so he just pulls his cap over his hair as much as he does and prays that no one he knows will see him like this.

The universe must hate him, because he's not behind his counter for half an hour, when who comes in but Eponine. She doesn't spot him right away, and he's tempted to dive under the counter and hide there until she leaves. He doesn't, because not only will he ruin what's left of his brushing, but she'll probably drag him out of here. So he just stands and wait. He doesn't even try to pray that she doesn't say anything. That would be a waste of a prayer, and he needs all the good will he can gather to go through the rest of the week.

Finally, Eponine walks to the counter with a handful of snacks she dumps on the counter. She's playing with her phone, and Montparnasse has a sliver of hope that she'll keep doing it and not even looking at him. But when he announces her total, she does. And stares. A large smile appears on her face, the kind that makes Montparnasse want to run away very far and very fast.

- Well, well, she drawls. What do we have here ?

Montparnasse doesn't answer, just glares. With no effect, of course.

- Look at you, she adds, way too delighted with the situation. All... prim and proper. Respectable, even.

- Watch your mouth.

- Or what ? You'll refer to your manager ?

Montparnasse refrains from anything drastic that he may regret. Not while he's here, at least. Revenge will have to wait. Eponine leans on the counter, and asks with a very large, very scary smile :

- Do you know what I want ?

- No, enlighten me. To run away and never come back ? Dye your hair blond ? Pontmercy paying attention to you ?

Eponine's smile disappears so fast he can almost hear it break. He's aware that he crossed a line with the Pontmercy part ; this is still a very sensitive point for her, and he fucked up a little. He doesn't apologize because he never does, but he shrugs, does that vague gesture with his hands that the others in Patron-Minette and Eponine know mean he realizes he did something wrong but didn't really mean to.

- Ring that shit, Eponine growls.

She doesn't hit him, at least. Montparnasse starts scanning her purchase. A flash startles him, and his head snaps up. Eponine's phone is pointed towards him, and she's grinning again.

- What the fuck ? he hisses.

- Payback, bitch. That may teach you to shut up, next time.

- And what are you going to do with that ? Montparnasse asks cautiously.

- Dunno. Maybe I'll blow it to poster size and put it on every wall in town, if you keep yapping like that.

- I'm mute.

He finishes running her purchases at light speed, hoping to get rid of her. Sadly, she just hops on the counter to sit on it, and keeps playing on her stupid phone. He wonders if he can either grab the phone and erase the pic, or push her down the counter and take advantage of the confusion. But he doesn't really want to hurt her. And she can hurt him back anyway. So he just leans against the wall of cigarettes, arms crossed, and keeps silent.

The doorbells chime again. Montparnasse doens't look up from his nails right away, because he's not interested in anything here. He only reacts when he hears Eponine gasp slightly. And almost does the same. The person who just entered is a disaster. Not in the way of Neon Dude last night ; that one at least managed to get some fitting, assorted clothes. This one.... does not. The plaid shirts are too big on their slight frame, the shoulders falling halfway down their arms. On the other side (ha !), the pants are way too short, more-so when they are rolled up and held by several colorful pins. And it doesn't even take in consideration the mess of patterns that's their outfit. One shirt is red and black, the other blue and white, and the top they are wearing looks solid, but Montparnasse is almost sure he's seen a hint of tie-dye. And are they wearing.... overalls ? He rubs his eyes, looks again. Yes, they are overalls. Denim overalls. With a front pocket ornamented with words stitched in bright green. Montparnasse didn't even think that people outside of kindergarten still wore overalls. That nightmare of an outfit is completed by army boots an ugly shade of green, with neon blue laces dragging on the floor. A small crystal hangs from their neck, catching the bleak light. There are several pins scattered on their outer shirt, as on the battered messenger bag hanging on their shoulder. Oh gods, even the bag is colourful, but drops of paint and ink rather than tie-dye. Thanks heaven for small miracles, Montparnasse thinks dryly.

He's so focused on the clothes that it takes him a few seconds to notice the person wearing them. They are tall, taller than him even, with those pant legs way above their ankles. Lanky, too, but he's not too sure ; it's a bit hard to see with those shirts hanging off them like on a coat-hanger. They have long, copper hair, gathered in a messy braid coiling on their shoulder. Flowers are caught in them, and colourful hairpins do their best to hold back a few strands away from their face.

They finally turn around to riffle around in their bag, and Montparnasse gets a clear view of their face. And they are... beautiful. Of course they are. They are in a teen movie, where the sullen hero gets forced into an uncomfortable situation, and suddenly someone comes in, the world stops pining, and everything becomes worth it because they just fell in love at first sight. Except that Montparnasse doesn't fall in love at first sight. Love is for pining idiots and Pontmercys. Not for him, not at all. He just doesn't care. But the person has high cheekbones, and a pointy nose, and more freckles on their cheeks, nose and forehead, like a galaxy. Their face is framed by a few strands of hair that draw pretty little curls on their skin and blow around as soon as they move.

They walk to the register, carrying a bunch of merchandise. And as does every person who sports extra long laces and doesn't tie them : they stumble, and all their stuff scatter on the counter. Montparnasse has to jump back to avoid a heavy box of sugar. Luckily for his shoes, the cardboard doesn't rip. He picks it up, puts it back on the counter, stops an apple from running away.

- Thank you, you saved my grocery.

Montparnasse looks up, ready to tell them to go fuck themselves and stick that sarcasm where the sun doesn't shine. However, all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled "ngk". The person is looking at them, smiling. But it's not the - very nice, very gentle - smile that hits him. It's the eye-colour. Or rather, colours. Both are clear and soft, but the left one is green as leaves, while the right one is a rich golden brown. Montparnasse doesn't want to think they shine like gemstones because he's still not a sullen and smitten goth boy. But they do shine under the neon lights, or maybe just from their personality... He almost punches himself in the face. Eponine is snickering lightly, not missing anything, and he's sure he'll hear about it later. He'll hear about it a lot. Play it cool, he thinks, *focus. You can do it. You're a pro.* Well no, he's not, but he can act the part. At least until the weird, pretty person leaves, and then he can scream all he wants.

He scans all the things, one by one, all the while trying to remember what he's supposed to say. He can feel the person's gaze on him, nailing him in place, invading his personal space. The world reduces to this, that presence, the rhythm of the beeping. Finally, everything is scanned without him making a fool of himself. The person opens their wallet, pulls out a note.

- Sorry, they apologize, I don't have change.

- Don't problem.

What ?. Eponine snickers, and he really wants to push her down the counter, but he can't. Even if he really, really wants. The person just tilts their head, a hint of confusion on their face.

- Don't worry. No problem, Montparnasse quickly amends.

He starts counting the change, starting over when he loses trace. His hands are shaking, the person can see it, Eponine can see it, the whole world can see it, and he doesn't know why. He needs to focus. Focus until the world reduces itself to his register, and he presses the right buttons at last. It's just a goddamn twig dressed like a hippie fresh out of the garden, he repeats himself, don't pay attention, they'll leave once they're done. Good riddance. But his hands still shake a little when he hands them a handful of coins. They put it in their front pocket, gather their purchase, smile at him once more, and leave, their braid falling from their shoulder to dance on their back, like a pendulum. Montparnasse watches it swing until they're out of the door, their gaudy shirts getting lost in the crowd.

- Careful, you idiot, your eyeballs are gonna fall out.

Eponine's voice snaps him back to Earth. He glares at her, but she's not openly laughing at him. No, she's staring at him, almost... seriously ? He can see the gears grinding in her mind, and he doesn't like it. At all.

- Why are you still there ? he groans. Don't you have better things to do ?

- Than see you act like a complete idiot ? I'd pay actual money for that.

- Then pay.

- Nope.

- Then leave.

- And miss your stupid face next time Flowerchild comes in ?

- I do not....

- Oh yes, she cuts him. You totally do. Googly eyes and all that. Admit it. You like them.

- I do not. Shut up.

Miraculously, she obeys him. He walks to the cigarette wall, starts sorting them again, even if he knows they are perfectly sorted. But it has the merit of cutting him from the rest of the shop and let him collect his thoughts. There's a strange noise in his ears, a low rumbling one that sounds a little like the sea coming and going. At least he doesn't need to focus on the cigarettes until he gets tunnel vision. But on the other hand, his mind seems to run idle, and he feels strangely.... light. Probably getting down with something. And it has nothing to do with that strange person, whatever Eponine might think.

When he finishes, his mind is back to its usual, sharpen self, and the noise in his ears has receded. He still feels a bit faint, probably a hint of fever, nothing that a bit of rest will cure. Eponine keeps looking at him, but she doesn't harp on anymore about what just happened, and he's grateful for this. They keep chatting about this and that, until she realizes that it's late, Gavroche is waiting for her and she needs to go home. She gathers her snacks, punches him in the arm and leaves. Montparnasse just leans on the counter and gets ready to be bored out of his mind.

As soon as he's free, he runs all the way home, barely takes time to gobble something that can pass as food, and dives in his bed, horrid hair and all. He squeezes his eyes shut really hard, hopes against all hopes that this sudden fever won't ruin his beauty sleep. He doesn't even have time to finish that thought, that he's already fast asleep.

#les miserables #montparnasse #jehan prouvaire #jehanparnasse #modern!AU #the life and times of a sullen convenience shop enployee

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kewltie · 6 years ago

Text

As the sun starts to set, the procession stops at an inn just outside of Shinwei for the night. Earlier, Captain Kirishima had went ahead of them and cleared out any other guests staying at the inn. He had the proprietors closed it down to only to members of the procession and had set up a secured perimeter around the area. While the inn is not small by any means, housing twenty rooms that span across three floors, it still couldn’t fit the entire procession of the Furie’s entourage so most of the Kurenai’s Royal Guards were forced to camp outside.

That leaves a few highly trained guards, a slew of servants, and then there is Izuku and the Furie himself. Every one of them bleeds for Kurenai, but Izuku is the only full-blooded Ashein among them. He has been the only Ashein on this leg of the trip since the moment he had stepped off the ship and on to this brutal and unforgiving continent.

The night before they had landed on Kurenai, his nursemaid Phima had begged, “You must survive, my prince, and come back to us one day.”

Choked up with tears and longing, Izuku couldn’t offer any consoling words to her then, except for a simple nod and a forceful hug, but they both already knew then that he would never step a foot back on his homeland. This will be the last time they’ll ever see each other again.

Even if his future lies in Kurenai now, his heart will be forever with his mother and father and siblings in evergreen Ashein. They may place the crown of Kurenai on him and its soil beneath him, but he will live as an Ashein until his body is finally lay to rest.

Phima and the rest of Izuku’s escorts had traveled with him across the Seven Seas but as soon as they had anchored on the shore of one of Kurenai’s biggest ports, they had dropped Izuku off with the Captain of the Royal Guards, Kirishima Eijirou. They’d soon departed back to Ashein after that, carrying with them the message to Izuku’s father that they had delivered their prince safely to the home fortress of their enemies.

They left Izuku with nothing but several trunks full of his personal belonging and hope in his chest that he alone can change the resentment in these people’s heart and sway the Furie’s affection toward him. Izuku is truly alone now. Alone in a foreign land, among his former enemies, and steeped in a culture and language so different from his own. It’s a heavy burden to carry.

He cannot show any sign of weakness. Peace is no absolute guarantee for complicity. Their hard won peace is flimsy at best and held together by the thin thread of marriage. Izuku must not forget it.

Dinner that night is a quiet affair for them. Upon Izuku’s request, they eat out in the inn's foyer. All the tables are occupied, but the only one eating is Izuku and the Furie. He tries not to let it unnerved him, but Royal Guards and several servants are seated among the other tables and though there are low conversations stirring, it’s mostly just Izuku and the Furie who takes center stage once more.

The food is spicy and colorful. The flavor swings from one extreme to another. Too salty, too sweet, and a little too much, kind of like the Kurenai themselves; a place of extreme—extreme landscapes, extreme weathers, and extreme people. This is after all the country where they once said the royal lines flow the blood of ancient dragons.

Whether or not that’s true, Izuku will find out soon enough.

He quietly eats his dinner even though they took a while to get used to, especially when nearly everything on the table is unrecognizable to him. The Furie sat across from him and dutifully eats his meal in silence as though it was an everyday occurrence to him to dine with his future husband and Izuku does his best to imitate his cool indifference. But it’s not easy when the head of a fish sank in a spicy curry throws Izuku’s off for a second and he’s so distracted by its large lifeless eyes staring back at him that he doesn’t notice someone is approaching him from behind.

Arms shoot out, a yell rang in the air, a scramble of bodies and the next thing Izuku knows a bowl of boiling liquid lands right in Izuku’s lap. It spills over his thigh, soaking through the fabric of his robes and it even got his right arm and all the way down to his hand.

Izuku screams, the scalding hot liquid burns at exposed his skin and his right side hurt so badly like a thousand stinging nettles.

He hears a vitriol of Kure thrown at him and he turns around with shaky legs to see a young girl struggling against a guard’s hold, face twisted with pure hatred as she glares at him. It was the same serving girl from the inn who’d brought food to them earlier, she had even offered him reassuring a smile at his confusion of some of dishes arriving at his table.

Now she looks upon with so much revulsion that Izuku could feel it emanating from her. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows whatever words she’s saying is not kind.

“Your Highness!” one of his attendants shouts in horror, rising up in from his seat at a nearby table. He and several others rush over to Izuku to tend to his injuries. “Are you alright?!”

They spoke over each other in a flurry of Kure that Izuku can barely catch, dropping A’she from their tongue completely. Someone places a cold towel over his hand to cool the burnt and another wipes off the soup residue on the skirt of his robe. Many hands carefully tend to him, but Izuku doesn’t even pay any attention to it.

His eyes and ears are train on his soon to be husband as Katsuki yells something over the girl’s cry and more guards quickly rise up. They rush over to her and grab her by the arm, pushing her to the floor in a loud thump

“I’m fine,” Izuku insists, distractedly as two of the guards unsheathed their sword on her. “I’m fine,” he says louder, brushing his attendants’ intrusive hands off of him.

The attendants look at each other and then quickly back away from him. Izuku sighs in relief even as his right side still sting and his body hurts all over, but he can’t drop his guard here. No weakness. No chinks in his armor.

He squares his shoulder and holds his head high as he walks around the table and approaches the Furie, whose scowl has deepens.

“Your Holiness,” he says, drawing Katsuki’s attention to him.

Though he offers no comforting words, Katsuki looks back at him, eyes scrutinizing every inch of his body. He zeroes in immediately on the way Izuku held his right arm, at an awkward angle and the redness that had risen on his hand.

With his uninjured left hand, he reaches out toward Katsuki. “What was she saying earlier to me? It was too fast for me to pick up,” Izuku mumbles, tugging on his sleeve. “I want to know. Please.”

Katsuki hesitates for a moment, so brief that if Izuku wasn’t watching him closely he wouldn’t have caught it right away. “Give me back my family,” he translates, voice even and distant, “you murderer.’”

Izuku shuts his eyes for a second, heart quivering in place.

There is no such thing as a bloodless war. How could Izuku forget that just because his side had lost so many people, it didn’t mean the Kurenai hasn’t lost as much as them. “That was not all she said,” Izuku states, his hands trembling at his side. “Tell me everything. Do not shelter me from the truth.”

Katsuki’s eyes simmer against the lights of the inn. “The only good Ashein is a dead one,” he tells Izuku coolly. “We won’t accept an Ashein cur on our throne. Nobody wants you here, go back to your homeland or we’ll ship you back in a box. ”

Izuku’s breath hitches. Her hate is palpable. He didn’t need have the words translated to know, but Izuku has always been a masochist anyway. “I see,” he breathes, “but you can let her go now as I’m quite fine now.”

“It’s treasonous,” Katsuki says with narrowed eyes, “you are to be my Fyre and I will not have some idle threats looming over our marriage.” He turns toward his guards and throws a few Kure words out toward them. Most of them are unfamiliar to him, but Izuku’s ears managed pick up the word jail and he steps forward once more.

“Wait, let her go, Your Holiness,” Izuku pleads. “I do not want her to be hurt or locked away.”

“Just because you show her a drop of kindness doesn’t mean she’ll forgive you for being an Ashein,” Katsuki points out ruthlessly, neither mincing words or gentle with Izuku.

Izuku holds back a wince. “I do not need her forgiveness,” he insists, standing his ground. “She’s still young, and that’s enough.”

“That shouldn’t excuse her behavior,” Katsuki says sharply, red eyes pinning Izuku like he’s butterfly caught under him. “She could jeopardize the entire treaty if anything were to happen to you.”

“Don’t worry, Your Holiness,” Izuku says, voice rising with a confidence that he doesn’t quite feel. “I will not be so easily killed.”

Katsuki clicks his tongue in annoyance, but he shakes his head ruefully and sighs. “Fine,” he barks, and sends a quick order in Kure to release the girl.

As soon as they let her go, she scrambles away from them and eyes still drawn daggers at Izuku even though it was Izuku who had set her free. “Ashein’s dog,” she spits out in clumsy A’she at him. “Won’t forget this.”

Izuku bites down on lips as he watches her storm out. He doesn’t regret his action, but it hurts anyway. Hurt in a different way than the physical pain she had inflicted on him. The peace may have been needed on both sides, but Izuku is not what the Kurenai wanted at all. He is an extra stipulation that they have to endure. The price they pay for amity.

A hand abruptly grabs him and pulls him toward a hard chest. Izuku’s eyes widen in surprise as he meets the fierce gaze of his future husband, his hands forcibly wrapped around Izuku’s injured one.

“You fool,” Katsuki hisses venomously, his words are callous but the grip that held Izuku’s right hand is ever gentle. His fingers run over Izuku’s sensitive skin in measured slowness as though soothing away the heat simmering under it. “You absolute stupid fool! This will come back and bite you in the ass later.”

“But you will be there with me, won’t you, Your Holiness?” Izuku says, a smile tugging softly at the corner of his lips.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow and he doesn’t offer an answer to Izuku’s question, but it isn’t a rebuke either.

Izuku’s smile widens. It’s his first smile since he had arrived on this foreign land and with a feverish hope in his heart, this might not last smile either.

Right now, Izuku is an outsider in their midst but he’s to be wed to their Furie come the next full moon. Even if they never accept or come to love him, but for the peace that so many people had died for, Izuku won’t back down. He must survive and maybe, just maybe, he could also win the heart of this unforgiving man.

#fic snippet #bakudeku #fic: incandescent nights

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irrlicht-ghostfront · 6 years ago

Text

all the tiny things.

Castiel lied to you. But why? He must have a job; where else would the money come from? You know the answer, you’re sure you do, but you don’t want to.

It's your fault, isn't it?

***************

When you met him years and years ago; you thought he was a small, petite man, the way he sat there by himself in the corner booth. Certainly, he didn’t look like anyone you’d become friends with or would even pay any mind. But, his booth was the only one not crowded, so you and your friends walk over to him and share the booth with him.

Your opinion doesn’t really change through the night; even his demeanour seems small and petite. Towards the end of it, he ask if he could join your outings again and you’re drunk enough not to care, so you agree. After all, he hardly disturbs you, right? He stands up then, ready to leave and you look at him – you realise he’s not small and petite, but that his shoulders are broad and that he is a tall man. You wonder why he looked so tiny while sitting by himself. You don’t wonder long, of course, but still – it’s a thought that crossed your mind.

It’s a thought that comes back now, when he stands in front of you. His words ring in your ears still, and yet you barely registered them. Something’s wrong, you know it, but you don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell you.

“I love you.”

Why say that? It’s neither the place nor the time, and Castiel’s not someone who’d try to get with someone’s boyfriend. The way he said it, it feels more like an excuse. But why would he need an excuse for something? Does he need one so that you leave him alone? Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong, but you don’t know what it is, and you need to fix it. So you grab him tight and pull him in your arms. He deflates immediately, and you know he’s given up.

You take him home.

He tells you what happened in small, hushed tones. You wish he’d come to you sooner, but at least he’s here now. It’s gonna be hard, supporting two people with your salary, but you’re willing to try. He needs your help, and he’s clearly in no state to help himself at the moment. You get him in the tiny guest-room and get him into bed. You’ll make soup for him tomorrow, and then you’re gonna gradually make him feel better. It’s a quiet promise you make to yourself, because you’re not sure Castiel could handle that at the moment, so you tell him to sleep. He looks so tiny, again and you wonder.

It’s a bit rough, at first. Castiel doesn’t want to eat any more than the bare minimum, even though he really ought to, he hasn’t really enjoyed the shower yet and never turns on any sort of light, resulting in various bruises all across his body; and frankly, you’re at a loss.

“He doesn’t want to eat anything, Sammy”, you groan in the phone. “My food tastes good, right?” Sam’s quiet on the other end of the line and you just start to get irritated. “Uh... did you adopt a fussy baby or something?” You roll your eyes. “No. I’m talking ‘bout Castiel, who else?” And there is that damn pause yet again. Sam doesn’t need such long pauses to think, for god’s sake! “Uh, why, uh, why would you feed Castiel?” Oh.

So you explain and slap yourself mentally. It’s not like that’s public knowledge. Shit.

Sam tells you Castiel probably needs to get used to this. He needs to get used to kindness and also learning to accept it. So you should have patience and “you’re doing a good thing, Dean” blah-blah. After that conversation, however, Castiel starts to eat. It really seems like a call to Sam fixes things. You should’ve done that a lot sooner. You’re just about able to withhold a huff. After all, Castiel acts like a little fawn and you wouldn’t want to scare him away with your manliness.

It gets better over time. Castiel still looks tiny to you, but you’re not so sure how to change that. You think maybe a new job would help with that, so you gently nudge him towards that. Also, to be honest, having some more money wouldn’t be that bad. Everything’s getting a bit tight as of late. So, one evening, you decide to call Sam. He’ll know what to do – and so far he’s the only one who partly knows what happened.

“It’s been four months now”, Sam says. “He still hasn’t found anything?” You just hum. That sounds like an accusation. This whole dilemma isn’t really Castiel’s fault, is it? “It’s not like that”, you say and Sam huffs. “Really, Dean? You still wanna shield him from the world?” “Now, c’mon, Sammy, that’s hardly fair –“. “So what? Money’s not getting tight?” You bite your lip. “Well, yes, it’s kinda tight, but – “. Sam cuts you off. “Dean, he needs to contribute something, don’t you think? You’re basically a hotel by now, a free one too!” Maybe calling Sam hadn’t been the best idea. “It’s not his fault, Sam. Sorry to bother you.” You hang up and grab your hair. Son of a bitch. The worst part is, you’re not sure if Sam isn’t secretly right. Damn it, you wanted him to solve your problem, not add onto it! What are you supposed to do now? You squeeze your eyes shut. Castiel can’t know of this. You know he isn’t feeling well, and knowing this would only make it worse.

He tells you about every interview he has, and since he never mentions them again, you know how they turned out. You offer him to help look over his applications, but he always declines. You wonder if there is something embarrassing on it, but then – you can’t imagine. Castiel is nice and ordinary – he’s not the type of guy who’d ever done something embarrassing. Not that it would be a pleasant thing: but almost freezing to death on their trip is probably the most exciting thing that ever happened to him.

You bite your lip. You almost let the guy die, and here you are, calling it exciting.

“I’m gonna crash at Lisa’s place”, you tell him. You’re about to meet with your friends. You tried to coax him to go, but he doesn’t want to. He’s been absent the last few times, and Charlie and Garth have been asking. So you just told them Castiel’s probably busy. You feel like Castiel needs to tell them himself. It’s not your place. “Okay”, he says in a small tone and you hate it. You want him to speak up for himself; you want him to stand up!

But you don’t know how to breach that. So you swallow the words you want to say and turn around to leave. Maybe you should confide in Lisa. Maybe she’ll know what to do, but – you don’t know if she even likes Castiel. It’s not like she dislikes him, but... you sigh. Some small part of you damns Castiel. If he’d just kept his job, you wouldn’t be in this awkward situation right now. You shake your head in disgust.

It’s not his fault.

And you can’t make it his fault.

You try to drink your worries away. Lisa cuts you off two hours in. One hour later, she takes you home. You feel like utter shit, and Sam’s glances surely didn’t fucking help. She’s worried, she says. You scoff. She doesn’t need to worry about you. You have a job, and a girlfriend, and a home and friends and... and...

Castiel has nothing of that.

You stop dead in your tracks.

They’re your friends, Dean.

So... Castiel doesn’t have a job, he doesn’t have a friend, he doesn’t have a home and he doesn’t have a boyfriend.

I love you.

You turn to Lisa and she stares up at you, clearly worried. You hug her and her warmth seeps through you. “Hey, Lis.” She moves her head against your chest. “One should help a friend in need, no matter how long it takes, right?” She takes a step back. “Yes”, she says, all sincere. “Is everything okay?” You smile. She would help you, you know that. You shake her head. “I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.” She nods and holds your hand. It’s a nice feeling and briefly, you think about a lonely Castiel, sitting on the couch, all alone. You push the thought away.

It’s about two weeks later, and you been pondering over your bank account for hours now. Charlie’s birthday is coming up, but you can’t really afford to buy her anything. All you can think of gifting her has the label Harry Potter or Star Wars on it, and that’s just too expensive. You almost hurled your phone away when you looked up the price of a nice Dice-set. So you call Sam. So stupid.

“I’m kinda running tight, Sammy”, you say through your teeth. “I know it’s her birthday, but I just can’t, okay? Can’t you buy something, and I pitch in, or whatever?” Sam huffs. “I know how you could’ve saved up some money for her gift.” You grind your jaw. “So, what do you want me to do? I’m just supposed to tell him to go away?! C’mon, that’s just heartless, don’t cha think?” “No, Dean, at this point I think it’s to be expected. He’s abusing your hospitality, Dean! Is he even looking for employment?” You breathe heavily through your nose. “Yes, yes he is! It’s not his fault he only gets rejection letters!” Sam cackles. “Why are you still protecting him? Is there something going on Lisa should be aware of?” That’s going too far. Without another word you hang up and turn your phone off. The pure assumption…!

You haven’t turned your phone back on yet. You know it’s probably swarming with messages from Sam by now, but you don’t want to deal with that. More than that, you don’t want Castiel to notice. So when he enters the kitchen the following day, you smile at him, like always. He doesn’t really smile back like he usually does. Damn, perhaps your worry his showing. You’re hoping he won’t be worrying over this and just believes you spent a long night sexting Lisa. “I’m going to go to Sam’s this evening” you tell him, “is that okay?” He just hums slightly and bites into his toast. You look at him; again looking so small and petite. You want to yell at him, tell him to sit straight, stand with all his height. But you don’t know how to do that. You can’t think of a single reason of why he should sit straight other than the fact that he should.

You’re great, Cass, you think, I only wish I knew how to tell you that.

You just show up at Sam’s. You don’t even know if he’s home. You ring the bell, and he opens. For a moment, you both just stand there, none of you saying a word. Then you push past him and go inside. It’s not exactly warm out here in the wind. He doesn’t protest and just closes the door again. You shrug your jacket off and just stand there, neither of you wanting to start.

But Sam, being Sam, comes through: “I’m sorry, Dean. What I said, that… that was uncalled for.” You nod slightly, willing him to continue. “Dean, it’s just... I’m worried, okay? I know Castiel’s a good guy and all that, but he’s been living off of you for more than four months now, right? And yes, I know it can be hard to get a job. But you realise it can’t go on like this, right?” You sigh deeply and let your shoulders sag. Yes, you know. Sam was only worried. And you can’t deny that you haven’t wondered yourself. You know Castiel is trying. But Sam’s right, too: it can’t go on like this forever. Castiel needs a job, so he can help pay the bills. You don’t really mind him living with you, but money is really running tight at the moment. “Yeah”, you say finally, falling onto the couch. “I don’t know what to do, Sammy. He tries, he tries so fucking hard, how can I give him more grief?” Sam hands you a beer and sits next to you. “Let me help”, he says. “I can look over his resume. Often it’s the phrasing that helps. I mean, we could at least offer it to him.” You nod, and you don’t tell Sam that you already offered that, and that Castiel declined. Maybe he’ll allow Sam to look.

You end up staying the night. Sam’s couch is incredible uncomfortable, but it’s better than a random ditch on the road. You go straight to work from here and you hope Castiel is doing fine.

“Dean, I... I have a job”, he tells you the next day and his voice sounds weird, but you barely notice. You simply beam at him. “Cass, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you; I know how hard it’s been.” You get up and hug him tightly; he even hugs you back. It feels faint, but you don’t really notice that at this point. “So, where you’re working at?” You ask him as you release him from your hug. “It’s at the museum”, he answers you swiftly and continues, “I’m the night-guard.” You beam again and clap a hearty hand on his shoulder. “That’s great, Cass! Um... not to be forward, but do you think you could... help me pay the bills?” You feel a bit uncomfortable asking this right away, but it’s been gnawing at you.

He smiles and says yes.

It’s like he knew you were struggling. You hope that’s not true.

You smile brightly at him, and if you hadn’t been so in your own head at this time, you might’ve noticed.

You write a message to Sam right after this. You feel so proud.

What a fool you are.

You can’t help it; but when you watch Castiel get ready, pride swells in your chest. You’re trying so hard not to look, but it just looks so good, seeing him get ready for his all-new job. “Have fun!” You shout a bit too loudly and he looks at you, startled. The smile on your face hurts your cheeks, but you can’t stop. He smiles gingerly at you, before he disappears through the door.

You sink back into the couch and take a deep breath. It feels so good, knowing the dry period is finally over. With the money from Castiel’s job, everything’s back to normal now. Even Sam was happy about the news. You giggle a bit. It seems Castiel is better now. Last night, you heard him watch certain... films, so to say. That’s good. That means Castiel is back on the right track. And maybe he’ll stop being so tiny now, and will stand up straight.

Time passes. And with that passing time, something feels off. You can tell that Castiel is straining himself to look at you. You frown and wonder why. And even more so, it feels like he’s retreating somewhere. He never talks about his work, not even when you try and prompt him. You wonder if he’s got trouble at work. But you don’t know if it’s any of your business. And somehow, you want to trust him enough that he’d come to you if he needed to.

And then he stops looking at you completely. You don’t what’s wrong, but you don’t want to ask Sam about it. “Talk to him”, he’d say. Yeah, Sherlock thanks very much for that useless piece of crap advice. He takes a lot of walks outside now and you think that’s good. Sunshine and fresh air always help, right? They have to, because you don’t know what to do.

There’s a bruise on his face. He says it happened at work, he fell asleep and accidentally hit his head on the counter. You simply nod, not believing him. You think that reaffirms your thoughts about him having trouble at work. “Okay”, you tell him. “Just be more careful next time, alright?” You wish he’d talk to you. You’re sure you could scare his bully away, if you only knew who that was. So you decide to take some behind-the-scene action. You could protect him, even without him asking. He would be happy about it later. He wasn’t alone anymore, now.

So, when he’s asleep, you call the museum. You just need a name, anything to go on. A man picks up and you mentally steel yourself. “Ah, hello. I’m calling because I had a question about one of your night guards. Castiel Novak? He started about three weeks ago, now.” The man asks you to hold a moment and seemingly types away at his computer. “Sir, there is no Castiel Novak employed with us currently.” You’re baffled. Why would Castiel lie to you? And where does he go when he goes to work? And more importantly, where does the money come from? “Oh. I’m sorry; I must have been mistaken, sorry.” The man tells you it’s no bother and you hang up.

Castiel lied to you.

But why?

He must have a job; where else would the money come from?

You know the answer, you’re sure you do, but you don’t want to.

Two days later, he has a fever. He didn’t seem sick before, so you’re even more worried. You want to take care of him, so you make him Mom’s Tomato-Rice-Soup. You help him eat it and whenever he warms up too much, you get some wet towels for him. Lisa wants to meet, as do your friends, but Castiel is a bit more important right now. You don’t want to leave him alone here. His temperature doesn’t lower and worry gnaws way at you.

The fever gets worse, and you take him to the hospital. Castiel tries to protest, in a meek, tiny voice. You hate it. You hate it so much. You tell him a firm no and you feel him cry into your shoulder. You’re not sure he notices that. His body is so hot to the touch.

Three days he spends at the hospital. There are cuts on his chest, and they’re inflamed. Why didn’t he say something? Who did that to him? Why didn’t he take better care of himself? You could’ve helped. The doctors talk to you; and they confirm what you’ve known all along. Damn it all, you didn’t need money that badly. It should never have come to this.

He’s asleep every time you sit at his bed. You know he’s faking it. “I know you’re awake, Castiel.” To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch. You don’t know what to do. What do you do in this situation? You want to ask Sam, but you can’t. This thing is so private and Castiel feels so tiny, so fragile – you’re afraid you’re going to break him.

You don’t speak to him on the way home. He sits next to you, pale to the light outside. He looks even tinier than usual, and oh god, how much you hate it. It should have never come to this, but now it’s too late. The deed is done, and you’re afraid your friend is forever damaged, without you being able to fix him in any way or matter.

“Castiel”, you say after the door closes. “Tell me.”

Such a small order, and even to your ears, it sounds impossible to obey. Slowly, he lifts his gaze and looks at you. He’s even smaller than the first time you’ve seen him. How will you ever get him to stand up? It’s seems such an impossible task. “I wanted to be good”, he says toneless.

It’s a hollow voice that comes out of him and you take his phone from him. You browse through his last messages and you want to find all these people and hurt them for hurting him. How dare they? How dare they? “You should’ve told me” you say and you try your hardest to keep the anger out of your voice. It’s not for him, it’s for them, But if he hears it, he’ll think it’s his fault. “I wanted to be good”, he says again.

“You’ve always been good”, you say and you hug him. You don’t know what to do.

“I love you”, he says and you hug him tighter.

He hugs you back, but it doesn’t feel like a beginning.

It’s not enough.

And you’re not sure if it ever could be.

Later, when you’re lying in your bed, you hear a soft thump. You’re sure, later; you only hear it because you haven’t been asleep yet. You should have been, it’s after three in the morning and you have to get to work tomorrow – but you were thinking about skipping, because you two really need to talk. You wonder if Castiel knocked something over or – god forbid – if he hurt himself. So you get up and pad over to his room – it is his room now, after all this time, no longer the guest-room – and you open the door without much preamble.

It’s your fault, isn’t it?

You didn’t even know you kept a rope somewhere. You didn’t see him take a chair. But you should have.

So it’s your fault, isn’t it?

#supernatural #Destiel #castiel #dean winchester #POV Dean Winchester #fanfic #Sam Winchester

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tancong · 6 years ago

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Banquet and Beauty

Fandom: League of Legends (Odyssey OCs) Word Count: 2081 Rating: Teens Summary: When a young, gay thief has to attend a banquet with her hot boss, she has to strive to impress. However, in the world they live, it was not often that everything goes their way. Sometimes, it ends in tragedy. And sometimes, they end up being new opportunities.

A banquet hall wasn’t exactly a place that Riley expected to find herself at. However, it was a part of the general’s work and so there she was. Being an assistant meant that her own accomplishments and presence reflected upon Syrus, whether Riley wanted to or not. A real pain, if you asked her.

Well, with great privilege comes great responsibility. Or something like that. It was a small price to pay to be the right hand of one of the most influential people in the galaxy. The fact that the general was also drop-dead gorgeous was a bonus. Actually, at this point, Riley wasn’t sure whether she was convinced to leave her mercenary ways because of the general’s powers and influence or because she was just gay.

That being said, there was no requirement that she had to show up along with Syrus. As long as she inevitably arrived at the banquet in a timely manner, Riley was free to do as she wished. As such, she was hoping to give the general a pleasant surprise. She wasn’t exactly the type to go through such lengths usually but just this once, she wanted to get back at the general.

Month after month, the general sent her on difficult missions and hardly even spoke with her face to face. Riley knew that she was busy but could they not even enjoy a nice dinner together once in a while? Nooo, instead she had to kill a giant worm creature on another planet or hunt down her old acquaintances or empty out an underground tunnel that Syrus forgot to mention was actually a sewer.

This time, she was going to be the one frustrating the hell out of the general. At least, that was the plan. Unfortunately, they were not allowed to bring their normal gear into the hall, meaning that Riley was having a bit of a hard time finding the aforementioned general. A half-pout half-frown came on her expression as she took a wine glass with her to the corner of the room, eyes still scanning over the room for her target.

Fortunately, she had not gotten to take a sip before a soft chuckle accompanied by a familiar amused voice came from her side. “Fancy seeing you here. I see you dressed quite nicely for the occasion.”

Riley nearby dropped her glass as her eyes widened for a brief moment before she recomposed herself, turning her head calmly as she gave the general a smile with the tilt of her head. “And what brings such an esteemed person to my unworthy self on this fine night?”

The wine glass tapped her lips as Riley smirked. She casually stepped a foot forward, pulling the back of her white dress to accent her curve a bit better as she displayed her bare thigh in the same movement. “Missed me, general?”

Syrus’ hand went to her lips as she quickly glanced away, though the short laugh she let out was still quite audible. The general lowered her hand soon enough, though the smile was still on her expression despite Riley’s visible pout. However, that pout didn’t last too long as the general stepped forward, placing her hand over the hand holding the wine glass. For a moment, their faces were just a bit too close together for public eyes as Syrus gently caressed Riley’s cheek using her left hand. A sultry whisper came from her lips, eyes locked with the former thief. “You are so damn cute, my dear Riley. If it weren’t for all the food already offered and my courtesy for the other guests, I would just each you right up.”

And just like that, she quickly walked off with a self-satisfied expression, leaving the thief by the wall fuming. The glass of wine was quickly downed and discarded nearby as Riley found herself at the food table to distract herself instead. Stupid, sexy general Syrus. What gave her the right.

Riley inevitably calmed down as the night progressed, with short speeches and an award ceremony. It was only then that she really got a good look at the general. She was dressed in a dress as well, not exactly dissimilar to what Riley was wearing. However, the difference was intense. The low cut of her dress made Riley gulp as she couldn’t help but stare at the other woman’s chest. She forced herself away quickly enough, opting instead of trace the scars that lined her body. However, it was not as if that was any better as her eyes lingered on every mark, on her strong arms and those bare, strong legs.

A bright crimson hue came to Riley’s cheeks as she made eye contact with the general. The smirk on the other woman’s expression was extremely brief before it was replaced by a pleasant smile upon receiving her award, but it was there regardless. As Riley begrudgingly clapped, she refused to look in the general’s direction again, gaining great interest in her soup.

Soon enough, the reception and soup were both finished and Riley sighed, sparing a glance toward the stage. She saw Syrus there, pleasantly conversing with the other participants with a smile on her expression. She pulled herself away, exiting the banquet hall without noticing the gaze at her back.

Finding herself at the hot spring, Riley looked around before hesitantly entering. While she was not a fan of socializing with others besides for her work, she rather liked hot springs. A luxury for sure, something that she didn’t have access to very often, if ever. She let the white dress drop to her feet, gathering it up neatly and putting it in the nearby storage basket. A towel was wrapped around her frame, putting a frown on Riley’s expression as she was quickly reminded of her lack of physical assets.

The hot water was entered leisurely as Riley found a comfortable spot to sit. A gentle shiver ran up her spine as the warmth seeped in, eliciting a soft happy sigh from the thief. She looked up at the open night sky, eyes moving from star to star. She remembered which systems she had visited. Some of them were beautiful. Others were serene. Many chaotic. Riley couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to visit one of them with the general. Not to kill, not to struggle. Just to see the wonders they had to offer.

“I didn’t take you to be the type to stargaze. Eager to be sent on your next mission already?”

Riley slipped downward and submerged her head under the water of the hot spring as the voice spoke. When she finally peeked up again, she was greeted by the sight of a raised eyebrow from a certain general wrapped in only a towel.

God was her luck absolute shit that night. She was not complaining about the sight nor company but …

“Could you at least knock verbally before you enter next time, general? I distinctly recall you complaining to me about that.”

Syrus pretended to ponder it for a moment, “Last I recall, I didn’t particularly complain. I just asked for a notice in advance so I could prepare to meet you.”

Riley frowned, “And where was my advanced notice then.”

Syrus tilted her head, “In the pocket of your dress …” A smirk, “Was the thief too distracted by what she saw to even notice a sly hand sneaking into her pocket? At this rate, you’re going to be robbed blind, my dear Riley.”

“Shut it,” was the response from the other girl, blushing red now. It was just because the heat of the water was getting to her, no other reason. When her eyes went back onto the general, any thoughts she had went out of the window as the other woman dropped her towel and entered the water.

Syrus let out a soft sigh as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, though it registered in Riley’s head as close to being a moan. That was probably just her imagination though. When the other woman looked back down at Riley, she had a small smile on her expression. “I know I should be used to it by now, but it is a bit embarrassing to be stared at for so long. Especially when the culprit is so cute.”

Riley quickly looked away with a “hmph” as she wondered whether she should exit before the heat of the water make her nauseous considering how hot her cheeks felt. As she wondered how she would ever come back from this embarrassment, Riley missed the quiet approach of the other woman. While she wondered whether she could get deported to another galaxy by committing a crime against Demaxia just to never show her face in front of the general again, Syrus had snuck up directly behind her.

A small yelp came from Riley as she felt two firm hands over her chest as something soft pressed against her back. As she turned her head, the space over her shoulder was occupied by the composed face of a certain mischievous general. “Hrm, I thought the heat would expand them a bit. I guess I was wrong.”

Riley’s hands pushed against a pair of much softer breasts as she disentangled herself. She frowned as she covered her chest bashfully, “You don’t have to rub it in. I-It lets me move easier. And the armor is less expensive. And I can squeeze through small alleyways and gaps. So you can shut it, you tiddy monster.”

Syrus blinked before breaking out in full laughter, covering her lips as she looked away. Despite how mad Riley was acting, her expression softened at the soft sound of the general’s laughter. Though she continued to frown and cover her chest, Riley couldn’t help the smile that was threatening to creep over her expression.

When Syrus finally finished laughing, she looked over at Riley with a smile. “A tiddy monster. I have never been called that. If it was anyone but you, I’m sure they’d be dead. You’re lucky you’re cute.” There was no indication that Syrus was going to create a new topic from that point. Riley was far too flustered to speak or even try to rebuke now. The general just had that effect on her, whether she liked it or not.

And so, they sat in silence for a while before Syrus got up with a satisfied sigh and moved to leave. Riley frowned as she stirred as if to follow. However, the general looked over her shoulder as she stopped.

“Enjoy yourself for a bit longer. I’ll head back to my room first. Come by whenever you finish, I’m quite sure you have already scouted out where I’m staying for the night.”

Riley could only nod gayly as she stared after the muscular back and firm backside of the general before she covered it all up with a towel that accented her skin’s softness far too well. Syrus gave her one last wink before disappearing around the corner to get dressed and return to her room as promised.

Riley slinked back down into the water with a long sigh, creating bubbles at the surface of the water. As she gazed upwards, her mind was no longer thinking the beautiful stars and the wondrous landscapes of distant planets. Instead, it was all about the general and what she was promised. Was it just a night of fun? A meaningful conversation afterward? Cuddles? Or did the general see more in the thief than Riley believed?

In any case, Riley was shown today that she was far from being someone who could be compared to the general. Class, skill, charm, intelligence, and beauty. There were many things that she had to learn. However, that made being by her side worth it.

With a smile, Riley pulled herself out of the hot spring as she got dressed. Whatever the future may bring, she’ll do better to prepare herself. Even if it’s just to impress one special woman, she’ll do her best to succeed. For the first step of her renewed ambition, Riley figured that she should head back to her room first. The dress was nice, of course, but she was sure that the general preferred to have more to feast her eyes and hands on.

Oh, she’ll give her that and far more. A small repayment for everything she’s been treated to tonight.

#league of legends #odyssey riley #od riley #od syrus #syley #odyssey syrus

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