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galaxy-lilies · 4 months ago

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Pages 160 - 201:

in hindsight maybe cutting off the previous reblog here was a good idea because oh? my god?? The twists and turns that Grian and Scar had to go through both juggling their civilian lives and their vigilante lives? The paranoia that stuck to them like the sculk that was festering in the deep dark under hermitopia? Sleep deprivation be damned, i was determined to read this to the end. (spoiler alert it took me another day-)

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I am an absolute sucker for dramatic irony, parallels, etc. and oh my god this story.

Even now I'm finding something new: when scar finds pearl's blog talking about Hotguy and Cuteguy, he notes that shes smiling and laughing in the profile pic, a laugh that will haunt him for days on end leading to many sleepless nights as he fears for his life.

When Scar answered the door revealing Pearl on the other side my blood went cold as did Scar's. Just how long was she keeping tabs on him? Even though she was greeting and talking to scar warmly, as if she didnt crush his hand just weeks earlier to force him to fall off a building- the contrast was stark. I was intrigued.

And of all things she brings to him as a greeting, she brings soup.

The following events that slowly but surely weighed down on scar and grian- to the point he was willing to just give the gig up just so they had some semblance of normalcy in a not so normal situation, grian going through his own turmoil dealing with gem hunting him for just as long if not longer than pearl but also scar's weariness and wariness of the whole ordeal. they weren't in the public's favor, both of them were lost about what they were doing.

pearl and scar comforting each other in their civilian forms just GRAH once again, the dramatic irony of just how much this was taking a toll on both parties.

and then the fight in the TGC basement, just the betrayal, the initial deranged giddiness from pearl as she lists off every little detail about scar, almost revealing grian's identity until he manages to interrupt her. and then the pain. the pain and confusion as to why hes letting her go, as to why even after running into grian after the fact and returning back to his apartment in a daze. that question of why.

days blur together only for them to be interrupted by a knock.

the ending is so bittersweet and yet achingly perfect. after all the story isnt over, all the pieces of the puzzle are slowly but surely coming together, but just the ache that a friendship was nothing more than a ruse, nothing more than game.

And then pearl tells him to check on grian. this chapter of the story isn't quite over.

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BROOOOO THE ART, THE PARALLELS BETWEEN REPORTER PEARL AND SCOUR, GRAAAAH

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the clickbait articles- ZEDDIT??? OOOOH MY GODS the puns return I LOVE IT.

social media world building the beloved, I AM EATING THIS UP. gods this perfectly emulated reddit rabbitholes so well, suddenly im up on r/AITA reading crazy ass stories and reading even crazier replies

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I already talked about it a bit in Pearl's and Scar's story but OUUUGH Grian being hunted by Bleeding Hart, the fear of seeing that glowing red dot, the fact that there was no body when he went to try and find where jimmy was 'killed.' RAAAAH

AND ISKALL like HOLY SHIT i would be mad as FUCK as well if my shop was just repeatedly destroyed over and over again and no one covered it but MAN hotguy and cuteguy are really getting the brunt of that rant OOF

and the empty bullet casing holy shit i would be bolting out of my house too DAMN and just the double dramatic irony of grian unable to tell scar that he's being hunted but scar unable to really reveal that he's being stalked by pearl because it would not only give them away if the other two were listening but it would put both of them in danger. so the fury grian felt as he shoved hotguy's visor back down just DAMN a moment of if only both of them knew what they hell they were living through during those days

AND THEN THE REVEAL THAT THE SCULK WAS THE THING THAT INFECTED THE WATER WELLS, HELLO

and now we finally know (somewhat) why the villains are doing their thing in the first place: to return to "normalcy" where everyone didn't have powers

hotguy coming in to save grian to tie the two stories together, the fact that they decide to stick to each other's side despite everything that happened just *shakes the two*

Not everything is perfect, but at least they have each other's back

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know for a fact i am going to be spinning these two stories in my mind like a microwave okay onto the next half of the zine!

FINISHED THE HOTGUY ZINE AND AAAAAAAAH /POS

okay im going to put my thoughts under the cut cause OUGH this is going to be a long post LMAO

FIRST OFF can i just say how amazing and incredible the folk who organized the whole event are, they deserve absolute kudos

AND ANOTHER FIRST OFF: SHOUTOUT TO ALL THE LOVELY WRITERS, ARTISTS, EDITORS, ETC. WHO CONTRIBUTED YALL ARE INCREDIBLE

okay okay finally into the recap that was an amazing 3 and a half hours of my life

Pages 1-103:

When I first saw the heads up about how the zine was interconnected and skipping any part would potentially lead to some plot i was immediately intrigued then i was immediately hit with the other realization of "410 PAGES???? HELLO????"

the first comic was so fucking cute OMG LIZZIE'S DESIGN WAS SO CUTE AND THE SILLY SLIDESHOW HUMOR BETWEEN JOEL, SCAR, AND LIZZIE

"hold on let me make some edits-" "no let ME make some edits-"

the artstyle changing based on who was editing what, Joel just trying to support his wife, Scar purposely mishearing "cats" as "cash" absolute hilarity how i heart them all so

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AND THEN WE GET HIT WITH THE DOODY ART OOOOH MY DAYS CUTEGUY AND HOTGUY MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME AAAAAAH

Grian rocking the cloak, Scar just absolutely confuzzled: THEYRE SOOOO *shakes them*

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and the shenanigans between Ren, Scar, and BDubs oh my god AND THE ON GOING BIT ABOUT HOW "if anyone says hotguy it immediately turns into the logo" it never fails to make me laugh

the early days of the mutation, the proposal of the union, PEARL'S LITTLE >:3c as she pressed publish OUGH

and the trail of petals grian left behind as he considered hotguy's proposal just *splat* i literally ate up all the art and the fics and the silly silly edits in this zine THEY WORLD BUILDING IS AMAZING

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speaking of world building: MUMBLR??? HELLOOOOOOO

THE ANON'S HAVING SILLY MUSTACHES BY DEFAULT

THE RANTING IN THE TAGS

THE MEMES

now i need to know, what does old mumblr *checks notes* teal? green? look like

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(at this point it was around 8 PM but after a long day i was already reaching the point of eepyness and i thought "surely i can finish reading the hOTGuY zine in one sitting!" spoiler alert: i did not)

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immediately when i saw the G Team comic i was reminded of the council of Grians LMAO Grian being the absolute chaotic one man band as he tries to collect all this evidence, the readers seeing Scar's means of transportation for the first time, and then *vine boom* SCULK

also ARIANA GRIANDE THE BELOVED HOW I HEART HER SOOOOOOOO i love all of the grians featured here, and the fact that permit office grian managed to make a silly appearance AND his permit shenanigans working in his favor- hE EVEN HAS THE "please hold." MUSIC- iconic i tell you, iconic

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I absolutely exploded into a million pieces seeing tibby's art then exploded again because "i can't see the end of the horizon...CUBFAN135- IS THAT YOU??!!?"

seeing the sculk snail follow behind scar idly, the fact that grian's only lead is cub ordering pizza like of all leads. but to be fair it does fit both of them LMAO

i am eating the sculk texturing btw it's very very tasty uwu

it's the fact that both of them turned to each other to yell "ARSON" like of course theyre at the ready to light things on fire

BUT THEN THIS PANEL

cub just over scar's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the match already out of grian's hand, the sculk snail also there to witness the chaos that is about to ensue *chefs kiss* poetic cinema

also i would buy this shirt

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oh my gods the emails, the emails were so fucking funny i- KJSDFHDSJK

BDubs immediately trying to screen Cub out and Cub just continuing his shenanigans unperturbed, grian at his wits end trying to contact scar but of course scar is busy and cub just assumes it's some impersonation account until further notice, TGC trying to contact them but once again Mr. Fan135 Does Not Give A Fuck and he lives to cause mild annoyances and chaos, what a guy LMAO

their littol email icons are so cute, when i saw pearl's i was like "WAH PUPPERRRR"

i havent seen many email-format type beat story telling before so this was an absolute joy to explore the story through pearl's detailed emails, grian's panicked typing (how was mans typing and sending so quickly with 365+ lazer eyed chickens chasing him like a mad man + a green gob- i mean goatman), and both bdubs' and cub's concern and nonchalance. not to mention bdubs just nodding along and going "well cub you have proven yourself...and uh- added a totally not a virus to scar's phone- BUT you have proven yourself...." absolute sillies, absolutely iconic

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THE TWITTER BEEF HAD ME CACKLING OH MY GOD THE QUOTE RETWEETS i would pay good money to see that in real time oh my god

mumblr user hermitopia-explained you will always be famous

okay i'll admit it i was distracted by the scitties- BUT the social media handles and names being remade into hermit puns and the fact he's chilling on mending beach I CAN'T

AND OUR ETERNAL QUEEN JELLIE i literally let out a small squeal looking at her she is sO *gently holds her*

birthday gorl getting absolutely spoiled, as she deserves

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scar finding a cloak just to do the sailor moon meme: iconic, showstopping, one of a kind, amazing, talented- i love these two idiots

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and as a heads up i'm going to try and separate these into about 100 pages each! so expect the next reblog soon

#indie rambles #indierambles #hotguy zine

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idy-ll-ique · 4 years ago

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Paparazzi.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: TOO META, m*sturbation, mentions of s*x

Requested: nope

Summary: I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me... Y/N Y/L/N writes Marvel fanfictions. One day, Sebastian stumbles upon her account and, unable to help himself, reads all the stuff she has written about him. He didn't mean to fall so hard for her but he does. How can he not? She has shown him parts of himself that he never even knew existed.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Okay so a few weeks ago I read a similar (but dark) fanfic and I really wanted to write a softer version of it... Enjoy!

---

Same old, boring routine.

Y/N hit post and slumped against the headrest of her bed, sighing. She waited; a minute, then two passed and she noticed that someone had liked her post. She smiled to herself as she kept her phone away. Though boring, she wouldn't trade her life for the world. Y/N… well, she was a university student first and foremost but she was also a writer.

Being a big fan of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, she had started writing fanfictions a few years ago. She posted them on Tumblr, where her blog, though not very well-known, stood out enough for her posts to get around 800-1000 likes per post. She loved it; she loved writing, she loved posting her stories and especially, she loved the feedback.

Sometimes people were rude, but most times, the reviews she got were fantastic. She read each and every one of them, smiling goofily as people freaked out over her fanfictions. It warmed her heart. A smile automatically blooming on her face, Y/N lay down on the bed and decided to go to sleep, it being almost 3 am.

Unbeknownst to her, someone else was up at the same time, tossing and turning in his bed, restless.

Sebastian sighed as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. He drank some water and lay down again, closing his eyes but it was like sleep was mad at him. Refused to be anywhere near him. He groaned to himself and picked up his phone from the nightstand, deciding to go through Instagram, hoping he'd finally fall asleep to the glare of the screen.

As he logged into his account, he skipped the activity page and went straight to the explore page. Bored, he continued scrolling until his eyes landed on a specific photo. And the breath escaped his lungs when he clicked on it; the woman in the picture was absolutely gorgeous. He just couldn't resist going to her page, smiling widely when he read her bio.

It gave him her basic information; her name, her age, the university she attended. But what caught his eye was the link below the bio. My Marvel Fanfictions Master List. Marvel fanfictions? She was a writer? Smirking, he clicked on the link and it took him to Tumblr. Of course, he'd heard of the site, but didn't have an account on there. At 3 am, his mind sure wasn't working right.

A post popped up on the screen, the same master list she had mentioned earlier. And his eyes bulged out of their sockets; damn, those are a lot of fanfictions. He went through the whole thing, smirking again when he noticed that she had written the most fanfictions about him. Not Bucky Barnes, no, Sebastian Stan.

He clicked on the first one. The date of posting was way back, in 2019. He started reading; nothing about it felt weird to him; he was intrigued, if anything. And as he continued reading, he couldn't help but imagine her being in the stead of the female protagonist. Her, the writer. The woman whose picture had made him end up reading in the first place.

When he finished the story, his heart thudded wildly in his chest. Wow, she really has a way with words. And he had also noticed how in the author's note, she used a lot of slang but reading the story had made him realize that she had an amazing, extensive vocabulary. He went back to the master list and clicked on the latest post under his name.

Posted: 15 minutes ago.

His breath hitched in his throat when he read the warnings: there was going to be sexual intercourse in this one. For one moment, he hesitated; did he really want to read this? "Oh fuck it," he huffed and scrolled, starting to read. The more he read, the more his shaft twitched in his pants. He wasn't really like that during… but oh damn, he wasn't complaining.

"Oh, Seb…"

His hand slid down and he rubbed himself through his boxers, unable to take his eyes off the text in front of him. His strokes got harder and faster as the sex got steamier. "Ungh, I'm gonna cum—" And he suddenly came in his boxers, groaning. Slumping down on the bed, he quickly finished reading the rest of it, going back to the master list.

He took a screenshot with the account's name in it and then went back to her Instagram account to take another screenshot. Keeping his phone away, he slipped out of his boxers, cleaned himself and pulled the covers on top of him, finally feeling tired enough to fall asleep.

---

Y/N was walking across the campus of her university, going to the cafeteria when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Taking it out, she opened Tumblr to read the message someone had sent her just then.

his-username: Hi there! I was binging your account last night, you write really well

your-username: Omg thank you!!!! I really appreciate it, I love getting feedback! 🥺❤

his-username: You're welcome! Especially your latest post, that was really good ;)

your-username: hehe 😈 glad you liked it!

Smiling widely, she kept her phone away and continued walking, not knowing that the person who had texted her was the same man she had written about. Sebastian smiled to himself when he read her text. After getting up in the morning, the first thing he had done was install Tumblr on his phone. Then he made an account for himself.

Figuring out the app was easy; he found out that there was an option to keep your liked posts and the accounts you followed hidden, and selected it immediately. No one needed to know what he did on the app. Then he went back to her account, pressed the follow button and started binge-reading her fanfictions again. Last night had he read only two, and that had left him wanting more.

Funny how much things can change in a night. He liked and reblogged all her posts without a second thought; he even read all her Bucky Barnes posts. She understood his character so well, put him on what he thought was an undeserved pedestal while writing about him. Some of the stories were AUs, which he found out stood for Alternate Universes. Mostly mobster or mafia stuff.

He had the day off, and he spent the entire time cooped up in his apartment, on his bed, reading. The more he read, the more he started fawning over her, over the version of him that she put out to the world. Dominating, suave and just perfect. He loved it. At the end of the day, he decided to text her again, hoping she wouldn't think he was weird or find out the truth.

his-username: do you wanna be friends, maybe? I'm new to the app, don't really have any friends here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That was a lie, he knew Mark Ruffalo had an active Tumblr account. But it's not like he could tell him.

your-username: Yes sure!!!! I was also thinking of making some friends on this app lol

his-username: You don't have any on here? But you've been here for years, haven't you?

your-username: haha yeah, but I don't really reach out to people much. Sometimes people leave their feedbacks on my posts, text me but that's that

his-username: Ohhh

his-username: well, let's start with names. Mine's Sebastian

your-username: Really?????? omg that's so cool lmaooooooo (didn't think you were a boy but 😳👀)

his-username: Not a boy, I'm a man 😤😂

your-username: 🤣 im y/n, btw

his-username: Y/N, that's a nice name

your-username: thank you!!!! So, what do you do?

his-username: nothing really that interesting, I'm in theatre

your-username: theatre is nice! I'm studying at [university] in New York lmao

his-username: Wait you're in New York? So am I!

your-username: ASDFHKSHKGF that's awesome!!! also I noticed that you've been going through my account the whole day 😏 notifications upon notifications keeping my phone busy

his-username: Oopsie?

your-username: 😂😂 I really don't mind, it was great! Despite the amount of likes on my posts, I only have a few loyal followers lmao gaining one more felt nice

your-username: You a big fan of Sebastian Stan? Cuz I noticed that you were only reading his and Bucky's fics 👀

Sebastian's face heated up.

his-username: kinda yeah 🤷🏻‍♂️😁

your-username: Cool cool cool, I'm a big fan of his too!!!! also got a crush on him but whatever 😳

Sebastian smirked at his phone. A crush on him, huh? That… was acceptable. He suddenly felt his cocky side coming out; the one she described in nearly all her fanfictions.

his-username: wouldn't blame ya, I mean, look at him. You have also written the most fics about him and Bucky

your-username: right????? damn that man has raised my standards. Anyway, I gtg now, I have to finish a paper before midnight. ttyl!

his-username: Bye! 👋🏻

He kept his phone away and took in a deep breath. This was the most fun he had had in years, and he was not letting her go so easy. He realized he was quickly falling for her; rather unhealthy, but he couldn't help it. Look at her. She looks like a goddamn angel, writes like one, makes him feel like one, do you really expect him not to fall for her? That's insane.

---

Months passed by like a breeze. Y/N and Sebastian had become very good friends, and he knew his way around words just enough to keep her from finding out his identity while not lying to her. Y/N also appreciated his friendship, because he was the one to whom she could rant about her most favorite man in the world— Sebastian Stan.

Sometimes, she thought about how weird of a coincidence it was that her new friend and the actor shared the same names, but then she used to brush it off; that was a common name, right? They talked for hours on end; Sebastian (her friend, not the actor) was extremely witty, smart and fun to talk to, she had to admit. Sebastian felt the same way.

His feelings had worsened. Y/N entirely owned his heart now. Somedays, he'd just go on Instagram, go to her account— her username memorized by him— and stare at her photos until he grew tired; he'd never get tired of looking at her beautiful face but his stiff body afterwards begged to differ. She was just so Elysian. He longed for the moment when he could meet her in real life.

His personality had also changed majorly, and people had caught on. Especially his Marvel co-stars, who knew him to be introverted, shy and, in Anthony Mackie's words, "boring". They were surprised at his sudden change in attitude; he knew his worth and Y/N had helped tremendously in finding it. Now, all those adjectives that she used in her fanfictions fit him perfectly.

Sebastian was never tempted to read fanfictions about himself from authors other than Y/N. No, he only loved her work. He was sure no one else could write as beautifully as she did, he was her #1 fan. Y/N even sent him funny Marvel memes she found on the app and he used to enjoy them heartily; God, the others have no idea what they're missing out on. Our fans are awesome.

Everything was going well.

Until one day.

Sebastian was getting bored at home, so he decided to go to the nearby library to clear his mind. He had read not one book in the past few months, hung up on Y/N's fanfictions. At this point, he was obsessed with her and he knew it. It was nothing dark, per se, it was— it was similar to how Y/N was attracted to Sebastian. How she was a fan of his work.

Just the same. He was a fan of her work in the same way. Just how she was attracted to him, he was attracted to her. Walking into the library that he visited often, he gave the librarian a smile and ventured further into the dark place. He checked his watch; the library closed at 12 am, it was currently 9:30 pm.

Not many people were around, heck, nobody was around. He thought himself to be all alone until he heard it. A sigh, coming from a few aisles away. He walked in that direction and peeked around the corner, freezing when he saw the other person. Y/N? Her books were strewn all across the table as she sat alone at the booth, rubbing her temples.

"You okay?"

She looked up and her breath caught in her throat. I'm dreaming. This is not real. Now I know for a fact that Sebastian Stan is not standing in front of me, asking me if I'm— "Hello?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I, uh— I'm— h-hi," she stammered and he almost chuckled. "Hi." She gulped visibly and blinked at the table, not meeting his eyes.

"Can I have a seat?" He wants to sit with me?! "Y-Yes, sure, sir," she blurted out and he easily slid into the booth next to her. "Hey, please, call me Sebastian. What's your name?" He gave her a friendly smile, even though all he wanted to do was push her back into the booth and kiss her wildly. His shaft twitched just by thinking about it; Y/N was a thousand times more beautiful in person.

"I'm Y/N, it's very nice to meet you, I'm… I'm a fan," she admitted, playing with the ring she wore on her left thumb. I'm your fan too, sweetheart, the biggest one. "Y/N, nice name. You come here often? I haven't really seen you around." She shook her head. "Oh no no, I moved to this part of the city just a week ago, this is my first time here. The library is cozy," she shrugged, easing out of her tense position.

Sebastian nodded. "Yes, I know, this place is awesome. Got all my favorite books here," he chuckled and she smiled at him. "What's all this?" A groan left her lips. "Ugh, stupid university work. I have to write a book report but I don't even know what to write about." He smiled gently. "Well, I have a few favorite books, would you like some suggestions?"

"Oh, please! Tell me!"

He started listing some of his favorite works and Y/N noted the names down until he said the last name. At that, she froze. That's the name of my latest— She looked up but he had a smile on his face. "Oh, and the last one is by my favorite author." He took a pause. "Y/N Y/L/N." She froze completely, staring at the man with her jaw dropped.

Sebastian grinned. "We finally meet, Y/N, I've been waiting for months." Her mouth opened and closed several times as she recalled every interaction she had had with her online best friend— scratch that— her celebrity crush. All the times she had confessed her love for Sebastian Stan, all the dirty and inappropriate memes that she'd sent him…

Embarrassment flooded her entire body as she exhaled shakily. "It was you," she croaked out, "On Tumblr, the account— I'm so sorry—" Sebastian frowned in confusion when she blinked back sudden tears, a few still rolling down her cheeks as shame replaced embarrassment. "Y/N, please don't cry…" She looked up at him, his figure blurry due to her tears.

"You've read everything, haven't you? I just— I'm sorry, I don't want to make you uncomfortable—" He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Y/N couldn't hug back, though she appreciated the hug especially since it came from him. "You don't know how much you mean to me, doll," he mumbled into her shoulder, using the nickname she often used in the stories she wrote about him. He grew accustomed to it easily.

"Huh?"

He pulled away to wipe her tears. "It was an accident," he admitted, "But I stumbled onto your Instagram account from my explore page. Then I clicked on your account, saw that you wrote Marvel fanfictions and I just couldn't resist the urge to read what you had written. Blame it on 3 am me, to be honest. You're a great writer, and I was immediately drawn to your works. They're awesome.

"They've helped me so much in the past few months. You see this changed attitude that everyone's been talking about lately? All because of you, sweetheart. I'm sorry for keeping my identity secret, but after reading your works, I knew I had to get closer to you. I made the Tumblr account just for you, just so I could talk to you. I'm sorry for lying, but thank you."

Y/N dumbfoundedly stared at him for a few moments, her heart beat getting steady with each thump. Here was a man she admired, loved more than anyone else in the world, telling her that he harbored the same feelings for her. How crazy was that?! Not trusting her words, she simply pulled him into another hug. Sebastian wrapped his arms tight around her, pulling her flush against him.

"Can I kiss you, doll?"

She slowly pulled away from him and nodded, shyly biting her lip. Grinning at the endearing gesture, Sebastian cupped her face and leaned in, gently pressing his lips to hers. The kiss grew hungry in a matter of seconds, and Y/N responded just as eagerly. His hands slid down to her waist and tugged on it, pulling her on his lap. She straddled his thighs as they continued kissing.

"Fuck," he groaned when they finally pulled away from each other, out of breath and panting. "You see what you do to me, doll?" Sebastian spoke huskily as he took her hand, placing it right on top of the tent that was forming in his pants. "Oh," Y/N whimpered when she felt him, the sound going straight to his shaft. "How about I take you home and we recreate some of the scenes from your stories, hm?"

"O-Okay."

"Good girl."

---

A/N: What a meta experience 🤡 Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

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epic-sorcerer · 4 years ago

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Queer imagery in BBC Merlin

Content warning: kink/fetish, fisting in particular but I show I big image containing a long list of different kinks, homophobia, dom/sub dynamics, sex

Merlin is shown wearing a purple tunic in s4, despite the fact he is a servant and purple(especially with such saturation) was extremely expensive bc purple dye was so hard to make. Gwen also has a light purple dress(or maybe 2? It’s hard to tell). Even though it’s definitely lighter than Merlins tunic, it’s still expensive.

it was illegal for peasants to wear expensive fabrics because of the Sumptuary Law. Basically it makes sure that lower class people are not fashionable. However, BBC Merlin doesn’t seam to care about that law, considering Merlins other bright clothing so take this was a grain of salt.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that there’s no way they could have gotten their hands on these clothes without the help of nobles. Gwen might have, because she works with clothing and could have easily mixed blue and red dye together. Merlin probably not have because he’s never shown to be particularly materialistic or interested much in fashion, despite his bright clothes. Bright Purple would have been much, much harder to get.

It makes the most sense for Merlin and possibly Gwen too to have been gifted such expensive clothing by a noble for being a good servant. I’d imagine Arthur would be the one to give Merlin the tunic and morgana the dresses.

Why does this matter? Lavender(and also purple in general) was considered a queer color starting in the 19th century. Queer men especially were said to possess a “streak of lavender” and a serge of homophobia at the time was often referred to as the “Lavender Scare.” Purple and lavender is still used now to symbolize queerness.

Since Merlin is a modern interpretation of Arthurian myths, it would be perfectly plausible that this symbol was on purpose. Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana are both extremely popular ships and they are both shown to have a very deep form of trust(Gwen/Morgana being at the beginning of the show). Arthur and Morgana gifting Merlin and Gwen purple clothing could be show them they accept their queerness and/or signaling their own queer attraction to them.

Now, this next symbolism concerns only Merlin/Arthur.

Merlin is shown to have three neckerchiefs.

Navy blue, red, and light grey. Why does this matter? Well, let’s take a look at something called the handkerchief code, also known as the hanky code or “flagging.”

This code has its origins all the way back in time during the Wild West in the USA, but got more popular during the late 20th century in USA and UK gay bars. This code was used mainly by queer men and some nonbinary people to signal to other queers what they wanted sexually. While typically worn in people’s back pockets, a handkerchief could also be worn around one’s neck to show they are a versatile and experienced.

According to this code, Merlin is into;

Red: fisting and getting fisted. This color was hard to get an exact shade from, but the second best option was dark red for double fisting which is honestly so similar I’m not sure if it really matters much.

Light grey: stone topping and getting fucked by a stone top

Navy blue: fucking and being fucked anally

For any one wanting to make their own interpretations of Merlins neckerchief colors(the lighting makes it hard to tell the exact ones) have a look at this handy chart

Not only that, but Arthur is seen wearing a favour on his left arm in s3 ep 4.

What’s a favour? It’s a fabric strip of affection commonly given by maidens to knights before a tournament as a symbol of good luck. It’s often a very important scarf, hankcerchlif , towel, really any bit of cloth that can be tied around someone’s arm. This is also a popular trope in historical media for a female love interest to give a favour to a male one to show chemistry between them.

Regardless of your stance on Merlins gender identity, you have to admit how commonly Merlin is shown to be gender nonconforming(GNC) or otherwise be associated with “womanly” qualities. Especially in a society so heteronormative, the only “pure�� option for a knight receiving a romantic gesture would have it be from a woman. If the token was from a queer man, it would also out the noble and cause lots of horrific chaos and destroy both of their reputations.

Even if it was common for women to give knights favours, queer men still existed and with that came romantic gestures—this time hopefully more secret.

Even though the favour on Arthur’s arm doesn’t look exactly like Merlin’s neckerchief, Merlin was the only person to speak with him while preparing for the tournament. Also, the original theorist who I linked in my sources also pointed out that Merlins neckerchief looks lopsided. Almost like Merlin tore off a bit of it and hastily tied it back on.

Although this theory is definitely flawed, it doesn’t matter. Arthur is still wearing a red handkerchief on his left arm. But what does that tell us exactly?

Regardless of wether or not it was Merlin’s, the red is the same shade and also implies Arthur is also into fisting. What about the placement? Sicne it’s on his left, it shows that he is a top/dom, meaning that he prefers to be the one fisting. Since it is worn around his upper arm, it shows that he is simply into the fetish, compared to what other placements mean. In another source, it shows taht upper arm means switch, but because Arthur is wearing it on his left it wouldn’t really make sense for him to signal being a “top-switch” compared to being a top and having the fetish in general.

If you look closely, you can see a different colored stripe on the favour. It’s hard to tell exactly what the color is, it could be yellow, gold, orange, etc. because the color is so dubious, I’ll just leave y’all with a list of color meanings that may apply to Arthur’s favour.

YELLOW: pisser/watersports kink

YELLOW, Pale: spitter/spit kink

MUSTARD: Has 8+ inch dick

GOLD: two looking for one

ORANGE: anything anytime

Also, it’s important to bring up what many in thsi fandom refer to as the “fisting scene.” Where Arthur threatens Merlin by showing him his gloved fist and pulling a bit at the glove.

youtube

In the blooper, you can see Merlin’s actor(Colin Morgan) breaking character and giggling as Arthur shows him his fist. Many in the fandom agree that this was a clear innuendo for fisting, and it is very well possible.

Merlin is shown hitting Arthur and saying he was just doing some horse play, but still indirectly convincing Arthur that he needs to teach Merlin a lesson. This is actually a common act in BDSM sex, where the submissive person purposely angers the dominant into punishing them in a way that somehow involves sex or fetish play.

If you look closely, you can see Merlin is wearing at kinky red fisting handkerchief, showing Merlin is perfectly capable of being a submissive fistee. Also, the hanky code also includes other symbols such as latex or rubber gloves that, surprise surprise, also mean fisting. Although it’s more likely Arthur’s gloves where made of leather, it can still further be interpreted as a fisting symbol if you want. Either way, Arthur’s favour still holds water as he is undoubtedly the dom in this situation.

Also, Merlin is very impulsive and a madlad. Tell me he wouldn’t wear his secret fetish symbols infrount of stuck up, Roman Catholics who are none the wiser. He’d probably think it’s hilarious which is probably why he wears them almost everyday. Merlin loves playfully misbehaving(and is also a brat sometimes) so it makes sense for him to have some dangerous fun.

Now, you may be asking. Why does this matter? At the end of the day, it probably wasn’t intentional. Well, there is alwyas room for doupt BUT I do have some ferther proof. One of the co writers of BBC Merlin—Johnny Capps—actually won a Stone Wall Award. You know, an award named after a core part of queer culture?

The award’s website and Wikipedia page say they give the award for art that describes the LGBT experience well. While I am unsure why or what Capps made to be nominated, it still shows he is very much in touch with queer culture. Capp himself even said at an interview about Merlin, “... in the end, deep, deep down it’s about sexuality and things you just can’t tackle head-on.”

Well, what says more about sexuality than the main characters fist fucking each other? That’s a lot of sexuality. While I am unsure of Capp’s age, he does look to be about middle age and it would make sense for him to know about a code popularized in a 70s to 90s. Especially for someone who has made multiple queer oriented stories in his life time.

Sources:

Why is purple considered the color of royalty?

Sumptuary law

How lavender became a symbol of LGBTQ resistance

How Lavender Became a Symbol of LGBTQ Resistance(part 2)

flagging opinicus rampant

Handkerchief code

DO YOU KNOW THE HANKY CODE?

Picspam: The Red Favour (Proof of Arthur Wearing Merlin's Favour in 3x04)

Five medieval love tokens

The Lady's Favour

Hanky codes

Nominees for Stonewall Awards announced

Merlin series 5 spoiler-free launch report

Pls reblog I spent hours on this /np 😭👊

#tw kink mention #tw sex talk #tw eye strain #tw homophobia #tw queerphobia #research essay #long post #Merlin #bbc Merlin #Merlin bbc #merthur #merlin/arthur #gwen/morgana #morgwen

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transthaumaturge · 4 years ago

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Squirrel Girl is Super Gay for her Roommate and I Want Everyone to Know

A gay infodump of sensible length by Rachel Tikvah

ALRIGHT, SO The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl was the very first comic that I ever read regularly, back when I was looking for more stories with strong female protagonists but didn't really know why. Back then I just thought I really liked strong female characters and not that I was being gay on main, but now I know the truth. The comic had a 5-year run, and it was the first time that Squirrel Girl, AKA Doreen Green, had had her own series. She had a brief run in the mid-2000's where she was established as someone who could beat up Thanos with her bare hands well, more like squirrel hands but was mostly a joke character that happened to be incredibly buff and had indestructible plot armor. USG decided that Doreen's next major life goal would be to enroll in college to become a computer scientist, because her writer, Ryan North, is really into computer science and they basically gave him free rein over Squirrel Girl canon for five whole years. Like, a solid third of the plots are solved with some kind of computer science smarts. It’s really cool. Anyway this is Doreen in one of the gayest solo pictures I could find of her on short notice, which is also one of the variant covers from the actual series:

And this is her college roommate, Nancy Whitehead:

I'm like, 99% certain that Ryan North intended for them to end up as a couple and Disney!Marvel told him no. So he decided to make them AS GAY FOR EACH OTHER AS POSSIBLE without explicitly saying that they were a couple, and it ended up going under the radar. What follows is evidence for that claim. I’m going to put a "read more” after this so it doesn’t clutter everyone’s dashboards, but please read on if you’re interested. There’s a lot of cute gayness after this point. I’m also going to put all of the image descriptions at the end, since they take up a lot of space and I don’t want to break up the flow of the post. Finally, a quick spoiler alert for one arc in the middle of the series and a couple major plot points from the final few issues.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

So for a while it was just kind of hinted at that they’re in a relationship, mostly because they were basically domestic life partners for like, two whole years in-universe before the comic run ended. But it really came to a head with an arc that was ran about 2/3 of the way through the series. Some pictures of them being, like, so cute together in general and/or talking about how much they care about each other before I get to that arc, though:

Also Doreen describes her and Nancy's cat as "co-parented" in one of the last issues:

ANYWAY, THE ARC. THE HYPERTIME ARC. So one of the villains created for the Squirrel Girl run (I think they liked making weird shit canon just because they could) was a dude who went by the name "EpicCrimez". He’s a crime streamer. He livestreams his crimes to an online audience. I don't know. *Throws up hands*

He had some kind of laser gun that he built out of scavenged alien tech but didn't really know what it did, so he shot it at Doreen and Nancy for kicks. It shot them into hypertime, so suddenly the rest of the world was moving at a fraction of the pace that they were. They were moving so quickly that they were slated to live out their entire lives over the span of a single weekend if they didn't figure out how to reverse the effects. And...they did. Live out their entire lives together. For the two of them, they were the only two people in the world. There were other people, but they looked like statues unless you spent a very long time observing them. Doreen and Nancy grew old together in a world where they only had each other. This is an incredibly cute domestic scene from a little while after they found themselves in hypertime:

Gosh, I wish I could find more official art from that arc of them just living together, it was so good. But the point is, they were both old by the time that Nancy figured out how to get them out of hypertime. And it wasn't ideal. Their bio signatures were stored in the gun that EpicCrimez shot, and they could essentially "reboot" their bodies from when they were first shot and send themselves back into the regular timestream. But they wouldn't remember anything about the life that they had shared together. Nancy almost didn't want to do it. She raised the possibility of them just living out the rest of their lives together, because she didn't want to forget their life together. This is the conversation they had:

"I don't regret any of it. I don't want to lose it, and I don't want to lose us." "You're not getting rid of me that easily." Every time I look at that last picture, which took up an entire page of the comic, I start to cry. We’re seeing the final moments of two people who love each other more than anything, who were each other's entire lives, savoring their last moments together and wondering what the future holds. Sacrificing the life that they built together so that their younger selves could live a better, fuller one. Dying in each other’s arms, scared but comforted by the fact that they had each other. And then the arc ends, and they can't remember anything, so the status quo is restored. They have some paintings they made of each other while they were living together in hypertime, but they move on pretty quickly without ever knowing the significance of those lived decades. Still, it's clear in the arcs that follow and the adventures they embarked on afterward that they would die for each other. All of that continues until the end of the last arc. Their shared apartment's been blown up at this point by a supervillain who wanted to ruin Doreen’s life before eventually killing her. And in the aftermath of the fight, they're sifting through the wreckage for anything that survived (don't worry, the cat got out in time) when they find the picture that they painted of themselves during the hypertime arc:

They have a really cute conversation about how this chapter of their life is over, but they're going to be okay and they're going to build a new life together. And then Nancy basically tells Doreen that she can't live without her:

And then Doreen says something super queer-coded about how she likes the idea of the world knowing her secret identity now:

On the very last page of the comic, after all of the action is over and the series is about to end, they're talking to each other in what's supposed to be a twitter thread and Doreen asks Nancy a very thinly veiled question about whether she still wants to spend time with her now that her identity's out. She pretends it's about a class project, but it's really not about the class project. Here's how that conversation goes:

With no knowledge of what happened during the weekend when they shared their entire lives together, without ever having heard Doreen say it to her before, Nancy’s heart still knows which words to choose. "...you're not getting rid of me that easily. <3" I believe that the author of the series, Ryan North, did as much as he possibly could to portray them as a couple without saying it outright. And as the last piece of evidence to support that claim, I want to share a response he wrote in one of the series' last-ever letter columns:

"as for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical "Super" "Man" book without an equally hypothetical "Lois" "Lane"!" It's easy to write off this analysis as wishful thinking, or as a misreading of the subtext. But when the author of the series says that these two characters are meant to always be together and compares them to one of the most famous couples in any comic series ever, it's clear that there's more to it than that.

Some Additional Thoughts: 1) Doreen and Nancy are both probably bisexual or pansexual, since they both expressed romantic interest in men throughout the series but they’re both clearly interested in each other too. There might be an element of demiromanticism there as well if part of the reason that they’re into each other romantically is because of how emotionally close they’ve become over the years. I want to make sure that that facet of their romantic orientations doesn’t get erased, because bi and pan folks get erased enough as it is. Neither Doreen nor Nancy are lesbians, just super-cool WLWs.

2) HERE’S WHAT THE ISSUE 50 VARIANT COVER LOOKED LIKE

That’s NOT a fun, totally straight way to pose with your platonic gal pal. They’re so incredibly cute together! I have no words! In Closing If you got this far, thank you so much for letting me talk to you about a comic that’s very important to me, and a couple in that comic that I care about very much. I spent way too long making this (six hours and counting), mostly in writing the image descriptions, and I’m very proud of my work but very tired now. Hyperfixation is a hell of a drug. If this resonated with you, please consider reblogging it so that more folks can see it. If not, even a like is nice. I’d also love to engage with people who have their own thoughts, so feel free to leave some comments in the notes if you’ve got an idea/a reaction/any additional cute Doreen/Nancy scenes that you’d like to share with me. At any rate, this post has gone on long enough and I don’t want to ask y’all to read any more than you have to. So have a great day, good morning / afternoon / night, and stay safe. Thanks again for reading! ~Rachel Tikvah, AKA @transthaumaturge Image Descriptions: Image 1: [ID: Squirrel Girl, a young woman with light skin, is posing in front of a brick wall that she seems to have crashed through, leaving a perfect outline of her body. She’s facing away but looking backwards over her shoulder at us and smiling. She’s flexing upward with her right arm and has her left fist resting on her left hip. Her sidekick, a squirrel named Tippy-Toe, is standing in the cutout she left in the wall and is making the same exact pose while wearing a light pink bow around her neck. Squirrel Girl is wearing brown lace-up boots, fur-lined hot pants over grey tights, and a brown fur-lined jacket with sleeves that come up to her forearms and a symbol of an acorn embroidered into the back. She’s also wearing a hairband with fake squirrel ears on it over short reddish-brown hair. She has a large squirrel tail coming out of her hot pants that sweeps down in a curve behind her lower legs. The illustration is drawn so that everything is bathed in the light of a sunset, and Doreen is casting shadows on the wall in front of her.] Image 2: [ID: Two frames depicting a scene between Doreen and Nancy in their college dorm room, with many cardboard boxes still not unpacked and sitting on a bare bed mattress. Nancy Whitehead is a young woman with dark brown skin and short, curly black hair. She's wearing black tights, a white dress-top, and a yellow cardigan over that. Her arms are crossed as she holds her white cat, Mew, against her chest. Doreen is wearing grey tights and a black long-sleeve shirt with a wide collar and white stripes across the chest. She's holding Tippy-Toe up to Nancy with both hands so she can see her better. The following dialogue ensues: Nancy: "A squirrel? But weren't you the one who was all about pets not being allowed in--" Doreen: "Yeah, I know. But this really interesting person I met today told me that obeying an unjust law is itself unjust." Nancy: "...You know, I was worried I'd get a weird roommate, but you're all right, Doreen Green."] Image 3: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are both sitting on a lavender-pink couch in nightclothes. Doreen has short, orange hair. She is wearing a loose-fitting grey long-sleeve shirt and steel-blue cutoff shorts; Nancy has cropped black hair. She is wearing a dark purple top with sleeves that come down to her upper arms, and loose-fitting navy-blue shorts that come down to her lower thighs. Doreen is side-hugging Nancy as she says, with an ecstatically happy smile, “Nancy, you’re the greatest. You know that, right?” Nancy gives Doreen a full smile as she responds, “I’d always suspected it, but it is nice to have it confirmed.”] Image 4: [ID: Nancy is shown from the shoulders up. She has short, curly black hair. She’s wearing large, disc-shaped gold dangle earrings, and a red jacket with prominent shoulders and a yellow collar. She’s fixing the observer with an angry, determined stare as she says, “She knows this man wouldn’t dream about betraying her, or he’d have to answer to me.”] Image 5: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are eating breakfast at the brown, circular kitchen table in their apartment. Doreen’s wearing a skin-tight athletic crop top that’s striped in black, red, white, and blue. Her arm muscles are well-defined and clearly visible as she puts a spoon in her mouth, closing her eyes as she does so. She has a bowl of cereal in front of her, and half a banana in front of that. Nancy is sitting to her left in a pink camisole top that’s also exposing her muscles, scrolling through something on her smartphone. Her hair is in a yellow fabric wrap that’s knotted on one side of her head. A cup of coffee sits in front of her. The clear blue sky is visible through the window centered on the wall behind them.] Image 6: [ID: Nancy and Doreen are facing away from the vantage point, walking towards an Empire State University campus building and holding hands with their fingers intertwined. Nancy is wearing a long knee-length grey coat and black knee-high boots, with a baby-blue side bag hanging from her left shoulder. Doreen is wearing a magenta sweatshirt with the periwinkle-lined hood down, light brown form-fitting denim pants, and black ankle-high boots, with a dark brown side bag hanging from her right shoulder. Trees and bushes hem the walkway in on either side. The building in front of them is dark red, with glass doors and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor. Doreen is saying “...we’re just going to have to take the long way around.”] Image 7: [ID: Doreen is facing towards the vantage point and is visible from the legs up, standing in front of a pile of rubble in the background. She’s wearing high-waisted light blue shorts over black tights, and a red windbreaker with sleeves ending at her upper arms that’s opened to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. Tippy-Toe is sitting on her shoulder. There are two people facing Doreen, each slightly in frame and silhouetted in black against the light of the setting sun. Doreen is fixing them with an angry, determined expression, resting her right fist at her hip while she gesticulates with her left hand and says, “So! I don’t know about you all, but Melissa kidnapping my friend and blowing up my life and my house and almost blowing up my co-parented cat makes me feel like giving her a piece of my mind. Friends...”] Image 8: [ID: A full comic page. EpicCrimez is looking like a dork in a green and black skin-tight jumpsuit, bright red ski goggles, and a green wig cap with his brown hair sticking out the back in a mullet. He’s standing inside a jewelry store and holding up a fist of expensive gems and pearls-on-strings as holds up his smartphone and speaks into it. He’s facing off against Squirrel Girl, with her allies Koi Boi and Chipmunk Hunk on her right, and Nancy and Brain Drain on the left. The following scene ensues: EpicCrimez: “And for those of you just tuning in, welcome to another successful heist by your boy EpicCrimez, streaming live! Now with 10% more live crime action than any other streamer! Don’t forget to like and subscribe!! I know some of you in EpicCrimez Nation have been forgetting to do that lately. Not acceptable.” Squirrel Girl: “You picked the wrong small business to rob, crime-initiator! Because this mall is protected by super heroes.” Brain Drain: “HELLO” SG: “And also an unrelated civilian friend I brought along too!” Nancy: (Not looking up from her phone) “ ‘Sup.” EC: “Check it out--Squirrel Girl and her miscellaneous friends are here! It’s action you won’t find on any other channel!” SG: “Are you...streaming your robberies?” (Nancy pockets her phone) EC: “Yeah I am! For money reasons! And with you “heroes” in it, I’ll make even more!” SG: (Whispering to Nancy:) “Question: a fight scene just gets him more traffic, which lets him profit from this crime even more--so does this mean we don’t fight him?” N: (Whispering back:) “I feel like letting him go causes more harm, but I look forward to us teasing apart the moral implications of this later.” SG: “Nice.” SG: (No longer whispering:) “I’ll like and subscribe, EpicCrimez! I’ll like fighting crime, and subscribe... to a worldview wherein the strong protect the weak!” EC: “Oh my gosh, are you like wholesome Spider-Man or something??” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Wholesome Spider-Man, Wholesome Spider-Man/Does whatever a wholesome spider can/Is he tough?/Listen bud/He’s here to hear you talk about your day and tell you it’ll all be fine while taking you out for your favorite meal for dinner because he knows you deserve it.”] Image 9: [ID: Another full comic page. Doreen and Nancy are in their apartment together, and their friends Tomas and Brian (AKA Chipmunk Hunk and Brain Drain respectively) are frozen as they look down at the machine that Nancy is on her knees in front of, working on. Nancy, barefoot, is wearing cerulean-blue athletic pants, a black long-sleeve spandex shirt without shoulders, and narrow-framed glasses. Her hair is partially covered by a yellow cloth head wrap tied on the left side, with black dreadlocks spilling out the side and back. The machine in front of her is made of dull grey metal, about a meter tall and roughly circular. Wires dangle out of a hatch that Nancy is fiddling with. Doreen is wearing a flowing, dark-purple pantsuit with wide, ankle-length legs and a halter top with the sleeves tied off at her shoulders. Her shoes are light-brown ankle boots with a horizontal gap on the bridge of each foot. Her wavy orange hair is parted in the middle and down past her shoulders. She looks incredibly cute. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “What do you think?” Nancy: “I think--come on you stupid screw--I think we’re still years away from this thing working, if it ever does. Who knew time machine construction is really hard, except of course for everyone who has attempted it?” (She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand) D: “Hah! No, I mean my new outfit.” N: (Looking up and checking her gf out:) “Doreen! You look amazing!!” D: “Liberated it from a very expensive department store uptown!” N: (Now standing) “Tony paid for it?” D: Tony will eventually discover he was kind enough to leave some expensive jewelry in trade, yes. I pinned a note to him so he knows.” N: “There really are advantages to being friends with billionaire playboy genius philanthropists.” D: “Right?!” N: (Taking Doreen’s hands in hers:) “It’s a shame we can’t take a picture of you all dolled up.” D: “Not without standing still for a few months, yeah. But I was thinking about that. I picked up something else at another store downtown. Thought maybe it could help us with that.” (Holding up a shopping bag with one hand while still holding onto Nancy’s hand with the other:) “Nancy Whitehead, I thought you and I might take up painting sometime.” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Tony Stark moves from meeting to meeting, his body accumulating dozens of notes every second. He sighs. Stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen. But then he smiles, because after all...stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen.”] Images 10-16: [ID: Several pages worth of comic frames, posted together to depict one scene. Doreen and Nancy are now old women, likely in their seventies or eighties. Doreen has short, grey hair. She’s wearing a tan button-up waistcoat and an orange ascot, brown flats with an olive-green skirt, knee-length and softly pleated. Her tail is sticking out the back of her skirt over the top, bushy and brown but with stiffer, less-dense hair. Nancy has her grey-black hair done up in a ponytail, a mass of tight curls behind her head. She’s wearing thin oval glasses, black dress pants, black flats, and a lavender cardigan with a flower motif along the edges, open to show the yellow-orange top underneath. They’re standing in front of a completed time machine. On either side are tall pieces of machinery, and in the middle is a round, flat metal dais hooked up to everything else with snaking cables. The following scene ensues: Nancy: “So...this is it, babe. The new machine.” Doreen: “Your secret project! Nancy, it looks like you started from scratch!” N: That’s because I did. I finally realized our old machine was never going to work. Maybe if we had a few more decades, but...there’s no time. And given that our backs are to the wall, I took a risk. I disassembled the gun right down to the metal, and examined all the parts. And I did find something: a data chip. Doreen, the gun stored our bio signatures when it us.” D: “What are you saying?” N: “I’m saying my new machine won’t send us back in time, and we’ll still have lost a weekend of real time. But it will restore our bodies to normal time.” D: (Hugging Nancy tight:) “Nancy! You saved us!!” N: (Resting her hands on Doreen’s shoulders:) “Not--quite. There’s a catch, Doreen. Our bodies will make it...but we won’t. Look, Doreen...I’m an old woman. I’ve spent most of my life in hypertime. This wasn’t how I saw my life going, but...I don’t regret any of it. I don’t want to lose it, and I don’t want to lose us.” D: “I don’t understand.” N: “It’s like restoring from backup. Our bodies will be restored to how they were the moment we were first hit. But--that necessarily includes our brains, too. Everything we’ve done since we entered hypertime--our entire lives spent together...we’ll forget.” (She looks at Doreen in distress) D: “I don’t either, Nancy. You’ve been the most important person in my life. But if we do go back--we can do it again. All of it. It might not happen again quite the same way, but--well, like you say...we’ll have all the time in the world.” N: (Their faces inches apart, they both tilt their heads down and smile sadly:) “Twist my arm, why don’t you.” (They both step onto the dais holding hands, and blue energy starts to ripple around them:) “You filled up Spidey’s web-shooters before we go?” D: “Yep. Again.” N: “You and me, saving the world.” D: “Well,” (holding Nancy’s hand in both of her own) "No reason we can’t do it twice.” N: “You know, there’s a chance things could turn out differently, now that we’ll have video games to distract us. In 40 years we might decide we don’t like hanging out after all.” D: (Hugging Nancy even tighter than before as the energy from the time machine starts to envelop them, resting her face in the nape of Nancy’s neck:) “Nah. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”] Image 17: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are sifting through the charred rubble of their apartment as night starts to fall around them. Doreen is wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a Captain America star in the middle. Over top of the shirt, she’s wearing a dark reddish-brown leather vest with four metal studs at the four points of the folded-out collar. Nancy is wearing black tights and a light green long-sleeve shirt with olive-green sleeves. The front of the shirt has a picture of Cat-Thor, Cat God of Cat Thunder’s head on it. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “So I know we’re only a few hours into it, Nancy, but I think my identity being public isn’t gonna be as bad as I thought.” Nancy: “Oh?” D: “Yeah, Tony’s given me lots of tips, and it does honestly help to know that my parents are protected by a robot tree with laser eyes and my friends live in a city with the most super heroes per square mile.” N: “Most super villains too, but--Hold on. I think I found it.” (Nancy lifts a picture frame out of the wreckage, charred around the edges but otherwise no worse for wear. It has a painting inside of it of Doreen and Nancy, arm-in-arm, from hypertime. Doreen is wearing the lavender pantsuit from before, and Nancy is wearing a tight-fitting lilac dress.) “...And it looks like you and I made it through just fine.”] Images 18-19: [ID: Two later comic panels from the same scene. They’re wearing the same outfits, but Nancy’s now cradling her white cat, Mew, in the crook of her left arm while she holds onto the picture frame with her right hand. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “Come on, let’s talk about it! If we’re starting a new chapter in our lives, and we can decide what’s in it, what do you want it to contain?” Nancy: “Doreen...” D: “What are the three things you can’t live without, Nancy Whitehead?” N: (Holding up the picture so that Doreen can see it:) “Fine. If you must know, all this girl needs to be happy are cats and squirrels and knitting and computers and friends and secret tattoos and super heroes and lots and lots of love. Also food and shelter. And water. And internet.” D: “That’s more than three things.”] Image 20: [ID: Same scene as before, a single frame with a close-up on Doreen from her chest upwards. Doreen cups her chin with one of her hands and says, “Honestly--I thought about it. I really did. But I realized that where I am now, I’m safe and I’m loved and I kinda like the idea of not having to lie to people anymore, you know? Even if it is just a lie of omission. I want to share my whole self with the world. I don’t want to have to hide who I am anymore.”] Image 21: [ID: Something resembling a twitter thread, with dialogue between Nancy and Doreen stacked chronologically as horizontal boxes. Their respective names and handles are at the top of each of their comments. Nancy is Nancy W. and @sewwiththeflo, Doreen is Squirrel Girl and @unbeatablesg. The following conversation ensues: Nancy: “You think I’d leave you high and dry??” Doreen: “I think I don’t want our lateness harming your grades and therefore harming your post-secondary education or career choices and therefore harming your ENTIRE LIFE?!” “So yeah I think you should switch to someone else, real talk. I honestly don’t mind, I promise.” Nancy: “Please. If there’s one thing I know about you, about me, and about how we spend our future together, it’s this. Doreen Green...” “...you’re not getting rid of me that easily. <3″] Image 22: [ID: A paragraph of text, black text on a yellow background. “As for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical “Super” “Man” book without an equally hypothetical “Lois” “Lane”!”] Image 23: [ID: A group picture of Squirrel Girl and friends sitting down on a grassy hill and watching the sunset together. Kraven the Hunter is in the foreground for some reason, looking almost directly at the camera. In the background we see Koi Boi, Mary Mahajan, Chipmunk Hunk, Brain Drain, and Mew the Cat. In the middle of the shot, Doreen and Nancy sit together. Doreen is in her superhero outfit with Tippy-Toe on her right shoulder, and Nancy is in a yellow cardigan and jeans on Doreen’s left. They’re holding hands, fingers intertwined, as Nancy leans against Doreen with her whole body. Their heads are tilted inward towards each other, the side of Doreen’s head touching the side of Nancy’s, as they look off into the distance together.]

#the unbeatable squirrel girl #squirrel girl x nancy #squancy #squirrel girl #nancy whitehead #queer comics #WLW comics #long post #described #squirrel girl spoilers #thaumaturgethoughts

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sleepymccoy · 4 years ago

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Oh, Crowley

my fanfic links now come with little pictures so i can have a chance of seeing the post in my notes down the line! cos all text posts look identical on this wonderful website

anyway.

They've dined at the Ritz and celebrated not dying. But once they get back to the bookshop Aziraphale says something that sends them both into a tailspin, and they don't recover well. It leads into a big ol' fight, unfortunately

I mainly wrote this as a way to explore Crowley actually hurting his plants. 'cause he doesn't hurt himself, he turns it onto them, so it's sort of structured to be a situation that puts him in helplessness and deep panic. I've been told before that I'm a good angst writer, but i've never actually tried to write something sad before. it's always been accidental. This is intentional, so if you're someone who needs resolution for that kind of thing i recommend waiting until this has a completed tick. I promise i'll resolve it all well, but some of the early chapters end badly.

Here’s the start of chapter one, as a teaser. the link to ao3 is at the bottom of the post xx

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed greatly.

Crowley slowed and looked at him. What could have happened to bring on that much of a heavy, sad expression? It didn't make sense.

They'd shared a lovely meal together, hours of it. Many glasses of celebratory champagne raised to increasingly specific toasts. To the world, to Tadfield, to that Young boy, to lucky incompetence, to you, to us. To this wonderful cake I'm eating.

The walk back, too, had been cheerful. A bit more subdued, but happy. More chuckles than laughs, but chuckles were good. Crowley couldn't see why Aziraphale had sighed, why he looked so put upon, so defeated.

"What?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale smiled sadly and took a few steps. They were at the bookshop, Crowley had assumed he would be invited in but now these steps Aziraphale took indicated he was walking away, not encouraging company. Aziraphale went further.

Crowley followed, perhaps he could say the right thing and be invited in. He wasn't sure where he'd said the wrong thing. He hadn't even been speaking.

They stood under the cover of the overhang, by the front door. The sky had been trying to rain for fifteen minutes now but Crowley had been holding it off, determined to not let it ruin their stroll home. He gave it up and the first few drops fell.

Aziraphale's smile remained, but lessened, almost souring. Crowley fretted quietly.

"I don't have a chance with you, do I?" Aziraphale asked. His eyes were wide. He stood a step above Crowley, closer to the door, protected from the few brave and errant drops by Crowley. Crowley's back grew wet for it.

Aziraphale seemed to look up at Crowley, somehow, despite standing taller than him.

Crowley's heart thumped. "What?"

Sharp, cold rain drops hit the back of Crowley's neck but he barely noticed. Aziraphale's hand was rising, drawing closer and Crowley was frozen.

Aziraphale's fingertips brushed Crowley's cheek, then pressed hesitantly against his jaw. Aziraphale's thumb, soft but worked enough by book pages to have hints of use in its pad, touched Crowley's lower lip and dragged gently, shaking.

Crowley stayed still. Aziraphale's thumb left his lip slowly, tracing a path down his chin to his neck. Aziraphale's hand rested nearly flat on the front of his neck for a moment, thumb across his Adam's apple, so lightly as to feel more like silk than a hand.

Then Aziraphale withdrew.

"Angel," Crowley croaked, although he had no idea what to say, how to discuss anything any more, "are you- ?"

Regret flashed across Aziraphale's face, then settled into place there. His lips trembled in something more like sorrow, but that didn't stick around. The regret remained. "I apologise, dear boy," Aziraphale whispered. "A bit too much champagne, I think. Makes everything a little rose-hued, don't you find?"

Crowley stared. Aziraphale was shaking. It hadn't been cold long enough for it to be a shiver, he was just shaking.

Aziraphale looked down, shuffled his feet, adjusted his cuffs, then turned to the door. "Let me know when next suits you for dinner."

The door opened quickly, but closed gently, leaving Crowley alone in the rain.

Here's a link

there’s two chapters up already, i’ll reblog this as i add more and will be very loud about it when it’s complete <3

#good omens fic #good omens whump #ineffable husbands #sleepy writes #crowley hurts his plants

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philosopherking1887 · 3 years ago

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Writer tag game

Thanks for tagging me, @ectogeo-rebubbles... 4, days ago, sorry; my parents are visiting and I haven’t had much time to myself.

How many works do you have on AO3?

(Why is the number so big when I post? @sapphosewrites said the same thing, so I know it’s not just me...)

What's your total AO3 word count?

515,575

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Mostly Zuko-centric ATLA fics because a couple were inspired by a BNA whom I tagged in the Tumblr post, then she reblogged and lots of people saw them.

Between the Salt Water and the Sea Strand

To Give Birth to a Dancing Star (didn’t get very far on that one, oops)

The Last Argument

Zeno’s Paradox (the only non-ATLA fic on this list; I posted it very shortly after Thor: Ragnarok came out, before I realized how terrible it was)

Shame and Necessity

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes, almost always (unless someone said something weird, or one person left a bunch of identical short comments on different chapters of the same fic; it seems a bit silly to respond to every “<3″ with “Thanks!”). I respond to encourage people to keep commenting, by assuring them that I’m reading comments, I pay attention to their content, and I appreciate them. I especially like it when people comment on specific themes in the fic or how it relates to some aspect of canon, so that it starts an analytical conversation about the story and the characters -- which is what a lot of us are here for.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I’m gonna say The Third Time, because Loki actually permanently dies.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Starting Over, I guess? That’s the hopeful ending of my Thorki series, taking place before some hypothetical version of the Infinity War storyline in which neither of our principal characters dies (because fuck the actual movies, and fuck Ragnarok too, while we’re at it). But there are other fics, sometimes intermediate in one of my series, that have hopeful rather than downbeat endings, even if more complications arise later. The Ninth Deadly Sin is a rare standalone fic with a happy ending (which I’d forgotten about until I went looking through my Works page for happy endings). Prince of Darkness also has a fairly happy ending that involves solving climate change with Frost Giants...

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

No, at least not yet. I have nothing against them in principle, and sometimes enjoy reading them, but since the target audience is the intersection of two (or more) fandoms, it’s necessarily going to be smaller than either fandom on its own.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really related to the fic. I did get a random nasty comment on a Garashir fic about a fan letter I wrote to Tom Hiddleston (and handed to his manager-person after seeing Betrayal in London) and then posted on Tumblr. Just someone being an asshole.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do indeed! I write very chatty smut, with a lot of feelings, often angsty, and sometimes awkward, because sex can be awkward, especially if one or more of the participants is inexperienced (at least with bodies like their partner’s).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes -- someone translated No Exit into French as Aucune sortie (though actually, the French title of the Sartre play that I named the fic after is Huis clos).

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I’m inevitably going to answer that kind of question with my current favorite ship, which is Garashir... but that might actually be my all-time favorite ship because the fandom is a lot more welcoming and chill than others I’ve been in before.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hoo boy. All the people I’ve seen doing this tag game previously have said they don’t have any; I have 5 partially posted WIPs in old fandoms that I doubt I’ll pick up again. I think I’ve tagged most of them as “on hiatus” and warned readers in author’s notes that I probably won’t finish... Do I want to finish them? In theory, yes; in practice, no.

What are your writing strengths?

I’ve most often received compliments on my dialogue, which I also find the easiest thing to write; my favorite version of this compliment is when people say that they can hear the dialogue in the actors’/characters’ voices. Some people enjoy the philosophical discussions that I can’t help inserting into my fics...

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots. Thing happening. I cannot come up with plots. All of my fics are just people talking and having thoughts and feelings about things.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Ask yourself: what does it add to have the dialogue in the language it’s supposed to be in rather than translated? If the POV character speaks the language, would it be sufficient to note that they’ve switched to a different language, or put it in italics or something to indicate that? If the POV character doesn’t speak the language, would it make more sense to just say that other characters have spoken an unintelligible string in another language, or that they just caught a few words, or whatever? That’s not to say that there’s never a good reason to include the actual language; if the actual words are important, or if it matters that the POV character doesn’t switch effortlessly between languages, or if it just adds some richness of texture that you’re going for, it can make sense.

If it’s a real language that you’re not fluent in, do ask someone who is to check your grammar.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, of course; I am that age, after all. I wrote fics about Tom Riddle and/or Voldemort when I was in middle school in 2001-2. I’ve always been interested in the villain’s perspective.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

At the moment, Had we but world enough, and time. It stayed reasonably self-contained while also covering the issues I wanted it to cover, with some smut thrown in. Maybe my best fic is actually an older one, but my favorite is always in my current fandom, because that’s what I’m excited about... and I’d like to think my writing has been improving with practice.

Tagging: @delicatetrashstranger, @vermin-disciple, @hex-o, @judiops, @the-last-dillpickle... and @illwynd and @incredifishface (since I actually ended up talking about my Loki and Thorki fics in this one).

#fic writer tag game #my fanfiction

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gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years ago

Link

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: A month after Chat Noir learns Marinette's identity, they're just vibin'

Word Count: 4388 | Chapter 2/2

Notes: Written for @chatnoirinette through the @mlbforblm charity drive! The donations go directly to Color of Change, an organization for racial justice. I highly recommend checking them out and reblogging/donating the mlbforblm posts if you’re able! I have two fic request slots left as of 7/17/2020, and many other talented writers and artists are offering incentives as well

XXX

Marinette glanced over her shoulder for what had to have been the thirtieth time. Outside her bedroom window, stormclouds were gathering over the glittering skyline. What if the weather was too dangerous for Chat to come visit tonight? Or what if he’d gotten held up with something in his civilian life? That happened too often, though he probably spent every moment he could with her now. It was oddly comforting that he wanted to be around her so much, even if it was just keeping her company while she worked on homework, or deciphered the grimoire, or let the kwamis out for some fresh air.

Despite seeing him practically every day, she still managed to miss him.

“He’ll be here,” Tikki said from her perch on top of Marinette’s mannequin.

She sighed. “That obvious, huh?”

“You almost pinned the collar to my leg.”

Oops. As it was, the she’d bunched up the collar of Juleka’s dress all wrong. She’d have to remove the pins and smooth it out again unless she wanted the fabric to pucker in her sewing machine.

“Sorry Tikki. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

She’d survived with only seeing her partner during akuma attacks and patrols for two years now. But in these few weeks since she’d accidentally revealed her identity, she’d come to rely on him more than ever. Maybe too much, honestly. She had no idea what civilian responsibilities he was carrying on his own.

Well, she had a guess, but that was better left unsaid until she knew for sure.

You could always ask him, she thought for the thousandth time, but banished it just as quickly.

A tap at her window made her jump and prick her finger. Even startled as she was, guilty relief flooded her. Tikki was right; he’d shown up anyway.

She sucked on the sore spot as she ran to open the window. “You know Papa would let you in the front door.”

“But then I’d miss getting to see you in your natural habitat, Bugaboo.” Chat Noir grinned as he swung himself in. Luckily it hadn’t started raining yet. She didn’t want her room smelling like wet cat.

“My ‘natural habitat’ has too many pins on the floor.” She scrambled to pick them up before he ended up stepping on one. His boots would have protected his feet, but he was polite enough to remove them every time he entered, even though she’d never asked him to.

At least, she’d never asked Chat. That was one of her flimsier evidences for his identity, though.

“I like it. It’s cozy.” He plopped down on her chaise, which he’d claimed for himself weeks ago. Not that she minded. She kept that space clear for him, even when fabric and thread was piled on every other surface.

“What about your room? Is it this ‘cozy’?” She asked. It was an innocent question, not overtly fishing for information on his identity.

“Nah. I’m not allowed to… I have to keep things tidy.” He frowned.

Another piece towards her theory. She’d add that note in the conspiracy page she’d webbed out in her diary.

“Oh! I’ve got something for you!” He untied a plastic bag that he’d hung from his belt. “It, um, might be a little bit squished, but hopefully it’ll still taste good.”

Her eyes widened at the small box of cupcakes he presented to her. The frosting was pale pink, with wobbly dots of chocolate arranged to look like the spots on her yo-yo. They were a little smushed, but still in remarkably good shape for having traveled with Chat across Paris. She popped off the box’s translucent lid, giggling at the tiny pigeon stickers at each corner of it.

He winced. “They look terrible, don’t they? I know I’m not as good at baking as you, but Mr. Ramier helped so I thought they might be kind of okay—”

“They’re perfect.” She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “You didn’t have to make me anything, Kitty.”

“I know, but I wanted to. Since you’re always sharing your delicious pastries with me—”

“Maman and Papa make most of those.”

“—and because you deserve something nice, and you refuse to let me buy you anything.”

Her face warmed. Before she’d put that rule into place, he’d tried to bring her a present every time he visited. Considering he visited a lot, that would have taken a toll on his wallet.

Unless money wasn’t an issue for him, of course.

Stop that, she told herself. She could hardly deny her feelings for Chat anymore, but she couldn’t keep muddling them with feelings for her first crush. Not until she knew for sure they were one and the same.

Now if only she could stop being a coward and ask him.

“W-well thanks,” she said quickly. “You better help me eat them.”

He winked. “Can do, Princess.”

Before they dug in, she bundled her fabric away and pulled out the Miracle Box from its hiding place next to her sewing machine. It was the perfect spot, now that she’d learned how disguise it as an extra sewing box rather than that Ladybug-themed egg-thing. She’d never have been able to keep that a secret.

“Who’s coming out today?” Chat asked. He’d sprawled on the chaise with his hands propping up his chin. Tikki had nestled herself in his hair, eating half of a cupcake and scattering crumbs in his golden locks.

The kwami would probably enjoy Chat Noir’s visits more if Plagg was allowed out for her to play with. Plagg would devour all of her parents’ cheese-filled pastries, and Marinette… Marinette would have to look into her partner’s unmasked eyes and admit she was still half in love with someone else.

Unless she wasn’t. But what if she was? A few hardly-lucid dreams and wishful evidence weren’t proof that Chat Noir was actually Adrien.

She shook her head. That train of thought could do donuts in her brain if she didn’t pull the brakes.

“I was thinking Kaalki and Pollen.” She wasn’t up for any of the rowdier kwamis tonight, even with Chat helping her “babysit.” Plus the two of them liked sweets; they’d appreciate the cupcakes.

She pulled out the hair comb and glasses, and Chat Noir excitedly put them both on. The miraculouses somehow managed to make him look both dorkier and cuter at the same time. Maybe that was just because he was at his cutest when he was being a dork.

Tikki smiled wide as Kaalki and Pollen appeared in flashes of light.

“Oooh, someone glorious and famous.” Kaalki flew in circles around Chat Noir’s head, nudging a few of his tufts of hair with her hoof. “You would make a fine holder. Plagg wouldn’t be up for a trade, would he?”

Chat blushed beneath his mask, making Marinette giggle.

“Uh, sorry, but I’m going to have to say neigh to that.”

Pollen covered her laugh in her hands. Kaalki just harumphed.

“Fine. Your sense of humor is far too unpolished anyway.”

Glorious and famous. Kaalki might have been talking about his status as a hero of Paris, but Marinette still made note.

They fell into their usual routine, Chat Noir entertaining the kwamis by answering their questions about the world while Marinette went back to work. The steady conversation was a better backdrop than any white noise or instrumental music playlists. She only wished she had time to join them. Unfortunately, she’d put off this dress for too long. She only had a week before Juleka wa supposed to model the floral sundress at the school’s ameteur fashion show, and who knew how many akumas would strike between now and then?

Marinette was just getting ready to transfer the fabric from the mannequin to her sewing desk when she heard Pollen ask Chat, “How are things between you and your Princess?”

The pins slipped from her hand. She barely noticed a couple pricking into her slipper.

Chat had sat up straight since the last time she’d glanced back, and the nervous yet hopeful smile on his face threatened to melt her.

“Uh—well—how are things between us, Marinette?”

Her mouth briefly forgot how to make words. She knew what Pollen meant; Tikki and her gossiped about Marinette’s love life all the time. Maybe she shouldn’t have let the bee kwami out tonight.

“Well, um.” Her fingers twitched nervously against the fabric of her pajama pants. Say something, Marinette! “We’re—we’re best friends, right?”

She wanted to shove her fist in her mouth. How many times had she died inside over Adrien calling her just a friend? And no matter who Chat was beneath the mask, she didn't want to obscure her true feelings for him.

But his face still lit up even brighter. “I’m your best friend?”

“Of course, Kitty.” She sat on the chaise, scooting close to him. Probably closer than even a best friend should, but it wasn’t like Chat was shy about personal space. “I don’t let just anyone climb in my window, you know.”

“Awwww,” Pollen sighed while crossing her hands over her heart. Tikki gave Marinette a knowing look, which she pretended to ignore.

Then Marinette shoved a cupcake into her mouth before she could say anything more incriminating.

Chat blinked. She wondered if he was impressed—that cupcake had been about the size of her fist. Guess she could’ve fit her fist in her mouth after all, but at least the cupcake tasted better.

“Thesh ah really goo’.”

...Well, she said she wouldn’t say anything incriminating. She’d never ruled out saying anything stupid.

Chat Noir laughed. “For a Princess, your table manners could use some work.”

She swallowed about half the cupcake. It was really good, thick and chocolatey with a hint of strawberry. It probably would’ve tasted better if she’d taken the time to savor it. But the loss was worth it for the look on his face.

“No table manners allowed. Only vibes.”

He blinked before bursting out a real laugh, fuller and brighter than the one before. One that she was sounded strikingly familiar—especially with the backdrop of rain hitting the window behind them.

That truth cracked like a flash of lightning.

“You’ve been hanging out with Nino too much.” He wiped a claw under his eye, flicking away a few drops of water.

It was him. It had to be him. She’d recognize that laugh anywhere.

“Princess, what’s a ‘vibe’?” Pollen asked.

“I believe it’s like a, like a feeling,” Kaalki answered over the sound of Chat’s cackle. “Perhaps there’s a kwami of vibes? Or would that fall under Duusu’s domain?”

Marinette was too stunned from the whiplash of Adrien’s laugh and Pollen’s question to actually answer.

“Sort of,” Tikki interjected instead. “Marinette and her friends sometimes talk about vibes like they’re feelings, but they also use ‘vibing’ as an action. I’m still not really sure what that means though. Maybe we should Google it?”

When she sat on Marinette’s computer keyboard, the desktop collage of Adrien’s photos flashed on the screen. Marinette almost lunged for her kwami in horror, but Chat was still laughing too hard to notice.

“Princess—what’s a—what’s a vibe?” He got out between tears.

Then he actually doubled over far enough that he toppled off the chaise—which made Marinette laugh so hard she choked on her remaining cupcake.

Adrien was dressed in a catsuit, literally rolling on the floor laughing. That was more hilarious than even the kwamis trying to understand teenage slang.

“Marinette? Are you okay?” Tikki hovered up to her face, her blue eyes filling Marinette’s vision.

She giggled again, coughing out crumbs stuck in the back of her throat.

“I’m—I’m straight up vibing!”

With that, she too rolled off the chaise and fell on top of Chat. He yelped before giggling again, wrapping his arms around her.

“Spare vibes, Princess? Spare vibes for a poor vibeless kitty?”

“Ack!” She flailed as he tickled her sides. “Nooo, stop! You’re stealing all the vibes!”

“Were vibes in the cupcakes?” Pollen whispered to Kaalki, prompting another giggling fit from both Marinette and Chat Noir.

“Maybe it’s a secret,” Kaalki replied. “Like a code. For when the two of them want to do… whatever this is.” She waved a hoof towards where they were tangled together.

It was only then that Marinette realized what this would look like. And the fact that the floor wasn’t that thick, and her parents might hear something any minute.

Not to mention the fact that Adrien was tickling her.

“I, um, need some air!” She burst, scrambling off from his chest.

“Huh? Wait, Marinette!”

He reached out a hand, but she’d already bolted up her ladder and shoved open her skylight.

Which, of course, let rain dump right into her bed. Oops.

“What was in those cupcakes?” She mumbled, climbing onto her balcony shutting the skylight behind her.

She pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to cool the heat there. The rain wasn’t doing a quick enough job of it, even though the spring shower chilled the rest of her to the bone. Had she flushed her last brain cell down the toilet? What was she thinking?

Of course, she was stupid with Chat Noir all the time. They’d challenged each other to handstand contests, dared each other to eat spicy peppers, even one-upped each other’s Hawkmoth impersonations. Chat might be Adrien, but that meant Adrien was still Chat. Knowing his identity didn’t change the fact that he was her ridiculous partner.

“Marinette?” A blond head poked out of the skylight. The glasses were askew on his nose; the golden hair comb had almost fallen out. “If you want me to leave, I can. You don’t need to stay out here and get soaked.”

It was a bit late for that. Even though she had ducked under the awning, the rain was blowing practically sideways. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Why had she worn her pajama tank? Not that it mattered; Adrien had seen her in it before. She could hardly embarrass herself more than she already had.

“N-no, of course not! I just thought, we were being kind of loud, and it’s late, and since you didn’t come in through the front door…”

Chat winced as he climbed out onto the balcony to stand beside her. Just a few seconds out in the rain, and his hair was already plastered to his forehead in a wet mop. The glasses were too splattered to see through; he removed them and the bee miraculous with his free hand and put them in his pocket.

As for his other hand...

“Well, at least use this. It might work a little better than your awning.”

...He popped open the umbrella. Black and slick with rain, it brought her back to a moment two years ago. Different green eyes, but the same soft gaze.

“Of course you’d grab that one.” She couldn’t help smiling. It was the only umbrella she owned, and it had been sitting by her desk, but it still felt ironic.

She reached for the umbrella, but Chat pulled it back at the last moment.

“Wait, it’s broken, isn’t it?” He squinted up at its underside—

Just in time for it to snap shut on his head.

A laugh burst from her like a crack of thunder. “Come on, Ad—Kitty. It’s drier over here.”

He disentangled himself from the umbrella and followed her to the corner of the balcony, where the rain hadn’t quite snuck under the awning.

“Why do you have this old thing anyway? Looks like a piece of junk.” He twirled the now-closed umbrella like his baton, but fumbled it under her folding chair, where it promptly exploded open. Chat scowled. “Oh, I see how it is. When I want you to open, you only know how to stay shut. But when you’re out on your own you’re ready to party.”

The umbrella rolled slightly as it began to fill with rainwater. Marinette laughed as Chat continued to glare at it.

“Be nice to that umbrella. Someone very special gave it to me.” She stretched out her legs, letting her heels dangle in the puddles in the brick. Her fairy lights reflected in the water, casting the two of them in an ethereal glow.

“Oh, really? Should I be jealous?” He playfully wrapped an arm around her back. Every place he touched burned, even though she knew the gesture was just part of his jealous act.

She hummed as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“...Oh.” She felt him deflate, though he infused his voice with fake confidence.�� “Well, good. I’m a pretty territorial cat, you know.”

Gently, she tugged on the bell at his neck until he met her eyes.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” she clarified, “because I know he’s you.”

Chat Noir’s—Adrien’s—eyes widened. But then his gaze softened, and he shook his head with a smile.

“I should’ve known you’d figure me out. You’ve already done it once in your sleep.”

She blinked. “I did? And—and I’m right?”

She’d been sure, but it was still another thing to hear him admit it.

And it was yet another thing to hear “claws in.” To see green lightning crackle over over him, unmasking Adrien’s tender face.

The electricity had barely faded before she flung her arms around him.

“Woah!” He laughed before hugging her back just as tightly. “You know, I think I should be jealous. You never hugged Chat Noir like this.”

“That’s not true. I definitely hugged you tighter after we fought the Scrambler last week.”

“Huh. I guess it just doesn’t have the same effect when I’m covered in egg whites. Or maybe it’s because the suit isn’t in the way now.”

She was all too aware of that. His bare hands were warm on her back, even through her pajama shirt. Her face was tucked in the crook of his neck, where she could drink in his scent unobscured by the leather suit.

“Sniffing me again?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She flushed at being caught. Adrien her friend from school might not have called her out for it, but Adrien her partner of two years would. Well, two could play at that game.

“Oh, like you haven’t sniffed me before. Besides, I can’t help it that you smell radiant, carefree, and dreamy.”

He looked mortified. “That commercial was over a year ago! Even Wayhem forgot about that!”

“Wayhem probably didn’t watch it two hundred and fifty-five times.”

“...I can’t tell which one of us should be more embarrassed about that.”

“Probably me,” she admitted. “What was your point again?”

“Either we both get sniffing rights, or neither of us does. That’s fair.”

She laughed, nuzzling deeper into his neck. “Fine. But I probably just smell wet.”

He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in, tickling the part of her hair. “Don’t worry. You smell perfect.”

Maybe it should’ve been an awkward compliment, but he still found herself giddy over it.

“Thank you. You smell like cheese.”

“Hey!” He pouted. “What happened to ‘radiant, carefree, and dreamy’?”

“She gave you a compliment, kid. What’s more radiant than cheese?” Plagg asked.

Marinette nearly screamed. She should’ve realized he was there, but he’d blended into the shadows in the wake of Adrien’s detransformation.

“Plagg!” Adrien hissed. “Go inside with Tikki. We’re having a moment.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Plagg dismissively waved a paw. “You got any cheese in there for me, Pigtails?”

“Uh—Tikki can get you some cheese-filled pastries from downstairs. Don’t let my parents see you.”

“They’ll never know I was there. Unless they notice a plate of those delicious treats is gone.” The kwami grinned and dove through the floor.

Well, that was about all she could expect. Hopefully Tikki could keep him under control. If not, Marinette might have to fake a rat infestation.

“Sorry about him.” Adrien sighed. “He’s always like that.”

“Could’ve been worse. Imagine if you were stuck with Xuppu or Roarr as your kwami.”

He laughed. “Pretty sure my father would have grounded me for life if he saw the mess. Or he would’ve found out my identity. Probably both.”

Chat had been there the one day Marinette decided to let the monkey and tiger kwamis outside of the miracle box. She’d actually had to transform and use her Lucky Charm just to undo the damage.

“Speaking of which… I knew it was only a matter of time, but how did you learn my identity?” He asked. “If I need to be more careful…”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. I… I don’t know if I can even explain it. At first I thought it was just wishful thinking. Ever since we spent the night at Mr. Ramier’s apartment, I…”

She blushed and bit her lip. Getting caught sniffing him might have been embarrassing, but admitting this somehow felt more personal.

“What?” He asked. “Is it because I smelled the same as Chat and myself?”

“Huh? No—well, sort of? Maybe subconsciously.”

“Oh. That’s what you said while you were sleeptalking.” He shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense, since… well, I’ve been dreaming about you. Both of you.”

She took a deep breath. He was still waiting patiently, his hand softly stroking her back. If he didn’t think she was crazy yet, she guessed this wouldn’t change his mind.

“You were always the same person in my dreams. You’d switch back and forth between Adrien and Chat Noir. “Chat” would sit in front of me at school, or “Adrien” would help me bring down a scary akuma. Either way, it was always you.

“And then I couldn’t help looking for similarities when I was awake. I—I started writing down all the evidence I found. The time “Chat” almost beat me at Ultimate Mecha Strike was when I started to actually believe it. But what finally convinced for sure me was your laugh.”

She laced her fingers together in her lap to keep from fidgeting. All of it sounded weirder when she said it out loud. Almost like she’d been stalking him, sticking all of their casual interactions under a microscope.

“Wow,” he breathed, leaning back against the wall. “I’m flattered that you went through all that effort, but I don’t get it. The only reason I didn’t reveal myself sooner was because I was afraid it would put more stress on you, and you were already dealing with so much. Why didn’t you just ask me who I was?”

She stared into his eyes, watching the pastel lights reflect in them. He still didn’t know. All these secrets shared, all these weights lifted, and she still hadn’t revealed the one secret she’d wanted to confess all along.

“Because…” she licked her lips, “because I didn’t want to be wrong. If you weren’t Adrien—I didn’t want to project my old crush onto you. You deserve better than that. Though I guess it doesn’t matter now, since I wasn’t projecting after all, it is you and so I should. Just be able to say this.”

He blinked at her, but then his lips began to part in a slow smile.

“Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you,” she blurted before she could lose her nerve again. “First Adrien you, then Chat Noir you, then just, well, you. So—so jot that down.”

A startled laugh escaped him before he squeezed her tight again.

“Consider it jotted.” He kissed the top of her head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she wasn’t going to dissolve at the faintest sign of lip-on-hair contact. “And in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m in love with all of you too. So you can jot that down.”

It shouldn’t have undone her. Chat Noir had confessed his love to her countless times. Granted, all of those times had been before their battle with Miracle Queen, after which he’d obviously tried to move on.

But he still loved her. She wasn’t too late.

Maybe that relief was what pushed her to grab the collar of his shirt in both hands and press her mouth to his.

Her brain screamed, but her lips slowly figured out what to do, particularly when Adrien got over his shock and kissed her back.

Adrien. Holding her in his arms. Kissing her back.

She wasn’t sure if the sound she heard was the rain or the roaring in her ears or just her internal screaming. But it didn’t matter. For the first time, they were really, finally together, no secrets or fears between them. That truth was just as sweet as the kiss.

He finally pulled back, the front of his shirt damp where he’d been pressed against her. From the wide grin on his face, he didn’t mind.

“Will I get that kind of kiss every time I tell you I love you?”

“I don’t know.” She tapped her lips. “It might be worth finding out.”

“I love you, my La—”

She cut him off with her mouth on his.

All that time waiting, every failed attempt at confessing her feelings, slipped away like the rain off the slick balcony railing.

When the sky finally cleared, she woke to them tangled together, slumped against that same railing. She had a crick in her neck, and she’d probably end up with a cold from sleeping in her wet clothes. But it still felt worth it to look up into Adrien’s blissful face. Somehow she’d woken up before him—probably because her clothes had been more uncomfortable, since his were dry where his suit had covered them.

“Are you going to give me any juicy secrets in your sleep?” She asked before kissing the side of his jaw.

His only response was to hum and hug her.

“I guess that’s a no.” She chuckled. “No fair. I shouldn’t be the only one embarrassing myself in this relationship.”

Relationship. She could’ve exploded into confetti just thinking about it.

“Mmm… love you… m’lady.”

Her breath caught at his slurred voice.

“...Well I guess I can’t complain about that.”

She rested her head back on his chest, and let the dripping remnants of rain from the gutters lull her back to sleep.

#tali writes #miraculous ladybug #marichat #mlbforblm #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #reveal #fic tag

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fanfictionaries · 4 years ago

Text

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 11 - Nightingale

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Rita Skeeter's done it again, her latest article sending Hermione Granger into anger and causing tension among the Gryffindors. However, is there an unexpected truth to her article?

George has convinced Fred that Hermione is turning him soft. Fred is so against the sentiment that he swears to himself that it's time to put space between himself and the younger girl. However, he only ends up doing the exact opposite.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 10

Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer To a question I can't ask I don't know which way the feather falls Or if I should blow it to the left

Hermione slammed her copy of the Daily Prophet down, shaking the Gryffindor table and sloshing tea over the side of her cup. Unbelievable, just absolutely unbelievable, she thought as she read and reread the words on the page. She’d nearly glossed over the vile article. Unlike the first bit of writing Rita Skeeter did on her, this one was tucked away between a piece on dwarf affairs and an advertisement for self-cleaning cauldrons. If she’d hadn’t been well acquainted with her own name and shocked by the peculiarity of seeing it in print, Hermione very well might have missed it.

“Alright Hermione?” someone asked. Hermione looked up to find the unwavering brown eyes of Ginny Weasley staring straight at her from across the table. Looking around, Hermione saw several of their classmates shooting her dirty looks as they wiped up puddles of pumpkin juice and tea. A flash of embarrassment rushed over her, but quickly dissolved back to anger when she looked back down at the paper. At a time like this she didn’t really care about a few spilled drinks.

No. At a time like this, the only thing she could focus on was the rage coursing through her veins. The nasty woman had taken things a step too far and now Hermione Granger was livid.

“She’s done it again!” Hermione huffed before reading aloud, “Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to be developing a taste for famous wizards. Her latest prey, sources report, is none other than the Bulgarian Bonbon Viktor Krum. No word yet on how Harry Potter is taking this latest emotional blow.”

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Viktor Krum!” Ginny exclaimed, glaring at her. Hermione looked across the table at her younger friend in disappointment.

“Ginny, I am not dating Viktor Krum.”

“Yet,” said two identical voices before the Weasley twins graced her with their presence – seating themselves on either side of her. Ginny raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes at her – her silent cue for Hermione to begin explaining. Honestly, she’d rather not get into the twin’s current strange joke they were playing on her, but if Hermione knew Ginny Weasley, which she did, then she knew the ginger girl wouldn’t let something like this go. Hermione heaved a great sigh.

“These two are under the impression that Viktor Krum fancies me—” at the statement, a suspicion crept into Hermione’s brain “—You two wouldn’t happen to be responsible for this would you?” She handed the revolting paper over to the twin on her right, or more accurately, hit him in the chest with it before reaching forward and grabbing her tea, staring down at what little contents were left. She swirled the liquid, watching the tea leaves dance about the cup before sinking to the bottom. I wonder if that batty Trelawney could have predicted this, she mused to herself, finding humor in the ridiculous notion that her old Divination professor could have predicted anything accurately. Divination was a woolly subject.

“Hermione, I can guarantee you that we didn’t do this.” Hermione turned and looked at the twin still staring down at the article. She assessed him scrutinizingly as she placed her cup of tea back on the table in front of her.

“Are you sure? It seems like something you two would do.”

“I swear on George’s life,” he pledged, raising his right hand as he stated the words sincerely.

“You are George,” Hermione rolled her eyes and noticed a flash of annoyance on George’s face.

“Well, exactly. I’m swearing on my own life. Can’t really beat that!”

“Oi!—" Fred spoke up from Hermione’s left and reached across her to grab the newspaper “—You two going to let me in on what we allegedly didn’t do or are you going to keep me sitting here like a twat?”

Fred laid the paper in front of him, smoothing it out with his hand and leaning in to have a closer look. Hermione’s stomach dropped as her eyes fell on the moving picture of Harry and her hugging and then jumping apart at the flash of a camera. She laid her head down on the table, hiding her face in the crook of her folded arms, feeling uncommonly embarrassed. She couldn’t stand to watch Fred’s face as he read the lies that Rita Skeeter once again wrote for the entirety of the wizarding world to see.

“What are you reading Fred?” Hermione heard Angelina Johnson ask. Hermione tensed. Suddenly the urge to sit up and tear the paper away from Fred and Angelina was overwhelming. But she reasoned that everyone would read it, or at least hear about it, eventually. So, what was the point? That didn’t mean she had to be happy about it though.

“Oh my! That’s awful!” exclaimed Angelina, making Hermione perk up. If Angelina found Skeeter’s article to be just as ghastly, perhaps she shouldn’t be so worried.

“I can’t believe Granger is doing that to poor Harry and Viktor!”

In that moment, any feelings Hermione had, that even resembled positive, dissolved into nonexistence. Hair crackling with electricity as it grew twice its size, Hermione lifted her head from her arms and bit harshly, “Are you really idiotic enough to believe everything you read, Johnson?”

Angelina’s eyes grew wide as Hermione glared at her. Clearly, she had not known Hermione was sitting there.

“Oh, Granger, I didn’t—well I mean I thought—" Angelina stumbled.

“Thought? I didn’t know you were capable of it,” Hermione cut her off harshly. She knew the words were harsh the moment they left her mouth. That didn’t keep her from saying them though. If Angelina was allowed to have a bad opinion on her and say it in front of her, then Hermione was certainly allowed to same liberties.

Angelina’s mouth hung open in shock. She blinked rapidly before scrunching up her face in anger and spitting vitriol right back, “Well at least I’m not trying to date every boy in the school like a little slag.” Hermione’s hand twitched towards her wand, currently sitting in her lap, but before she could reach for it, fingers wrapped around her wrist under the table. She shifted her glare from Angelina to Fred, feeling betrayed at his stopping her. He was the first to cheer on any kind of fight or confrontation and he chose that moment to grow a sense of propriety? Some friend he was. Fred didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he continued to face forward, looking down at the article in front of him – acting like he wasn’t currently keeping her from hexing the daylights out of his stupid girlfriend

“Ladies, ladies!” George piped up, “Let’s calm it down, eh? We’re all friends here. No need to get worked up over a silly article in the Daily Prophet.”

“Well if we can’t trust the Daily Prophet, then what can we trust? Right Fred?” Angelina asked, looking towards Fred now and placing a hand on his upper arm. Hermione’s hand flexed in her lanky ginger friend’s hold. He tightened his grip, squeezing her wrist firmly in warning, before letting it go.

“Honestly? This lady sounds like an absolute nutter,” Fred stated matter-of-factly. He crumpled the newspaper resolutely and threw it over his shoulder onto the floor. His tone was firmer than Hermione had ever heard it – very similar to the few occasions she had seen Mr. Weasley cross. It had an underlying statement of finality and so everyone grew quiet. The spat was over, but Hermione could still feel Angelina’s scowl trained on her. It set her teeth on edge. Hermione rubbed her wrist, the skin feeling tingly and oddly empty where Fred had held her captive. Unsure of what to do, she reached into her bag, pulled out her Transfiguration textbook, and began going over the material they would cover in class that morning for the second time. She scanned the pages but found it difficult to focus with the thick and heavy tension that floated around them as everyone silently ate their breakfast.

Then, ever so unceremoniously, the silence was broken.

“So, you’re still dating Harry then?’ Ginny asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Hermione threw her book down on the table in exasperation. “Ginevra, Harry and I are NOT—” she stopped when she saw the wicked smirk on the youngest Weasley’s face. Hermione pursed her lips, fighting the smile that threatened to break through. But Fred and George’s snickering and Ginny’s mischievous wide eyes broke her resolve and Hermione begrudgingly smirked. Leave it to Ginny to make a calculated statement to break the tension.

These Weasleys are going to be the death of me, she thought to herself as she chuckled and shook her head.

At that moment, she spotted Ron and Harry walking into the Great Hall later than usual – both of them dragging their feet looking tired and entirely unamused to be awake. That’s what they get for waiting till the last minute to do their studies, Hermione mused knowing full well that the two of them had still been hard at work in the common room when she left for bed at eleven. She watched as students from the Gryffindor table and even a few from the surrounding houses stared at Harry in awe. Some even shouted out a ‘good morning’ to him as he took his seat opposite her. Yes, it seemed as though Harry’s reputation had changed overnight. No longer was he Harry Potter the cheat. Instead he was Harry Potter the champion. It had been almost two weeks since the first task and still Hermione couldn’t believe that the students who had once scorned him and spoken words of ill favor were now trying to become his new best friend. Even in her own room he was the hottest topic of gossip. Her roommates cooed and giggled over him as they stared at his picture in the Daily Prophet over and over again. It had gotten especially bad after she told them that she was not, nor had she ever been involved with him – no matter what Skeeter wrote in her stupid column.

“He does have a certain devil-may-care thing to him, don’t you think?” said Lavender, lying on her stomach and looking down at Harry’s picture plastered on the front page of an old Daily Prophet. Hermione really wished she hadn’t given it to them when they’d asked to borrow it. She had been under the impression they wanted to brush up on their current events – not ogle her best friend.

“I think he looks mysterious. Like one of those wizards in the books my mum buys,” said Pavarti, turning her head to look at Harry from a new angle.

Hermione snorted, knowing perfectly well that the only mysterious thing about Harry was whether or not he’d decided to change his socks that day.

“What?” asked Pavarti, insulted by Hermione’s rude reaction.

“Nothing, nothing. You’re right. I’m sure Harry has many…mysterious qualities.”

“I think he looks sweet.”

Hermione looked over to her roommate Fay with disappointment. Now she fancied Harry, too?

“He does—” Fay doubled down “—he always seems so nice in class and he’s a very good seeker!”

“Fay has a crush on Harry,” said Emmy in a sing-song voice. Fay stuck her tongue out at her ginger friend, only making Emmy giggle.

“Speaking of crushes—” Lavender sat up, folding the paper in front of her closed “—how are things going with Ron?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. “I took your advice, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Perhaps he just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend.” Hermione was surprised by the fact that when she said the words, it didn’t sadden her as much as she thought it would. Ron was a good friend. Would it be so bad if they just remained friends?

“Ugh, boys are so stupid! It’s almost like you have to walk in front of them bloody naked to get their attention,” cried Lavender.

“Surely you wouldn’t do that, Lavender,” said Hermione aghast.

Lavender rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so droll Granger. I’m joking!”

“Perhaps he’s not making a move because you spend all your time with his older brothers,” said Emmy casually.

“Oi, aren’t we feeling cheeky today,” commented Fay, giving her best friend an amused look.

“I’m just saying! She’s always with them. Maybe he thinks she likes one of them.”

Emmy’s comment made Hermione pause. She did have a point. Did Ron see her friendship with Fred and George as something else? It was a possibility. He was quite prone to making assumptions.

“It’s a possibility, but why would he think that when I kissed him?”

“WHAT?!” cried all four of the girls, sitting up fully and looking at Hermione with wild eyes. Hermione paused again, realizing that she had in fact spoken her wonderings aloud.

“You kissed Ron Weasley?!” asked Lavender, crawling off her bed and jumping onto Hermione’s.

“Well, yes but—”

“What was it like?” asked Pavarti, sitting down on Hermione’s bed as well in rapt attention.

Even Fay and Emmy had drifted from their beds to stand closer and get the story.

“Was he good?” questioned Lavender.

“I don’t know!” yelled Hermione, flustered and overwhelmed.

“How do you not know?” Pavarti looked at her strangely, tilting her head to the side.

“We didn’t kiss so much as I kissed him on the cheek.”

The four girls pulled back, relaxing in disappointment.

“That’s all?” asked Lavender in exasperation.

“Don’t listen to her, Hermione. Lavender talks a big game, but she’s never even hugged a boy,” snickered Pavarti.

Lavender’s jaw dropped in betrayal and she lunged playfully for her friend. Pavarti laughed, darting off Hermione’s bed and running from a fuming Lavender Brown.

“I think it’s sweet,” said Emmy, sitting back down at the end of her bed and pulling out a herbology book. “Perhaps your kiss enamored him so much that he simply can’t help but act extra normal when he’s around you.”

“What a romantic this one is.” Fay rolled her eyes in good humor before pausing for a moment in deep contemplation. “Do you think Harry’s a good kisser?”

It was at that point that Hermione blocked the conversation out. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Harry’s potential kissing prowess.

Speaking of girls with crushes, Hermione thought as Ginny clammed up the moment Harry sat down. After four years, Ginny still had the biggest crush on Harry. She tried to play it cool, but most of those close to her knew that she still thought the world of him. Unfortunately, however, he only had eyes for Cho Chang at the moment. Or at least, that’s what Hermione suspected, from the stupid look he got on his face every time he looked at her.

“What are we talking about?” Ron asked beginning to load his plate with a pile of eggs, potatoes, and sausages.

“Hermione’s new boyfriend,” piped up Ginny, ignoring Hermione’s glare.

“Boyfriend?!—" Ron looked up from loading his plate with food “—When could you possibly have time to get a boyfriend? You spend all your time with either Harry and me or those two prats!” He pointed to his two older brothers sitting beside her, eliciting a cry of protest from both of them.

Well that ruled out Ron thinking she fancied Fred or George, Hermione thought.

“Now brother, what makes you think she’s not dating one of us?” George swung the heavy weight of his arm over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we’re handsome chaps,” Fred chimed in.

Hermione shrugged off George’s arm and rolled her eyes as Ron glared at him.

“No, Ronald,” Hermione stated clearly. “It’s just Rita Skeeter. She’s written another article about my love life and it’s complete rubbish.” She sniffed and picked up her textbook again.

“Really? Are you cheating on me now?” Harry asked, his voice filled with mild amusement as he poured himself some pumpkin juice.

“It would seem so,” Hermione admitted casually, never looking up from her book, an apathetic expression glued to her face.

“Well I’m hurt, what am I going to tell the family? My aunt and uncle were so looking forward to meeting you,” said Harry, not a trace of sadness or despair in his voice.

“Of course, they were. I’m fantastic,” Hermione stated, smiling down at her book.

“Are you sure you two aren’t dating?” Ginny asked now, looking suspiciously between Harry and Hermione.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ron scoffed, stabbing a sausage with his fork. Ron’s statement irked Hermione. Sure, Harry and her weren’t involved, but was it really so ridiculous? Was she not desirable enough to date Harry Potter if she wanted to? Still, Hermione decided to let it be. She had had enough arguments for one morning.

“Ron’s right. Harry is like a brother to me. You know, like Fred and George. Right Harry?” she looked to her best friend to back her up and was met with a mumbled ‘Absolutely’ and an enthusiastic head nod.

“What?” George gasped. “You mean you’re not secretly in love with me, Granger?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous George.” Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her book, noticing that the general atmosphere of the table had turned around quite nicely. Angelina was no longer grimacing at her over Fred’s shoulder – instead, she was engaged in a conversation with him, Lee Jordan, and Katie Bell. Harry and Ron began to discuss their Defense Against the Dark Arts class that afternoon and what Mad-Eye might have in store for them. Ginny listened quietly, curious as to what the older class was learning at the moment compared to the third years. George had continued on a rant about why he thought Hermione should at least consider him as a potential boyfriend as he was just so handsome, while she tried to focus on her book. She was just about to tell him off for distracting her when Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas approached them.

“Hey, you lot,” Seamus greeted them. “Did you see the notice posted in the common room about the meeting tonight?”

“The one for fourth years and up?” Harry asked.

“What about it?” questioned Fred and George.

“Well I’ve been going around all morning, trying to figure out what it’s about but no one seems to know,” Seamus informed them, scratching the back of his head. “Thought one of yous might know.”

“Haven’t heard a thing, mate,” said Ron, taking a large bite of toast.

“Yeah, no clue,” confirmed Harry.

“We assumed everyone was in trouble for something,” said Fred and George.

Ginny laughed, “Just because you two are always in trouble, doesn’t mean that the entirety of the school is.”

“Not the entirety of the school, little sister,” said George.

“Just fourth years and up,” added Fred cheekily.

Hermione scoffed. Honestly, didn’t these people read…ever? “Maybe it has something to do with the Ball,” she said, never lifting her head up from her book.

“The what?” asked Ron, dropping his toast back down onto his plate.

“You know, the Yule Ball? It’s a tournament tradition?” She looked up now, seeing confused faces at the table around her. “In the past, every year the Triwizard Tournament was held, the hosting school was expected to hold a ball on the evening of the Yule. It was used as an opportunity for intraschool interaction and bonding – a celebration to get to know one another and also honor the champions. Did none of you know about this?”

They all shook their heads.

“Well, I’m sure it’s that. What else could it be?” Hermione shrugged, looking at the watch on her wrist. “Class starts soon. We should go,” she said to Harry and Ron. The pair nodded, taking a few last bites of their breakfast as Hermione tucked her book back in her bag and stood. Just as she began to turn to head out of the Great Hall, a hand caught her wrist once again that morning. Looking back at her outstretch arm, she saw Fred holding firmly to her.

“Have you figured out…you know what…yet?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Hermione leaned down towards Fred, keeping the conversation just between the two of them. The Weasley twins were quite secretive when it came to their product development – for several understandable reasons. For one, they didn’t want any other budding jokesters stealing their ideas, and two, they didn’t want a nosy snitch to figure out what they were doing with their free time and try to get them in trouble.

“No, I’m still working on it,” Hermione whispered back before pulling her arm out of Fred’s grasp. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, his hand hovering in the air where he arm had been.

Hermione turned, exiting the Great Hall with Harry and Ron in tow.

“What was that about?” asked Ron, catching up to her side as they made their way to the Transfiguration classroom.

“Oh, I’ve been helping Fred and George with their studies. He was asking me about an essay he’s working on,” lied Hermione. There really was no need to lie. Fred and George were perfectly fine with everyone knowing she was helping them with their experiments. Hermione felt differently, however. As much as she found working on their inventions to be fascinating and challenging, the last thing she wanted was her name associated to any trouble they got up to. She had a reputation to uphold after all. She couldn’t possibly let mindless troublemaking besmirch her name and future career prospects.

Ron laughed through his nose, letting out an obnoxious snort. “Seriously?”

“What?” asked Hermione in defense.

“Fred and George have never cared about their classes before. I think I’ve seen them pick up a book maybe…once in fourteen years.”

“Honestly, Ronald, that can’t be true,” said Hermione, knowing it was most likely completely true.

“But still, it doesn’t make any sense. Why—”

“How am I supposed to understand the innerworkings of Fred and George Weasley’s minds, Ronald? How is anyone?” said Hermione, cutting Ron off and entering Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

Ron didn’t ask anymore questions that morning, much to Hermione’s relief. This allowed her to sit through the entirety of their Transfiguration lesson with uninterrupted focus. That is until the end of the lesson when Ron looked at her in confusion as they exited the classroom.

“Hermione, is your wrist alright?”

“What?” asked Hermione in puzzlement.

“Your wrist. You’ve been holding it since we left breakfast.”

“Oh—” Hermione looked down and sure enough, she was cradling it in her opposite hand, absentmindedly rubbing at the exposed skin with her thumb. She dropped her arm to her side. “—I didn’t realize…yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to the library. I need to pick up a book for my arithmancy class. I’ll see you in Defense?”

“Yeah, see you later Hermione,” said Ron, still staring at her peculiarly.

“See ya Hermione,” waved Harry, pulling Ron towards the Great Hall for lunch.

Hermione made her way to the library, once again bringing her left wrist up in front of her, now that she was under the safety of seclusion. She hadn’t even realized she’d been cradling the limb all throughout class. Rolling her hand this way and that, she stretched and worked the joint of her wrist, searching for any ghostly pain to explain her actions, but found nothing. So why had she been holding it? Reaching the library, she brushed it off as a silly occurrence and headed to the stacks to try and find the book she needed for her class. She spotted the book on a high up shelf, An Extensive Look on the Origins of Numerology. Reaching up, she lifted onto her tiptoes to take the book, her fingers barely brushing the spine. But before she could grab it, a hand appeared in front of her, pulling the book from the shelf and out of her reach.

“Hey! That’s my—” Hermione stopped short when she turned to see Viktor Krum standing before her, holding the book out to her. She took it from him, clutching the book close to her chest and looking around them. “Thank you,” she mumbled politely, bringing her lower lip between her teeth to nibble on it nervously.

“You are very velcome, боец,” responded Krum, bowing slightly, and smiling down at her. He continued to smile at her, not saying anything – just standing there – for quite some time. What did he want? Hermione wondered. Was he waiting for something? Some kind of payment? Was there some Bulgarian custom she was unaware of when it came to being handed a book?

Eventually when Hermione could no longer take the awkward silence, she cleared her throat. “Right, well, thank you again. I should be…” She pointed behind her, indicating her departure from the library before turning and walking away.

“Do you come here often?” asked Krum from her side. His long legs matched her stride as she walked towards the front desk of the library.

“To the library? At my own school?” questioned Hermione in confusion.

Krum nodded.

Hermione smiled in amusement. What an odd question. “Yes, I suppose I do come here quite often. I very much like books.”

“Vhat is your favorite?”

“My favorite book?” Why did Viktor Krum care what her favorite book was? wondered Hermione, brushing a curl out of her face. “My…well that’s a bit of a difficult question…I suppose it would have to be Hogwarts, A History. It has so much useful information about the history of the school and all the wonderful ways in which it operates. Not a lot of people read it though, which I think is a shame. I think everyone should read it. It’s very so important and quite fun to read. But then again, I know not everyone likes to read as much as I do. Or at least that’s what they tell me—”

“You are very smart, I am thinking, боец.”

“What does that mean?”

“Vhat?”

“That word – boets? You keep saying it.”

“боец. That is you. It means fighter in my language. I did not get your name and so I call you that,” stated Krum plainly.

Hermione was very flattered; never had she been referred to as a fighter. But she still couldn’t help but let out a small guffaw. “That’s me? I don’t know about that. Unless I was throwing a very heavy book at them, I’m not sure I could fight anyone off.”

“No, you are strong. I know these things.”

“Alright…”

They stood in front of Madame Pince’s desk. The matronly librarian was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was beginning to grow antsy. Krum still remained at her side, staring at her as she waited for Madame Pince so she could check out her book and be on her way. What did he want? Was he trying to get information on Harry? Trying to figure out if Harry had solved the egg yet? Well if that were true, he would have asked about Harry by now. Wouldn’t he have? Still, what else could it—Fred and George’s words popped into her head, making heat rise to her cheeks. Krum couldn’t possibly…

“I vas thinking. Perhaps I could study vith you some time?”

Hermione dropped the heavy book that was in her arms, the tome slipping from her fingers as if it had turned to liquid. She gasped, body twitching and arms extending to catch the falling object before it landed on their feet, but before she knew it Krum had ducked down and caught it. He held it smugly, smirking at Hermione’s open mouth as she gaped at his reflexes.

“I…” began Hermione, unable to form words through her shock. Had Viktor Krum just asked to spend time with her?

“How can I help you two?” Madame Pince’s shrill voice rang through the dusty cobwebs of Hermione’s brain. She turned to find the severe woman staring down at her in mild annoyance.

“She vas vanting to check out this book—” Krum placed the book down on the desk before turning to Hermione with a polite yet slightly wounded expression “—I should be going.”

Hermione watched as he bowed curtly and stepped past her, headed towards the exit of the library. She bit the inside of her lower lip again, conflicting emotions battling inside her brain and across her face as she watched him get further away. He was nearly to the large double doors when Hermione called out to him.

“Wait!”

Madame Pince shot her a warning look. Hermione smiled apologetically before rushing towards Krum who had halted at her voice. She stopped when she stood before him, His tall, hulking figure hovering over her as he looked down at her. His thick dark brows lifted in surprise.

“I’ll be here tomorrow during first break, working on my homework. If you wanted to join me, I guess that would be alright,” said Hermione shyly.

The smile Krum gave her was an answer in itself – his dazzling white teeth coming into full view as his broad features lit up in delight.

Then, with another bow, he offered an uttering of, “Until then, боец” and he was gone.

Fred watched as Hermione exited the Great Hall, followed by Harry and Ron. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he braced his elbows against the table and began to think. Finally done with the development stage of their Canary Creams, their first test of the product was both an accident and a failure. Later in the evening of Harry’s post-task celebration, Fred and George had decided it would be a fantastic idea to try and trick Hermione into eating one of the creams disguised as a raspberry tart. Unfortunately, they had gotten the sweets mixed up and Neville Longbottom had gotten ahold of the real Canary Cream. And while Neville had successfully transformed into a human-sized bright yellow canary, it was for much longer than all three of them expected. In fact, Neville spent the better half of the night squawking and pecking around the common room before he, George, and Hermione were finally able to reverse the effects. Once they stopped laughing of course. Neville emerged back into his human form, red-faced and with a short-lasting tick of pecking at things with his face when he went to pick them up. Watching the unfortunate sight, the three of them all agreed that some major revision needed to be done. So, they had set Hermione to the task.

“Come on Georgie. Time for potions!” declared Fred, standing up.

George groaned. “I hate morning potions. Can’t we just skive off class? I’m sure Towler would give us his notes if we ask nicely.”

“After I put itching powder in his trousers last week? Again? That’s likely.”

“Alright, then Lee or Angelina. I’m sure one of them would give us their notes.”

“I’m sure they would, but who would make our potion for us, brother?” asked Fred, slapping a hand to George’s shoulder, and gripping it tightly.

“Since when do you care about missing marks in potions?” asked George, looking at his brother incredulously.

“I don’t –” Fred scratched the back of his head “—I just don’t think…” he trailed off realizing what he was about to say and fell short before he could.

However, it didn’t matter as George finished the sentence for him, “You don’t think that Granger would be too pleased to hear we’ve been skipping classes?”

Fred chuckled in exasperation, “Do you want to deal with that headache?”

“Oh, so now you’re afraid of a fourth-year girl?”

“You’re telling me you aren’t?”

“I think Granger’s turning you soft. You know, turning you into a little swot just like her.”

“I am not getting soft. I’m simply trying to save myself a lecture. Now – let’s go before I put itching powder in your trousers. We’ll have plenty of time to set off Dungbombs in Filch’s office at lunch.” Fred rolled his eyes, pulling his brother up from the table and towards the corridor outside of the Great Hall. George laughed, clearly pleased with getting a rise out of his brother. Fred scowled, shaking his head at his brother as he genuinely contemplated sneaking itching powder into George’s wardrobe that night. Hermione Granger making him soft? Absolutely ridiculous. He was not getting soft. He simply didn’t have the will to sit through another lecture from her about why they needed to do better in their courses. It took time out of their more important work – her long-winded lectures did. However, he hated to admit that since Hermione had began forcing them to actually do their assignments his marks had increased ten-fold. Even the professors were beginning to notice – Flitwick giving him an incredulous look when he passed back his latest essay with a perfect score. Still, the idea that he was getting soft was so far out of the realm of possibilities that he wouldn’t waste anymore time humoring it.

Or so he told himself.

Try as he might, the thought followed him throughout the day, distracting him in potions causing him to knock his cauldron off the flame and spill its contents all over himself and George. Then later at lunch when they had snuck off to Filch’s office – a routine procedure at that point – his head was so filled with thoughts of Hermione Granger, he nearly got them caught. By the time dinner was over and the whole of the Gryffindor student body, fourth year and up, was filing into the Transfiguration classroom, Fred had made a decision. He needed to spend less time with Hermione. Clearly, she was getting to him and he very well couldn’t have that.

McGonagall sorted all of the students boy-girl, sending them to opposite sides of the room. The classroom had been cleared of all desks. In their place sat a large phonograph in the center of the room. Fred thought back to what Hermione had said at breakfast about there being a ball. Unsurprisingly, she was right once again.

“Quiet down, quiet down!” called McGonagall, walking over to the phonograph once all the students were present and standing on their respective sides. “Now, as some of you might know, the Yule Ball is fast approaching. This is an event held every year of the Triwizard Tournament as an opportunity for us to…let our hair down. That does not mean—” she shot a pointed look towards Fred and George “—that you will not be upholding the civil manners expected of you as Hogwarts students. It is your responsibility to present our school in a positive manner. Now, with that being said, the most important thing to know about the Yule Ball is that it is at its core – a dance.”

The room erupted into groans and whispers as everyone realized what was going on. Professor McGonagall was about to teach them to ballroom dance. Now while most students saw this as the worst moment of their lives, Fred couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. This was an excellent opportunity for entertainment.

“Now, can I get a volunteer?” asked McGonagall, looking around the boys’ side of the room. Fred looked away, avoiding her gaze, and then heard the sweetest words leave the mouth of his head of house, “Ron Weasley, please if you would.”

Fred’s attention was immediate; he stared enrapt in pure joy as he watched Professor McGonagall start the phonograph. The ancient contraption sprang to life, pouring out a lilting waltz and the elderly woman stepped up to Ron with her hands outstretched.

“Now, Mr. Weasley if you would please place your hand on my waist.”

Fred nearly doubled over in absolute joy. Both at the words leaving McGonagall’s mouth and the expression on Ron’s face. He was mortified. The room was in shock. And Fred and George were practically purple in the face as they held in their laughter. George was gripping Fred’s shoulder tightly, looking away from the scene – obviously too overwhelmed at the near perfect scenario to continue watching – but Fred kept his eyes glued to his baby brother as he placed his hands on their professor’s waist and began an awkward attempt at a waltz.

“Hey,” whispered Harry, nudging Fred’s arm. Fred wiped the tears of pure delight from his eyes and looked over at Harry. “You’re never gonna’ let him live this down, are you?”

“Never,” said Fred and George, grinning from ear to ear.

“Alright—” Professor McGonagall broke away from a relieved looking Ron “—let’s pair up now. Young men, young ladies, on your feet! Dance is an ancient and respected artform, let’s give it the respect it deserves.”

The room was slow moving to pair up, but eventually people began to find a partner. George made a beeline to Alicia Spinnet, obviously wanting to get a partner before he was stuck with someone he didn’t like. Fred’s gaze swept the room, briefly locking eyes with Hermione. They both paused. For a moment it seemed Hermione would walk towards him, but before he could find out Fred turned away and spotted Angelina. Less time – he was spending less time with Granger, he repeated silently to himself. Walking towards Angelina, he was relieved to see Hermione walking towards Ron.

“Longbottom. Here, why don’t you pair up with Miss Dunbar,” instructed McGonagall as Fred neared her. Hearing his professor pairing people herself, he quickened his pace, hoping to escape the doom of a chosen partner. He was almost out of her reach when he felt a tight grip on his upper arm. “Mr. Weasley, why don’t you pair with Miss Granger.”

“Oh Professor. Are you sure—” Hermione began, caught in their Professor’s other hand.

“Nonsense. Now begin practicing,” said Professor McGonagall, pushing them towards each other and moving towards her next victims.

Fred stared down at Hermione, his palms beginning to sweat as she stared back up at him. Scratching the back of his head, Fred cleared his throat, “Well, I guess we should…” He extended his arms to her, indicating they should probably start dancing.

Hermione hesitated before nodding and stepping towards him, placing her right hand in his left and bringing her left to lay gently on his shoulder. Fred listened to the music, finding the tempo, and waiting for a lead in before he began the familiar steps. Hermione’s face contorted into shock as they began to move, Fred easily guiding her around the room.

“How—” Hermione let out a small laugh of surprise “—how in the world do you know how to dance?”

“Surprised are you, Granger?” asked Fred, unable to help the smile that spread across his face. It wasn’t every day he was able to shock Hermione Granger.

“Not to be rude, but yes. I’m very surprised. You’re actually quite…good,” said Hermione incredulously.

Fred chuckled, looking down at Hermione as she moved with him. And there it was – the clenching, flipping, somersaulting feeling in his stomach once again. Only this time it was different. Less heavy; lighter. Instead of an impending doom type of feeling, it felt as though something was trapped inside of him, trying to dig its way out. He concentrated on the expanse of freckles on Hermione’s nose and cheeks as he spoke, “My mum insisted that all her boys learn to dance. One of the last few traditions she kept from her pureblood upbringings, I suppose.”

“Really? So, all of you know how to dance?” asked Hermione with an amused smile.

Fred glanced around the room, spotting George dancing effortlessly with Alicia not too far away and then Ron, who ironically had been paired with Angelina. Unfortunately, they seemed to be doing a lot of stepping on each other’s feet than dancing. Fred and Hermione both grimaced at the sight.

“Well, maybe not all of us. No amount of practice can make up for lack of talent I guess,” said Fred, turning back to Hermione. “Which by the way, you have a lot of.”

“Oh goodness. I don’t know about that,” blushed Hermione, the skin beneath her freckles turning a soft pinkish hue. Fred felt the fluttering in his stomach return.

“Now don’t be modest with me. You’re practically floating across this dancefloor Miss Granger,” he murmured, leaning in close so no prying ears could hear him embarrassing her. He really did savor the moments he could successfully tease her, but he also knew how much she hated for others to see her flustered.

Hermione seemed to tremble in his arms, a feeling that went straight to Fred’s spine. He felt his heartrate increase and tongue grow heavy in his mouth. He pulled her closer to him on instinct, holding her firmly in his arms. The curve of her waist and the slightness of her figure surprised him. It was almost as if a girl’s body lived beneath the large baggy school uniform she so often wore.

“I have a good partner,” said Hermione softly, her voice barely audible over the music.

“A good lead is nothing without a good follow, my father always says. It’s like a musician without his instrument. Talented, but unable to make sweet, sweet music.” The words fell from his mouth foreign and strange. He didn’t usually say things like that – especially to people like his little brother’s best friend. In fact, he really only recalled speaking to Angelina like that when he playfully flirted with her. Merlin’s beard, thought Fred, was he flirting with her? Why on earth was he flirting with Hermione Granger? Hermione Granger, his little brother’s best friend. His little brother’s crush. One of his close friends. Barely an hour ago he was swearing up and down to himself that he needed to put space between them and now he was flirting with her.

Hermione grew very quiet at his words, altering between looking up at him and their feet, but Fred didn’t miss the subtle way in which her hand moved in his – her fingers gripping his hand tighter. He also noticed the way she adjusted her hold on his shoulder – gripping at the material of his sweater. Fred tightened his grip as well, keeping the triple time as he spun them through the other couples dancing stiffly. The lull in their conversation allowed Fred to take some time to stare down at the girl in his arms. Why would he be flirting with Hermione Granger, indeed…He already knew he liked her nose – the pixie-like way in which it sat on her face, but it also led to a pair of full pink lips that he had never thought to take the time to look at before. They sat above a soft heart-shaped jaw. A soft cupid’s bow lined her top lip, sitting over teeth that…weren’t bucked like they used to be. In fact, they were normal sized. When had that happened? wondered Fred casually, before his eyes traveled further down to her bottom lip. The rose-hued skin sat plump and tempting. He wondered for a second what it would be like to taste them and was reminded of the only other time he’d been distracted by Hermione Granger’s mouth. Right after he gifted her the box of sugar quills; the way her lips wrapped around the candy ever so suggestively. She didn’t even know it. Would she taste sweet like sugar? Shaking the inappropriate thoughts from his mind, his eyes traveled up, only to lock with a pair the color of Firewhisky.

The swirling specks of brown, auburn, and gold mesmerized him and for a second, he entertained the thought that Hermione might feel the same way. But then she looked away, her focusing drifting across the room. Fred followed her stare and found Ron and Angelina looking over at them with odd expressions on their faces.

“I ran into Viktor Krum in the library today,” said Hermione.

The words caught Fred off guard. Looking back down at Hermione, he found her looking up at him expectantly.

“Is that so?” Fred asked, making his voice sound light and amused.

“Yes. It was very…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Well he asked if he could study with me.”

“You mean he asked you out on a date,” said Fred, his stomach clenching again, but this time in the sinking sort of way.

“No. He asked me if we could study together,” responded Hermione, her brow scrunching in confusion.

“As a date.”

“I wouldn’t really call studying a date.”

“What would you call a date then?” asked Fred, surprised that he was actually quite curious for the answer.

Hermione paused, seeming to contemplate his question before answering, “Well I guess I always imagined my first date would start with getting tea or something, and then going to a bookstore and browsing the shelves—”

Fred snorted. Of course, she’d want to go to a bookstore.

“—then we’d sit outside and talk and maybe we could do something they like. But that part would depend on the other person, I suppose.”

“So, your ideal date isn’t studying, but it does involve books,” said Fred, a teasing smile slipping onto his face.

Hermione smiled back wryly. “Well after all, I am an insufferable swot.”

“Swot? Yes. Insufferable? No,” said Fred honestly.

“Well, either way. Studying in the library during a morning break is far from a date. I’m sure he’s just hoping to pick my brain to help him with his egg,” said Hermione with a bitter edge to her voice.

“What makes you think he’s not interested in you and not just your brain?” asked Fred, surprised to see this side of her. She was always so sure of herself. Sure, she’d shown him moments of weakness and he to her as well, but there was always no denying that Hermione Granger knew exactly who she was and was perfectly content with it.

“Don’t be silly Fred. Why would anyone be interested in me? Biggest swot known to wizarding kind, remember? A big know-it-all with even bigger hair,” she laughed, although it sounded forced to Fred who had become quite familiar with Hermione’s laugh over the past few months.

Fred was unsure how to respond to Hermione’s words. So instead he pulled her into a couple of spins that made her smile in delight. He watched as her frizzy brown curls glowed in the soft lamplight of the room as the song began to wind to an end. He extended his right leg out, placing his weight on the limb as he leaned low, balancing Hermione as he dropped her into a gentle dip. She laughed, genuinely this time, throwing her head back as she did so. Fred’s eyes followed the long curve of the Hermione’s neck before reaching her face. Hermione seemed to glow from the inside out and as he pulled her back up, the song came to an end. Once standing, Fred found it hard to pull his eyes away from Hermione’s face. The combination of the flipping sensation in his stomach, the sweat on his palms, and the increase of the beating of his heart made Fred come to a sickening realization.

He was wholly and completely attracted to Hermione Granger.

Chapter 12>>>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

#harry potter #fremione #fanfic #fan fiction #fred weasley #hermione granger #fred x hermione #mutual pining #angst

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antivirus-mh-au · 4 years ago

Text

Antivirus - Chapter 3

TW: Discussions of homophobia, angst Ships: Jam Chapter 1 here Chapter 2 here Ao3 link

If you like this, please leave a like, reblog, or send me an ask! It encourages me so much.

He could already tell sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

Tim sat with his legs dangling out the side doors of his van. His fingers ached for a second cigarette, but he’d reached his personal limit for the night. If he smoked again, he’d run out before dawn, and that was as bad for his health as rescuing people. He was the prize of a race between death by cancer and the Operator. However his life ended, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

He’d parked in the outer edges of a Walmart. If he’d planned on sleeping, he would’ve gone inside, bought a few things, let the manager know he was hanging around for the night. But this was just another stop in a road trip that never ended. One way or another, tonight he’d get back on the road, and drive until his body had enough.

But where would he go? Up north, or east, towards Alabama?

He took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. Most people didn’t know he wore contacts, but then again, most people didn’t stick around long enough in his life to ask. The last time anyone actually found out was Jay. The look on his face when he saw Tim in glasses… Even now, Tim’s face broke into a smile at the memory.

Jay… Tim put his glasses back on. Picking up the tablet sitting next to him, Tim flipped through a few apps he’d left open until he got to the one he wanted. He glanced up, eyes scanning the parking lot. In the distance, someone laughed, a car door slammed, people walked back to their cars with their carts full of bags. Tim looked back to the photos.

Meredith had sent all of them, so she said. Said there might be more on the flash drive she was sent, but she wasn’t comfortable connecting it to her computer and finding out. Once he found a spot to claim as his headquarters, he’d have her send it to him. But there were enough photos to prove the sender’s point. Enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

They were taken from a distance, some zoomed in by the taker, stalker style. Probably on a phone of some kind. He wasn’t an expert in analyzing photos and he didn’t have anyone that could help with that. Didn’t matter, the content was clear enough.

Alex standing at a crosswalk, one hand on the strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. Alex sitting on a park bench, his eyes closed in pain or sorrow. Alex in front of a row of canned soup, looking almost confused. A little older, a little thinner, gray hair on his temples and stubble coating his chin, but it was Alex. It could only be Alex.

None of the photos gave a clear look at Alex’s neck. Should he be grateful for that?

So… somehow, Alex… Survive wasn’t the word. Tim felt the life going out of Alex that miserable day, felt his heart stop pumping and saw the eyes behind the glasses glaze over in death. There was no surviving that. Unless he’d hallucinated the whole thing, but, no, he wasn’t going to consider that. He’d killed Alex. He’d murdered Alex. And now, he was alive again.

Tim shuddered. Could It have done this? The Operator was powerful beyond belief, but did It have control over life and death?

Mysteries of how he came back aside, it was definitely Alex in the photos. The ones supposedly showing Jay, though...

He looked at all of them. Really, he stared at all of them, lingering over the slightly grainy photos. They were taken just like the ones of Alex, but somehow, they felt even more… secretive. As if the photographer tried to hide instead of being subtle about what they were doing. They were clear enough, though.

Clear enough to convince Tim it wasn’t Jay.

Jay was untouched. The same weight, the same hair, the same face, without grays or wrinkles. A man in his youth, the so-called prime of his life, somewhere in his mid-twenties. The clothes were different, his green jacket replaced by a black one, his hat gone from his head. And no cameras.

… He looked… happy. Even in the pictures he wasn’t smiling in, the light shone out through his eyes. His clothes were often wrinkled or dirty, his shoes old or secondhand, but it didn't seem to matter to him. Jay stood without tension in his body, arms loose, head held high. As if nothing had ever happened to him. As if he hadn't bled out slowly in an abandoned building, all alone.

Tim twisted around and reached, setting the tablet on the small table that folded out from the walls of his van. Turning his back on the night, he crawled inside his home and slammed the doors shut behind him.

Modifying this van had taken him years, working on and off in between cases. Now it was a pretty comfortable place to live. A kitchen with fridge, range and sink, a bed that folded out into a couch, a small table, and all the storage space he could need, not that he needed much. It would fit two people comfortably, but he didn't need it to take care of anyone but himself.

Next to his tablet was a book he'd bought from the library he'd visited earlier in the day, some cheap fiction novel. Tim had both bookmarks inside it, waiting to be read when he had the time. Like now. Sitting down on the couch, he opened to the first page, but his mind drifted.

"I wasn't as good a mother to him as I should've been," Meredith had said. "My love had limits, even though I didn't know it at the time."

He was used to this, the painful stories told without him asking for them. Being the last resort for a lot of loved ones, they treated him like a confidant as much as a private investigator. They needed to talk about it. They needed someone to tell them it would be okay. Tim was okay being that person, but it was different when he knew the missing people himself.

But Meredith didn't know that.

"I know it seems impossible," she'd said, "but I'd recognize Jay and Alex no matter what disguise they wore. They were both my sons. It's definitely them in the photos. It can't be anyone but them."

"Mrs. Frederickson," he'd started, but his first sentence died on his lips. "I have no reason to doubt you," he lied, "but why do you think this is something I can help you with?"

Meredith inhaled. "No one else will take this job. I tried five different companies. They refused because of the infamy of the Marble Hornets videos. And the note in the package…"

She looked down, bit her lip, just like Jay did ten years before.

"It said you were the only one that could help."

Tim blinked the memories away. He glanced at the book in his hands, and tossed it aside. Reading wasn't happening tonight. Sleeping wasn't happening tonight. What was going to happen tonight?

Outside the van, the trees shifted in the hot Louisiana wind. Cars cruised the highway. Lights blocked out the stars.

I would know him anywhere, she'd said. But if it wasn't Jay, he'd be dragging a complete stranger into a hell that most people couldn't imagine. Even if he kept It away, It would have plenty of time to ruin this man's life before he could save him.

Just like he couldn't save the actual Jay.

I can’t do this, he thought.

I have to do this, he thought.

He yanked his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. Meredith’s number was already saved, and it wasn’t too late. Two rings, and she picked up.

“Mrs. Fredrickson?” His tone didn’t give away the way his thoughts raced through his head. “Thank you for your patience. I’ve decided to take your case. No,” he cut her off. “No, you don’t need to pay me in advance-” He jerked. “That’s - that’s far more than my rates - I really don’t need that much - yes I will absolutely let you know once I’ve established a base in the area - Breathe, Mrs. Fredrickson-”

The conversation ended with joyful tears from Meredith, Tim being only too grateful to hang up. He stared at his phone until the screen went black again, heart hurting. What a liar he was. He wasn’t going to find Jay. He was doing this to find Alex.

Once he was in Alabama, it would be easy to confirm the identity of the doppelganger in the photos, without actually speaking to him. Assuming the Operator didn’t sense Tim’s interest and attempt to infect him just to be an asshole. But Alex? That was definitely him. The age, the wear and tear on his body, the stupid fucking glasses - Tim would know him anywhere.

Jay was dead. Alex wasn’t. And it was Alex’s fucking fault Jay was dead, it was Alex that pulled the trigger and Alex that taunted him for not being able to save him. It was Alex who Tim saw in his nightmares even now, shooting Jay, over and over. The more he thought about it, the more his blood burned. How could Alex live knowing what he’d done? What right did Alex have to live when Jay didn’t?

Meredith had forgiven Alex. Tim wasn’t ready to.

Tim took a deep breath, calming his fury. He’d deal with that when the time came. Right now, he had to drive. He had a long way to go back to Alabama.

… He hadn’t really thought about that. That doing this meant going back to Alabama. Of course he knew what it meant to take this case. He had to go back to Alabama to do it. But once he left Alabama, he swore he’d never go back, no matter what happened. Even if the world ended, he’d never return. It was there, Rosswood was there, the memories that stood intact, buried forever in the walls of the buildings they’d visited, were there.

The Operator was stronger in Alabama than anywhere else in the world, far as Tim could tell. It seemed centered in Rosswood. Within that state, It could seemingly do anything. Would his gift, his ability to repel it, work within the state borders? What if he couldn’t protect anyone there - including himself?

He could be walking into a trap.

But Jay…

Leaning back on the cushion behind him, Tim closed his eyes.

“My love had limits,” Meredith said.

“What do you mean?” Tim had asked.

Meredith took a breath, and her eyes, so much like Jay’s, met Tim’s.

“Jay was - is gay,” she said. “We knew it at the time, but we didn’t want to believe it. We were wealthy people, we thought we were Christians, we had standards… We thought he was going through a college phase, the kind a lot of young adults go through when they’re free from their parents. But looking back…” She shook her head. “I was wrong. What I did, what I believed, it was wrong. I want to apologize to him for it, if I can. If he’ll let me.”

Jay is gay. The words hit hard as a punch to the chest. Pieces of the past he hadn’t known were out of place lined up. Little things Jay did, little looks, little words, little winces and cringes and pained expressions at the things people said or did. Things he hadn’t even thought of made sense in a way that could’ve knocked him over. How Tim kept his cool after that, he couldn’t remember. How he kept from crying, he didn’t know.

Jay is… was gay. Of course he kept that a secret from everyone, they lived in fucking Alabama. Things had improved in the past ten years, but back then, to be openly gay was to have a target on your back, for ridicule if not violence. Their college campus didn’t even allow a LGBT club, or a gay-straight alliance. It just wasn’t done. If Jay had been alive now, he would’ve thrived the way he was always supposed to.

Jay. Alive. Happy. Living in another state. Dating another man, someone other than Tim.

Had Jay felt the way for Tim, the way Tim felt for his ghost? The memories of a man he lost too soon burned strong through his life, in a way Tim for years felt he shouldn’t. Homophobia nothing, he hadn’t known Jay for very long. Was it right to feel that way for him? Did he really love Jay, or did he love the man he put together from his memories and pain? He didn’t have any answers. He tried to keep up with cases so he didn’t think about it but it looked like he wasn’t going to have a choice anymore.

Something chattered in the back of his mind, an anxious, angry, wordless voice. Tim took a deep breath, then another. He wasn’t going to think about this. This was going back in the box until he could process it. There was a long way to go from here, and the road wouldn’t be as smooth as the pavement he normally drove on.

Buckle up, he told himself as he stood and moved for the driver’s seat. This is only going to get harder from here.

---

And in the wooden seat he swayed, swayed from side to side, the tumbling words dying from his lips. The man groaned, his eyes closed behind the blindfold. He was alone in this room, no windows, one door, a chair, a table, a laptop, a microphone, himself.

He swayed, he swayed, and in the electronic silence the little tings of the assembled viewers in their little box rang out sweet as bells. It meant nothing to him, what they said, what they did, what they believed. It was enough to serve.

The man let out a moan, his voice hoarse, his lips dry and cracked. The strings were cut, the God had pulled away. Now he was alone, alone in this room with the wooden walls and floor, his breathing echoing, the light above buzzing and flickering. Where are you God? Why did you leave me? Have I done something wrong? Have I displeased you?

And like a light pouring from an open door in his mind--

Euphoria. A joy unlike anything he’d ever tasted, an endless rush of wind that swept him from his thoughts. Joy, relief, pride, and the sweet undercurrent of plans that stretched millennia and into realms that his human mind would never understand. It was God, speaking to him, letting him feel Its emotions, letting him taste the infinity of Its existence. In this moment, he could feel Heaven wrapping warm tendrils around his robed body, carrying his soul free, just for this moment.

No rapture would ever be this wonderful.

Blood poured from his closed eyes, his nose and ears, dripping onto his folded hands, onto the folding table. But there was no pain. There was only joy. His God felt joy.

He let the words fall from his lips, even though he did not understand.

“He’s coming.”

And a darkness swept over him, the joy lulling him into the night. The Neophyte fell from his chair onto the cold floor, unconscious and unaware of the shockwaves now shooting through his audience.

#marble hornets #marble hornets fanfiction #mh antivirus au #mh fanfiction #mh tim wright #mh tim #marble hornets tim

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quicksilversquared · 5 years ago

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The Substitute Ladybug: Chapter 4

After Lila takes things too far and Marinette ends up with a broken leg, Paris is going to have to deal with a different superhero arrangement for a bit. Having to share her superhero identity with her parents before Hawkmoth can be defeated isn’t something that Marinette had planned on doing, but- well, it might end up being a bit of a blessing in disguise.

links in the reblog

Having a broken leg sucked.

Really, that shouldn't have been news to her at all, Marinette reflected as she slouched in her desk chair. She had already been dealing with everything that came along with a broken leg for a week and a half now, and the frustration about not being able to move around like normal or do her normal activities had long since set in. The extra planning ahead- how she was going to get from one classroom to another, what she needed to do if she wanted to make a quick (or not-so-quick) trip to the bathroom- was annoying, but not a huge deal. But not being able to go out with her friends like she normally did?

It wasn't something that Marinette had considered, but- well, going out and wandering around the city just wasn't a good idea on a leg that was still fairly early on in the healing process. Maybe her friends could have adjusted what they were going to do on their outing, but...

Well, it still just sounded so tiring. Maybe it was a good idea to make sure that she wasn't just sitting around and not moving as much as she should be, but there was also such thing as too much movement. It would be all too easy to hit that level when she was out with her friends and then be too exhausted to be able to focus on an akuma battle.

So Marinette was stuck at home, knowing full well that her friends were out having fun without her.

She had anticipated the frustration that came with not being able to be a superhero in the way that she was used to. It was easy enough to figure out that the activity where she was super-active would be off the table for the foreseeable future. She had guessed that her leg would make things at school a bit more complex. But Marinette hadn't anticipated how a simple day outing with her friends would suddenly be too much to do.

"I'm sure that you'll be able to hang out with them again soon," Tikki commented from where she was perched on Marinette's shoulder. She had decided to hang out with Marinette for the afternoon, since it would be easy enough for Mrs. Cheng to come up and get her if an akuma attacked. "Your leg will heal up and not hurt so much when you move around, and then you can go out more. And maybe you can just go out with them for part of the day and leave early! It's always an option."

"I suppose." Marinette suspected that that would be easier said than done, honestly. If she was out with Alya and the other girls, she would be having fun and probably want to stay out. Then the exhaustion would creep up on her and she would end up regretting the day, no matter how enjoyable the first part had been. "And I know that I'll be back out there soon, once my leg is better and I can enjoy it, but right now it's just another reminder of what I can't do."

She had found a work-around for her superhero life, a way to be involved without physically being out on the battlefield. But for social outings with her classmates?

She had tried doing the same thing as Adrien always did when his father didn't let him come out, with just video-calling her friends and getting carried along virtually, but that hadn't lasted longer than ten minutes before Marinette had made her excuses and ended the call. Instead of helping, it made her feel worse. Tagging along by camera was just a reminder that she wasn't there with them, and she had found herself constantly craning her neck to try to see what else was going on beyond the camera and feeling thrown off by not being able to see everything. Besides, Alya had been the one holding the phone and she had an annoying habit of waving her hands around unthinkingly when she got animated about something. She could mostly quash that habit during akuma fights, when she was focused on the akuma or on the superheroes, but when she was just out with her friends? The camera went everywhere.

There was a reason why it was usually Nino or Marinette who held the phone when Adrien was video-calling them. And even when it was Nino- well, he wasn't the best at holding the phone still, either.

Oddly enough, Marinette wasn't interested in getting motion sickness from a video call when she was already feeling crummy because of her leg.

Hopefully she would start feeling significantly better soon and could tag along on outings again. Right now, she was just sore and tired so much of the time, and hopping along on her crutches just sometimes seemed like so much of a chore.

Sighing, Marinette turned her attention to her schoolwork. There was really nothing more to work on, though, so she turned her attention to her sketchbook instead. She tried to draw, but all that came out were uninspired doodles. After two full pages of absent, aimless doodles, Marinette pushed her sketchbook to the side and considered her options. What did she want to do?

Or, more accurately, what did she want to do that she could actually do?

Nothing was coming to mind.

"Maybe a change of scenery is all you need!" Tikki suggested. "You could go up to the living room and do something there."

"Or I could go downstairs and help run the counter," Marinette suggested, already liking that idea better. Being upstairs by herself was no fun, and her mom did have a chair by the counter that she could sit in. It would be a nice way to help her parents, after they had been helping her so much with her Ladybug duties. "I think I'll do that, at least for a bit. And maybe I can text the girls and let them know and they can come visit!"

"Ooh, I like that idea!"

Decided, Marinette made her careful way downstairs. The bakery was buzzing- as it usually was at this time on Saturdays, but this seemed even busier than normal- and her mom was busy at the counter. Marinette could see cupcakes in the front kitchen, set out on the table and clearly ready to be decorated when Mrs. Cheng had the time.

She clearly had no time at the moment.

"I'll take the register, Maman," Marinette said, step-hopping up to the counter. "You can decorate."

Mrs. Cheng looked relieved as she stepped back. "You're a lifesaver, Marinette."

For the next forty minutes, Marinette perched on the stool at the counter and rang people up, bagging or boxing up their purchases before sending them on their way. Her mom stepped in to help box things up when the line got too long, but mostly worked away at decorating the cupcakes and cakes that Mr. Dupain brought out for her. It was a good system, and Marinette let out a relieved breath as the last of the line was finally sent away, cheerful and satisfied.

"Good job, sweetheart," Mr. Dupain told her as he bustled past, his arms full of baskets to refill the shelves. "That helped out a bunch."

"It's better than sitting around upstairs," Marinette said cheerfully, taking advantage of the pause to make sure that everything in the cash register was straight and tidy. "I was just floating around and grumbling about being bored."

"Normally you're as busy as a bee, so that must have been a change for you!" Mrs. Cheng laughed. "I suppose it doesn't help that your sewing machine is still upstairs. I can bring it down later, if you want."

Marinette beamed, and then almost immediately remembered everything that she would need to actually be able to use her sewing machine and drooped. "It's- it's probably not worth it. I would need a bunch of my fabric and my thread box and buttons and- and all sorts of things, really, and that would be too much to store downstairs. If I had a specific project in mind, maybe, but..."

"Well, just let me know if you want it for anything," Mrs. Cheng said cheerfully. "It's not a problem to bring thing down." She finished up a cupcake with a flourish and set her piping bag down. "And done! Ahead of schedule, even, since Marinette took over the counter- hello, how can I help- oh! Adrien, dear, how nice to see you!"

Marinette spun back around on her seat and nearly toppled over, saved only by her dad catching her as he passed by. Sure enough, Adrien was in the bakery, looking a bit uncertain of himself as he approached the counter.

"Are you hear for the pastries or for Marinette?" Mrs. Cheng asked cheerfully, wiping her hands off on a damp towel before joining Marinette at the counter. "Or both?"

"I- well, I, uh," Adrien started, and then clearly gave himself a shake. "Er- both, I guess? Fencing finished early and Nathalie gave me permission to hang out with my friends. So I thought that I could maybe come hang out with Marinette, unless you're busy?"

Her parents both beamed. Marinette hoped that she wasn't as red as she felt.

"We're not busy at all," Mrs. Cheng assured him. "Marinette was just hanging out down here because she was bored-"

"And because I wanted to help!" Marinette added on. "I wasn't just bored!"

"-but the rush is over now, so if she wants to go, she's more than free to," Mrs. Cheng continued, as though Marinette hadn't spoken. "It'll probably be a bit boring down here, actually, now that the lunch rush has passed."

Adrien perked up at that, his gaze swinging to Marinette. "So, do you wanna hang out?"

Marinette nodded, unable to keep herself from smiling. Her disappointment from earlier about not being able to hang out with the other girls was gone, because now- well, now she was getting to hang out with one of her friends, too.

"Great!" Mr. Dupain boomed. He bustled around the shop, picking out an assortment of goodies one by one and dropping them into a bakery bag before shoving it into Adrien's arms. "A snack for the two of you. Will you be going upstairs, or out to the park, or...?"

Adrien's eyes flew to Marinette at once, obviously giving her the choice. Marinette didn't have to think about it for long.

"The park might be nice, if there's an open bench," Marinette said. She pushed herself to her feet and hopped over to the sink to wash her hands. Her mom had talked to her before about forgetting to wash her hands after handling money and before eating something, and it wasn't a mistake she was going to make again. "I've been inside too much."

"Even if there's not a bench, I'm sure people would move so that you can sit down," Adrien assured her. He waited for her to make her way around the counter, then led the way towards the door. "And if not- uh, could you sit on the ground if I helped you down and back up? Except no, we don't have a blanket-"

"Oh, we have a picnic blanket in the hallway!" Mrs. Cheng called after them. "You could always put it on the bench, too, if that's where you end up sitting. It would just make things more comfortable."

With that, she dashed into the back. A minute later, she returned with a brightly striped blanket that Marinette recognized from more than a few picnics in the past. Adrien took it with a quick thanks, and then they were back on their way.

As it turned out, all of the benches were very full. Adrien glanced around, then glanced questioningly at Marinette.

"I can sit on the ground," Marinette decided after a moment. It would be more pleasant if she and Adrien got to sit on their own blanket instead of being crammed onto a bench with some random grandparents. "I'll just need to have my leg stretched out."

Adrien nodded, then set out to find the perfect place to set out the blanket. It took a few minutes to pick out a spot that wasn't near playing kids, or near a garbage can, or too close to the noisy street, but finally he got the perfect spot. Marinette held the bakery bag while Adrien meticulously spread the blanket out, and then they took a few minutes to get Marinette comfortably settled.

"It's the perfect day to be in the park, really," Adrien commented as he sat down as well, making sure that he wouldn't jostle Marinette's leg. "I'm glad that we decided to go outside. I've been inside all day, between homework and piano and fencing. And a snack!"

Marinette had to laugh at that as Adrien eagerly tore into a croissant. "Ah, the real reason why you came to see me and not Nino!"

"No, it's just- Nino offers snacks, too!" Adrien protested. "I mean, maybe the snacks are crackers or packaged cookies, but he does offer snacks. I-" He worried his lip, clearly considering his next words. "I overheard yesterday when the other girls were planning to get together and you couldn't join them. And I know how much it sucks to not be able to go out with friends, and I know you hadn't been hanging out with them before as much as usual because of Lila, so when I had the gap in my schedule..." He shrugged, glancing away sheepishly. Marinette felt her heart skip a beat and her cheeks flushed red.

Really, how was she not supposed to be heads-over-heels for him when he said stuff like that? It was so sweet.

"Anyway, I like hanging out with you," Adrien added shyly, picking at his croissant before taking another bite. "So it wasn't a hard choice."

"I'm glad you came over," Marinette told him, finally finding her words even as her cheeks flared even redder. She was sure that she looked like a stop sign by now, but- well, Adrien was always kind enough to overlook that. "I don't know how you manage when your father doesn't let you come out with us. I was about to keel over with boredom."

"You, bored? Whenever I've seen you before, you always seem busy." Adrien polished up his croissant and glanced over at her. "I mean, Class President duties, commissions, your own projects, homework..."

"I've had more down time than usual lately," Marinette admitted. She pulled out a cookie and nibbled at the edge. "And no commissions, so I don't have my sewing things downstairs where I can use them. I suppose I could look ahead and see what duties I might have coming up as Class President and just get it all done ahead of time if I can. Then I can have more free time once my leg is better." She winced. "...in theory."

"Yeah, plans get thrown off really easily with akumas and Hawkmoth around, don't they?" Adrien glanced over the box of goodies, then picked out a cookie for himself. "If you need any help with that stuff, let me know. I think there's a pretty good chance that Nathalie would let me help, since student government stuff is, like, really nice on a resume. Never mind that I wouldn't put it on a resume since it would just be helping you, not doing all of the heavy lifting with the planning like you do, but she might think that it would make me more inclined to maybe run myself in the future."

"Honestly, if you wanted to take Alya's place and run with me, I don't think she would complain," Marinette told him. "She's grumbled more than a few times about paperwork taking away time from the Ladyblog or her time with Nino." Honestly, Alya would jump at the chance to both offload her responsibilities as Vice President and to push Adrien and Marinette together. And- well, as long as Alya didn't then decide to linger in a doorway or by the window and wriggle her eyebrows at Marinette and make her nervous, then Marinette was sure that it would go pretty well.

If Alya decided to make things weird, then- well, then they might have a bit of a rocky start, but they would recover in time. Hopefully.

Adrien laughed. "Tempting, since I'd get to hang out with you more. I'd have to run it past Father and Nathalie first before I could promise anything, of course."

Marinette grinned. Maybe Adrien would forget about it by the time Class President elections rolled around again, or he might decide that he was actually too busy to take on anything else, but- well, it would be nice to daydream about all of the time that she and Adrien would get to spend together if they were working together on the class representative duties.

Maybe paperwork wasn't very romantic, but- well, relationships weren't built entirely on romance, were they? Besides, if it would allow Adrien to come and hang out more...

"So what all is involved in the Class Representative job?" Adrien asked, polishing off his cookie and leaning back on his hands, looking over at Marinette. "Like, planning class parties?"

"Class parties, keeping track of birthdays and whatnot, field trips, helping organize school fundraisers," Marinette told him. She sighed. "Honestly, I don't think all of that is supposed to be my duties. The other representatives don't really do the birthdays or the field trips, that's all on their teachers. I don't know why Ms. Bustier does it differently."

"Maybe she thinks it'll help in the future?" Adrien suggested, but even he didn't sound particularly convinced. "...or maybe she's behind on grading because of akuma attacks and so she's, ah, delegating tasks."

"To her students, who sometimes fall behind on homework because we get extra homework to keep up with the curriculum even with akuma attacks," Marinette sighed. "Naturally."

Adrien made a face. "That- yeah, that's not very fair. But at least that probably means that you'll have less to do if you stay Class Rep next year, right? New school, new teachers, hopefully ones that will organize their own field trips."

"Oh, I hope so." Their schoolwork was only going to get more difficult in lycée, and Marinette already sometimes found herself running short on time because of all of her responsibilities. And- well, she liked being able to help out her classmates as Class President, but it was just so much work sometimes.

"But that's months away still," Adrien added before Marinette could think about it too much. He nudged her good foot with his toe, smiling over at her. "So, what's new? How was the bakery earlier?"

Several hours later, the last of the treats had been polished off and Adrien finally had to leave. He looked startled when Nathalie texted him, apparently not having realized how much time had passed, and then immediately moved to help Marinette up.

He was so careful as he helped her to her feet, making sure that she wouldn't accidentally put any weight on her bad leg. Marinette was sure that she was turning red again as Adrien wrapped his arms around her to lift her up, his cheek and chin pressing into her shoulder because of the way he was holding her. The moment passed once she was on her feet, though, and Adrien made sure that she was steady on her feet before stepping back to a gentlemanly distance and turning his attention to getting the blanket up and folded.

"I'm glad we got to hang out," Adrien told Marinette as they headed back to the bakery. He held the door open for her, letting her through in front of him. His bodyguard's car was already parked in front of the bakery, and Adrien waved to him before ducking in long enough to pass the picnic blanket back to Mrs. Cheng. "See you on Monday?"

"Yeah," Marinette agreed, beaming after him. "See you on Monday."

"I can't believe you were on a date with Adrien and didn't text me and let me know! I could have gotten photos!"

"It wasn't a date, Alya," Marinette said for what felt like the fifth time. Her best friend had come over to work on homework together in the peace of the Dupain-Cheng apartment, since her younger sisters had friends over and the Césaire apartment was currently- well, loud. Her mom had apparently mentioned Adrien having come over the previous day when Alya passed by her, and now Alya wouldn't drop it. "It was two friends hanging out."

"By yourselves, in the park, chatting for hours over fresh pastries! That's totally date material!"

Marinette fixed Alya with a long look. "You do realize that the pastries came from my parents, right? It wasn't like Adrien went out and bought some fancy pastries for the express purpose of eating them with me."

Alya groaned, practically slamming her palms over her face. "Ugh, you two. Fine, fine, it 'wasn't a date', whatever you say. But it sounds so cute! I bet you're going to start dating soon, though! He's obviously interested in you."

Marinette flushed at the thought, wondering if she really was close to getting to date Adrien. He had been really, really sweet during their impromptu picnic, and they had never hung out quite like that before. But Adrien was also just a really nice person, and he had told her that he wanted to come over because he knew what it felt like to not be able to go out with friends. So maybe it wasn't a great idea to start getting too excited and get ahead of herself.

"Either way, I would have loved to get pictures of you two," Alya added on after a moment, homework still forgotten in her backpack on the floor. Whether or not she would actually remember it- the reason why she had come over in the first place- still remained to be seen. "And all of us would have loved to see it-"

Marinette groaned at the idea of all of the other girls spying on her and Adrien hanging out and chatting. That just... well, it sounded stressful, and like something that would absolutely result in her stumbling over her words and feeling off-kilter and uncomfortable.

She was absolutely not going to tell Alya ahead of time next time that Adrien came over to hang out. There was absolutely no way that Marinette wanted people (especially people who weren't her parents) watching her every move when she was alone (or "alone") with Adrien. Every move, every word, every smile and laugh and sharing of cookies would be analyzed and over-analyzed.

She also wasn't going to bring up Adrien's offer to take over Alya's role as Vice President. Alya would definitely read far too much into that.

"Anyway, we missed you on our outing after you had to hang up," Alya added after a minute. "I know it would have been hard for you to keep up and enjoy it as much in person, though. We're trying to figure out something for next time that wouldn't involve walking or standing around, but I don't know when that'll even be yet. Nora's out of town next weekend, so I might be pretty busy with babysitting, and we don't know what the weekend after that will look like."

"If we're too busy, I might be off crutches by the time we go out again," Marinette joked, opening up her notebook. Even if Alya was completely distracted by the news about her and Adrien, she could still try to be productive. "Then there wouldn't be any additional planning needed!"

"Oh, don't exaggerate!" Alya laughed. "We're not that busy. You've still got a ton of time in the cast."

Marinette could only groan. It seemed like the days were inching by in slow motion sometimes. Cast-off day seemed ages away. "Oh gosh. Don't remind me."

"Hey, I'm sure the time will flash by and the cast'll be off before you expect," Alya told her. She grinned, suddenly impish. "And look on the bright side- think about how much attention Adrien's been giving you ever since your leg got broken! Maybe you'll end up wanting to keep the cast on a little longer."

Marinette snorted. Somehow, she really doubted that.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #The Substitute Ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years ago

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the love you deserve II

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: almost 3k, ops

Summary: “He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve. Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly. Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

Warnings: soft!bucky, hurt!reader, angst, fluff, lying, cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption (including mentions of underage drinking), language that Steve Rogers wouldn’t approve of.

A/N: AU where Civil War and Thanos never happen, Tony forgives Bucky and he retires. This is my very first attempt at writing in English, I’m not a native speaker, so forgive me for any mistakes :)

This is part 2, please comment and reblog and let me know what you think of it :) feedback is always appreciated! I plan on writing at least another part, maybe two.

What do you think of the reader?

Part 1

The day before

Las Vegas, Nevada

Vegas is hot and dry as hell. It’s also a lot of fun, so the movies did not lie about that at least. They did exaggerate how fun the casinos would be tho.

You’re at a pool party, sipping on a drink, silently judging the moves of the sweaty people who are dancing around you.

You just got off a facetime call with Jaime, and god you miss him and Alpine too, but life is good and you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, your best friend is getting married to the man she loves and you’re having the time of your life with your girlfriends.

“So, you’re not having cold feet, are you?” you hear Hannah question Jade.

They’re basking in the sun around you.

Jade hesitates as she douses herself in sunblock.

“I gotta say I’m kind of scared but I’ve been dreaming about this for three years, so no? I guess. I don’t know. I love him.”

“That didn’t answer the question.” you observe.

“Are you sure you’re ready to commit to one dick only for the rest of your life?” Raven asks, and you all laugh and roll your eyes playfully.

Ever the commitaphobe, just like you. Well, like you used to be before you met Jaime.

You hate rush hour after work, you hate it so much in fact that you’d rather go to your work’s gym and workout even though you’re exhausted than catch a packed train.

By the time you get to the station most people are home already.

He’s here today.

You’ve seen him quite a lot in the past few weeks. The first thing you noticed about him is the way he seems to fold in on himself, his hunched shoulders and lowered head.

His bad posture aggravates you beyond reason, and you just wish you could go there and straighten his back without looking like a weirdo. But you can’t, so you just admire from afar like the good creep you are.

He’s always wearing a baseball cap over luscious but questionably greasy hair, huge winter jackets and leather gloves; still, underneath all that it’s clear he’s handsome. You always had a thing for men built like brick houses.

Today is the day, you think, today is the day I finally strike a conversation with the guy, it’s now or never.

Truth is, the loneliness he exudes breaks your heart and the way people avoid him like he’s got the plague enrages you for no particular reason. Somehow the ever indifferent New Yorkers would rather stand on a moving train than sit next to him, and that something about that that irks you way too much.

You really don’t understand why. Sure he’s intimidating, he’s a huge man, but he’s quiet and calm and he smiles softly when he spots a dog on the train. He gets off at same stop you do and no matter how isolate the station and the streets are by the time you get home, even if you two are the only ones there, you’ve never felt uneasy.

So you go and sit next to him, you smile when he looks up in surprise and you say hi.

He stutters an ‘evening ma’am’ and you’re proud of yourself because you’ve got it in you to made the big scary guy blush like a schoolgirl.

“Not to be a creep or anything but I’ve seen you around quite a lot, we commute together almost every day.” You chuckle and you introduce yourself.

“I uhm-” he’s cute when he furrows his brows “ I’m Jame- Jaime. I’m Jaime.”

You smile at the memory.

Jaime turned out to be a lot less shy than anticipated. He was a stuttering mess on the first few dates but the more you got to know him, the more he opened up to show his true sarcastic, snarky nature, whilst still being a gentle giant and an absolute sweetheart.

He’s thoughtful, cocky and sweet at the same time. He makes you melt in a puddle whenever he snuggles Alpine on the inside of his jacket, and the rumble of his voice is enough to make your brain short circuit and your panties dampen.

“There goes that look again, you’re such a love sick fool.”

“Oh God, you should see her when she’s with her precious Jaime, they literally have heart eyes, they’re so cute together it makes me sick to my stomach.”

You laugh and shake your head at Raven’s and Jade’s teasing.

“Hey, it’s not that bad, you should have seen yourself the day you met Matt, bitch, you looked like you’d never seen a man before. I ain’t forget.” you retort.

Hannah laughs and adds “When are we going to meet mystery man? It’s not fair that Jade only to got to see him. And word on the streets is that he’s real pretty.”

“When you three learn how to behave. But I can show you a picture, just please don’t be weird about it.” you finally relent after five months of avoiding the topic.

“He’s very, very hot ladies.” Jade quips.

You send her a side glance (goodnaturedly of course) and show them how pretty your sweet boy is.

Raven’s jaw goes slack as she clutches your phone and gawks at the picture.

“Lucky bastard, he’s literally the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, where did you find him and how did you convince him to be with you of all people?”

You laugh at Raven’s blunt remarks. They playful banter between the two of you has been going on since freshman year of college.

“Now I get why you have that dumb love struck face on you at all times.” Hannah adds.

Grace tho, she’s unusually quiet, and she stares at him with a scowl on her face. Her eyes travel slowly from your phone to your face, and the anticipation to know the reason why is killing you.

“Uhm, you’re dating him? And you said his name is Jaime?” she hesitates.

Whatever is going to come out of her mouth, you already know you’re not going to like it.

“Look, maybe I’m wrong and I’m mistaking him for someone else but I’m pretty positive I’m right and, ah” Another pause, you’re about to faint. “There’s no way to break it down to you in a way that won’t hurt but” she sighs “he’s lying to you.”

Ice fills your veins. You can feel dread crawling up your spine.

Is he someone else’s boyfriend? Are you the other woman or is he cheating on you? Is he a professional scammer?

“What the hell are you talking about Gracie?” Jade almost shouts, and you’re one heartbeat away from fainting.

Grace looks at you with all the pity in the world and you want nothing more than to erase that expression from her face.

“He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

The world around you stops spinning for a second as the ring in your ears get louder. You just wish the ground could open up and swallow you whole.

All of a sudden you start laughing hysterically like she’s told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard, you laugh so ugly that a few heads turn in your direction and give you funny looks, so loud that your friends are startled and even more worried.

Jaime, your sweet baby boy who adopted a three legged blind cat no one else at the shelter wanted to save him from being euthanized.

Jaime who volunteers at the VA with his pal Sam to help war vets reintegrate in society after they get back home, because he knows what it’s like to have your life turned around, to find yourself with no commands to obey all of a sudden and more trauma than you know what to do with. He knows what it is like to know no peace, to sleep a couple hours a week until you’re hallucinating so bad you’re begging the universe to just end your suffering.

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve.

Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly.

Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

He goes grocery shopping for the elderly couple next door whose kids never visit, because they are too weak, too sick, too tired to leave the house.

“I’m sorry sweetie, it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have know.”

Grace hands you a phone, open on his Wikipedia page.

Jaime’s sky-blue eyes stare back at you.

You really let him play a number on you, didn’t you?

You feel a hot surge of blinding anger and you want to tear the world apart, you want to take Jaime- no, not Jaime, James and bitch slap him in the face so damn hard you convey the humiliation you’re feeling right now, knowing that the man you love and thought you knew lied to your face for five fucking months.

Did he ever consider coming clean, revealing his true identity?

Was he ever planning on telling you? Or would he move in with you, wake up and go to bed with you every day feeding you lies upon lies?

Would you end up married to a man that doesn’t exist and have kids with a ghost?

Grow old with a guy who said he was 33 but is actually 99?

Would he never get undressed in front of you? How was he planning on hiding is metal arm? Surely one day you’d be intimate and you would see it? The whole “I want to wait cause I’m old fashioned like that” would eventually need to stop.

Or maybe it wasn’t a serious relationship at all for him, not in the way it was for you. Not in the way you wanted to spend the rest of your days loving him and making him the happiest man alive. Not in the way you were ready to commit to him, body and soul, for all eternity.

Now the endearing terms he used to call you, his babydoll, his little doll, they taste bitter on your tongue.

A doll, literally. A little toy to play with and toss aside once he got bored of his little game.

Why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out like this?

It reminds you of that time in your junior year of college, you were dating this guy back then, and you liked him, he was fun, the sex was good, he supported you in your endless hours of cheer practice.

One day he told you he was sick and couldn’t make it to your afternoon study date. That same night you ran into him at a frat party with his friends. Wasn’t so sick after all.

You broke up on the spot, shed a few tears while your teammates held you and moved on with your life with your head held high, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life no matter how many curveballs the universe throws your way.

You vividly recall what hurt the most: the feeling of being lied to and toyed with. The hot humiliation that burns your cheeks and makes your eyes water when you realized you have yet again misplaced your trust. The inevitable question that plague you for days on end: what else did he lie about? How could I be so damn stupid?

His name was Tommy, and sometimes in the following years your first instinct when a man told you anything was to obsess over whether they were being honest or not. Until Jaime, that is, you trusted Jaime with your life, you would never question him, and look where that got you.

You’re aware you’re overthinking and maybe overreacting at this point, and that wailing in your own misery while your girlfriends are out having fun in a club is doing you no good, nor is it changing your current predicament. But you never listen to the voice of reason, and you won’t start today.

The room feels too hot and too cold at the same time.

You’re sweating but your body is shaking. You’re breathing but the air you inhale won’t reach your lungs. You’re blinking your eyes frantically but you only see darkness. You hear your own heart beat out of your chest.

It seems like the room you’re in is closing down on you and there’s no space left, you’re being crushed by those walls around you, you’re drowning, you’re suffocating.

Is this what heartbreak feels like, or is it just a heart attack?

Turns out it’s a panic attack, you know because you typed your symptoms on Google.

You are painfully aware you’re spiralling out of control.

Get a grip.

All you can think about is how you want him to suffer, you want him to feel the same humiliation you’re feeling right now. You want him to feel his chest compress, his throat tighten, you want him to know what it’s like when your heart is breaking in a thousand pieces and you can’t even breathe.

You want his world to come tumbling down on him and crush him under the weight of his mistakes.

You don’t care why he did it. You don’t give a single fuck about his reasons.

Because the truth is, no matter who he was in his past life, no matter how many he killed or tortured, you would have loved him all the same. You would have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders if it meant he could sleep soundly at night.

But he didn’t give you a chance to.

And because you never fucking think before you act, you put your best dress on a join the girls at the club they’re at, and you hope the tequila is going to drown your sorrow and dull the pain burning you from within.

Tonight you don’t want to feel anymore.

Four months ago.

Brooklyn, New York.

Every morning, Bucky wakes up at 5.30 am and joins Steve Rogers on his jog around the neighborhood, and every morning without failure Bucky is grumpy about it. He hates the early mornings, especially in the winter, but he can’t find it in himself to refuse Steve anything.

Steve is smart and too observing for his own good and he knows that something has changed. He knows it in the way Bucky’s steps are louder and bouncier, his back is straighter, his smile is easier, his eyes shine brighter.

He knows it because underneath the sandalwood scent of Buck’s deodorant and the musky smell of his sweat, he can sometimes detect the less pungent fragrance of coconut and peaches.

“So, who is she?”

The question catches him off guard. Bucky stops dead in his track and looks at his friend like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

At that he has the decency to blush.

“She’s- she’s perfect. I met her on the ride home from the shelter. ‘member when we were kids, we used to dream about the future? I swore I’d get myself a pretty wife and love her for the rest of my days and have a bunch of kids?”

“Yeah, I used to tell you you’d have to stop dragging me in those god awful double dates, or else you wouldn’t get any of those pretty girls to stick around.”

The two share a bittersweet smile as they reminisce how their life could have been.

“She’s pretty, you know, she’s sweet, she’s a bit of an asshole but the good kind, she’s so damn smart, you know all those science things I used to like before the war? She knows them all. She’s an engineer. I know my Ma would have approved of her, and Becca would have died to have her as a sister.”

“So why’s that long face?”

Bucky snorts.

Of course, how could Captain America understand? People don’t avoid him like he’s got some infectious disease, they don’t give him dirty looks, girls don’t cross the street when they see him, mothers with kids on their hips don’t cover their children as if he was the Boogeyman. “She didn’t recognize me, and well I- I can’t tell her. She wouldn’t want me, and I like her too much to mess this up.”

“Buck.” Steve gives him his best stern look. “You have to tell her, she has a right to know who she’s seeing. If she’s the one she’s going to love you all the same, but don’t lie to her. These secrets can only backfire in the long run. It’s going to ruin your relationship.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly and continues running without uttering another word.

No one could ever love his true self, he thinks bitterly. No one could help him carry the weight of his past on his shoulders.

If only he had known back then how right Stevie would be, he would have told you everything four months ago.

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