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onastarstring · 2 months ago

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Satellite Part 1

Masterlist Part Two

Fresh off his first solo tour, Harry unexpectedly runs into a childhood friend. When it becomes clear that the intervening years have not been as kind to Violet as they’ve been to him, he vows to do whatever he can to help her and her infant daughter—so long as he can keep his lingering feelings for her under control.

Okay, two important notes before we start;

This is my first fic in a really long time. Concrit is welcome, but please be gentle.

This honestly started as a sort of personal project/vent fic, and the whole series is going to touch on some sensitive topics. A lot of Violet's past experiences are somewhat based on my own, and I began writing this, initially, because it was very cathartic. All of that is to say that if you are not in a place to read about past child abouse/neglect and sexual assault (will be discussed but not explicitly depicted) or mental health issues such as depression and anxiety, some mild self-destructive behaviors, or poor living contitions/food insecurity, then please skip this fic. Your mental wellbeing is wayyyyy more important than a silly little story.

The best way to welcome one's son home after he's been gone on tour for nearly a year is to send him a grocery list.

Apparently.

Harry didn't mind, of course–especially not when he knew he'd be getting a proper, home-cooked meal out of it. But still, he couldn't deny that what he really wanted to be doing was taking a nap, and he wasn't the only one, if the crying baby at the other end of the bread aisle was any indication.

He looked up, expecting to exchange sympathetic smiles with the crying child's parents, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.

“Violet?”

She jumped, dropping her shopping basket as her arms crossed protectively over the baby, who was secured in some sort of complicated looking fabric harness.

“H- Harry?” Her big, brown eyes were wide behind her coke-bottle glasses.

“God, it's been ages,” he said, his heart in his throat. “How are you?”

“’M alright… Are–I mean, I suppose you're doing well?”

“I am, yeah.” He knelt to pick up her basket. “Babysitting?”

“Oh, no. She, er–she's mine.”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment, shocked. “What, er, what's her name?”

“Gwendolyn.” She adjusted the harness, allowing him a peek at the tiny baby.

Tentatively, he stroked her cheek. “She's darling. How old is she?”

“Three months.”

“Your parents must be so happy.”

She looked down, rubbing the baby's back soothingly. “Not really…”

He raised his eyebrows, studying her for a moment. Her features were the same, but up close, he could see that the girl who'd grown up down the street was gone. The neat ginger plaits she'd worn her hair in had given way to a hasty ponytail. Her freckles were stark on her pallid skin, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes were worse for wear, and even her glasses seemed to have been snapped in half and taped back together.

“Oh?”

She cleared her throat. “It was nice to see you, Harry, but I've got to get her home.”

He glanced down at her shopping basket, which he still held. “Is there anything else you need? I'm just grabbing a few things for my mum, and it looks like you've got your hands full.”

She hesitated for a moment. “No, that's… that's all. You don't have to carry that, I can-”

“It's no trouble, Vi. It's the least I could do after you spent all those years helping me with maths.”

A feeble smile crossed her face. “Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

They walked in companionable- if somewhat tense- silence. Harry watched her soothing little Gwen, noting how jumpy she seemed. Violet had always been a shy girl, very bright but very sheltered. Her parents were infamously overprotective. He wasn't sure she'd ever been allowed to go over to a friend's house, and, outside of school, he'd only been able to interact with her while they sat at her family's kitchen table, studying together while her mother watched them like a hawk. She'd always been given to a bit of anxiety, but now… it was as if she was truly afraid of some unseen n'ere-do-well.

At the checkout counter, she seemed to be adding up the cost of each item as she removed it from the basket. Two pints of milk, a small package of store brand nappies, a jar of peanut butter, three of those horrible, mealy apples, and a battered box of granola bars that had been marked clearance.

She chewed her lip as she counted the bills in her wallet, glancing back at the total on the register with tears in her eyes. “I… I guess I'll have to put a few things-”

“Just add hers to mine,” Harry cut in, smiling at the cashier, an acne riddled teen who couldn't have looked less excited about his job if he tried.

Violet stared at him for a moment. “Harry-”

“It's not a big deal. It's a drop in the bucket for me, if that.”

“You always were too kind to me,” she murmured.

“What are friends for?” He took their bags, watching as she tugged her jacket around the baby. “Did you drive?”

She shook her head. “I don't have a car, I just walk.”

It was mid-July, but it wasn't a particularly warm day, and as they approached the door, he could see that the wind and rain had picked up.

“You'll blow away out there. Let me give you a lift, yeah?”

She glanced out at the rain and relented, shoulders sagging. “Alright.”

He smiled and placed a gentle hand on her back, guiding her out the door. Violent hunched over, trying to shield the baby from the rain as Harry unlocked the doors of his car. He opened the passenger door for her, making sure she was settled before depositing their bags in the back seat and settling himself behind the steering wheel.

“I'll admit, I was a bit surprised to see you so far from home. You're living around here now?”

“I came out here for uni,” she said softly. “Turn right here.”

He followed her directions to a rather unsavory part of the city, and when she indicated the building in which she lived, a chill went down his spine.

“You live here?” He couldn't hide the horror in his voice as he watch a fat rat scurry across the crumbling cement steps of the derelict building.

“It's not that bad on the inside, really.”

He turned to her, bewildered.

“It's a roof over our heads.”

“Violet, the biggest rat I've ever seen is living under the steps! I can't believe your parents would let you live here- or your husband, for that matter.”

“’M not married. It's just the two of us.”

Oh.

“I… I'm sorry, I didn’t realize.” He tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at her words.

“’S alright.”

He hurried to get out of the car, hoping she hadn't noticed his embarrassment. “Here, I'll get your bag.”

She nodded, seemingly resigned to him helping.

The lobby of the building- if one could call it that- was dim, lit by a single, bare bulb which hung sadly from the ceiling. The chipped and stained linoleum floor was caked in a layer of grime, and he couldn't tell if the hideous wallpaper had yellowed with age or if it was meant to be that color.

In the corner by the lift (which was sealed off with caution tape), stood a card table, covered with errant papers, magazines, and an overflowing ashtray.

Violet nodded to the staircase, the door to which was propped open with a breeze block.

“How long has the lift been out?”

“Since before I moved in,” she said, mounting the steep, rickety metal stairs.

“And how long ago was that?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Nearly a year.”

He paused. “You were going up and down these stairs while you were pregnant?”

She didn't respond, just kept trudging on up to the fourth floor landing, which spat them out into a hallway that was as dim and dingy as the lobby, now with the added benefit of mildewed carpet.

Aside from the one that led to the stairs, there were four doors, two on either side of the hall. Violet led him to the left door on the front side of the building. She snatched the yellow slip of paper that had been taped to the door, but not before he saw the words Eviction Notice printed in bold letters across the top.

“The lock sticks sometimes,” she explained as she leaned on the flimsy door, twisting the key.

“I'll give it a shot.”

Violet stepped back reluctantly, and he took her place, putting as much force as he could into turning the key. Finally, it turned, and he opened the door, his heart sinking.

The flat was tiny, the only light coming in through a small, cracked window. On the far wall, under the window, was a sagging sofa with a pillow propped against the armrest and a blanket draped over the back. On one side of the sofa, a small dresser seemed to double as an end table, and a bassinet- propped up on a stack of phone books and magazines where one of the legs was broken- sat on the other side. To the right was a door that presumably led to the washroom, and a flimsy accordion door, left half open to reveal a closet, which contained a single broom. To the left, a kitchenette with a stove, a small refrigerator, and a steadily dripping sink.

“Vi…”

“Please don’t. I… I know.”

Harry turned, taking in the water-stained ceiling, the peeling wallpaper, the wind rattling the glass in the window. When he looked back at Violet, tears were streaming down her face.

“I can’t lose her, Harry. She’s the only family I have. Please don’t-”

“Oh, Violet…” He slipped his arms around her.

She stiffened at first, but just for a moment.

“Let me help you. Please.”

“You’ve already done so much, I can’t ask you to-”

“You’re not the one asking. I am. Vi, I have a place of my own, a spare room with a warm bed. You’re my friend, and I can’t let you live like this, especially not when there’s a child involved.”

“We haven’t seen each other for nearly six years, Harry.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re my friend. If something were to happen to you, or, god forbid, to Gwen… Please, Vi.”

She sniffled, looking down at the baby, who had finally fallen asleep. “Alright. Alright.”

He squeezed her hands. “Let’s get your things gathered up, yeah? I was going to my mum’s, I know she’d be happy to see you, and I think she still has some of mine and Gemma’s baby things. We’ll get a good meal in you, get you set up with anything you need.”

Violet nodded, quietly resigned to accepting his help. From the closet, she produced a backpack and the old duffle bag Harry knew had once carried her pointe shoes and leotards. He couldn't help the pang of anger he felt, watching her move about the small space, gathering her meager possessions. Had her parents been so cruel as to deny her her own clothes, her beloved books, her childhood mementos? Nearly everything in the flat seemed to be at least second hand, and he suspected that the sofa and dresser had come with the place.

It only took a few minutes for them to pack the bags, mostly with Gwen's clothes and other baby supplies.

Harry picked up the backpack and slung the duffle bag over his shoulder. “Is that everything?”

Violet nodded, chewing nervously at her fingernails.

“Come on, then.” He held out his hand.

She took it and offered a small weary smile as he led her back down to the lobby. She paused for a moment to drop the yellow paper and her key on the table, then hurried to the door.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, you know. We can just tell Mum that you’re staying with me for a little while and leave it at that,” Harry assured as he once again opened the car door for her.

“That would probably be best.” She climbed into the car, rubbing Gwen's back soothingly.

They were both quiet for a while, Violet resting her head against the window as Harry navigated through the city. The rain was coming down harder, and the subtle electric buzz of an impending thunderstorm was in the air. It wasn't until they were on a quieter, more suburban street that Harry spoke again.

“I'm always here to listen, if you want to talk.”

“There’s really not much to say.”

“Still… You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again, if I have anything to say about it.”

She glanced over at him. “Why are you doing all this, Harry?”

He sighed.

Because I was in love with you. Because I might still be. Because I know you wouldn't have put yourself in this position willingly.

“Because I care about you.”

She fell silent again, turning back to the window.

Harry pulled into the driveway just as the first bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.

“Oh, please don’t wake up now,” Violet whispered, trying to soothe the startled baby.

Harry hurried to grab the groceries and Violet’s backpack, into which they’d packed Gwen’s things, and made his way to the passenger side. He shrugged his jacket off, draping it over Violet’s shoulders as Gwen wailed miserably. “That’s an impressive set of lungs she’s got. Come on, let’s get you inside before-”

“There you are! Harry, I was beginning to worry- And… oh my days, Violet Warren?” Anne stood in the doorway, tea towel in hand. “Come in, come in, before you catch cold.”

She ushered them inside, giving Harry a quick hug before turning to Violet.

“Oh, Violet, it’s so good to see you, dear. And who is this little one?”

Violet blushed, still trying to calm the baby. “Oh, i- it’s nice to see you too. Er, this is Gwen, my daughter. I’m sorry, it’s a bit past the time she’d normally eat, she’s not normally this fussy.”

“You’re alright dear. I can see about warming up a bottle, or if you just need a private place, you’re welcome to use the bedroom.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you, Anne.”

She smiled. “It’s no trouble. Just down the hall and to the left, dear.”

Violet nodded appreciatively and disappeared down the hall.

“I hope you don’t mind my bringing her,” Harry said softly, following Anne into the kitchen. “I ran into her at the shops, and…”

“It’s perfectly alright, love. I’ve always been fond of her. The poor dear, I’d heard that she’d had a falling out with her parents, but…” She shook her head sadly.

“Actually, that’s sort of why she’s with me.”

“Oh?”

“I offered her a lift home from the shop…” He paused, trying to stop the tears that were quickly forming in his eyes. “She’s been living in the most horrible little flat. I mean, it wasn’t fit for wild animals, let alone people.”

“Was it a counsel flat? Surely there should be someone checking in, making sure it’s safe?”

“I doubt it, if the eviction notice on her door was any indication. Do you need any help?”

Anne shook her head, filling the tea kettle and switching it on. “No, no. Dinner will be ready soon, you just sit down, your sister should be here soon, and then we can eat. She was being evicted?”

Harry sat at the kitchen table, running a hand through his hair. “I guess so. I didn’t think twice about it, I just asked her to stay with me. It took a bit of convincing, but she agreed.” He glanced up and, upon seeing his mother's bemused expression, added, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I just think it’s sweet that you still care about her so much.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t let her keep living like that, or worse.” He paused. “Do you still have my old cot? Little Gwen is going to need a place to sleep, and on such short notice…”

“It should be up in the attic. The frame and the mattress should be up there, and the changing table. I think there’s a box with blankets and things… Please don’t tell me you drove all the way here without a car seat for her.”

He wilted a bit. “Well…”

Anne sighed. “There should be one up there, as well. I’ll help you bring everything down.”

“I’ve got it, Mum. You just stay here and make sure Vi’s alright, yeah?”

“Alright, dear.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “But be careful, just because things are disassembled doesn’t mean they aren’t heavy.”

“I will, don’t worry,” He said, already heading for the stairs.

By the time Harry came back down with the first load of baby furniture, Gemma had arrived and joined their mother and Violet in the kitchen.

“-should be very proud of him.”

“Oh, we are. Though I can't say I'm surprised, he always had a soft spot for you, dear.”

Gemma laughed. “He was absolutely in love.”

He blushed, hurrying out to the car before he overheard any more of their reminiscing.

In the kitchen, Violet sat, sipping from a large cup of chamomile tea while Anne and Gemma fussed over the baby.

“I can't get over her hair,” Anne cooed, gingerly stroking Gwen's wispy auburn curls. “She looks just like you, dear.”

Violet offered a small smile, glancing up as Harry entered the room.

"I found the old travel cot, and I've got everything else loaded in the car. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were hoping to pass all this down to one of us, Mum " He teased, setting the cot up by Violet’s seat.

“One can only hope,” she said with a laugh. “For now though, I'm happy to see it all put to good use.”

“Thank you so much, Anne. You don't know how much this means to me,” Violet said.

Anne smiled and rubbed her shoulder tenderly. “No need to thank me, dear. I'd rather it be put to use than have it sitting up there collecting dust.”

Violet smiled and stood, gently laying Gwen in the cot.

“Now then, why don't you set the table, Harry- and Gemma, would you mind helping me put the finishing touches on the roast?”

Violet moved to help Harry, gathering plates from the cupboard.

“You don’t have to help, you know. You're a guest.”

She leveled her eyes at him from across the table. “I like to feel useful.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

Dinner was a quiet matter. Most of the conversation came from Anne and Gemma asking Harry about the tour, which Violet was glad for. She'd never been very good at making conversation–a side effect of her sheltered upbringing–and she was still quite overwhelmed by the day's events.

How strange it is, she thought, to be sitting here, listening to him talk about all the wonderful places he's been.

As a teenager, she’d longed to be able to talk to him without the imposing presence of her mother. He was one of the few people at school to be outwardly nice to her, rather than pretending she just didn't exist. She was sure that her mother had picked up on the schoolgirl crush she'd developed for him, if the smug look she wore for weeks after he'd gone off to be on X Factor was any indication.

“Well, he's headed for a life of sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” she'd said. “And that's exactly why your father and I wish you'd give up all this art nonsense. You're a bright young lady, it would be a crime to waste your potential like that.”

Maybe she was right.

“–Violet?”

She jumped, startled.

“Everything alright, love,” Anne asked.

“I- yes, I was just… lost in thought.” She blushed.

Anne gave her a tender smile, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “Would anyone like some more potatoes?”

“No, thank you,” Violet mumbled.

“I suppose you three should be headed home soon. It's been a long day.”

Harry stood. “Are you sure you don't want me to-”

“Harry,” Anne said softly, taking his plate. “Go home, love.”

He smiled. “Yes, Mum.”

After giving both his mother and sister a hug, he folded up the travel cot and took Violet’s backpack.

“Shall we?”

Violet nodded, cradling a still sleeping Gwen in her arms. “Thank you again, Anne. I really can't thank you enough.”

“You don't need to thank me at all, love. You're family, and you're always welcome here.” She gave Violet a kiss on the cheek before turning to her son. “You be careful on the way home. You've got precious cargo.”

“I will.” He kissed her cheek and ushered Violet back to the car.

The rain had stopped by then, and as she bent to secure Gwen in the car seat, the light of the setting sun made Violet’s hair glow like a curtain of fire.

Harry shook his head as if to dislodge the thought. “All set, then?”

Violet nodded, rubbing at her temples.

“Let's get you home.”

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Harry mumbled as he led Violet into his house. “Haven't had time to unpack yet.”

“It's alright. I can help you, if you'd like.”

He chuckled, motioning for her to follow him upstairs. “Should probably get you two set up, first. First door on the left is my room, we'll put you across the hall.”

He opened the door, stepping back to let her enter first.

Violet’s eyes went wide as she stepped into the spacious room. “A canopy bed?”

Harry shrugged. “I set this room up for Mum before she moved. She said it made her feel like a princess.”

“I can imagine…”

Harry set her bags down on the bed. “That door's the closet- there's spare sheets on the shelf- the other's the washroom. Should be clean towels in the cabinet.” He looked around. “Why don't you start unpacking while I bring the crib in?”

Violet nodded, still processing that this room would be hers. Two large windows overlooked the garden, with sheer curtains—cream with spring green embroidery—that matched the duvet's colors. She perched hesitantly on the bed. The wallpaper's faint trellis pattern added to the room's gentle femininity, though the pale green bedding gave it a slightly clinical feel. Still, she couldn't deny it was a beautiful room, far nicer than she felt she deserved.

“Well, I suppose we should get our things sorted,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to Gwen’s forehead as she adjusted the harness a bit.

As Harry brought up the disassembled crib and changing table, Violet laid the contents of her bags out on the bed, sorting everything into neat piles.

“Should be some hangers in the closet,” Harry said, eyeing the small array sadly. Seeing it all laid out like this, it struck him how little they really had. Most of it was Gwen’s- her little clothes, baby shampoo, swaddling blankets- Violet had a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, soap, and little else.

Not anymore, he thought. From now on, they’ll have everything they need, and more.

“I think I’m going to give her a bath, unless you need my help?”

He looked up. “No, I’ve got it.”

Violet smiled, scooping up Gwen and carrying her to the bathroom, leaving Harry to the furniture assembly.

“There we are, little love, fresh and clean and ready for bed,” Violet cooed as she stepped back into the bedroom.

Harry looked up, setting aside the instruction booklet for the changing table. “The cot’s all set. Oh, look at you in your little duckie jim-jams,” he murmured, reaching to stroke the baby's cheek.

Gwen gurgled happily from her mother’s arms, her tiny hand wrapping around his finger.

Violet’s heart ached at the sight. “She must really like you.”

He grinned down at the baby. “The feeling’s mutual.” He turned back to Violet, hoping she didn’t notice the tears in his eyes. “I’m almost done with the changing table. If you’d like to take a shower, I can keep an eye on her for you.”

“That… That would be very nice, thank you,” she said, gently laying Gwen in the cot.

“’S no trouble.” Harry offered a lopsided grin. “Besides, I’m sure you’d like to relax a bit. It’s been a long day.”

“That it has,” she agreed, taking her pyjamas from the bed.

She stepped into the bathroom, flicked the light off, and turned the shower on. In the dark, with tendrils of steam curling up around her, she sank to the floor. The cleansing heat of the water melted away the tension in her body, if only for a moment, and she began to cry.

“I failed,” **she mumbled, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I couldn’t even care for my own daughter. And now… now I'm here, taking advantage of poor Harry.”

She brought her fists down on her thighs, two sharp strikes to the already bruised flesh. It hurt more there—a long-winded, throbbing ache that reared its head every time she took a step—than her mother's quick slaps ever had.

Slowly, she dragged herself to her feet, taking up a flannel and the bar of soap.

“Your mummy loves you so much, little one,” Harry murmured, gazing down at the infant, who had once again wrapped her tiny hand around his finger with remarkable strength. “She's so brave… soon you'll get to know the bright girl that I remember. I promise, I'm gonna help you both in any way I can.”

The bathroom door opened, and he looked up with a smile. “She's almost asleep.”

Violet—flushed pink from the hot water and dressed in button-up pyjamas—crept over, smiling when she saw how Gwen was clinging to his finger. “She's not usually so fond of strangers,” she whispered. “When I had our neighbor, old Mrs. Thomas, watch her for a little while, she put up such a fuss…”

Harry looked back at the baby, trying to ignore the fluttering of his heart as Violet’s arm brushed against his. “I suppose you're both tired.” Carefully, he slipped his hand from Gwen's grasp. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

For a moment, she half expected him to lean down and press his lips to her forehead—but, of course, he didn't.

“I'll, er, I'll be across the hall,” he mumbled, hurrying out of the room as if he'd been burned.

Harry lay in his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, for what must have been hours.

He'd nearly kissed her.

Standing there, her hair falling in damp curls halfway down her back, she'd been so beautiful. The sight would have driven his teenaged self mad with want, but now…

Now he wanted to hold her, to comfort her.

He knew, however, that this was not the time.

She'd made it clear that she felt she owed him, and he wouldn't take advantage of that, intentionally or not–especially when he could tell that there was more to her story than what she'd shared.

He sighed and glanced at his alarm clock, which kindly informed him that it was nearly midnight. His fingers itched for the journal on his nightstand, desperate to jot down the half-formed lyrics that buzzed in his brain like an infestation of lovesick honeybees.

That's when he heard it–Gwen crying.

It was faint at first, but quickly built to proper wailing.

He waited for a moment before stuffing his feet into his slippers and pulling a blanket over his shoulders.

Weary from the day's events, he didn't think twice before opening the door to Violet’s room, though he instantly regretted it.

She was on the bed, her pyjama top unbuttoned, tears streaming down her face as she cradled Gwen in her arms. When she heard the door, she froze, looking up at him like a deer in the headlights.

“S- sorry, I-”

She hurried to cover herself. “I didn't mean to wake you-”

“No, I was already awake, I just… I'm sorry, I should have knocked. I just heard her crying and thought I should check on you.” He averted his eyes, but his face was burning. “Do you… need anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Harry nodded, backing away and closing her door as quietly as possible.

“Damnit,” he hissed, returning to his own bed.

For a brief moment, before she'd detected his presence, they'd looked almost like a painting–a modern Madonna and child, both dressed in threadbare pyjamas and bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. But the moment she noticed him, fear had flashed in her eyes.

#harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #harry styles fanfiction #gigi writes #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine

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ellieluvr420 · 1 year ago

Text

Friends? Never. Pt.1 (Ellie Williams x reader)

SYNOPSIS: You and Ellie had been bitter enemies for years now but before that you were best friends. You had always planned to be roommates one day but when that becomes a reality the situation isn't exactly how you both imagined it.

New fic alert? Can you tell I've got a thing for the enemies to lovers trope? Sorryyyyyy. I have loads of ideas for so many stories but this one made me too excited :D I can’t tell if the writing in this is ass but i’m just setting things up hold out hope for me people…

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Ellie opens the door of her new home only to see you, her least favourite person in Jackson, standing at her door with your suitcase in hand.

"No no no no no no no." You say as you immediately start walking away from her. You keep walking until you see Maria walking towards you.

"Don't even start-" She already knows what you're going to say.

"I am not fucking living with her Maria."

"Didn't I tell you not to start? You're wasting your breath anyway, this is the only way we can accommodate all the new arrivals."

"Why do you hate me?" You groan and she spins you around immediately marching you back to your new home.

"I don't, but you and Ellie are a pain in my ass, maybe make the most of it and try and get along hm?" She keeps you held firmly at the front door as she knocks three times.

"Back for more alrea-" Ellie pauses as she sees Maria standing there with a stern look on her face, she pushes you through the door and smiles.

"Enjoy setting up!" She calls over her shoulder and you're sure you hear her laugh.

"Fuck my life." You push past Ellie, bumping her hard enough that she stumbles slightly. You storm off upstairs to find your room huffing at your new reality.

You're unpacking all your belongings when you notice her standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. "Are you just gonna keep staring at me like a creep?"

"Are you gay?"

"Pardon?" You scoff at her bluntness but your heart was beating a mile a minute, you knew it wasn't a big deal, she's a lesbian herself, but for some reason you still found coming out to people so difficult. Your parents hadn't taken it well which is how you found yourself living on your own... well, with Ellie. You breathe in and regain your composure, turning to her and flashing a coy smirk. "Why do you want to know Williams? Got a little crush on me?"

"Ha! You wish. Just wondered seeing as you're nineteen and have never once even held a guys hand."

"Didn't realise you paid so much attention to me, should I be worried I have a stalker?" She rolls her eyes at you obviously avoiding her question. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, just trying to figure out if I should be worried about you getting a crush on me and going all crazy."

You walk over to her until there's only inches between you. "You're so arrogant." You bump her in the shoulder and she stumbles as you walk past her towards the kitchen. "You're also not my type... at all." You call over her shoulder missing the look of bewilderment on her face.

"Wait... so you are?" Ellie calls as she follows you to the kitchen. She's close behind you as you march away until you stop dead in your tracks causing her to bump into you.

"If you must know Ellie, yes I am."

"Oh." Ellie felt her heart clench a little for you as she knows how unaccepting your parents are, that's why you stopped being friends all those years ago after all.

You had met Ellie on the first day she arrived in Jackson, she looked tired and a little gaunt but you still felt butterflies in your stomach when you laid eyes on her for the first time. You remember seeing her walk in and hand a gun she kept in the back of her jeans to Maria, you were gobsmacked because she looked the same age as you and you couldn't imagine holding, let alone using, a gun. You had been born in Jackson, only ever leaving to go on patrol in the last couple years so 14 year old you found the girl all the more intriguing. You had watched her from a distance as Joel spoke to your dad, you still remember the feeling of your stomach dropping when she looked up to see you spying on her. You hadn't spoken to her until later that evening when Joel and her had come to yours for dinner. It was awkward at first but when she saw your record player and limited vinyl collection, the ice thawed quickly, you became inseparable until your parents started taking an issue with your friendship with her, you never understood why they stopped you seeing her and stopped seeing Joel until two years ago when you told them you were a lesbian. Ellie had always known that they were homophobic but it still hurt when they stopped you seeing her, she saw red any time she was near you because she was so hurt that you could cut her out of your life just like that and within a couple months you were bitter rivals that couldn't share a nice word with the other. Her hatred for you was so overwhelming that it forced her to stop being so awkward around people because she was so focused on throwing as many insults your way as possible that her nerves when speaking to others dissipated.

Now, as you stand in the kitchen staring at her leaning on the doorframe you felt a pang of guilt for how you had treated her although it quickly disappeared the second she opened her beautiful mouth.

"Well er... you're not my type either so don't get any ideas." You laugh at the awkwardness of her statement knowing why she suddenly lost confidence in herself.

"Thanks for the clarification." You roll your eyes before busying yourself getting a glass of water, it was the middle of summer so all the moving and unpacking was making you feel severely dehydrated. Ellie watched as you gulped down the water, noting how a couple drops fall down onto your white tank top. She dragged her eyes away from you and cleared her throat.

"Well now we've established the feelings mutual we can go back to never speaking again. Or are you going to bother me constantly with small talk?"

"Oh believe me you have nothing to worry about on my end." You refill the glass again and walk over to her. "And if I'm remembering correctly you're the one that came and spoke to me, so I could ask you the same thing, no?" You jab a finger into her chest as you speak emphasising your point. "Now if you'll excuse me I need to go wash this finger of your germs and finish unpacking." You push past her once again and she scoffs as you walk away back upstairs without looking back at her.

You continue unpacking methodically until everything is put away neatly and your decorations are in their new designated homes. As you collapse onto the bed picking up the book you were reading at the moment from your bedside table you breathe a sigh of relief at the breeze making its way through your open window. Your shared cabin was right on the outskirts of Jackson so your view was the beautiful woods that lined the north west section of the wall, as you looked at the greenery that was reflecting glittering spots of sunlight you reminisced on the times you and Ellie had spent in the woods when you were friends. You're interrupted from your thoughts by the growling of your stomach that prompts you to sneak back to the kitchen.

"Fuck's sake." You mutter under your breath as you walk into the kitchen only to be greeted by Ellie leaning on the counter savaging a bowl of cereal.

"You know you're spilling more of that down your shirt than you're getting in your mouth right?" Ellie looks down at her t-shirt only to see that you were correct when you said she was spilling milk down herself, she huffs and continues eating, this time being more careful as she brings the bowl right to her mouth.

"I thought I made it clear I didn't want to talk to you and yet... here you are talking to me." She mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. You roll your eyes and open the fridge only to see the leftovers you had put in there earlier were gone. You take a deep breath before spinning to give Ellie the dirtiest of looks.

"Are you fucking kidding me? That's the only food I had until I go out tomorrow. Why would you eat it?"

"Oh was that yours? My bad I got hungry earlier, it was really good though you gotta make me some more of that sometime." She smiles sweetly and your face twists into a scowl as you feel the rage boiling inside of you.

"Only we live here Ellie, if you're going to steal my food you could at least own it." You walk away and just before you leave the kitchen empty handed you turn back slightly. "Pussy." You go to walk away until you feel a hand enclose around your arm yanking you backwards. She pushes you up against the wall and leans her body weight on you so you can't move, relishing in your struggle.

"Say that again bitch, I dare you." Her eyes are dark and cold only mirroring yours, a devilish grin appears on your face as you lean in closer to her.

"You're a pussy Williams... and you don't scare me." You push her off with all your strength and rush away from her before slamming your door so hard you're shocked it doesn't come off the hinges. You pace around your room muttering and cursing Ellie before you stop, realising you actually have to live with her for the foreseeable future, every time you looked at her all you could think of is the screaming matches you endured with your parents when they banned you from seeing her and the look of defeat on her face as you ignored her for the first time when she came over to you while you were out with your parents, the nausea you were feeling only grew as the memory of when you came out to your parents flashes through your mind as it does multiple times throughout the day. You grab your book and begin reading once again trying to rid yourself of all these memories that Ellie was bringing up. As you finally feel the nausea calming there are three forceful knocks on your door that you ignore reflexively.

"You gonna open the door or what?" Ellie's voice is muffled but clear enough to make out what she's saying.

"No. Fuck off Ellie!" Ellie rolls her eyes before knocking harder this time and she doesn't stop, she continuously bangs on your door until you throw your book down in frustration to storm over to the source of your irritation. As you yank the door open you're greeted by a smirking Ellie. "WHAT? What could you possibly want? You eat my food, you piss me off, you pin me against a fucking wall, what do you want now Ellie?"

Ellie is taken aback by your harsh tone, typically it had a hint of playfulness to it but now you just sounded angry. She gulped before regaining her standoffish demeanour. "Calm down sweetie."

You scoff and go to slam the door in her face but her hand stops you and pushes the door back so hard you stumble backwards with it, you huff and walk away dropping down onto your bed once again.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure whatever. You're gonna do what you want anyway." She stuffs her hands into her front pockets and walks in as she looks at all the decorations in your room before plopping down on your bed sitting directly on your feet. You snatch them away with a huff as you grit your teeth and curl up to put as much distance between you two.

"What... do you want Williams?"

"Nothing really. Just wanted to see your room. It's very... you."

"Mm and I'm sure yours looks like a squatters pit." You smile smugly at her as she rolls her eyes, your face drops as she turns and eyes the book on your bedside table with a smirk.

"You read romance?" She stifles a laugh poorly.

"Yes and what? Can you even read?" She chuckles and you mumble under your breath "idiot"

"Wow you really are a virgin aren't you?" You eyes flash up at her as your eyebrows knit together and your face turns to a grimace.

"Why do you assume I'm a virgin because I read romance? Maybe I just enjoy it."

"Ha! Right. I'm assuming you're a virgin because only virgins read romance books." You kick at her and she grabs your sock-covered foot stopping you in your tracks.

"Oh my god Ellie can you go away!"

"No no, not just yet. My curiosity is piqued about this book now." Before you can stop her she's reaching for the book and standing up while flicking through some pages.

"Wait, No Ellie don't." She holds it above your head as you stand, you try and snatch it from her once but it's too far out of your reach, panic takes over as she opens it above her head and begins reading aloud. "Ellie fucking stop!"

"Why? It's just a romance book right? Nothing too... inappropriate." Your cheeks heat and the familiar rage comes back in full force, you look down at her feet and stomp on the left one as hard as you can, she yelps and drops her arms which allows you to grab the book from her grasp and you immediately rush out of your room and into the bathroom, locking the door behind you with a triumphant smile.

"Ow you bitch!" You hear Ellie call after you. As you eye the bathtub you decide now is the perfect time to relax in the tub so you can escape Ellie for awhile and read your book in peace.

You stay in the bath until the sun has completely set and the room is bathed in a silvery glow from the moonlight, you guess you were in there for at least an hour but as you start to shiver from the cooling water you decide to finally leave your refuge. As you climb out of the bath you're horrified when you realise your towel is still in your room.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You had to walk past Ellie's room to get to yours but ultimately you decide you'd have to risk it, you unlock the door and peak out into the hallway to see its empty, you edge the door open and begin quickly creeping to your room, you're almost there but as you go to walk past Ellie's room she walks out at the exact same time walking straight into your naked form.

"AGH OH MY GOD!" Your hands immediately attempt to cover your dignity but its an almost failed attempt as you notice her looking you up and down. "DON'T FUCKING LOOK!" You scream as you run past her to your room so quickly your feet slip a little. You hear her cackling in the hallway as you lean with your back against the door in utter disbelief. "No no noooo that did not just happen." You mumble to yourself as you run a hand over your face.

You try to put the embarrassment past you as you settle into bed before passing out from the sheer exhaustion of the day.

#ellie x reader #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

Note

this idea came to me when I wanted to go to bed so imagine bradley at the hard deck wearing his usual hawaiian shirts and he bumps into a girl in a dress with the exact same design as his shirt like it's fate😭 and then after they start dating they always match🥹

THIS IS SO CUTE ??

The material that Bradley's hand brushes against is soft, but he doesn't pay much attention to it until he can see it. He stops in his tracks, offering you a sincere, "Sorry," when he's jostled from his left and rams into you on his right. You turn to glance at him over your shoulder, and you register each others' outfits at the same time, all owlish blinks and hitched breaths.

Bradley speaks first, a murmured, 'Oh-' but you're hot on his trail, an incredulous laugh escaping your lips.

You're wearing the same thing.

Bradley's sporting a faded old Hawaiian shirt, but it's unmistakably the same patterned fabric that your dress is made from. The green on his shirt was a lot brighter when he'd plucked it out of his dad's closet almost ten years ago, but yours is more vibrant, reminding him of a photo of him and his dad that lays in the drawer of his nightstand.

"I like your shirt," You grin at him, and he wonders if the glimmer in your eyes is always there, or only when you've got a drink in hand. It's pretty, he thinks, he hopes it's not temporary.

"I like your dress," He teases, swallowing what he doesn't want to admit is the beginnings of a lump in his throat, "Where'd you get it?"

"I found it at a thrift shop," You admit, reaching out to tug at the open panel of his shirt, "What about you?"

"It was my dad's," He grins, taking one step closer to you so that you're not so much reaching out for him as you are reaching up, "If he'd known there was a matching dress, he would have bought one for my mom."

"That's sweet!" You gush, and he notices whether you want him to or not, that you haven't let go of his shirt yet, "I like it when husbands match with their wives, I think it makes a good man."

"-And that's- that's why he's got that dumbass tie on," Fanboy concludes, words coming out slurred with laughter, "'Cause- cause three years ago she said it'd make him a good man."

"It's not dumb," Bob pipes up with a kind smile, eyeing Bradley's tie and your matching hair tie, a scrunchie made from the same fabric. You'd had to sacrifice your dress to fashion your accessories, but you're wearing maternity clothing now, and you likely won't be able to fit into it afterwards, anyways. It's a thing of the past, but you'd thought it unbearable not to incorporate the reason you'd gotten together with Bradley in the first place into your wedding.

"I don't care if he thinks it's dumb," Bradley drawls, his hand growing clammy from where it's been clutching yours beneath the table for almost an hour now, though he makes no move to break the embrace, "He thinks deodorant is dumb, too, and I can smell him from here."

"I'd watch what you say, Fanboy," Phoenix warns, "They made a onesie for the baby out of that dress, too, and if you keep running your mouth they might not let you hold her."

"He's not gettin' a chance to hold her anyways," Jake vows, "Kid's gonna love me so much she won't want me to put her down."

"You usually have the opposite effect on women," Bradley reminds him, "But the only ones I'll trust to hold her are Phoenix and Bob."

"No fair! I've got nieces and nephews," Jake protests, slightly more invested than normal thanks to the wine he's been nursing, his cheeks growing rosy with each sip, "I'm great with 'em."

"You throw those kids around like they're basketballs," Bradley scoffs, "And I'm not letting you give my baby brain damage, Hangman. I've gotta make sure she's smarter than you."

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eowynstwin · 1 year ago

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There has been more than enough drama about this whole situation so I will be as direct and concise as I can. This will be my last post about the matter regarding Myka/codslut. This will likely be my last post on this blog period.

This fandom community has crucified me over a story that has fallen apart over what I can only describe as the lightest scrutiny. FOIA requests, when expedited, have a ten day window to be granted, not a twelve hour window, and normally take months to even years to grant. Americans do not call small towns villages. Crisis workers do not have unfettered, immediate access to clients' personal information, let alone that of complete strangers on the internet.

I am not exaggerating when I say I have feared for my safety for the past week. The three people who have lead the charge against me have slandered, harassed, and outright stalked me—keeping track of posts I've made and deleted, changes I've made to my directory, and even the time between posts I have made. I have genuinely feared that the next step these people were going to take would be to search both of my blogs (because I have not, in the past, been very concerned about hiding my main) for my personal information in order to dox me.

I believe this campaign has been racist ("gaz erasure my ass") and ableist in nature. I believe my being autistic—and my trouble communicating in a way that could satisfy the aforementioned people this entire week—has played a part in the way this fandom has victimized me.

I believe in particular that sheheal has a personal vendetta against me, although I do not know why. I believe that their claim that they must leave their blog up as "evidence" is false—I believe they are keeping it active in order that it should always be digitally connected to me, and thus risk my safety and peace in whatever online space I choose to be in next. I am entertaining the belief that she even intends for it to follow me in real life, although that may be more paranoia than possibility.

I am aware of the mistakes I have made. I regret them. I am sorry for them. If what has happened to me is representative of what happened to Myka, I have nothing but empathy for her. Even before this happened, I would not wish this on anyone. I do not believe that dogpiling is justice, and have fought against it when I have seen it happening in this fandom in the past. I did not and do not want this to happen to anyone, ever, no matter their sins.

I want to extend a gratitude I find difficult to express the depth of to everyone who reached out to check on me. I especially want to thank Early for being the first person to stick their neck out for me, and for everything after. I hope to be friends with you all for a long time. You mean more to me than you know. You have made a lonely and difficult week feel less lonely and difficult.

I do not want to be a part of this fandom anymore. I have poured over a year and a half of work and creative energy into this community and it has meant nothing. I have loved this community and it has meant nothing. I have fought for this community and it has meant nothing.

If fandom was ever a safe space, it is not anymore. It is not safe for those affected by racism and it is not safe for those affected by disability. It is not safe for anyone who makes mistakes. It is not safe for me, and reader, it is not safe for you. I did not think this would happen to me. Do not make the mistake of thinking this won't happen to you.

#the fuckening

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randomshyperson · 1 year ago

Text

R U Mine? - Heart Shaped Series

Chapter Summary: A game of cat and mouse begins between an Avenger and a criminal. But perhaps there are no winners, as they both fall.

Warnings: mentions of typical canon violence, hints of abusive past and unhealthy work dynamics, some superhero routine lore, more shapeshifter power mentions, mutual pining, forbidden relationship, some teasing, (first) kiss and then a lot of kisses and steamy make out, some fluff and comedy. | Words: 6.965K

A/N-> How many references to Killing Eve can one put in a story. And also, references to the Witch's Road comics. This here is the extra chapter about their first kiss, enjoy reading.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Series Masterlist

-&-

Before.

"I know what you're doing."

Three weeks prior, Natasha's sentence would have made her jump with fright. Perhaps she would have tried to hide all those files and lie and lie again, until she could convince herself the whole thing was about the job.

But today? Wanda was tired. She had spent the last few hours stumbling into dead ends, no progress on whatever she was trying to do with all that vague information Shield had on you.

So she lifted her face to the redhead who appeared in her room late at night, two cups of coffee in hand, and chuckled weakly at the statement. It was obvious that the drink was an invitation - perhaps even a sign of 'hey, I'm not trying to start a fight. I want to help,' and Wanda accepted without hesitation.

"It's not like I'm doing a good job of keeping it a secret." She retorts to Nat, who smiles before taking the empty space on the bed. Practically all the Shield files - now labeled Avengers - about you are scattered on the mattress. It's a mess, and to Nat, it makes sense that Wanda hasn't made much progress.

"To be fair, for a first-time Investigation, I think you're doing all right." Says the widow after a sip of her coffee. "You covered your tracks and even used an official justification for researching her. Your mistake was involving Vision."

Wanda sighs. "Let me guess, he talks under pressure?"

Nat chuckles, nodding. Wanda rubs a tension point on her forehead. Taking advantage of this, Natasha gestures to one of the files. "I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't do, Maximoff. But this doesn't seem very healthy."

Wanda gives a sad smile, and Nat expects her to defend herself. But instead, the smaller girl sighs. "I know." She murmurs sincerely, forcing a faint smile at the widow. "But I need this, Nat. It's the first time in months that I've managed to think about anything other than Pietro. And I know it doesn't look healthy, but it's all I've got. I'm an Avenger now. Maybe it's just time to get to work, and arrest villains or something."

Natasha frowned at her, absorbing the confession for a moment before rebutting: "Is that what you want to do with Y/N, though? Lock her up?"

Wanda swallows dryly, looking down. "Of course, Nat."

"You're a terrible liar."

The brunette sighs. "I mean it!"

"And I don't believe you." Nat insists in a good mood despite everything. "Look at all this, Wanda. You've been at it for days. Studying her. Did you even remember to eat anything in the last few hours?" Wanda snorts, gesturing to the breakfast leftovers on the dresser in the corner of the room which makes Natasha let out an incredulous laugh. "Wow, a nutritious example you are."

The witch tosses her hair back. "If you've come here to try to babysit me, please leave."

Natasha rolled her eyes and ignored the other woman's stubbornness. She put her coffee down between her crossed legs and started organizing the files.

"You're naturally perceptive and clever, Maximoff. But you lack experience and practice. You need to put together a timeline and find the gaps." The widow began, and masterfully, all the security camera photos, reports from shield agents, and unexplained crimes related to thieves with no identifiable faces began to connect and make sense. "But I must warn you, I did all this years ago. When I started at Shield, your little friend was already some sort of the goose that laid the golden eggs, or stole the gold for the saying to work."

"She's not my friend." Wanda murmured, her gaze fixed on the files so Natasha wouldn't see her blush. The widow ignored the comment and continued talking.

"My point is that I didn't get very far." Nat says with a sigh. "To be honest, it was an insult to my ego. She was just a kid back there. And she managed to flee much more experienced agents. She had endless, untraceable disguises. She doesn't need to impersonate, you know? She can create faces. It makes her almost impossible to monitor. When we met for the first time, it was she who found me." Nat says, swallowing dryly at her own memories. Wanda's eyes widen softly, listening carefully. "I never told this to anyone, but when Clint first met me, he told me that he felt something. As if he knew I wanted to escape. And when I saw Y/N, I had the same feeling."

"What did you do?" Wanda asked and Nat sighed.

"I couldn't do what Clitn did for me, Wanda, I'm sorry." Said the widow sincerely. "She attacked first. And I had to defend myself. It wasn't just protocol, it was all I'd learned to do."

Wanda frowns. "Why are you telling me all this, Nat?"

The redhead sighs. "Because it's important. It means that she doesn't trust easily, and attacks when she feels threatened. She reminds me of both of us, to be honest." Nat comments, getting a small smile from the witch. "Besides, I want you to be really careful if you do dig into this."

"I will."

"I'm serious, Wanda." Insists the redhead. "Careful not to miss a gun hidden in her dress." She remembers the last official report Wanda made, regarding her first mission, the night she simply couldn't stop thinking about, especially after your secret vision to the compound, and the witch swallows dryly. Nat doesn't mind her hesitation. "Careful in a way that you'll use your powers if necessary."

Without looking the widow in the eye, Wanda retorts between her teeth: "I get it, Nat."

"You're not going to carry this on until you look me in the eye, Maximoff. And swear it."

Wanda's stubbornness falters, and she returns her attention to the widow, looking at her seriously. Nat gives her a small smile as she adds, "It's not just Clint who cares about your safety. We all do. I'm not going to allow you to throw yourself headlong into something dangerous just to escape your grief, Wanda. Swear that you'll be very careful, and you'll walk away if it gets too dangerous."

Wanda is surprised by the tenderness, and a little embarrassed. It takes a moment but she finally nods. "I swear." She says before adding. "I want to help Y/N. Like Clint helped you. Not lock her up, like I said before."

Natasha chuckles. "I know, kid. I know."

With the Black Widow’s blessing, she kept digging those files. And Nat didn't lie, you're untraceable. Every time you meet, it's clear that you've let yourself be found. Even with handcuffs on your wrist, you keep smiling as if it was all part of the plan. Judging by the way you always escape from prisons, later going public that some confidential information for the police was stolen, this is easily confirmed.

The Avengers are getting used to the strange persecution, very much because each of them has their secrets. And just like his protégé, Steve Rogers had side missions to pursue Bucky. It would be hypocritical of him to hold anything against Wanda for being after you.

And Wanda couldn't stop. Even after hundreds of dead ends and ridiculous escapes. She had to meet you, and have less than five minutes in your presence with another twelve agents and the whole Avengers present every fortnight when they manage to track you only for you to escape again. She didn't know why, but she had the impression that you looked forward to these moments as much as she did.

Like a little private game of mouse and cat, only you and her were part of.

-&-

There are a hundred things to do in the Capital of Crime.

The most complete list of gambling games imaginable, right down to a mural of targets to be captured.

All these things are at your disposal, and all you can think about is the new addition to the Avengers team.

Wanda Maximoff was born in the country that fell from the sky around the same time that Baron Strucker was playing Pinky and the Brain with your cells in a secret laboratory of the now-destroyed Hydra. A Stark bomb made her an orphan, and after bouncing from orphanage to orphanage, often expelled for getting into trouble with her twin brother, Wanda embarked on protest groups in search of civil rights until she was finally recruited into a human experimentation program that turned her into an enhanced version of herself. She was the only reason for the first time in your life that you wished you hadn't split with Strucker so soon - If you'd still been his puppy instead of the clients he got, you would have met her. You may have become friends.

"She's doing it again." Xu Xialing whispered to Layla, the two engaged in a game of Beat the Hero - a competition of colored cards that contained electronic figures detailing the abilities of real-life superheroes. It was, in a way, training for possible battles in real life, where they learned about their enemies by playing. The two of them were sitting in opposite armchairs, while you were practically lying on the sofa, drinking with a lost look on your face. According to them, fantasizing for the tenth time in a row about the Avenger you met in Italia weeks ago.

Layla giggled when she saw your expression before turning her face to Xu Xialing again. "You know, they say Maximoff has psychic powers. Maybe Y/N is under a spell."

"A love spell, that is." Mocks the Chinese woman, getting a laugh from the other.

You only came out of your trance of thoughts about Wanda with the bell from the private room you were in. Your face changed before the curtain opened, and Xu Xialing was the first to look at the security guard entering, somewhat annoyed at having her private time playing games with friends interrupted.

"Forgive me for intruding, madam. The Countess is here and requests the Sage to join her." The man said, and Xialing nodded in understanding. She turned to you, but there was no need. With a soft leap from the sofa, you got to your feet and took one of Layla's cards from her pile - you threw it on the board and helped her win the game, taking the opportunity to leave the room while the two of them discussed whether the assisted victory had been fair or not.

The Golden Daggers Club was as packed and vibrant as ever. The next round of betting for the fights was due to start soon, and there were a lot of people shouting their bets to the judges, and joining the fight cages, so you had to make some effort to follow the venue's security guard into the special area of the place - where federal agents were given even more privacy to be around.

Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine was waiting for you alone, but behind a door with six security guards guarding her. Each of them gave you a look of contempt, but you walked past them without any reaction until you were with Valentina in a room with no windows, every inch of which was covered in priceless works of art, many of them stolen throughout history, which you and Layla recovered together in the service of the Ten Rings.

"You wanted to see me, Countess?" was your greeting, softly snarky. You weren't in the best of moods, especially since Valentina had interrupted your rest.

The woman gave you a false smile from the armchair where she was sitting waiting for you. A closed file and a glass of wine lay on the corner table.

"Oh, what a surprise, after your last defeat, I thought you'd given up on Sage." She comments with a certain venom on your disguise, the same one you wore two weeks ago when you went on what she called a streak of bad luck in the Club's fighting competitions, but which Xu Xialing called a distracted lovesick puppy. You try to disguise your clumsiness by clearing your throat.

Checking that the door is closed, you return to your real appearance and Valentina gives you a small but genuine smile.

"What do you want?" you insist, and in response, she pats the file resting on the table. You sigh. "What's this?"

"Last month has been very busy, but I've finally had time to review some of your late missions reports." She begins and you hide your nervousness, knowing full well where this conversation could end. "I apologize for taking so long to check them, darling. I hope you don’t think I’m jeopardizing your learning progress."

"Stop stalling, Valentina, just tell me what the problem is." You retort grumpily but she chuckles, her fingers tracing the paper before she grabs the file.

“Normally, I trust your experience, but I've heard that you've been particularly... antsy in your last few operations. Of course, you've successfully made it out of all of them, after all, we're having this conversation, but for a master of disguise, the increased number of encounters with the Avengers attracted my curiosity. I thought I'd take a closer look at your original encounters with them, and found an interesting passage in your report on Italy two months ago."

The page is already marked and in the next moment, she begins to read;

"My exit was interrupted by the presence of a new Avenger. A woman, perhaps the same age as me. The new, improved one from Sokovia. Average height, brown hair. Green eyes. Intense. Hypnotizing."

You swallow dryly, looking down at your feet. You're grateful to have control over your own body, or Valentina would be able to watch your cheeks blush.

She continues reading. "We faced each other briefly. The girl doesn't have complete control of her abilities, it was a quick fight. I immobilized her and departed in the getaway vehicle. No disguise was compromised, no other witnesses." Valentina narrates, finally raising her eyes from the file to you. "You know what's funny, sweetheart? The Avengers submitted their own report on Sapienza, and Wanda Maximoff describes the encounter with a Shapeshifter in detail. My question is, why are you lying for someone who didn't hesitate to use her special abilities to show her team your real appearance?"

You're caught off guard. A conflict of emotions rises in your chest, from anger to disappointment. It hurts. It's confusing and suffocating, and you feel the urge to start crying. But none of these emotions floats over your expression, your nails digging into your palm are enough to keep everything well buried.

With a soft sigh, you look Valentina in the eye.

"I don't trust the CIA."

Your boss chuckles, closing the file and crossing her legs. It's not exactly her best lie, but it seems to work on her.

"If this is about the Hydra clean-up in the public sector, I can assure you that we're safe." Valentina says. "Besides, your job is to trust me, Y/N. Not the CIA, or the Ten Rings, or any of your contractors. Only me, dear child, must you trust."

You bite your tongue hard, tears almost escaping this time.

"I just..." You try, not knowing exactly what to say. "There was a conflict, and the girl, she beat me. Effortlessly. That energy she possesses revealed my disguise immediately, I had no chance to try another one. So I made a choice, and I omitted the part that I thought would do me any harm. Isn't that what you taught me to do?"

Right answer. Valentina grins, before sighing and standing up. You don't want her to touch you, but she puts her hands on your arms and you resist the urge to pull away.

"I'm proud of you, you're getting cleverer every day. I want you to be this way, Y/N. Strong-willed, resourceful." She compliments you, her hands moving up to your cheeks. You try to smile, but Valentina squeezes your skin tighter. "That doesn't mean you will lie to me. Understand?" She asks but doesn't expect a vocal response. Your nod is more than enough for her to give you a fake smile and loosen her grip. "You're my most valuable employee. I don't want you to put yourself in vulnerable situations without a reason."

Valentina steps away, and you decide to take a chance.

"She's like me." It's more hesitant than you'd like, but it's enough to make your boss raise an eyebrow at you. Swallowing dryly, you continue. "Wanda and her brother were also Strucker's experiments. We are the same. I thought I could-"

Valentina interrupts with a spiteful chuckle that makes you cringe like a frightened child. "The same? Is that what you think?" She retorts in a mocking tone that makes you feel too ashamed to even broach the subject. Leaning her waist on the table, she looks at you. "I know you've been digging through my files on her, Y/N. I don't blame you for being curious, but by now, I imagine you know very well the conditions of the experiments Miss Maximoff was part of. How she volunteered for all that. How can you say you're the same?"

You hesitate uneasily. "I don't mind that she volunteered. War called for desperate measures. I just... I've never met any other of us. Another who survived the Baron. I've been thinking if I could just see her-"

Valentina bursts into laughter, and you fall silent, concentrating so that she can't see your red ears. "See her? Now what's that, huh? Romeo and Juliet of the supers? What an absurd idea, child!" Refutes your boss, still chuckling as she walks away to the table. She finishes her glass of wine in one long gulp, and to your surprise, throws the file in your direction. You catch the item flat against your chest. "The notes the Avengers made about you are on page 24. Read what she said about you, and draw your own conclusions about who you call an equal. I came here to confirm your mental state, and this conversation was enlightening. I'll arrange an assessment."

"Val-"

"It’s not open for discussions Y/N." She cuts you off, a car key already in hand that makes you groan to yourself impatiently. "You're not going back to work until you talk to Doctor Grand."

She leaves without saying another word and you're left alone with the file in your hands. Without hurrying, you flip to the page mentioned earlier and sigh when you find a photograph of Wanda wearing a uniform with the Avengers crest embroidered on it. Below is her statement about the mission.

You trace your fingers over the passage "An extraordinary and dangerous skill from an equally impressive fighter" but hesitate when you read the passages about how she felt scared and unsafe. About how she thought you were aiming at her. About how she felt she failed by not bringing a high-risk criminal into custody.

Your tears finally fall, staining the page before you quickly wipe them away, closing the file tightly after ripping Wanda's photo out.

It was time to wrap up loose ends and get back to your perfect record.

-&-

In the fake drawer hidden on the floor under your bed - safeguards for someone whose apartment is frequently visited by a two-faced countess - you kept some personal things. Hydra's last record of you, small souvenirs from missions, and a photograph of Wanda Maximoff.

And this morning - and any other morning really - you were supposed to ignore that drawer, leave any weapons at home, put on a presentable outfit, and meet Valentina in the lobby promptly at 10 o'clock. She would take you by car to Dr. Grant's office who would do a standard assessment of your mental state that would tell whether or not you were fit to return to work.

But instead, you took the photo of Wanda out of its hiding place and put it in your pocket. You stood up, walked through your closet, and chose the least flashy backpack you owned. Then you armed yourself with three different types of knives and two pistols in a chest holster, very similar to that of American detectives. And speaking of the police, your drawer of false documentation provided by Valentina was studied without haste until you had in your pockets the identity of a Shield agent who never existed but was meant to be a little tribute to the job you were performing today.

With your disguise ready, you left the apartment two hours before your scheduled meeting with Valentina, and you had barely boarded the ferry when she called you.

"Our appointments aren't something to be skipped, young lady." Stated the woman seriously, but you gave her a weary sigh.

"I don't wish to see Doctor Grant."

Valentina chuckled, as you handed your ticket to the clerk passing in the corridors. On the other end of the line, she then spoke;

"You're not getting away with this, Y/N. I'm not authorizing your return to work until Roland confirms to me that your mental state is stable for you to continue."

You prop your feet up on the seat, switching your cell phone to another ear. "Val, I'm not running away, I promise. I just needed a break. Give me a few days, okay? Reschedule the visit, I'll be there. I'll even be there early."

She pauses thoughtfully, you can hear her breathing. And then she sighs in defeat and you smile. "Okay. If it's any encouragement, your next service is already being prepared. It's something you've never stolen before, and I'd like it to be yours. Of course, if you prove suitable."

A few weeks ago, the temptation would have been too much and you would have turned around and gone to the appointment just to win Grant's approval and be cleared for the job. To prove not only to Valentina, but to the world, and to any other colleague, that you could complete that mission.

But now you let out a short laugh, and that surprises Valentina enough for her to keep quiet. "Reschedule for the end of the week. I guarantee that I'll have Dr. Grant's approval and you'll have your order in no time."

The promise seems to be enough for her, and after another sigh, Valentina hangs up. You put your cell phone away and return your attention to the now-stamped train ticket to New York.

The trip didn't take long, and within a few hours, you were in the bustling city. Especially today, at the inaugural Heroes of Earth celebration event, Manhattan was almost chaotic.

With fans and journalists from all over the world filling the streets that had been closed off for a sort of open-air Comic Con, you had no trouble at all going unnoticed in the crowd. You wore a disguise, of course, but you didn't have to. A few minutes into the fair, you really did look like a tourist, with your Avengers sweatshirt, cap, and colorful glasses.

The knives in your backpack were well hidden under the amount of superhero souvenirs you got.

You were trying to choose between an Incredible Hulk smash-burger or a portion of Thor's worthy chicken when the bell announcing the photo session with the Avengers was about to start.

Your appetite disappeared, anxiety taking over your whole body at once.

It was time to move.

The queue was huge, as was to be expected. At least, most of them were there for the best-known Avengers. Thor wasn't even on Earth, which meant that the other five originals were competing with each other over who got the most autographs. The new members, like Wanda, the Falcon, or Vision, were given presentation stands but had much more free time at the event.

You tried to ignore the pang of pride when you saw that among the new members, the queue of people to see Wanda was the longest. A considerable number of children were very excited to ask her to do magic tricks.

Your strawberry milkshake - Black Widow's Special - almost fell out of your hand when you finally saw Wanda leave the curtains dividing the dressing rooms and join the autograph table.

She wasn't wearing the soft hoodie with the Avengers symbol from the photograph you sneak a peek at almost every night, nor was she wearing the pathetic disguise she wore the first time you saw her. No, somehow, she managed to look prettier. Like all her teammates, she was wearing an outfit similar to the official fighting uniform, probably designed just for the event. With a black tactical outfit covered by a red jacket, the gloves that didn't cover her fingers were probably your favorite part.

Despite her relatively unfriendly uniform, Wanda offered such lovely smiles to the people who came to greet her that you thought the milkshake made you sick, judging by the way your stomach and heart were unsettled.

When the Meet & Greets began, you had to go to the ticket booth and buy a single ticket in cash; to meet Wanda, of course.

It would take place back in the fair's improvised dressing rooms, and after waiting for almost forty minutes, you were finally guided inside. Your backpack wasn't searched, perhaps because your weapons were hidden by Ten Rings technology, a gift from Xu Xialing on your last assignment, and when it went through the X-ray at the entrance, all they detected were the countless fair toys you had acquired. And the knives hidden in your body, well, it's obvious to say that when it comes to changing aspects of your anatomy for any situation, passing a security search was quite easy.

"Miss Maximoff will be here in a minute. She had a little problem with her costume, the children who came in before you caused a little milkshake accident."

One of the organizers informed you, and you gave her a kind smile, commenting that the Black Widow special was essential, even if it might cause minor accidents. The employee chuckled before going to answer a call on her communicator that could have been your intentional flooding of one of the toilets to occupy as many of the staff as possible.

Wanda's dressing room was the most intimate environment of hers you've ever been in. It didn't have many things, of course, but for someone who only had access to government documents, it was paradise.

Curious fingers traced all the belongings you could reach, from more comfortable pieces of clothing for her to change into during the event, to different types of tea and books, until you found a music device.

The password protection on a Stark Industries MP3 player made you laugh to yourself. "What a distrustful little witch." You murmured affectionately, stowing the item in your jacket pocket and moving over to the schedule board.

You had already read the row that marked the start of the Meets, probably described there and in all the other dressing rooms, when your gaze caught a small notebook forgotten in one of the armchairs.

You got the chance to take it in hand and smile at the sketches on the first few pages before the item was suddenly lifted and pulled out of your hand.

"Sorry, but this is private." Wanda grabbed the item out of the air, but you stood there, static like a frightened animal, unable to breathe properly under her gaze. She seemed to realize that she had been too harsh and huffed out a laugh, the notebook clutched tightly against her chest. The sound made you swallow. "I shouldn't have kept you waiting, I guess you got bored. Sorry about that. Let me put this away, and we can, um, get started."

She didn't use magic to return the book to a safe place, you didn't know that yet, but Wanda was still learning to trust her powers. And if she could help it, she usually didn't use them.

She approached you, to put the book away in a bag that you didn't have a chance to peek into, and the sudden movement made your body react in alarm. Your back hit the schedule board, and Wanda frowned, stopping in her tracks with an almost hurt look on her face.

"You don't have to be scared. I'm not going to hurt you, you know." She murmured with the tips of her ears red. "I'm just going to put my notebook away, you see." The backpack floated towards her with a tug, and Wanda hardly met your gaze after that. She tossed the bag into a corner of the room and fiddled uncomfortably with the edge of her blouse.

She was no longer wearing the outfit she'd worn before, she was wearing a comfortable set, too soft and domestic for you to be calm-minded about anything.

You forced your brain to work because you thought the whole thing was getting ridiculous.

"I'm not scared." Your voice comes out very hoarse, so you clear your throat. Wanda raises her eyes, finally, and the green irises make your cheeks warm. You don't hide it from her. "As a matter of fact, I'm not the one who usually gets scared when we meet, am I, Maximoff?"

Taking the time she needed to understand, you removed your colored glasses and cap, your face changing back to its original appearance. Wanda sighed shakily as soon as she recognized you.

"Hi, Y/N." She greeted, too sweet for you to do anything but smile shyly, forgetting for a moment exactly what you had come for.

"Hello, Wanda." You tried to sound just as gentle, but you must have done a poor job, to blame it on your body that doesn't seem to be working properly. Wanda swallows dryly, her hands moving slowly in the air. You watch the unhurried gesture - the way her fingers draw the air, and how the items of disguise float away to the armchair, and in your hands appear handcuffs that don't prevent you from moving them, and don't hurt either. The most you feel is a tickle.

"I've come all this way, just for you to put me in chains, little witch." You try to tease her, and you think it's a victory the way Wanda tries to hide a smile, approaching with her head down until she's close enough to touch you.

Her hands should be gripping the magical handcuffs, but instead, they hold yours. Wanda sighs.

"You can't be here." She whispers, meeting your eyes, and you think it's ridiculous that you made any plans at all. You could never do anything to harm Wanda, and that was just the truth. "Then why are you?"

Unlike her, you don't hide your smile. You shrug as if your heart wasn't thumping in your chest, and revel in playing with Wanda's buttons.

"I was in the neighborhood. Wanted to say hi." Your casual reply makes her snort impatiently.

Her hands release yours, and you raise an eyebrow at Wanda's audacity to start searching you.

"Wow, take me on a date first, love." You joke, but despite the new color her cheeks acquire due to the joke, the fond nickname, Wanda doesn't stop. She gropes in your pockets, reaches into your jacket, and grimaces with disapproval at every illegal item she finds. The false documents, the Shield badge, the guns. The MP3 is in the front pocket and Wanda gets a little closer to reach it, enough so that you have to lick your lips trying to control the instinct to break the distance. She just looks so kissable and smells so good.

She offers you an incredulous look at the stolen item, which floats back to the table as she gropes for the other pocket. Finding the train ticket, she lets out a short laugh.

"Six hours of travel is not being in the neighborhood." She comments, raising her eyes to you.

"What do you want me to say?" You retort with a little smile, discourteously glancing between her eyes and her lips. "That I couldn't help myself and had to get on the first train to see you again? That I can't even go back to work because I can't stop thinking about you?"

There's this thing that Wanda's eyes do. The pupils get huge, and the green darkens. And she looks at you as if you were something to be devoured in every detail as if you were worth admiring. As if you were worth any of her time.

She speaks again, so low and hoarse that you wouldn't be able to hear her if you weren't close.

"Your thoughts are loud. Are you always so hard on yourself?"

You swallow dry, caught off guard. Your hesitation makes Wanda sigh. She looks ready to apologize when you nod.

"It doesn't matter, every time we bump into each other, you make me feel different. Better. You look at me as if you can see more. What do you see, Wanda?"

She sighs deeply, and her hands move to touch your face. It's too gentle, and affectionate in a real and true way that you never experience. Your body goes rigid, not knowing how to handle the tenderness, but Wanda doesn't catch any request for her to stop touching, so her hands continue to hold your cheeks.

"I can see your anger, just as I can see your fear. I see the thief, and the murderer, but I can also see only you. No disguises, no lies. The person you are underneath it all." She says, swallowing dryly as she lets her gaze fall to your lips. "This is the person I let get away. And the person I'd like to meet, if you'll let me."

Your chest is heavy with confusing feelings. Your traumas beep in unison, your defenses beg you to push Wanda away and flee before the rest of the Avengers decide to show up.

But instead, you return watery eyes to Wanda and gasp softly; "Why? Why do you care?"

And Wanda tries to lie. "I think you could use a friend."

You chuckle dryly, pulling away from the touch. "Hard pass." You mutter, but Wanda doesn't let you move away entirely. She decides to risk everything.

She grabs your chin and tilts your face towards her. It's a miscalculated kiss, you both flinch and gasp at the first contact of your lips and being taken by surprise makes you lose your balance in the middle of the movement to get away from her.

You fall into the armchair, and Wanda should apologize, but she doesn't even bother. She pushes your tense shoulders and straddles your lap, this time, when her mouth meets yours, it's much hungrier and more determined.

The handcuffs disappear into thin air with the first gasp that leaves her lips, and you waste no time in grabbing her waist, roughly pulling her down and holding her tight against you as your mouths move together. It's a passionate kiss full of urgency, charged with all the tension you've built up.

Your tongue slides into her mouth without warning, more experienced than Wanda, you manage to get a whimper out in no time. She wants to shrink away from the sound, but your hands slide down to grab her ass and pin her down onto your front, and suddenly all she can do is moan.

It seems absurd that you've gone a lifetime without kissing Wanda Maximoff when you both seem molded to do this with perfection.

You don't even move apart to breathe, a battle of restless hands and hungry mouths panting against each other. Wanda begins to grind herself into your lap in search of friction and you let out a sound you didn't know you could make.

Everything is suddenly so hot that Wanda doesn't hear her surroundings. She doesn't hear the curtain or the footsteps. But she definitely hears the machine man's surprised exclamation.

"Oh, forgive me, Wanda." Vision's back is turned the second he catches a glimpse of what's happening in that armchair.

Wanda jumps away as if she's received a jolt, and you groan in displeasure at the interruption. Despite the way every cell in your body seems to be vibrating with euphoria, you manage subtle changes in your face that prevent the Synthesized from recognizing you if he decides to turn around. "I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"Vis, please leave." She demands with ragged breathing, her face bright red. Wanda looks neither at you nor at Vision.

The man clears his throat, stuttering. "Of course, Wanda, I'm so sorry." He says, but although he mentions leaving, he doesn't. Stopping just before the curtain, he risks a glance over his shoulder. "There was a forced distraction with criminal indications in the western sector, the fair has already been interrupted. The captain has asked everyone to gather for a patrol check, in case there's an attempted attack. I just wanted to warn you. It would be appropriate to send your... friend away." explains the machine, exchanging a quick glance with Wanda before leaving the dressing room.

You'd like to kiss her again, but Wanda sniffles at Vision's departure and you frown in a mixture of concern and confusion.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" She deduces annoyed. "To try a bloody attack on a children's fair? God, I’m so stupid. You’re obviously using me to distract your partners-”

But you stood up with an impatient sigh for the anxious and nervous conclusions of an avenger who has been caught in the act.

You grab Wanda again and kiss her hard enough for her to lose her balance, and she ends up pressed against the schedule board, and then the coffee table, each kiss more desperate and heated than the last.

Your thigh presses between hers, and Wanda practically meows at the friction. You love how responsive she is to your touch, and you try to push a little further under her clothes, quickly addicted to attracting more sounds.

And you're almost to the edge of her bra when you're interrupted again.

"Jesus, Maximoff, what the hell is going on here?" Unlike Vision, Natasha Romanoff is much more serious and determined to put an end to the whole thing. And she cares little about what was happening against the table. You hide the change in your features on Wanda's shoulder, while also trying to control your own breathing, somehow much more aroused than before. "We're working, Maximoff. There may be terrorists on the perimeter and you're here, well, I'm not judging, I'm just saying there's an appropriate time for everything. I'm sure your friend will survive if you let go of her mouth for a few hours. Who knows, maybe next time you can meet in a more appropriate place?"

When you finally look at Nat, you can see that she's hiding a teasing little smile. You're glad that Wanda is making friends.

And unlike you, who doesn't mind having been caught not once but twice by the Avengers, Wanda looks like an embarrassed tomato who nods quickly while her magic does the work of adjusting your half-open clothes and leaving the objects you bump into in order again.

"Of course, Natasha, I'll send her away. I'm sorry." Wanda practically pushes you out, dragging you to a more secluded area at the back of the dressing rooms.

She tries unwillingly to resist your eager hands or the quick but intense kisses you steal from her on the way.

"You have to go." She struggles to gasp, her hands pushing your shoulders to stop the whole thing or she wouldn't be able to think.

Wanda with her hair disheveled after a proper make-out session, her face flushed and her lips swollen is too much for you.

"Fuck." You gasp and she swallows.

"What?"

You don't know what to say, nothing seems enough. She's awakened something in you that you didn't know existed. Suddenly, the idea of staying away from her seems an impossibility.

"When will I see you again?"

She frowns at the question, laughing nervously. "We shouldn't have seen each other even today."

But your hands pull her by the waist. "Nonsense. We should definitely do this again.” Your lips trail down her jaw, to the sensitive points on her neck that you're trying to memorize. She sighs, and struggles to keep her eyes open, but only for a moment before she pushes you away again, laughing shyly.

"Please, darling, I need to get back, my job-"

"There's no attempt attack, I flooded a toilet so I'd have time to see you." You clarify quickly and Wanda has to shake her head and laugh incredulously.

"You're nuts."

"Honestly? Yes. I think I've figured out what was wrong with me over the last weeks. You’re driving me nuts, Wanda Maximoff. I can't stop thinking about you." You retort quickly, not caring about the irregular beating of your pulse, nor the way she blushes heavily. "I need to know when I'm going to see you again."

She looks back into the dressing rooms and can see that Natasha is coming out through the curtain. She approaches you at once to give you one last intense kiss and whispers goodbye on your lips as you part.

With every inch of skin that Wanda touched vibrating and your heart pounding in your chest, you only remember to regulate your powers and return to a disguise a good few minutes after she has disappeared from sight, and hope that no security cameras saw you there.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #heart shaped series #wanda maximoff series #elizabeth olsen x reader

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ladysomething · 2 months ago

Note

Snippet ?!??!

aww I've missed snippet Wednesday!! so glad to be back on the regular schedule!

Jean-Luc takes Penelope from Kelly, then settles her into the stroller while Kelly grabs Max’s bicep to lead him out. Max glances back at Charles for a moment, so he gives him a reassuring smile but lingers while Jean-Luc finishes.

The front door swings shut, and Jean-Luc’s shoulder slump as heaves a big sigh.

“Everything alright?” Charles asks.

Jean-Luc flinches, spinning on the spot, hand instinctively going to his hip. He relaxes when he sees it's just Charles, then pastes on a very fake smile.

“Oh, Charles,” Jean-Luc says, clearly trying to pretend that he didn’t just sigh very loudly. “Sorry, I—I thought that you went with Max and Kelly.”

Charles shrugs. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Jean-Luc tenses again, smile dipping, but then he puts it back on. “Oh, okay. Lead the way.”

They’re quiet as they leave, Charles holding the door open so Jean-Luc can push the stroller through, and then Charles helps him lift it down the three stairs from the verandah to the path. The other four are already headed across the clearing towards the forest, which seems a little odd but Charles follows them anyway.

Before Charles can even think about how to start this conversation, Jean-Luc says, “Charles, I—I know it’s not worth much, but I’m so—I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”

He looks like he’s aged ten years in the last week, probably not helped by the flu he’s still recovering from, but Charles doesn’t want him to feel guilty.

“I think—I think that he had been planning this for a long time,” Charles says slowly, staring at the grass as they walk towards the trees. “He would’ve found another way for this to happen. He was just looking for an opportunity.”

“But it’s my job to make sure there isn’t opportunity. And I should’ve known not to trust those Ferrari guys—Max said they left, and I wasn’t even surprised.”

Charles purses his lips, absently rubbing at one of his wrists. “I was going to leave the hospitality and walk to Red Bull. On my own. I think—if I had just stayed. Maybe I could’ve hid, long enough for Max to be finished. Or if I had realised sooner that he was—there with me. Maybe if I hadn’t been so stubborn about staying around for Max at all. He told me to go home after the race, and I didn’t.”

“Charles—”

“And Max has been trying to tell me for so long that this might happen,” Charles continues, and he knows he sounds slightly hysterical, but all his feelings are bubbling up and spilling over and he can’t keep it together. “And after Fred—you know, I thought, that I would just have to live with whatever happened. With Fred, with whoever else tried something, because I knew that that was a possibility. And I told Max that I didn’t want to just live my life scared that something would happen. But now I think—I could’ve stopped this. This is my fault. I should’ve—there are so many things I should’ve done differently—”

“Charles, no,” Jean-Luc says firmly. He stops in the middle of the track, hesitating to reach out, and then settling his hand against Charles’ bicep. Charles has always thought it so funny, that a man as big and scary as Jean-Luc is also one of the gentlest, kindest people he knows. “Alphas like him, men like him . . . They do things like this just because they can. Because they think they’re owed something. Nothing you do or say can change their minds about that, but that doesn’t make this your fault.”

#anon ask #where you go i go #wygig: snippet

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darl-ingfics · 6 months ago

Text

Cowboys Cry Too (Part 1)

Fandom: BTS

Sickie: Namjoon (fever, exhaustion)

Caregiver(s): BTS

Word Count: 1,599

Notes: Welcome back to my series of fics based off of Kelsea Ballerini songs. This is a series I've created focusing on the leaders of the groups I follow, based on Kelsea's song Cowboys Cry Too. Originally, this series was based on her song homecoming queen? but Cowboys Cry Too is newer and had been stuck in my head, so it got the title. Future parts will focus on moments of weakness from other leaders, breaking down and needing to rely on their members to hold them up. This fic is not based on any particular time BTS was in the United States, but picture them a bit younger. They're an established group, but still in their young young adult years.

Part 2 (Onew) | Part 3 (S.Coups) | Part 4 (Hongjoong) | Part 5 (Suho)

Namjoon needed three things: sleep, a gallon of water, several doses of Tylenol, and sleep. Okay, that was four. But technically it was only three because sleep was on there twice. But Namjoon really, really just wanted to go to bed.

They’d been in the US for nearly two weeks. Two weeks in which Namjoon had had to stay on top of schedules and keep track of his members, while also keeping track of all of his own belongings, which was a feat on its own. Two weeks of running through airports and catching flights and playing the never-ending game of ‘smile at that camera, run from this one.’ Two weeks of talk shows, interviews, performances, concerts, photo shoots, content filming, sightseeing, and so much more.

And, most importantly, two weeks of non-stop translating for his six very talkative yet very much not-fluent-in-English members.

“Joon? Namjoon? Wake up, bud.”

The leader came to much slower than usual, finding it difficult to pry his eyelids open. He blinked once, twice, looking around to gain an understanding of his surroundings. He was… at the airport?

Right.

The memories of the past few hours flooded back in a rush. Last night: the final dinner with the American executives, the terrible traffic on the way back to the hotel, the packing scramble in which everyone seemed to have misplaced something, the directives to ‘go to bed immediately’ to get at least some sleep before their early flight, the frustrating inability to fall asleep. This morning: the alarm going off way too soon, the members in disarray for no reason Namjoon could discern, the traffic on the way to the airport, the mad rush and crush of fans and paparazzi at the airport, the horrendous experience of airport security and customs, the horrible realization that Namjoon himself didn’t know where his passport was (Seokjin had it the whole time, anticipating Namjoon losing it), the trek it took to find their gate.

Despite the crisp detail of those memories, Namjoon had no memory of falling asleep on this bench, but he felt it was warranted given all he’d been through thus far.

His (much more rapid than he’d realized) thought train was derailed when a cool presence graced his skin. Namjoon’s eyes closed again, an instantaneous response to the wonderful sensation. What was that?

He heard someone click their tongue. He pulled his eyes open again to see Seokjin standing before him, a hand pressed to the leader’s cheek. With a frown, the older man moved his fingers to Namjoon’s forehead.

Seokjin hummed again. Namjoon didn’t know what to make of that.

Before he could decipher it further, Seokjin held out his hands for Namjoon to take. “Come on, we’re boarding. You can sleep again once we’re on the plane.”

Namjoon took Jin’s hands and let the older man do most of the work in pulling him to his feet. He also didn’t resist when Seokjin wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him steady as they walked towards the jet bridge. The rest of the group was waiting there for him, the three youngest seemingly in the middle of an intense debate.

As the first one to see their leader approaching, Taehyung opened his mouth to drag him into their antics, but paused, noticing Seokjin’s protective hold on the leader. Still, Taehyung’s sudden pause led to both Jimin and Jungkook turning around to address the leader without the privilege of seeing him first.

“Hyung, Jimin and Taehyung are trying to get me to switch seats so that they can sit together, but then I would be the one alone and I don’t want to be by myself!” Jungkook pleaded at the same time Jimin argued, “Namjoon-ah, Jungkookie isn’t being fair! He promised he’d switch with me yesterday, but now he’s doubling back.”

“Guys, leave Joonie be,” Seokjin chided gently. After a split second of confusion, understanding bloomed on both their faces, Jimin’s eyes growing wide as Jungkook’s lips pursed together. “I’m sure we can figure this out. Have you asked Yoongi or Hoseok to switch?”

Jimin shook his head. “No because they look…” All eyes moved to the duo, who were currently sharing a pair of headphones and giggling over something on Hoseok’s phone. Yoongi was actually giggling, in public, a clear sign of exhaustion. “We didn’t want to break that up.”

Seokjin nodded in understanding, worrying at his bottom lip. He really wanted to be next to Namjoon on this flight, but their options were quickly running thin. This tour had taken a lot out of all of them, and it wasn’t surprising to the eldest that his friends were defaulting to their need for comfort. Of course Yoongi and Hoseok were glued to each other’s sides. Of course Jimin and Taehyung wanted to do the same thing. And Jungkook usually had no problem sitting on his own, actually craved it sometimes, so his desire to be with one of his hyungs now meant something. Usually, Namjoon would be the one to step in and take Kookie’s place, opting for some alone time himself. But Seokjin wouldn’t allow that right now, not when their leader was clearly losing a battle with his immune system. And he also didn’t want Jungkook to be the one to bear the burden of watching over Namjoon in case he took a turn for the worse on the plane.

As Seokjin’s brain turned at rapid speed, Namjoon lifted his head slightly, checking back into the conversation. “I’ll switch with you, Kook.”

“No.” Jungkook shook his head, his hair flopping side to side. “No, you need to stay with Jin-hyung.”

“I’m fine…”

“Really, hyung, it’s not a big deal. I’ll switch with you, Kookie,” Jimin offered. Jungkook shook his head again, opened his mouth to protest. “Or how about we trade off every few hours? You, Tae, and I can take turns being alone.”

“What a beautiful compromise,” Seokjin praised, mostly to himself as the two youngest members lit up at Jimin’s suggestion. The three of them, hand in hand, moved to join Hoseok and Yoongi. Seokjin’s hold on Namjoon tightened. “They’re growing up, alright.”

“No thanks to us,” Namjoon joked. Seokjin’s heart gave a little swoop knowing that Namjoon was still coherent enough to joke with him.

“I would argue it’s entirely thanks to us.”

“After all those embarrassing things you and Hobi did during those interviews?” Namjoon blew out a breath, shaking his head. He was smiling, but it was the most shallow smile Seokjin had ever seen, clearly just a physical gesture to keep up appearances.

“I’m so sorry, Joonie.”

“For what?”

“For putting so much pressure on you. This trip couldn’t have been easy.”

The leader sighed, resting his head against Seokjin’s shoulder. “It’s not you…”

“But it is…”

“But it’s really not. The company could have provided us translators more often. They didn’t, and that’s something we’ll work on in the future…”

“But it’s not just the translating! It’s… it’s how much pressure they put on your to be in charge.”

“Our managers do a lot more than you think, hyung. I promise it’s not just me.”

Seokjin shook his head. “I know that, Joon, but I also know you. And I know that you work more than you have to, and take charge when you don’t need to. And I know that you’ve worked your body to its limit and now I’m going to have to spend the next week nursing your sorry ass back to health.”

“Hey, I’ve got a great ass,” Namjoon joked, looking up at Seokjin through his eyelashes.

The older man snorted. “And when did I question that?”

Namjoon smiled. “I thought you liked taking care of us.” His voice was teasing, but there was a tenderness there.

“I do, but I hate it when you work yourself down to the point of needing my help.”

The leader shrugged. “Consider it payback for all the times I saved your sorry ass on national television this week.”

Seokjin laughed, pulling Namjoon closer as their manager waved for them to get on the plane. “Now, how dare you come for my ass after I just promised to take such good care of you when we get home?”

Namjoon did not remember much after that. The flight was completely gone (he had slept the entire time). He didn’t remember going through customs or picking up their luggage (he had technically been awake, but he was rather out of it, so the members had taken turns guiding him). He didn’t remember getting home (he had also slept the whole can ride), or changing his clothes or being put to bed.

But he woke up in his bed. In his favorite pajamas. 20 hours after returning there. Feeling like death warmed over.

The first thing he saw, though, was an unfamiliar blanket laid over top of his comforter. It was Taehyung’s, one from his grandmother. And there were three stuffed animals tucked in with Namjoon: Kookie, Hobi, Jiminie. And the curtains were drawn when Namjoon himself constantly forgot to do so. Yoongi. And there was a bottle of Tylenol and a few water bottles placed neatly on his side table, as well as a mug of tea that was likely cold now, but the thought of it’s loving presence was warming enough. Seokjin.

Namjoon had everything he needed. And, after chugging a whole water bottle and downing some Tylenol, he fell asleep again surrounded in the one thing that fulfilled him above all else: his members’ love.

#bts sickfic #bts sick #kpop sickfic #kpop sick #sickie namjoon #caretaker BTS #darlingfics #ballerini vault

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clearancecreedwatersurvival · 3 months ago

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I feel kind of bad cashing in on your pain but I am also about to move flats and need to clean and I wondered if you had any tips? You can wholly tell me to shove off though, aha (also I hope you've recovered a bit from it!!)

OOOOHHHHH what a question.

Okay yes having just finished moving and cleaning out my old apartment, sure anon I can probably wrangle some advice for you given the number of times I've done this in the past decade. I am finally no longer fully exhausted at least. good luck with your move!

I broke it down into two sections: packing/moving and cleaning

Packing and Moving

the most important box you pack and put somewhere you can absolutely keep track of it, is the box of stuff you will need your first few nights and days at the new place. Cups, plates, spoons, coffee mugs, coffee maker, whatever you will definitely need, put a few of those in this box and make sure it stays with you and not in the moving truck

throw out as much stuff ahead of time as you can. i didn't do that this move and it made everything way harder. donate clothes you don't need, throw out stuff you've been meaning to get rid of, downsize as much as possible

start packing sooner than you think you need to. Designate a staging area to pile a bunch of boxes and get to it., rn. don't wait. it WILL take longer than you think.

start with what you don't use every day, extra clothes, books, dishware, etc.

Only pack books in SMALL boxes!!!!!!!! they're heavy as fuck!!!!

Label EVERY box with details of what's in it. Not just Kitchen but kitchen-saran wrap and foil etc.

it's way easier to pack a bunch of stuff in huge rubbermaid containers instead of endless cardboard boxes but they also cost money so your mileage may vary

if you're paying movers to haul your stuff, keep and transport personal items and stuff you're worried about losing like electronics yourself, just in case.

if you're not paying movers to drive a truck for you but you can at least pay some guys to show up and load boxes onto a uhaul or whatever at the old place and unload at the new one, do that. It's worth it. Or bribe your entire family to show up to help, that works too

when you and your team are unloading at your new place, try and make sure furniture gets placed kind of where you want it to stay and that boxes end up in generally the right room

prioritize unpacking room by room to make it livable for you. push yourself to get everything unpacked asap and not leaving boxes around for months. if it takes so long to unpack that you never feel fully moved in before you have to move again it's a huge downer

try to bring plants and stuff with you early on, don't leave them for the end when they have to get squished into your car with a bunch of other stuff (remember my poor monstera which lost two leaves this way)

AND NOW CLEANING

Okay, so most of your stuff is moved out of the old place, and you're gonna clean that sucker spotless to get your full deposit back

throw more stuff away. yes more than that. i didn't do enough of this during this move and in the final hours of sleep-deprived panic i kept some stuff i should have thrown away and had to throw away stuff i wish i could have kept. don't make my mistake, be ruthless early on and get rid of stuff you don't need or is easy or cheap to replace. many things can either be thrown away or given to your neighbors.

Similarly to packing, start cleaning sooner than you think you need to, and assume everything will take twice as long as you think it will.

consolidate everything left in your apartment into one area, i chose my dining room cause that way i could clean the carpets.

if you have carpets, rent a steam cleaner. Way cheaper than paying people to do it or taking the hit to your deposit. Check first how long it's been since your landlords replaced the carpet. Where I live landlords are required to replace the carpet every three years, so if it's been longer than that you don't have to worry about doing more than a cursory vacuum. Steam Cleaning is a many hours long project. Plan accordingly.

Don't cook while you're doing this process. Get takeout, buy some frozen pre-made dinners, get cold brew coffee that's ready to go quickly. Simplify the process for yourself as much as you can.

pre-treat carpet stains and any really dirty bits with the hand held scrubbing carpet cleaner things. For me with my long haired dog it took three full attempts to fully clean the carpet. I did a first pass with the steam cleaner, then a pre-treatment with baking soda and vinegar to oxidize, then did a second steam cleaning, then treated all remaining spots with handheld carpet cleaner and let that sit for a while, then a final pass with the steam cleaner. If you have pet hair it will gunk up the workings so make sure to clean out the underside of the machine as you go

Create a plan of action. Go either room by room or area by area. My breakdown looked something like this: clear floors of all debris, vacuum and then steam clean carpets as described above, clean walls, clean patio, clean windows, first pass at mopping the floors, clean the bathroom, clean the kitchen counters and inside cupboards, clean the fridge, get everything remaining in the apartment outside, final pass mopping the floors, final pass wiping down all surfaces with clorox wipes

the main cleaning agents I used were a paint safe wall and trim cleaner, a strong degreaser for the kitchen, a scrubbing bubbles style foaming bathroom cleanser that's good on soapscum, a glass cleaner for windows and metal, and a pack of clorox wipes for the final pass. for the degreaser and foaming bathroom cleanser I sprayed every surface thoroughly, let it sit for at least ten minutes and then wiped it down

ALWAYS WEAR A VENTILATOR MASK while using cleaning products. try not to mix products, but even if you don't accidentally create mustard gas you still don't want to inhale cleaner fumes. Keep windows open and fans running so as to not gas yourself.

Similarly: ALWAYS USE WELL FITTING GLOVES or your hands will get Fucked Up. I stopped with the gloves at the end of my cleaning because I was in such a rush and I earned a chemical burn that still hasn't fully faded. I also took my shoes and socks off while steam cleaning and ended up with minor chemical burns on my feet, so I'd recommend just cleaning the bottom of your shoes instead of doing what I did.

I usually also always try to do small paint repairs anywhere the paint was damaged. Check your lease and see what size of paint damage counts as minor cosmetic damage that you don't need to worry about. Ask your landlord if they'll give you the paint directly, most of them will be so thrilled that you're doing the work yourself that they'll bring the paint to you. I also had to do some minor wood repairs, using a wood filler or spackle, letting it dry, and then priming and painting over it. I'm sure Mercury Stardust or another small home repair DIY content creator has good advice on specifics for this if you need it.

turn your fridge off when you pull everything out of it, or at least turn the temperature as close to off as possible, so you can clean the freezer section without the cleaner icing over. leaving the doors open while you're doing this will help.

When you are finished cleaning, ALWAYS take pictures and video of the entire place to prove you cleaned it. If you did the steam cleaning, keep multiple copies of your receipt. If at all possible, do a walk through of the apartment with your landlord or property manager or whatever so they and you are on the same page about what a bomb ass job you did cleaning.

IF they try to give you the run around and add a bunch of charges for stuff you know you took care of, ask for an itemized breakdown of all the repairs and cleaning they're trying to charge you for, and use your video and picture evidence and receipts to contest them.

Congrats! You've successfully moved!!!!

#Anonymous #reference #diy #moving #adulting #life advice #and that's all the tags i can think of that are relevant idk #caitie answers

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peapodbond · 6 months ago

Text

that was us part five

aka tease tidbit tuesday

but once again it is a full part and ah, thanks to @leashybebes for saying that she's kind of lowkey obsessed with this, because so am i.

who decided the first wedding anniversary gift should be paper? what do you even get for that?

it's paper or clocks, depending on the list you look at.

clocks are better?

depends. if you think of them as keeping track of all the time you've spent together, yeah.

god, you're such a romantic.

abby spends the rest of the day sending photos of watches to tommy. they immediately nix any watches that are skinny or square; abby's never seen sam wear one and they all look sort of… industrial. she bets it's exactly the type of watch that his firm would give out for the big anniversaries.

tommy vetoes a few companies because they're ripping off their designs from someone else. when abby asks when he got into watches, he tells her that jordan has a collection.

that's interesting. tommy had dropped jordan's name a few months ago, mentioning that he'd met a guy at the bar and they'd been on a few dates, but not much since. she's assumed it was going well because there was no text about them breaking up, and she and sal haven't been recruited for another bachelor style grindr lineup, but it's nice to know it didn't just fizzle out after a few dates.

now that she's got a watch picked out, it's time for her to do a little digging on tommy's new beau. even sal has been tight lipped, which has meant problems in the past — mike, for one, but there was also colin — though, to be fair, a lot more had been wrong with colin than just the fact that he didn't like tommy's best friend. in the list of crazy exes, colin was definitely at the top.

what's sal think of jordan?

they get along, abby, relax.

how well?

they're at the race track together right now, actually.

sal's into horses?

no, they're both into go karts.

aren't those for kids?

go karts, not bumper cars. they can still go pretty fast.

oh brother.

yep. gina and i are going to have dinner while they're out.

say hi to gina for me! it's been a while.

she says hi, and you still need to tell her what you thought of the time traveller's wife.

talk to you later, tommy!

do you two think eight months is too soon to move in together?

tommy, no, that's a reasonable amount of time.

it's kind of slow, actually.

sal, you asked gina to move in three months after meeting her.

we never officially lived together but sam asked me a few weeks after our six month anniversary.

aside from her questionable taste in supernatural movies, haven't regretted it once.

you watch twilight every year on her birthday.

sal, that's adorable. tommy, if you want to ask jordan to move in, you should.

she watches them, i read. and yeah, you should ask him. i think you have a good shot at landing the guy.

i hate you.

what happened?

abby, two days ago i walked in on those two in the middle of — well, let's just say it wasn't a pg rated movie.

don't exaggerate, sal. besides, you were the one who came in without knocking.

tommy! don't you lock your door?

i have a key. which i am debating returning.

that'll teach you to wait for someone to come to the door.

he's got a point, sal.

i'm leaving you weirdos now. gina and i have plans.

chicken shit!

i have to run too tommy, i've got to pick the girls up from the barn. just ask him! it'll be great.

thanks, abby. no thanks to you, sal.

jordan's out.

sal's text comes in just before a flurry from tommy, and abby scrolls through them curiously. ah, home renovation questions. once they'd started talking again — really talking, not the quick catch ups at bar nights — tommy had told her that most of the changes he'd made to the house had been done between relationships. she wonders if he's clocked why he does it that way, but she is very much not a therapist. she's also not going to get into that with her ex-fiancé.

he wants to know if she thinks a pale grey could work in the downstairs guest room (study, she'd suggested when he bought the place, even though neither of them had had an office job) or if it would clash with the yellow she'd picked for the living room. abby checks the time and gets him on a video call, making him walk her around the house. they decide that the grey will work, and abby reminds tommy again that he's been meaning to get rid of the tile and wallpaper combination in the laundry room.

sal is busy sending abby a rundown of everything that's happened in the last twenty eight hours. it's — a lot. tommy and jordan had gone out to dinner, some little indian spot that was jordan's favourite, and right before tommy could ask jordan to move in, jordan had told him that he'd gotten a promotion that meant he'd have to move to sacramento.

they'd argued — mostly about the fact that jordan hadn't mentioned a move and a promotion was a possibility, but also about the fact that jordan had suggested, once tommy said that he'd wanted him to move in, that tommy come to sacramento instead. tommy had asked if jordan expected him to give up his seniority in the fire department, his house, to follow jordan to sacramento, and jordan had said that he'd probably be moving again in a few years so it wasn't as if it was permanent —

and tommy had come home single after dinner instead of planning a day for jordan to move in.

i mean, it's not like i can blame him for taking the promotion, tommy texts later, when abby manages to get him talking about it. i knew his job was important to him. we just never talked about what that would mean. he didn't even talk to me first. not that he had to, but—

it would have been nice to have been asked.

if i'd known he was approaching la as an expiry date, i wouldn't have hoped for so much in the relationship.

that's just the kind of guy you are, tommy. one day someone is going to want that as much as you do.

yeah, sure. any chance you and sam want a platonic third?

i need someone to help me with the girls' show tack in two weeks, but we're good. besides, since you don't want to move, you should really ask sal and gina that.

#abbytommy #abby clark #tommy kinard #sal deluca #that was us

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melishade · 7 months ago

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I've read the main story and now I'm going through some of the Ao3 one-shots and tumblr lore of the AOP timelines. My favorites so far are the Peaceful Timeline and Dark Timeline.

However in regard to the Peaceful Timeline. I know that technically a brunt of the focus on Ymir's story, Optimus and Megatron raising Ymir from scared young woman to married mother or two children. Megatron learning to love a human as his own daughter, etc.

However, the recent few posts in the Peaceful Timeline are 2,000 years in the future where Eren, Armin, and Mikasa are in high school and it's more Modern AU. And at this point we know Megatron and Optimus have lived together for 2,000 years watching the world evolve, and even evolving with it (aka able to put their brains together to make a groundbridge, which is impressive considering Optimus struggled with a tracker) but hiding in the shadows.

Anyways, Optimus and Megatron are probably at least friends at this point. Maybe they have that 'brothers' bond back from Cybertron. They are not hostile to each other in front of others anymore, probably. Which was the whole reason in the main story that Connie, Jean, Sasha, and Levi called Megatron "Prime's Ex".

But if Jean, Connie, and Sasha were to meet Megatron and Optimus in this timeline....would they just call Megatron "Prime's anti-social boyfriend/husband"?

Also did the village ever ask if Matthew and Orion were married?

Anyways, that was stuck in my brain.

Previous Episode of the Peaceful Timeline

So first of all, thank you for enjoying my work. I really appreciate it. Now let's get into this.

So I didn't have any real intentions to get Jean, Connie, and Sasha involved with Optimus and Megatron in the 2,000 year time skip. Those three don't share the same interests Eren, Armin, and Mikasa have, so they never get caught up into the chaos until way after the fact. It would be hard to have an opinion on them with no prior interaction.

In regards to the dynamic between Optimus and Megatron from the perspective of other people, for example the villagers, they really just saw Optimus and Megatron as brothers the minute they started arguing with each other. There's is arguing as a couple and then arguing as siblings. There is a stark difference between the two. That didn't mean they didn't have questions about the family dynamic. Like Maria was clearly Ymir's child, but she called both Optimus and Megatron 'Papa'.

And yes, they started to reconnect when taking care of Ymir and Maria, but that didn't go away after they passed on. They were both grieving, and Rose told them to go back home and leave her behind in her old age. They only had each other during those 2,000 years. They're going to spend that time trying to further repair their relationship while also trying to keep their sanity. They do this by keeping the cabin intact, keeping track of Ymir's descendants, and repairing that groundbridge together. They reforged their bond as brothers.

And now since I'm here talking about that 2,000 year time skip, Optimus and Megatron have definitely been up to some shenanigans. For example, Optimus and Megatron are technically rich. They do have money saved up that they have gotten over the past 2,000 years and they use it to either A: give to Ymir's descendants in the event they are in financial trouble, or B: when they need to find a way to use human supplies of their own.

They also visit places to have fun. National land monuments, museums, libraries, theatres, plays, movies, the zoo, they have to find ways to occupy their time. I have also brought up in conversation with @justawannabearchaeologist and @echoblaze5 that Optimus and Megatron might have been the cause of one or two revolutions. Like one of Ymir's descendants is the equivalent of Robespierre and they started the equivalent of the French Revolution. They had to quickly swoop in and save this descendant from getting decapitated via guillotine. But that didn't stop Megatron from helping out with the mob.

Megatron waving the country's flag: DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING-!

Optimus tackling him out of sight

They have also gone out of their way to steal plans to create atomic bombs in order to stall major cataclysmic events. They steal the schematics for it, burn down the lab, and bolt.

Megatron as the two of them are running in holoforms: By the Allspark, why are we stealing this?!

Optimus: To prevent Hiroshima and Nagasaki!

Megatron: I don't know what those words mean!

Any time that the government has tried to catch onto them, Megatron quickly has to take a page from Soundwave and scramble any and all information about them. They've had years to prepare for the government trying to track them once they got technology.

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year ago

Text

IT'S NEVER OVER - PROLOGUE (sept. 2005)

summary: if anyone asked sid, he wouldn't say that he liked pittsburgh more after meeting nat. no, that would be absurd.

warnings: short and sweet! (none)

a/n: hi, hello! am i posting this without having finished it? yes. i don't know how long it's going to be but i'm slowly chipping away at it and i'm pretty excited about it. it might even be my favourite series thing i've done so far, and weirdly my first one? i've had the entire thing outlined for months but i've been too busy to even think about posting it, so...here you go! i can't promise posts for this will be regular because the chapters are so long, but i'll try my best to keep you posted! hope you enjoy (a series mastrlist will be out soon too so you can get the gist of where i'm at in the entire process) xo

sneak peak | pinterest board

(It started with music, but Nat didn’t know that.)

It was a total accident, a random encounter that Sidney couldn’t possibly have predicted – one that, without exaggerating, changed his life to an extent. On a whim, he’d decided to go into that coffee shop he’d walked past everyday for the past three weeks, and it was also on a whim he actually made it to the counter to order an uncharacteristic coffee – he was newly eighteen, being pulled in all sorts of sports-diet directions, the confinement of which kind of irked him, so to him, buying that coffee was a subtle rebellion.

It was also a complete accident that he’d wandered off to the right after taking his coffee from the counter, instead of left, or forwards, or even backwards.

Sidney wasn’t one to believe in fate or destiny: he believed those terms were too magical – they alluded to some other worldly forces coming into play, and he liked to stick to facts. Coincidences. Accidents. Nevertheless, he did find it almost inexplicable, the way that his life hurtled into a completely different route after a mere forty minutes inside a coffee shop that he’d just spontaneously decided to make a trip of. He couldn’t quite get his head around it all.

To him, it was a coincidence that he’d walked past her table. A coincidence that she happened to be blaring the only song he’d been able to listen to for the last four days. He’d barely made it three steps past her before he froze.

She was wearing those over-the-ear headphones, the ones with orange sponges from the 80s, plugged into the iPod that had come out a few years back. He recognised it because everyone that had one in his high school before he left never shut up about it. Sidney admittedly did own one at the time, but he never really felt the need to show it off – it was much easier than lugging around a cassette or CD player with songs burnt in.

The song still had him halting in his tracks and turning around, his body much further ahead than his brain because he had to steady his mug of coffee; his sharp actions had the liquid almost sloshing over the edge, but he managed to catch it just in time.

He wouldn’t have done either of those things: stop and turn, if it had been any other song he’d heard. He was just so taken aback by it – the exact, precise song.

The girl at the table didn’t pay him a single dime of attention when he froze, despite the fact that his hip was practically nudging her table. She wasn’t even looking in his direction, her eyes gazing out of the window on her right, skipping over empty faces as people walked past. It was clear she was supposed to be doing work of some sorts: there were textbooks, novels, and flashcards scattered across the entire table, a pencil case half emptied with pens strewn all over. She had a pen clutched in the fist she was resting her chin on, not caring for the study cards at all – entirely enamoured by the view.

Sidney followed her eyes. There wasn’t much to look at, just a street, and her chair was directly facing the side of a retail store, clothes and mannequins displayed in the window.

In hindsight, Sidney didn’t really know what compelled him to do what he did next.

He couldn’t tell if she was bored and just looking out, not paying attention to the music flowing into her ears, or if she was just so absorbed in what she was hearing that she couldn’t physically bring herself to think about her work – that she’d tuned out the outside world entirely.

What caught his attention the most was the crease between her brows. It drew him to look straight at her; an alluring combination of chestnut hair and pale eyes – though not too pale that they made him uneasy. She was also probably the only person in the establishment that was around his age.

She had impeccable music taste, if he did say so himself.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the inkling that this girl was wholly feeling the brilliance and soul-crushing heartache of Jeff Buckley’s genius – and he found himself hoping she was.

That was why he cleared his throat and took a small step to the other side of the table. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, noting that the cafe was pretty busy, so he knew he could at least try to get away with what he was about to do.

He made sure to tilt his head up, because the hat covering his face would be nothing short of slightly suspicious in a public setting, and it wasn’t until he purposefully knocked into the chair that she flicked her eyes to look at him.

He held his breath, a moment when all they did was look at each other, until the crease in her brows disappeared and she reached to pause her music on her iPod, slowly sliding her earphones off so they rested around her neck.

“Hi.”

His assumptions had been correct. She was around his age – her voice was deeper than he’d originally anticipated – and when he found himself slightly closer than before, he was able to make out that she was studying for her SATs.

It was September.

“Hi.” He replied, forcing a smile that he hoped would convey the apology he felt for intruding on her personal time and in her personal space. Her clutter was all over the table, and he knew that if she was hopefully as kind to strangers as he hoped she’d to be, that it would be somewhat of a hassle to shove some of it away, “I’m really sorry, but there aren’t any other tables free. Would I be able to–”

“Oh, sure.” She interrupted, immediately going to reach to sweep a space clear for him over the other side of the table. Sidney watched with a mildly amused gaze; she didn’t seem to care for the way her flashcards seemed to mix themselves up, or the way her textbooks snapped shut and she lost her page.

She flashed him a welcoming, slightly embarrassed smile as she piled the books on top of each other, and before Sidney knew it, he was sitting in the chair opposite, accidentally knocking their knees together in the process, and sipping from his coffee mug. He fought to maintain the thankful smile on his face, despite the utterly bitter taste of the coffee that seemed to fester on his tongue.

No wonder he’d never tried coffee before, it tasted like dirt.

The girl broke a small chunk of a muffin off, a smile breaking out on her face as she fought a small laugh.

Sidney blushed, “I’m not a big coffee-fan.” He reasoned, shrugging.

“I can tell.” She pressed her lips together momentarily, looking down at the plate before turning her attention back to him. Sidney felt stunned at the colour of her eyes. He’d never seen grey eyes before, but hers seemed to balance more on the green side – only when the sun struck the side of her face, they turned a watery, clear blue. There was also a tinge of brown thrown in there.

What was that called? Heterochromia?

He felt his mouth dry, and before he could stop himself, he was taking another sip of his coffee, this time managing to control the urge to wince, “Thanks for letting me sit here.”

She shrugged, gathering the flashcards and lining them up, “It’s no problem. Sorry for the mess.”

He let his eyes wander over the books once more, the green ‘SATs’ letters jumping out at him, “You got an important date?”

The girl swallowed, not entirely understanding what he meant. That crease formed between her brows again, and she opened her mouth to question him, but Sidney beat her to it, a finger pointing at her stack of books.

She sighed, “Not entirely, they’re at the end of the school year, but one of my teachers gave us an assignment to get some study material done early.”

Sidney couldn’t say he understood her stress – it was something displayed across the planes of her face; evident when she looked rather tiredly at the stack of books, and hesitated at the flashcards, before throwing them to the side. She folded her arms across the table, then switched so that her hands were interlocked in front of her.

She looked as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, and Sidney couldn’t tell if it was because of the presence of a stranger, or if she was already feeling some sort of academic guilt for throwing her attention away from her studies for a couple of minutes.

He saw her jaw clench, and at that observation, the thought that maybe he was paying a little bit too much attention to her crossed his mind, so he turned his focus to the cup of coffee. He was beginning to feel its effects; his knee was shaking softly under the table and he could feel an influx of energy spark at his fingertips. Or maybe it wasn’t the coffee at all.

He hadn’t thought about hockey for five minutes.

He saw her turn her face towards him out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up, “What about you? Are you in school, or…?” She trailed off, her eyes skimming over the logo that had flashed itself from the safe and unzipped confines of his hoodie.

He felt his heart quicken at having been caught, worried that perhaps she’d shout out who he was – if she knew – across the entire cafe. He remained optimistic; she didn’t seem the type.

He cleared his throat, “Not anymore.” For some reason he hesitated. He could play off the logo as merchandise – he could be someone other than Sidney Crosby, the New Rookie of the Pens – or he could be honest. When he looked back at her, there was a challenge in her eyes, and Sidney knew then that she already knew who he was. “I just got drafted to the Pens for my first NHL season.”

She sighed, “Can I tell you something?”

Sidney furrowed his brows, his mouth tilting down in a smile. He was new to the whole ‘local celebrity’ deal, but this by far, is probably one of the least impressed reactions he’d ever had. She clearly knew he wasn’t in school, but had still taken the kind courtesy to ask him the question, despite the futility of it.

He nodded.

“I only know one Pens player.” Then she pointed to something out of the window, “That banner has been staring at me every week for the past three months.”

Sidney huffed a laugh, thinking she was joking, but followed her finger anyway. He was immediately faced with a street corner, tens of people walking past each other – he could even make out their voices if he concentrated hard enough, and it took a while to figure out what exactly she was pointing at, until his eyes settled on a billboard at least a block down.

He’d been told that for press reasons, the Pens had come up with the idea of a way of promoting him as a player, and a ‘person of Pittsburgh’, by plastering some action shots of him – still staged – around the city. He’d neglected to look up lately, fearing that if he did, he’d be faced with some images of himself, but he hadn’t escaped that entirely.

The billboard was small, and he wasn’t the only player on there, either, but he saw it nonetheless.

When he spun back around to look at her once more, the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “There’s two other players, not just me.”

She shrugged, “I was talking about Sergei Gonchar.”

Sidney felt the blush colour from his chest to his cheeks as he slowly put his hands over his face, consumed by humiliation. He felt himself smile into his hands when he heard the girl huff a snicker. He’d had quite a few people as of late kissing up to his ego, and apart from his teammates, she was the first one to really deliver a considerable blow – and he was thankful for that; that at least someone still had the ability to look past who he was and tease him like he was a normal person. He was aware of the irony that lay there.

He gathered himself, unabashedly removing his hands and displaying the creeping blush for her to see, and sticking his hand between them, “Sidney Crosby, rookie center for the Pittsburgh Penguins.”

She rolled her eyes, not commenting on the state of his cheeks, her smile fading slightly but still remaining, “I was joking, I know who you are.” She took his hand in hers, gripping it tightly, “Nat Brooks. Student.”

Sidney swallowed, his blush remaining for other reasons, and pulled his hand away, flexing it under the table, “Is Nat short for anything?”

“Natalia.”

“‘S very pretty.” He mumbled, and she smiled sweetly.

“Sidney’s very pretty, too. It suits you.”

Something clenched in his chest.

#sidney crosby x oc #sidney crosby fic #it's never over prologue #nhl fic #nhl series #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby oneshot #sidney crosby x reader

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lexcellence · 2 years ago

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When I heard Gerry Duggan get asked on Cerebro, white boy to white boy, about the unfortunate optics of announcing and then immediately murdering the least white team of X-Men in years, I knew we'd be in for some shit. Man, did he deliver - after some evasive waffling about how ORCHIS is meant to be fascist, and how the story's point is to put the collective back of mutantkind even more against the wall than it was any of the last six times something like this has happened.

And, honestly? That's fair! This year's Hellfire Gala is ultimately the first part of a larger story, and history shows it's not going to last forever — hell, does anyone remember what the status quo was immediately before HoXPoX? At least this time most of the characters have implicitly just been sucked into Mother Righteous's magical Poké Ball, rather than outright killed; if anything, that's an improvement. I was fully content to just think "hey, not for me," and get back to ignoring everything beyond Immortal and Sabertooth, secure in the knowledge that certain topics are bound to be handled poorly when almost everyone in the room is white, when Duggan said three words that stopped me in my tracks:

"Keep the faith."

See, that struck me, because for a lot of us, this entire era of comics has been about nothing but faith. I've been reading X-Men, and engaging with fans since I was eight, and I've never seen the kind of collective buy-in from other marginalized readers that I have with Krakoa. X-Twitter (or, I suppose, X-X) has been Blacker, queerer, more disabled, less homogeneous than the fandom has ever been, all of us buying in to the implicit promise that this time things would be different. Sure, the line was headed by a presumably straight white guy, but there were other voices in the room for a change, and it really felt like they were going to be listened to. We thought we'd moved past clunky metaphor, past queerbaitimg and awkward racial gaffes. Storm and Kwannon were getting to do stuff, Arakko was full of amazing characters of color, Cyclops and Wolverine were probably fucking, we were hooked, and we turned out.

It's hard to overemphasize just how wild this was to see in real time. X-Men has always been allegory, sure, but it's traditionally allegory by and for the majority. For years, the readers who might really feel that resonance, those of us who have been hated and feared for the unforgivable crime of being who we are, we were afterthoughts, tolerated at best. We got scraps, "representation" from creators who seemed to be offended by the implication that we would ever want something other than being fetishized tokens. We were, as Hickman so succinctly put it, told that we were less when we knew we were more. And then, out of nowhere, Krakoa made us inescapable.

The two biggest X-Men podcasts, X-Plain the X-Men and Cerebro, are hosted by queer people. X of Words has been rocking the Black, queer experience like no one's business, Mutant Watch has been a joy to listen to and to be on. Not just podcasts, either, in everything from criticism to fanart to cosplay, voices have been elevated that were previously silent. I mean, hell, I've gotten paid to talk about comics, that shit never would have happened four years ago.

All of that was based on faith.

Faith that we were being celebrated, for once, instead of just used. Faith that for whatever growing pains there might be, things were going to be better.

And let's not fuck around here, there were growing pains. In the first year alone we dealt with everything from blatant whitewashing, to queerbaiting — any Sunspot fan can go into detail there, assuming you can get one of us to stop crying for long enough. While that was going on, we watched Bryan Edward Hill (the only non-white writer in that initial wave) put out a book that was, let's face it, at worst aggressively mid, only to be excoriated by certain portions of the fandom, and dropped by the office, while significantly worse books managed to hold fast — er, hold on. Not to say that Fallen Angels was without sin, mind you, the book was packed with enough orientalism to make Chris Claremont blush. But, at the same time, Wolverine's first year ended with him doing what he does best: trying so hard to be Japanese that I had to check to make sure he wasn't Marvel's editor in chief.

Through all of that, we kept the faith.

Things didn't really get much better, of course. Arakko was a fascinating concept, and felt like it damn near doubled Marvel's characters of color. And yeah, the ending of X-Factor was one of the most poorly handled racist messes I've seen this side of… well, any given day on Twitter. Sure, the whitewashing has never stopped, to the point where everything from X-Corp to this week's Hellfire Gala has had to be hastily edited between previews and release. Maybe we keep dealing with stuff like butchered AAVE, even more queerbaiting, Kate Pryde's funeral, the genocide of almost all of those Arraki characters, and whatever the hell was going on with Lost in Way of X. Maybe there's a very real argument to be made that there's something insidious about three straight years of voting to determine if characters like Monet (who, by the by, has been retooled from "basically Superman" to "Black woman with anger powers") deserve the honor of being written by a white man who's stayed writing with his foot in his mouth. I mean, hey! All my white friends in the scene say he's nice, just like Williams, or Howard, or any number of other crusty crackers who are still proud of tripping over the bar Claremont left on the floor in the 80's!

And dammit, we kept the faith!

Even before the issue dropped, the Fall of X has had a lot of us wary. After all, all of the promotion leading up to it has been white guys saying the minority allegory has had it too good for too long, which, whatever, press copy. We all know they've gotta sell books — they, in this case, being the almost exclusively white, almost exclusively male creative teams attached to all of the books in the line. Sure, as Duggan said, the 616 has a fascism problem, but it’s hard not to see this as a deliberate step back from the almost double digit number of non-white creators these past few years — almost as if Marvel has realized they can make space for a fourth ongoing by their favorite white boy if they just throw out a Voices special every couple of months as a containment zone for the darkies. And, hey, considering how good ol’ C.B. got his foot in the door, I can’t even fake surprise. At this point, it’s a minor miracle any time a person of color is tapped for anything that’s expected to last beyond one issue.

In this issue, as a reward for keeping the faith, we got to see something astounding, something that'd bring a tear to the eye of even the most cynical reader — a team that was only half white. My god. And sure, their brutal murder in favor of a team with Kate "Hard-Arrr" Pryde and the Kingpin(????) was only a pit-stop between the resurrection of the suddenly ashy Ms. Marvel and Lourdes Chantel being killed off for the sake of a white woman's angst yet afuckinggain, but ain't that the dream that Malcolm Ten or whoever died for?

The Krakoan era, ultimately, has been the same as every other. Empty promises by white men who show us time and again that there was never any point in expecting anything better. Any meaning we've found, everything of worth, has been what we've made for ourselves.

We've spent years keeping the faith, Gerry, while you and yours have continued to let us down. What the hell do we have to show for it?

#xspoilers #Hellfire Gala 2023 #X-Men

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vagabond-umlaut · 2 years ago

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Mercury x Sulfur

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff, Angst, Explicit Smut [Oral Fem!Receiving; P-In-V; Loss Of Virginity; Praises]; Angst With A Happy Ending; Porn With Plot & Feelings™️; Contains Manga & Anime Spoilers. This is 18+ Content -> Minors & Ageless Blogs Please DNI!!!

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns [Can Be Treated As A Stand-Alone]

THE WEDDING NIGHT FIC NO ONE ASKED FOR YET I WROTE FT. PATHETIC GOJO & PATHETIC READER & THEIR BLURRY PATHETIC FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER... [I'VE NEVER WRITTEN SMUT BEFORE, SO PLEASE BE KIND TO ME 🥹🥹]

Gojo Satoru is much too similar to fire, you suppose— so vivid always, so warm always, so protective always– yet not without the promise of destruction simmering within the sweet blue blaze of his eyes — Very much the reflection yet the contrast to how you resemble the air— so empty, so hollow, so fucking void.

Nice thoughts to think of yourself on your wedding night, aren't they?

Certainly not, you scoff inwardly, toying with the band of sapphire on your left hand. Yet... you cannot, or rather, do not do anything to stop them from sneaking past the defenses you've guarded yourself with– into that twisted, sick, pathetic mess of neurons and darkness you're ashamed to call your mind nowadays.

The noise of the shower tumbles into a sudden hush. An equally quiet sigh escapes you, fingers moving from your jewellery to trace the tiny floral design on the off-white gown– your brain somewhat registering the bathroom door being opened then shut.

"Y'know, mint ice cream might've be— whoa, is that my wife crying?"

Less than one nanosecond elapses before you find your perch on the edge of the bed being crowded by six-feet-three-inches of white hair, chiselled face, toned abs and worry— Oh My Fucking God, the worry swirling in those damned eyes of his— Mustering chuckles and grins, you move to scoot away from him, ready to brush your husband away with some half-baked something, when you feel him draw you closer and place two warm palms on the apples of your cheeks– both gentle and firm in the fashion they cradle your face— they cradle your entire being in this moment.

Cheer trickling away from your countenance, you hear him whisper in an unbelievably contrite tone, "You're mad because you did not get to eat the last piece of cake– because I stole it away, isn't it so? Y'know... we can always visit the bakery we ordered the cake from and I'll order the same flavour we chose for our wedding cake, and you can steal as many bites as you want from my plate— guess, that will make us kind of equals, huh?"

Equals, huh? Equals, huh? Equals. Huh?

"No," you snap, betraying the smile you've been struggling to keep on your lips, "We'll never be equals, Satoru. I mean, yeah— in dumb stuff like these, we might be equals or whatever you believe in. But, in life– do you really think we're going to be equals, huh? Do you think there'll ever be a reality, ever be a world where we might be equals, huh?"

Thumbs stilling over the tear tracks they were oh-so-very insistent on wiping away, he blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice— You groan, trying to remove yourself from the man whose mere presence is fermenting your inside. Searing your skin. Twisting and turning your mind into an even greater mess than it's ever been– One you know you cannot find yourself from, if once lost to.

Large fingers curling round your left ankle stop you in your attempts.

"I think so," Satoru offers softly, the unblemished smooth porcelain of his skin streaked with gravitas, you've seldom seen in the many years you've known him yet know becomes him too perfectly– You chuckle, shaking your head.

"This isn't only you and me. This is the world I'm talking about. This is our world I'm talking about. Do you really think they'll ever let a lady— married, that too— stand beside her husband, and not behind him?"

The grasp on your ankle loosens for a beat.

Something cracks and splinters and shatters within yourself.

Something you never knew existed before now— something you wish to ignore, so fucking desperately, now that you know it exists.

Shaky whoosh of pain leaving, you kick your foot free of the hold on it and scoot backwards on the mattress, screwing your eyes shut – as if them being closed will make you blind to the response your query has gathered by not gathering any at all— every iota in your body loathing the way your emotions well over and down your dusted cheeks— way too much, way too quick for your liking—

Large fingers curl round your left knee this time, preventing you from your retreat by pulling you towards their owner yet again — Little that does to dampen your efforts, though.

Or, the scald in that tender part in that tender mess of muscles and blood– pulses and impulses– you've never liked lots, for that matter.

"Let me go," you growl, legs shifting and flexing and extending to free themselves. The soft covers on the bed crinkle and crumple from the fight you put up against the forces reeling you in. "Let me go, Satoru," you snarl one more time, trying your best to keep your desperation in the cloth you've wrapped it in, not letting its pus leak into your words, "Let go of me, now. Satoru. Or, I swear— Gojo!!"

"Sweetness."

Some other reality and you think you might find this enticing. Loving, even, if you're being particularly, delusionally sappy then.

Yet, in this reality, in this moment, as you find yourself on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off it whilst your husband traps the rest of your body beneath him, one good foot between him and your supine form — and he calls you that horrid nickname with that horrid smile– as if you're sweet like those kikufuku mochis he loves eating– and not the most sour, the most salty, the most bitter person he has ever met—

You let the fight seep from yourself into the horrible rose-scented air of the room, wretched wails clawing out instead of growls and snarls.

"I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you sob, chest heaving beneath the bodice of your gown, the pearl necklace snug on your skin stifling, "It is just so difficult— This world. This life. Everything is so fucking very difficult. And confusing. And demanding. And difficult— I cannot do- I cannot live this way with the entire world's eyes trained on me," you cry out; the stinging in your eyes, in your throat, in your soul growing worse with every other word you utter, "I simply cannot live with my–"

"And what if only my eyes are trained on you?" Satoru interrupts you, mouth set into thin lines; though the concern and affection sparkling in his gaze is unmistakeable, you note, peering up through your thick curtain of tears and emotions— being close friends since you were a pair of kids learning to read and write, does have its perks after all —

"Tell me, sweetness," A finger hooks under your chin to lift it up; your suffocating pearl necklace comes off within the next instant– "What if I told you, proved to you: you don't need to worry yourself with any person; anyone, anywhere, anytime in your life; not when they aren't a part of your world—" A sturdy arm hooks under your back this time, lifting you with ease off the bed, until you're in your husband's strong grip: loose to not give you any degree of discomfort yet tight enough for you to be assured he won't be dropping you—

You wrap your arms gingerly round his neck. He asks, dropping his voice to the lowest, to the gravest you've ever heard him, "What if I showed you, your world can consist only of us— only you and me— will you..."

He trails off suddenly, gaze darting to the side before it returns to you again— it's burning. Burning, burning, burning – Stoking a fire in your nerves, in your veins, in the pit of your lower belly, perhaps in the area nether to it too— Your husband's lips curve in the gentlest shape ever seen on him, quite betraying or, maybe, complimenting the hints and clues of that something, evident from the way his fingers flex on your back for the tiniest moment or the way the shadows of the night shift and morph in the brilliance of his gaze—

"You wanna prove to me w-whatever you said right now," you state in what Satoru calls your 'weather-reporter' voice. A brow rises before it returns to its place again– the man addressed nods. Solemn. Certain.

The muscles in your shoulders relax, opposing the muscles tautening elsewhere in your body– not from fear, no. Perhaps from anticipation, you reckon. Or, maybe it is from fear– except it isn't a fear of the man in front of you— The Strongest Sorcerer, capable of turning anything and everything, anyone and everyone, into dust if he so wishes to—

Except he doesn't. Never has. Not without a solid good reason— Oh, this sweet, sweet man— For once in your life, you decide not to stay dwelling on your thoughts, on your twisted, sick, pathetic mind— all for the sake of your husband, him looking at you as if you really are a delectable mochi he wants to devour.

Oh, what a sweet fool your husband is, isn't he?

Moving your hands from where they were resting on his nape to your front, wedging into the little space between Satoru's and your bodies, you inquire, choosing your words soft yet solemn, "And... are you sure you wanna do this tonight? That you won't be regretting—"

"I can do this tonight and every other night," Satoru replies, without letting you complete your query. Then grins, loads like that shy boy, you remember, attempting to befriend you with a pebble– blue and white and blue, years back when you still pronounced 'star' as 'tar'.

You let your palms face away from your chest to rest on his— still, so warm and uncovered from the shower he took— still so, so open and vulnerable to you, in spite of the slashes and gashes dear friends like you, like that damn boy, have only ever given him— He asks, "Do you wanna let me do this?"

A slow yet sure nod is the only thing you manage to offer him in reply.

That slow yet sure nod's also the only thing remaining crystal-clear in your mind— besides, obviously—

Those kisses, so shaky yet so fiery, pressed onto your lips, your chin, the hollow of your neck, the valley between your breasts, down down down, until they reached your thighs— And they grew less of adoring and more of wanting– with muffled moans and withheld whimpers— your lips constantly forming the syllables of your husband's name, as the man himself suckled purple splotches of his desire onto the flesh out there— Besides, obviously—

The sharp gasp of breath your husband made when he tasted you for the first time and you felt shame flood every nook and cranny of your naked body — how the gown or the lingerie were removed from your torso, you've no clue...—before the shame swelled into something far different, far pleasurable, with every lick, every nibble, every hum and every groan muffled into your sensitive tissue and bundle of nerves— steady in the beginning but rapidly growing in intensity, frequency or must you say ferocity, with every moment he spends with his head in between your legs—

And you came. Embarrassed. Ecstatic. Experiencing everything lying on the spectrum between them. Onto his waiting tongue, over his—

"Ah! S-Satoru–"

You're ripped back to the present by the feel of him entering you.

The stretch hurts— as much as you've read in books, as much as you have been told in extremely discreet terms by the older women in the clan— but never once has this feeling been described to you to be- so fucking perfect, so fucking right— as the one flooding your senses in this very instant—

Two blue eyes lift from where they were squeezed close against your forehead, slick with the sheen of sweat, blinking down at you with so much care, you think you may burst from how much of it you note in them hues— the dams holding your tears back sure do, increasing in the degree they allow your emotions gush out, courtesy of the palms mapping your flushed cheeks, caressing your flushed cheeks, almost as if you're some porcelain doll.

"Hey, hey, hey," Satoru croons, pausing himself entirely– despite the toll it takes on him, visible from the way his face scrunches for a tiny moment before wrinkling into lines of worry and apology again– "It's hurting, isn't it?" he asks, then lowers his voice to a whisper, directed more at himself than at you if its rambling quality is anything. "Fuck," he curses, removing his palms from your face, and curling them into tight fists on either side of your face, "This was my first time. And I— I, I know I should have been more careful, still I went and fucked up–"

"Satoru," you say, blinking your tears away, splaying your fingers onto the smooth planes of his cheeks, hoping he'll quieten on noticing the small smile on your lips.

"– caused you pain, oh fucking hell–"

When is he going to shut up?

"Satoru," you try again, tone growing more insistent than the previous time, fingers moving up to scratch the backside of his ears — to trace the shell of his ears.

"– I was so fucking ignorant, selfish–"

Is he ever going to shut up?

"'Toru!" you exclaim with a mild tug on his hair. That seems to be your trick in shutting him up— though you don't miss the way the muscles in his arms flex nor the way his fists grow tighter at your action. Smile widening on your lips, watching him train every bit of his attention on you, and only you; you pull him down for a small kiss— a desperation you've been trying to ignore for a while now– blooming in the motion of your mouth against his, with his—

Perhaps, from the way you hate him blaming himself for doing totally nothing wrong. Perhaps, from the way you detest the lack of friction, his irrational rambling has created down there where you want it, you need it the most— Perhaps, from a mix of both these reasons.

Removing yourself a touch from him, you whine into the plushness of his lips, breathless, dizzy, needy, "Move, Satoru. I think I can take it— Oh, that's it, Satoru," your words taper off into a breathy sigh, "F-fuck—"

In retrospect, you reckon you'll be mortified, probably to death, when you'll let your mind drift back to tonight's events in the future– to how messy you sound with your moans, how messy you possibly look with your makeup smudged from tears and sweat— yet, now— in this very second, you deem you're having the best time of your life.

With Satoru's constant grunts and moans of "Fuck, you're taking me so well, sweetness" and incessant chants of "This– you, you're mine– only mine, as I'm yours"— With him drowning your skin in long, lavish kisses and suckles— With him toying with your hardened nipples and giving your breasts a deliciously painful squeeze—

But, mostly, with the way your husband fits you– so snug, so tight, so warm– every drag of his hip against yours sending a jolt of electricity through your nerves, making your heels dig deeper into his back, and your hold tighter round him, nails raking across his undercut, eliciting a pleased groan from him– though, they're no match for those noises you make when he hits that spot inside, again and again and again, a rapidly growing precision in every next thrust—

"'T-Toru– I'm close- sooo close," you whimper, nuzzling your nose into his neck, breathing in his scent— musky, sweaty, sultry— "Just a little more, sweetness," Satoru begs, keeping an arm beneath your back to pull you even closer to himself— as if that is possible anymore— "You are squeezing me so well— oh fuck."

Your walls clench round him particularly tightly, signalling to you that you're indeed very, very close— despite the haze of pleasure steadily building over your gaze, you wear a fond smile at the half-lidded look he pins on you, his mouth hanging open, whilst his palm presses into your lower back. Subtly trembling, yet so anchoring.

You decide this is your new favourite look of The Six Eyes, the former being the staggered look he gives your smug grin whenever you best him in a fight.

He really is sweet, isn't he?

Another moan permeates into the air, into your thoughts, punctuated by your husband brushing his lips with yours. They are soft— as does every other facet of him feel to you. Movements growing sloppier yet faster, he heaves a husky sigh into your ear, teeth grazing its shell.

"You're really perfect, y'know," he all but whines with a rather dragged out snap of his hips with yours— Eyes fluttering close from the action tightening the coil in your lower belly, you force out a weak chuckle. "I know that I'm per— Oh Sato— mmph!"

Your climax hits you.

Hard, harsh and unforgiving— the wave of euphoria it wreaks through your body is, streaking your vision with nonsensical streaks of colours and cloaking your ears with a deafening ringing— your only tether the soft pair of lips gently coaxing you to dance with it to a melody you've never heard— but hope can hear and learn in the years left in your life— until you're back in the large bed of your hotel room, body sore and and tingling, but in a pretty satisfied and happy way— at least, till you notice your husband scooting away from you to the edge of the bed.

Wha–How–When did he get from being inside you to there—

"Hey, no!" you protest, dragging him down to lie on top of you. Satoru looks at you, shock evident in the way he slowly blinks— You plaster a mighty frown on yourself, asking him, worried, "Where are you going? You haven't fini—"

"But I have finished," your husband answers your incomplete ask with a frown to match yours— before a confused moment passes and you find his frown slowly melt away into a million-watt beam, him asking, "Didn't you feel me come too then, sweetness? Or, did I give you that good an orgasm that you were numb to everything else then, huh?"

Embarrassment flushes through your body at your husband's teasing remark. Ignoring it, you clear your throat to hum back with a smile, "I guess that was the case, yeah. You were really nice tonight— thanks." Then add, watching him open his mouth, the familiar gloom of regret threatening to dim his happiness, "And don't worry about then— I too— This was my first time too, and, um," you wish you could look away for a beat to regain your composure but the sparkles gleaming in the blue eyes gazing at you, are so magnetic— you continue with a laugh, sheepish, staring back at him, "I might have overreacted to the pain."

Whatever chuckle you were expecting never comes; rather, a tender kiss arrives on each of your eyelids, and on the tip of your nose. Your lips part in a content smile, widening on hearing the query sent your way.

"And was I just as great at proving to you what I promised to, huh?"

Your mind races back to then— the dark hollow plaguing you before he arrived. You pull it back to now— the radiance of your husband in every minute portion of your soul, filling it with a cosiness you know only he can impart to you.

"You so were," you're quick to hum back your agreement, paired with a peck to his lips, as he positions himself to lie comfortably atop you. He's quite a bit heavy, what with being so buff and tall– but you think you don't really mind it— not when he's incomparably better than the weighted blankets you've always liked sleeping with.

A hand rises to card through your tangled hairstyle, separating every strand from the other, carefully and gently— you wonder if he knows he does the same to your tangled thoughts too, unknotting them via few select words and few select gestures—

"You've the 'philosopher' face on," your husband's entertained remark interrupts your cloud of thoughts– you drag your eyes from that scar in his throat– one which never fails to throttle whatever sense of safe you might've developed– to the hues before, far more gleaming than the sapphires sitting on your fourth finger can ever be—

Satoru smiles. That annoying, understanding, endearing smile of his, which only serves to show just how much he has been forced by life to be matured. And murmurs.

"We're really equals in this partnership, y'know? You can always share with me whatev—"

"Is it wrong of me to compare you to fire and me to air?"

Your simple question catches The Strongest Sorcerer off-guard- you gather from the way his eyes widen and his heartbeat stutters a little over the bare flushed skin of your chest— you wonder if you must be happy at this silly victory or be worried, you have such a hold on him—

Something tells you, he won't mind either one of them — taking each into stride with a pitiful pout or a cheerful chuckle — the exact same way letting your inquiry settle into him, he responds with a grin in too short a span of time.

"Nope! Not at all!" Satoru exclaims, grin growing and digging dimples into his cheeks. "Obviously I'm fire! Have you seen me? I'm so fucking sizzling hot!" Despite the fondness swelling in your heart, you make a big show of rolling your eyes and moving to scoff — except that scoff remains lodged in your throat and gets swallowed by a gasp of shock as you find yourself being flipped over, so that it's you who is lying on the top now.

Grin growing freer and truer, your husband pulls you impossibly close to himself – so much so that the bounderies separating you from him begin to blur in your eyes; and resumes—

"And you, sweetness, of course, are air– without whose 21% oxygen, the fire cannot even be ignited in the first place."

I do not own the characters or the image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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Masterlist

SINCE THIS IS AN EXPLICIT FIC, I'M NOT TAGGING MY USUAL TAGLIST. INSTEAD, I WANNA MENTION FEW PPL [TAKING A LEAF OUT OF UR BOOK, SEL]— WHO HV SHOWN AN INTEREST IN THIS FIC WHILE IT WAS BEING WRITTEN, & HAVE ALSO ENCOURAGED AND MOTIVATED ME LOADS!! TYYY SM U AWESOME PPL!!!! 🥰🥰 [AND ALSO TO U, DEAR READER, FOR REACHING THE FOOTNOTES OF THE FIC!!]

TAGLIST: @moniheartz, @shotorus, @sukunassuka, @ancient-vivarium, @saenora, @avatarofstars!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ [THERE ARE MANY OTHERS TOO, WHO HV LIKED MY RAMBLING POSTS– I PROMISE I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN Y'ALL. ILYSM 😭😭😭]

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pyro-madder · 4 months ago

Text

On the Four Guardians, their connection and relation to X (the both of them)

-because the lore is a mess and I Needed Answers. i only meant to compile the different pieces of the puzzle at first, but once it turned into a full essay, i figured i'd share it !

disclaimers :

due to my inability to read or understand japanese i'll be relying solely on english material - official localizations, fantranslations, and a bit of machine translation, and pray there weren't major farts during either processes. all my sources that aren't in-game screenshots will be linked at the end of the post.

for the sake of simplicity - both in analysis and writing - i will proceed with the assumption that all the guardians were built/activated at the same time, and that a hint applying to one applies to all four of them (and by "one" i really mean Harpuia who hogs all the screentime for himself)

this is merely my own analysis and conclusions for the sake of my fanworks and interest, not a guideline on what people should believe. anyone with more info or thoughts is free to chime in ( ´ ◡ ` )

So... let's dive into it.

First things first : who, or what, are the Four Guardians ?

First game introduces them as Neo Arcadia's elite and Copy X's inner circle, then the lore entries in 2&3 (Ciel's computer + Secret Disks) specify they were built after X himself.

In-games we only know the Four as military generals, but the Official Complete Works reveal they had another job - or at least Harpuia and Leviathan did.

This is repeated and expanded on in their profiles for the Remastered Tracks : Zero booklet (which i'll just link here instead of pasting four more paragraphs). An excerpt from Harpuia's : "Neo Arcadia, aspiring to restore the world of humans, heralded 2 goals. One of them was the annihilation of the [Mavericks], source of the wars, and the other was regeneration of the Earth's environment to expand the human living area."

Terraformers ; Reploids made from X to assist in the repopulation of a planet damaged beyond words by over 100 years of war, while suppressing the maverick threat.

Then, the Megaman Zero collection website drops these bombs (flash website, translation courtesy of ggle lens, with thanks to @/cinnamononions for two of those three screenshots and to @/irys955 for the post that brought the matter on the table for me) :

Here rather than merely built after X, the Four were full parts of him that separated into their own beings upon sealing the Dark Elf. Not the same thing ! This is something that not only contradicts the games - aka the source material - but has never been seen anywhere else. So, I don't think it's worth much unless you want it to, but there are two implications to point out anyway :

the Cyber Elf X we meet and speak to throughout the games is incomplete compared to his original MMX self, something you'd think would be addressed, or that you'd be able to tell when interacted with ;

the Guardians never met the original X. This was my main question out of this whole mess, and this bit is what directed the rest of my digging.

In Z2 Harpuia has this line-

-which i've seen taken as evidence that he knew of the og X's body all along. while not impossible, it's not a guarantee - there is a whole year between Z1 and 2, he could very much have found out during that period, especially from his newfound leadership of Neo Arcadia !

and YET, when faced with MK-II in 3, knowing him to be the copy (Zero only says "a" copy, but MK-II clearly has the memories from the one in 1, so either way works) - he still immediately submits.

And in the first half of the game, while he tries to reason with MK-II, he never turns directly against him - even when MK-II tells him off and steps him down, even after the missile strike (the human deaths !!) he's co-responsible for, Harpuia's anger is consistently and ONLY directed at Weil.

He knows that's not the og X, yet he keeps his respect, and with him being comatose while MK-II goes out, we will never know how long that could have gone on.

Apart from what the Collection said above - which again, I consider as dubiously reliable - the question of when the Four were built, or at least activated (the distinction is important) is never asked and never clearly answered. The only thing we can be certain of is that it was after the Elf Wars - Z1 is their first meeting with Zero, they're not aware of Omega's true body (Phantom learns it first through Cyberspace), and the intro cutscenes in Z3 make it clear that while they knew Omega and Weil by name, they had never seen them in person before.

The implicit question behind it being, "have they known the og X while he was alive ?"

Well, the OCW has a timeline, let's take a look !

... they're not on it, except for that mention alongside Copy X at the bottom left paragraph.

And on (an excerpt of) the relationship chart from this same book :

They are written as underlings to Copy X only - no link to the og X at all, not even a "created after"...

So my takeaway is that they were activated roughly around the same time as Copy X. (There's also the fact that they use Copy X's leitmotif, "The Legend", rather than X's "Cyberelf", even after Copy X is no more, but that may be a stretch on my end.)

According to the devs, Ciel may have been as young as 5 when she made Copy X, so doing the math with her being 14 in Z1 brings us to at most 9 years before Z1.

And this made me think, aren't the Four a little late for their terraforming business then ? Neo Arcadia has been standing for almost a century ! To which the devs answer that they'd been working outside of Neo Arcadia. Crisis averted.

(The "they weren't supposed to be weapons" is an interesting bit, in-line with Megaman tradition and twice as ironical coming from expies of the pacifist X, though we're never told what non-military function Fefnir and Phantom could have occupied. But I disgress.)

So now we have Reploids made after the og X but likely never knew him alive. So the last (and I'd say most important) question is, were they at least aware they were following a clone ?

The "disappearance" of X was likely not something planned ahead, by Neo Arcadian authorities or by himself - I'm not that familiar with his character, so feel free to correct me on that, but I can't imagine he'd be in favor of maintaining a facade with a fake, even for the sake of maintaining a sense of stability and security. Copy X's lie is held to the general populace, as we see in Z3 (through Weil framing "X's" sudden brutal end on Zero) and Z4 (the human Caravaners very much believing that). But how high exactly does it go ?

See again my point about Harpuia's Z2 line not being irrefutable evidence he was in the know, and let's compare with what other characters know, as told by the Remastered Tracks : Telos dramas !

Case 1) TK-31 :

We are already in Copy X era, and the to-be Elpizo is at this point a regular worker in Neo Arcadia's City Management Bureau - in other words, a civilian (in Z2, he's referred to as a citizen by Leviathan and as an errand boy by himself). He seems to be in content, practically complicit ignorance of Neo Arcadia's inner workings despite his own condition as a nameless, mass-produced model, so it's safe to assume what he knows isn't much above what the average citizen knows. He recognizes the Dark Elf and Weil but not Omega, and is of course unaware the X he sees here is different from the one he knows.

Then he gets found out and berated by Harpuia :

Is Harpuia trying to keep a mere civilian away from the truth he's privy to, or is he himself unquestionningly following orders not to pry ? It honestly wouldn't be far off from his character. Remember the earlier paragraph with MK-II. Remember that in Z3, any of his protests are immediately shut down with "you used to be more obedient than that" !

Case 2) (half of) the Eight Gentle Judges :

Now we're at the top of the echelon - or, well, close enough. And that last line is immediately telling : the Judges knew the og X and noticed the change without realizing he's been replaced. And immediately after that...

From the respect Kelverian shows here, it would seem that the Guardians are at least one rung above the Judges on Neo Arcadia's ladder, so again : is this keeping the lower ranks in the dark, or is this just the usual Sage "don't you dare doubt Master X" Harpuia ?

Case 3) Fellow Guardian, Phantom (and with direct ft. of og X) :

The wording here is a little confusing ("we meet at last" but also "you haven't changed a bit", is this their first meeting or a reunion ?) ; but we do have "my darkness will not serve any other light than [the og X's]." Can Copy X's "light" be equated to the og X's ? Because we're dealing with the guy who was willing to blow himself up to stop Zero from reaching Copy X. Whether or not he already knew about the og X back then, Phantom's loyalty, like Harpuia's, seems to extend to both Xes unconditionally.

Note that he also states "protecting the people and Reploids", which up until then seemed to be completely optional for the Guardians with how ready they were to terminate their own.

And now, with Harpuia's own musings :

An illusion. There WAS something he didn't know at this point. And this point is the beginning of Z3 - he's aware of the Elf Wars, of Weil and Omega, and he's aware of the original X's now-destroyed body. So what is it he's still missing ?

When Harpuia asks Zero to stop Elpizo, and when he opposes Weil and Omega, it's because they threaten human lives. There's no character development here, no changing to Zero and the Resistance's side. Leviathan and Fefnir too, when asked by X to help Zero in their own drama track, only accept because Weil/Omega are shared enemies, and they're shared enemies because they threaten humanity and Neo Arcadia's order as a whole. The protection of humans, and their master(s), has been their singular consistent goal, even when it came at the cost of their own kind. Perhaps much like the Judges, merely carrying out orders while being kept in the dark of how exactly their victims came to be labelled Mavericks !

So, my conclusion on what Harpuia figured here is the original purpose of Neo Arcadia - an utopia for humans and Reploids, as the og X envisionned, and not only for the former. (And if you listen to the drama track itself, he sounds in clear distress and denial, which may explain why he holds onto MK-II anyway.)

Last but not least is really just... law of parcimony/occam's razor. It's much easier to explain the Four's ruthless enforcement of Copy X's agenda, something we know the og X would have never stood for, if it's the only status quo they've ever know, isn't it ?

If you're still there, we're nearing the end, and I'll recap my own conclusion with another homemade Canva masterpiece made from everything we've discussed :

The Four Guardians were modeled and coded after X, and activated alongside or after Copy X to help humanity repopulate the Earth before being reconverted as military assets. They were either kept in the dark about the og X entirely, or were led to believe they were carrying on his legacy by enforcing Copy X's regime, regardless of whether they knew about the og body in Yggdrasil or if they learned about it later.

I specify "activated" to keep the possibility that their project as terraformers might have been something X was involved with, but the seal of Dark Elf happened before he could see them open their eyes.

The whole other can of worms that is important yet that we will probably never know ANYTHING about, and the one that makes me use the passive voice above, is the human side of Neo Arcadia's government : whoever made Ciel build Copy X to begin with, and saw no issue in his regime. These are people with enough power to keep the truth away from up to the Gentle Judges, and I'm thinking the Guardians may not have been exempt from that.

Everything compiled here still leaves a ton of blanks, and anything more will have to be headcanon territory, so...

Thank you so much for reading ! Figuring out this mess then writing this took me like A Month, and it's quite awkward doing that on a 20 y/o game from a franchise we KNOW gets inconsistent. It might just be a compilation of what we already knew from still fairly recent translations but I hope you enjoyed the read anyway. 🙏

Sources :

MMZ2 in-game script

MMZ3 in-game script

MMZ Official Complete Works

MMZ Remastered Tracks booklet translation (character profiles)

MMZ Remastered Tracks Telos booklet translation (creator's chat)

MMZ Remastered Tracks Telos drama tracks (audio w/ translations, MMKB translations)

MMZ Collection Website (website, MMKB translation)

#sage harpuia #fighting fefnir #fairy leviathan #hidden phantom #megaman zero #mmz #I AM FREE AT LAST #and ive built some confidence so it goes in the tags now #pyro's media talkshow

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