#haven’t decided Exactly how they meet and where yet but whatever the case it features a homoerotic fight

[tragedykery]

girl help I’m having Feelings about my own ocs

[p0ssywhippedcream]

Oh, ticket time? How about a fluffy little story about L. He's feeling frustrated that the fellow detective he likes rarely looks his way. And then one day, he manages to see HER face when she looks away (maybe he reviewed surveillance footage or she turned to face a reflective surface like a window or mirror) and discovers all this time, she's been hiding her blushing face from him (cuz she likes him too)

This ask was a little difficult to write because I couldn’t really imagine exactly what scenario would allow this to happen but with a little tweaking, I think I figured out a way to write this. Let me know what you think, lovebug!

A/n = alias name

I imagine that L and you are on a call like you usually are when solving a case together. He has his screen showing his alias and you have yours. Sometimes though, when showing physical evidence only one of you has, you turn on the video camera feature.

L of course, scoots away from the camera and will dangle whatever needs to be shown with a finger and thumb in front of the screen. You do the same but holding the object like a regular person.

This time, your background is different then your usual work space. Today you’re in a hotel room, showing off a piece of burnt paper to your fellow detective as he comes to endless conclusions.

You haven’t yet realized that from the angle your laptop sits at, your face is shown in the reflection of the fridge. Your beautiful, beautiful face that only L knows belongs to the infamous A/n.

You look exactly how L would imagine you and yet completely different. You have that same fire in your eyes, of desire for justice and balance that he knew you would have but the color is much more vibrant than he pictured. Your hair is fuller, your smile more joyful and your entire demeanor is much more bouncy and energetic.

Besides all that wonderful news about you being stunning and also very positive and full of life, this also means L can figure out whether or not he actually has a influence on you.

He finishes his rambling with a “I will check out the father of Wallace, he seems to know more than he lets on.” and you nod.

Dropping the paper, L hears you move to pick up the snack you’d been eating this meeting and resume chewing. If there’s one thing you have in common, it’s constant eating.

“How did your date go with the Australian woman last week?” He asks casually and you made a funny noise. If he didn’t see your eyes bulge, L would think you were choking.

You chuckle around your food and swallow, “Horribly. Turns out some people believe that the Earth is not only flat, but donut-shaped. She insisted I must not know basic science because obviously the Earth is shaped like a donut, are you stupid?” Your voice went higher pitched at the end as you mocked the woman and you giggled at your impressive impression of nails on a chalkboard.

L laughed lightly along with you. At least his love life was so bare he wouldn’t have to deal with that. Instead he decided to be heavily in love with the one friend his age he’s ever had.

“Right. How could you be so dumb, A/n. Don’t you see the giant sprinkles in the sky at night?”

You laugh so hard you almost fall over but instead run directly into the counter your computer is balanced on and push it into the sink. Doing damage control and pulling it out with a yogurt spoon stuck to the bottom, L sees one of your eyes peek into frame for a second only to disappear quickly.

You set the computer back down at it’s original angle except here, L can see your reflection even better.

“You know, if you simply went out with smarter people, you wouldn’t have this problem. Take me, at least I know that the world is a cube.”

Usually, this is the part where you say something snarky and shut him down like always and L wonders why you’re so damn hard to flirt with. Today however, when L sees your cheeks blossom red in the silver reflection, a seed of hope does the same in his stomach.

“Ah yes, but if I “went out” with you, it would be considered staying in. Get it? Cause you never leave the house?” You laughed heartily at your own joke and L charitably gave you a chuckle for good measure.

He could take the lame digs at his habits now, better than he used to. At least now he knows he’s got some sort of shot with you, even if it’s a shot in the reflective silver light of hotel refrigerators.

[luxwritesfanfic]

Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more. 

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him. 

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in. 

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.  

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod. 

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?” 

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.” 

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go. 

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

[lostysworld]

My dar(k)ling – The Darkling x reader

Part 2

Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x reader

Warning: none

Summary: You find new friends and try not to earn some enemies, but things become complicated, when you find someone in strong need of rescuing

After a dozen of attempts to find you a proper costume, Genya gave up and got you a black shirt, pants and a pair of boots, but insisted on another couple of shirts just in case.

In the end you decide not to take yourself as a prisoner and have a walk, giving that Kirigan left the castle a day ago and you cannot feel this pressure around you. That kind that made you stay in your room for three days in a row.

Your adventures start the moment you come out of your room and bump into a man in a red kefta. His black hair lays perfectly, and dreamy expression makes you think of the real reason for your collision.

– Oh, I'm sorry-

– It's fine. I should have looked my way.

Instantly, you recognize the grisha heartrender, who was in Kirigan's guard when he found you in the forest.

– Wait, I remember you, - the man smiles to you, when you wrinkle your nose in displeasure. – But I don't remember your name, sorry.

– Fedyor. Fedyor Kaminsky.

– Sure, - you extend your hand for him, and the heartrender shakes it slightly. – Could you show me around, if you are not in hurry?

You would not ask, if it was someone, but not Fedyor. His friendly expression, that always plays on his face, makes you feel safe or sort of.

The man nods and leads you down the corridor, when at the last turn you two almost bump into Kirigan.

Is he not supposed to be here, but with the army? Your disappointed face draws his attention, and he nods to his heartrender to leave you two. Fedyor smirks to you apologizing and goes away.

– Do you always need to spoil all the fun? - Kirigan arches a brow at your bold words, but only shows you a way outside following next to you.

– Always? Did I spoil your fun back in the forest?

You don't answer and roll your eyes not noticing his wide smirk while he's looking at you.

– So, what did you want from my heartrender?

You look more presentable now, than before, and the general's gaze every time slips to your side. He can't help but notice, how well black color suits you, as his eyes are roaming across your slim figure.

– I can't sit in my room all days long, - you follow him as you both go outside, where the man leads you to the training ground. – I need a distraction.

Kirigan nods you towards a group of grisha who are fighting with each other, looked after by a tall man, surely their trainer.

The sight of you wrinkling your nose makes him smirk. Everyone in the Palace are always tiptoeing around Kirigan. He hasn't seen a person, who behaved like that with him, for a long time.

– Not a fighter, actually. At least not in close combat.

– And what do you want to try then?

You look him closely. General seems sincerely interested in you and you can't understand why. But maybe you need to try to see the reason.

You lean your head to the side looking up to him.

– Archery.

– Archery? - he scans you with the critical glance and your brows arch at this, as you throw arms to the sides.

– What? Do I not look like an acher?

Kirigan chuckles amd shakes his head.

– You can do anything you want, Y/N. Tell Fedyor, he will find you something.

For a moment you are walking silently, and surprisingly this silence isn't uncomfortable, giving that some days ago you couldn't tolerate him next to yourself. But the next second you recall one thing.

– You told me I would meet the king, general. Though there was nothing of it mentioned for the last two days.

– Do you want to meet him? - his sly gaze switches on your face, and you instantly feel being too close to him, as you are almost the same height as he is.

– I don't think I have a choice, right?

His gentle smirk makes your heart beating faster, and you try to collect all your strength not to fall under his spell. You already saw several girl, gossiping about the man, and it even sounded pathetic.

– I asked the king to let you rest for a bit.

– Oh, what have I done for being asked a day off by the Black General himself?

Your sarcasm hits him not that much as does your addressing. The man stops and casts a grim glance at you. All of his previous friendly demeanor vanishes away.

– You have heard about me? - it is half question half statement, and you don't know what to do.

– I have indeed.

– And you are not afraid?

You arch a brow in a silent question.

– Of what?

– Of me.

You did hear about General Kirigan and all these rumors went much further amongst your people, of those still alive. Now you believe them, there is more in that men, then he shows to others. But despite whispers, you still have your own opinion to make.

Suddenly you notice like air around you becomes thicker and a bit darker. One-sided careless grin shows up on your lips, as you make a step closer to the man, leaving literally no space between you.

– I've spent my entire adult life living alone. Do you think, I am afraid of the darkness, General Kirigan?

Your shushed voice does give him a slight chill and he can't catch why. There is something behind your eyes, somewhere deeper, that doesn't let him tear his glance off you.

– Why? - his sudden question buffles you.

– What 'why'?

– Why living alone? Where's your family, Y/N?

Your once brave expression drops as you furrow and turn away from the man, continuing your walk.

– You don't want to tell about it? - he doesn't leave you, following behind. This time you get to bring your mischievous grin back on your face.

– You haven’t shared your secret yet, General, so I could share mine with you.

His smile doesn't last long, as someone behind you both calls him. On one brief moment he seems to roll his eyes in irritation, that makes you give up a short laugher.

– You will meet the king tomorrow. Now you'd better have a rest, Y/N.

You don't know what hits you exactly, but when the man turns around it's your turn to call him.

– Have a good day, General Kirigan, - he looks over you with a strange expression in his features and just nods, leaving you behind.

Not knowing what else can occupy you here, you walk away back to the palace.

Everyone seems so busy with whatever they have to do, that you simply feel yourself out of place. You don't know most of the people here, but already start recognizing some of the faces.

And when you catch Fedyor out of the crowd along with another heartrender, you flash him a bright smile.

Coming closer he loops his arm around your elbow dragging you with them, starting chatting immediately. Another man next to Fedyor is familiar to you too.

– I remember you, mister, - you point at him with your finger, leaning slightly forward to look at him. The man just gives you a displeased glance.

– It's Ivan, - Kaminsky looks at him with such love and adoration, that your heart clenches at the sight of them. – He can be a bit grumpy, but truly he's my better half.

Watching Ivan's face twitches slightly at these words gives you a faint smirk.

– Better? - you decide to cling to words as can hardly imagine this man being better than Fedyor, who is literally shining like a sun. – I would say just...other half.

Fedyor chuckles, but when you are about to turn to the wing, where your room is, Ivan immediately drugs you two back, out of the empty corridor.

– What's wrong? - you see nothing behind their broad backs, giving that you are tall enough. – Guys?

Ivan gives you a sign to shut up, and you finally hear someone's muffles voice. Two voices.

Slowly crawling from behind Fedyor you peer around the corner seeing the scene, that makes your blood slowly boiling.

Here in the opposite corner stands Genya and a man, that you believe, is the king, you should have met with, according to his attire. Not that he impresses you much.

Watching them you realize, that the king stands too close to the tailor and the girl definitely doesn't want to be there, but can't do anything to escape.

– Is that your king? - you look over your shoulder back on heartrenders, but lower your tone when Ivan shushes you. – Won't you do something with it?

– We can't. He's a king, Y/N.

You see sympathetic helpless glance of Fedyor, and just shrugs your shoulders, taking a step forward. Just at the same time, when Ivan drags you back.

– What the hell are you doing? - his abashed gaze is burning holes inside of your skull.

– Exactly what none of you here can.

You shake his arm off yours and move forward, coming out of the corner. No one of two people in front of you still doesn't notice your presence.

– Your Majesty! - the man flinches from your loud voice, and you seem to hear faint swearing of Ivan behind you. The frightened glance of Genya flies to you. – General Kirigan demands the presence of miss Safin in the map room...It's urgent.

You don't know, how this nonsense appears in your mind, but you try not to let the grin show on your lips. Something inside of you makes you feel proud.

The king hesitates for a moment, stunned by the fact, that he's caught in such situation. But you don't flinch wearing the same cold demeanor as before. Taking a step back, he nods and shows Genya the way out towards you.

– Of course.

If Genya can run in that moment, she surely will. The readhead girl walks the other half of the corridor to you as if it is an escape route from her death.

As soon as she reaches you, her expression falls only on a second, but when both of you turn around the corner and see Ivan and Fedyor, who tries not to smile to much.

Genya furrows, but when she opens her mouth to ask, what's going on, Ivan cuts her off addressing you.

– What you've done was foolish-

– Foolish?! - now you can't hold back your irritation. – Would you better watch the king putting his hands on what doesn't belong to him?

With that you go on with your way towards the entrance of the castle, dragging the tailor with you. Behind your back you can hear Fedyor's voice trying to calm his lover down.

But then Genya stops you, still too frightened and disoriented. You believe this isn't the first time, but no one can get used to such things no matter how often it happens.

– Y/N, wait. Where are we going?

– Out of here, I guess. Garden, training grounds, main hall, whenever.

A faint smile touches her lips, and the girl lays her hand on your forearm.

– You really shouldn't do this, he's the king-

– Then I don't want a king like this one!

Your voice echoes around the half empty hallway, and it does draw some unnecessary attention to you. But you don't give a damn now.

You don't know Genya much, but these several days with her show, that she surely deserves more than all of this. Confident, stubborn and brave. Genya Safin is definitely brave. This is all about her, and how can't you defend her after this?

But you know, that there in Little Palace, you have only one true king. General Kirigan.

And he's exactly the one, who is coming to your group at the moment.

You see Ivan and Fedyor straighten and Genya casts a look behind your back. It's not necessary for you to turn back to know about the man's presence. Even birds stop singing, when Kirigan is around.

– What's going on here? - this demanding strict voice shakes your a bit. Ivan throws a brief mocking glance to your side, and you only roll your eyes at him. You turn rapidly to the general.

From the only look at him, you can swear, that he already knows everything. God only knows how.

– Miss Y/N, - not getting any answer from others, Kirigan switches his glance to you. His silky voice makes you nervous, cause it means nothing good. He nods aside indicating to talk with you privately, but then comes back to his heartrenders. – I will talk with you two later.

You don't like his mood, in the end all of this was your idea and yours only.

– You won't, - general switches his attention on you. One way or another, your boldness will backfire.

– Excuse me?

– You won't talk with them, it's not their fault, - you keep eyeing the man in front of you. – It was my decision, and it's not for them to suffer for this.

Ivan and Fedyor don't even flinch, as Kirigan's gaze goes to them and then back to you. He waves them off, dismissing, and all three of grisha vanish from the hall.

He drags you out of the palace, gripping onto your forearm.

– What the hell where you thinking, when went against the king? - his hissing rings in your ears.

– You are speaking as I am a traitor, general. But I just did the thing no one of you wanted to deal with.

– He is the king, - you try to shake Kirigan's hand off you, but he's holding for dear life. Finally you just relax, not resisting the man. – And who are you here? Nothing.

– He is not my king, as you are not my general. But if I needed to do this again, I would and not once.

Kirigan does insult you with his words, and you should admit it isn't the nice thing to hear. This mixed feeling towards the general leads you astray, cause feeling displeasure, irritation, anger and that strange pull towards the man at the same time is something you can't handle now.

You move closer only for him to hear your words.

– You lead your army to the war, General. Talk about grisha safety at every corner, but hardly can defend those in the palace. Or just don't want to. Isn't it pathetic?

– Watch your language, Y/N-

– Watch your actions, Kirigan! I'm not a little girl, that you brought from the woods as a present like Genya. I'm not interested in court intrigues, - he looks at you with both anger and surprise. No one here allows to reprimand him like this. Yet you are standing in front of him. – I will not follow your stupid rules, where superiors are allowed everything they want to do.

His gaze, roaming across your features, halts on your eyes. His dark intense glare somehow betrays his own thoughts, as if he's partly agree with you.

– Unlike you, General, I have no limits to get what I want.

You go past him inside the hall, slightly brushing his shoulder with yours. A slight smirk touches his lips.

You can be bold and wild, wayward or stubborn. But you surely hold a spark inside of you, and this spark can't be shadowed with his powers nor with people around you.

Kirigan looks over his shoulder only to see, that you already dissapper in the crowd.

[florencwrites]

aphrodite 〚technoblade〛

in which his love finally returns to him, the voices trailing not far behind

(!) voices, mentions of trauma (!)

His mind was running a thousand miles an hour, heart in his throat. He knew very well that he was one of, if not the, most skilled warriors of the realm, however anytime an unexpected guest found their way to his chalet, he couldn't help but worry. Worry for not only his own but Phil's safety, too.

He moved stealthily, a thing he'd always been skilled in, stepping on just the right planks in his home. Letting his eyes roam over the surrounding lands through every window. A single pair of footsteps could be detected in the relatively fresh blanket of snow. It wasn't a straight line at first, it started right by the treeline. Phil was still sound asleep, the sun had barely peeked over the horizon after all.

They've found you.

Not a single noise could be perceived from anyone hiding outside, he was sure of it. He made sure of it. The path ran all the way to the walls of his base, despite that, his front steps were clear of any marks. He held his axe surely by his side, realizing that this might not be just any morning for him, after all.

With careful precision, he pushed his door open while immediately double-checking for any marks on the balustrade. None. They weren't in his house, he was sure there was no other way to enter. He'd learned that the hard way when he came back from one of his little adventures, one day.

They're here.

He remembered it quite vividly, the sweat that ran over his forehead, trailing from his eyebrows to his cheekbones before running down his neck. The blood spatter that had physically and mentally blurred his vision, the way he couldn't get a word in through his own running mind. He had just finished reinforcing his doors, there was no way anyone could've gotten in; how could they if he wasn't even capable of doing it himself?

He'd frozen his ass off that night, having no choice but sleep with his trusty steed in the muddy hay. Thankfully, Phil was supposed to arrive back at the cottage right before dawn, the savior of his own demise, many a time. He'd pulled him from the literal horse feces and dragged him to the stream just a while north, quickly rinsing him before hoisting him back into bed. Phil was nothing short of a father to Techno, he was sure they were meant to be. Phil was everything Techno had always wanted to be, brave, kind, caring, and vicious. Unpredictable, underestimated.

You'll never be half the man he is.

The fresh snow crinkled beneath his sturdy boots, his eyes were wary of any and all movements. Rabbits in the distance, a moaning undead somewhere beneath his feet. The clacking of hooves, restless whinnies. He pressed his back against the freezing concrete of his home, ducking a little before daring to peek around the corner. His eyes hovered over the stable, immediately taking notice of Carl's agitated sighs and disturbed snorts. The prints led right to the gate.

A very faint shush whispered itself out of Techno's mouth, barely loud enough for the horse to hear, nonetheless, it calmed him instantly. He crouched down right behind the shed, letting his fingers trace over the prints that lead into the stall. He delicately hovered over them, inspecting the trail that seemed to run through the footprints. A cape of some sorts, perhaps a dress, had been dragged through the snow. The prints themselves weren't made by any warrior boots, either. They seemed to have been any regular riding ones, leather, most likely. They hadn't been imprinted into the snow deep enough to belong to anyone of normal weight, nor anyone wearing armor. Not even iron armor would be able to lead to these featherlight touches in the frost.

You will die today.

His ears perked at the sound of soft snores coming from right behind the planked wall, rustling of hay, too. His senses were on high alert, his hog-like nose easily discerning the stench of lavender from horse dung at this distance. God, he needed to clean that fucking stable again soon. Perfume, they were wearing perfume. Nobody wore perfume around these parts, any parts really, except for.. L'Manburg.

Slowly, he rose to his feet again, making the tiniest of steps to the entrance of the stable. A deep, silent, breath. His eyes squinted at the sight before him. Right next to the watering trough, that desperately needed a refill, was a small body. Completely cocooned in what seemed like a brown cloak of some sort. Little tufts of hair stood from where their head was situated against the wooden structure. "Erm."

Just kill them.

"Hello?" His voice was still rough with sleep, way raspier than usual. He hid his snout into the seam of his cape a little, not immediately wanting to give away his person to whatever stranger decided to drop anchor in his stable. The body stirred a little at his comment, now revealing an icy hand from underneath the hem of the cloak. A dull undertone to the skin made him realize just how hypothermic they must've been, being out in the cold for God knows how long. he slurred his vowels a little as he tried again, "Hello."

This time the body turned around hastily, complete terror resting on their features. The cloak was still tightly wrapped around their torso, brown riding boots barely peeking from underneath it. A woman. A horrified woman. "Please don't hurt me."

Kill them.

"Give me one good reason why not to." He sternly spoke, not meaning a word he meant. He truly, utterly felt for her, no foe would choose to sleep in a goddamn stable when he was sleeping just two floors up, comfortably surrounded in feathered comforters, shielding him from any harm.

"I won't hurt you." She assured him hastily. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her vow, immediately reiterating in a tiny, meek voice, "You promise?"

"You're mocking me." Her voice wasn't any stronger at this point, he could even follow the line of a slight tremble in it as she spoke.

He crossed his arms over his torso, kicking the gate open with his foot. "C'mon." He mumbled, barely resisting the urge to dramatically roll his eyes. No movement from the stable, though, except for Carl's nervous trampling. "If I was going to slice your throat I'd have done it already."

A soft mutter rang from behind him as he made his way up the stairs to his home. "Fair point."

You can trust no one.

He held the door as she stumbled her way into the house, "Why didn't you call for me?"

She stumbled over the uneven planks in his home, quickly being caught by two large hands on her shoulders. He steadied her, meeting her eyes. His demeanor was soft, gentle. "I didn't- don't want to be a bother."

"You're always a bother." His hands still rested on her shoulders, he hesitated. He'd missed her so fucking much, all these weeks he'd been tucked away in the tundra, he'd longed for her warmth on his side. Were it her chest pressed to his back when they were riding through thick blizzards, or her ankles crossing over his when they slept. Her tiny hand in his when they ran from angry shopkeepers, he even missed her cold feet, pressed to his thighs in the middle of the night. Her eyes teared up a little, staring right back at him. He slid his arms around her neck, pulling her into a breathless hug. "You smell different."

"Do you like it better?" Her words were muffled against his chest, silently thanking God for his huge animalistic ears, he let out a croaky laugh. "Haven't decided yet."

❄  ❄  ❄

"She's safe here, Techno." Phil assured him as he hammered away at some sort of new contraction the older man had thought up. "She's safer with you than with them, you know that."

"Do I?" A harsh hit against the wood. "Do I know that, Phil?"

He was the worst-case scenario for her, he knew it. He was a goddamn war criminal, he shouldn't be taking in anyone, let alone her. She deserved a goddamn kingdom, a realm, but all he could offer her was a loosely woven bed in the attic. His bed, that is, but that didn't make it suck any less.

He'd sleep in the snow every single night if it meant she was safe inside. Right like she was right now, he'd pushed her up the ladder to his very own chamber, cladding her in his clothes and tucking her into bed. She hadn't been there for most of it, fast asleep in his arms as he hoisted her into the bed. He made sure to wake her before helping her change, "You've done it before." She softly muttered to him, eyes barely able to keep themselves alert.

He'd smiled down at his lap as he lifted some socks onto her freezing feet, "Just because it was okay then, doesn't mean it is now." He had gently taken her other foot, bringing the sock to almost halfway up her calf. Rather quickly, he exchanged the comforter for a pair of soft, almost corduroy-like trousers. She laid back into the pillow, letting her body fall limp as he handled her into a comfortable position. He crouched right by her head, tucking the blanket in so that she was completely encased in it.

"It's always okay for you." She sighed softly, her eyes closed with a whiff. She was gone, he knew it. He couldn't help but let his fingers carefully push a strand of hair from her face. "Get warm."

"Just because you can't trust yourself, doesn't mean we can't." Phil's mellow voice returned him back into reality, immediately cursing himself for drifting away in thought like that, losing his focus when they were both here. It wasn't just about him anymore, he needed to stay alert, keep them safe.

He huffed in annoyance at the man, secretly rolling his eyes as his back was turned towards him. "That's exactly what it-" Before he could fully finish his sentence, he heard a loud yelp come from behind him. He acted completely on instinct, already wielding his axe above his head, his other hand pressing a glowing, burgundy-colored potion to his lips before he could even truly process the sound. He hastily let his eyes shoot over the scenario, seeing no one near Phil. His eyes perked searching for any trace of the foe, his nose scrunching up; desperate to find a hint of despair in the slight tufts of wind that slid by his face.

"See." A smug expression plastered itself on the blonde's face, not even bothering to look up to meet Techno's eyes from where he was sat, replanting his crops. "She's got nothing to worry about."

Snap his neck.

And for the first time in a long while, he agreed with the voices that echoed through his head.

❄ ❄ ❄

"Morning." He tried his best to wake her as gently as he could, he even practiced it downstairs a few times, but his voice was too.. distinct. The croakiness of his words made her stir in the slightest, not enough, though. He placed his hand on her forearm as she continued her slumber, laying on her side with her arms somewhat crossed over her chest, burying her chin in the blanket. He couldn't help but let a faint smile crack through his normally hard facade as her tiny hand suddenly appeared from beneath the covers to rest itself on his own. "Princess."

A soft hum ran through her body, he could feel the tremble of it on her arm. "Just a little longer."

Nostalgia took over his body, something that had been happening quite often since she returned to him yesterday. Emotions he couldn't even distinguish ran rampant through his head, his veins filling with giddy youth. "Five minutes, that's it." He bit back a smile, taking his hand from hers, steadying himself to disappear down the latch again.

"C'mon, I know you're cold, too." She smiled, suddenly seeming a lot more alert than a few seconds ago. The corners of her lips tugged up almost unnoticeably, her eyes remaining screwed shut. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but she cut him off, "Don't argue, just lay down."

"Fine." He spat out with feigned agitated disinterest, meanwhile, his heart was bonking out of his chest. "Four minutes."

He moved to lay behind her in the tiny, extremely unstable, bed. She immediately went to share her blanket, making sure to cover him in her warmth. She laid on her side, still facing away from him, while he just rested on his back, staring at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, for him at least, he was convinced she'd already fallen back asleep. He laid intertwined his hands on his stomach, fiddling with the rings on his fingers to steady his unnecessary nerves. He could feel the bed shift from beside him, but he noticed only some of the most minuscule movements, right before he felt her warm hand take his, pulling his arm around her frame. He let it happen. She intertwined her fingers over her heart, keeping him to be her big. spoon. She knew very well that he hated being the smaller one, it made him feel inferior; useless. She shuffled in her place, desperate to feel his entire body flush against her, and he couldn't agree more. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, trying his best to let his soft inhale go unnoticed. God, he'd missed her. "One minute." She whispered softly into the darkened room, he could practically hear the stupid grin playing on her lips, barely resisting a snort at her. Complete silence engulfed them, only their beating hearts and shared breaths filling the room.

She opened her mouth to announce that it was time to get up, moving to free herself from his arms, assuming he had places to be. However, his gruffy voice quickly sounded from behind her. "Don't move."

"God, you've always been so easy to rile up-" He clamped his hand over her mouth, effectively shutting her up immediately. "Don't. Move."

She moved to playfully bite his hand, right as she heard it, the hammering downstairs had stopped for the first time in hours. Phil was adamant about not taking a break before he finished the entire thing, so something must've caught his attention. Techno held his breath, letting his eyes screw shut almost painfully so as he heard his friend's voice from the garden.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dream."

You should kill them before he does.

And for the first time in forever, the words that ran through his mind scared him. Not because of their meaning, or their tone, no because he hadn't been bothered by them all day. Which was exactly when he realized that they had stopped the second he had safely tucked her into his bed.

When she was safe, so was he.

[thestrangeprophet-blog]

The Muse and the Soldier

The Muse and the Soldier

·       f/reader x Levi Ackerman  

·       No NSFW

·       HC storyline

·       I do not own the rights to any of the characters

·       PLS support the actual Attack on Titan anime

 You open your eyes and take pleasure in the feel of the morning breeze coming from the window. Breathing in the air which carried the aroma of those special blue flowers potted downstairs in front of your tea shop. Seems you have left all your pencils across the desk and the drawings plastered to the walls from the night before had fallen again. You pick up the drawings and admire the one yet to be finished. It is of a regular customer you normally see when they come back from a scouting mission. Piercing grey eyes in contrast to his fancy dark undercut. Levi Ackerman. You always wonder how he has the time and will to keep up with his hair. After laying his portrait neatly on your desk, you ready yourself for another day brewing the finest tea you can in hopes of seeing Levi for another bout of his favorite tea.

The Captain and Commander Erwin were frequent visitors to your tea shop because Levi had always recommended it. For one reason or another, the tea you brewed satisfied him beyond what he would brew himself with what he had. Erwin had thought the same as well and it brought you enjoy your tea could be held to such standards. As a fellow tea lover, the subject of tea was never a boring conversation with Levi, no matter how short or blunt it was with him. Sure, most people see it as something more along the lines of hot leaf juice. It’s more than that and Levi understood it though it went unspoken.

Captain Levi came alone today and took his usual seat. It was rather unusual but you carry on and bring his favorite. The teapot whistles and steams like Titan smoke with the lingering scent of black tea that trails through the wind. As you set his cup in front of him and pour his tea, you notice he seems lost further in thought than normal. You finish pouring his tea and hesitantly ask if there is anything else you can do for him. He takes a second to come back to this moment and raises his head ever so slightly. His hair still covering those captivating grey eyes. Releasing an exhausted breath, he asks of one thing of you.

Levi: I- If it’s no trouble to you… will you sit with me Y/N? Even just for a moment?

Y/N: That’s a bit of an odd request, Captain. I’m surprised you even remembered my name. But sure! Anything for my best customer.

Levi: You don’t have to address me as Captain. J-just Levi will do… and thank you.

You sit in the chair across from Levi where Erwin is normally seated discussing the next expedition and plans you have for Eren and the cadets of the 104th Cadet Corps. As of in this moment, this is simply two human beings sitting together enjoying tea. Just sounds of the breeze against your ears and the softened sips coming from across the table at the lips of the man before you. Levi’s cheeks are flushed with a gorgeous rosy blush. It seems he wants to start a conversation but has no idea where to start. Its adorable how a man with a reputation for being such stone cold badass could be flustered over tea. You strike a smile in his direction and find your own way to start a conversation he could initiate. Call it encouragement if you will. The sketchpad and pencil you keep handy finally get put to use. The pencil scratching against the paper caught Levi’s attention though he kept to his tea. He watched as he appeared on the paper before him in awe.

           Levi: Hey Y/N, is that supposed to be me?

Y/N: Oh, uh yeah haha! I figured you weren’t much in the mood to talk so I didn’t want to bother you while you were enjoying your tea.

Levi: You are a woman of many talents I see.

Y/N: I wouldn’t say that much.

Levi: N-nonsense. I come here to enjoy the tea you brew perfectly and the singing you think I can’t hear. Didn’t know you were so skilled with a pencil as well.

Y/N: I usually never have the time to draw during the day Levi.

Levi: Can I request something? I’ll pay for it.

Y/N: No need to pay me. What can I do for you?

Levi: I need you to draw someone for me. I don’t really know them too well, but they have a face I could never forget.

Y/N: Oh I wonder who this special person is! Could you describe them for me?

Levi: Well, they’re around the same height as me maybe a bit taller. They have long black curly hair that glistened as though it was a fire at sunset. Brown eyes like fresh honey in the morning and glistened with a hopeful shine I envy. They wear some rather dark clothing year round even when its hot outside. Their nose is slightly hooked and cheeks soft and red. Their lips glistened and they look soft to the touch. And even though they don’t think it looks very nice, they have a scar across their left eyebrow. I’m not exactly sure how they got, but they always try to cover it behind their hair yet it still finds a way to see the light. Their jawline is soft and looks like it could rest perfectly in the cups of your hands.

Y/N: Wow Levi, I didn’t realize you had a way with words.

As the form you forge is refined from guidelines to distinctive features, the person he is describing truly is a sight to behold. You may not have the colors to use but you understand the value of what those colors are which are just as powerful. Levi sits across from you amazed at your skill for a second time until you’ve finished your work. You hand him the final sketch and you already know he just asked you to draw yourself but play it off. He takes the drawing into his hand and holds it up so you and the drawing are in view with each other.

Levi: As beautiful on paper as you are in person. Tsk, your hands are even a work of art on their own.

Y/N: If I may say I’m rather flattered you’d ask me to draw myself just for you but you aren’t very good at making your flirtations subtle. Unless you weren’t trying to be subtle in the first place.

Levi: Oi its not my fault you decided to pull a journal out of nowhere while we’re drinking tea together!

Y/N: You are one hundred percent correct Levi. Really for a man who exudes such confidence, I’ve never seen you even stutter let alone get flustered over tea. Its cute.

Levi blushes even more and looks away trying to play it off. He already knows you’ve got at least one finger wrapped around him. No one really talks to him like that besides this Hange person he mentions. They sound like an interesting character from the way he describes them. You would love to meet them one day when they aren’t experimenting on Titans. For now, your gaze remains fixed on Levi’s profile as he tries to regain his composure. You would not have assumed he was even interested in such trivial things other than being a clean freak.

You are aware of Levi’s reputation but just getting to sit with him in such an intimate setting gives you a next level view of him. The clean undercut and soft flowing hair was just asking to have someone’s fingers run through it and embrace the feeling of each strand even if it meant making his hair just a little messy. Each group of strands followed the path of the wind as leaves blew from the vines. His jawline was as sharp as the blades he carried to cut down titans like butter. His hands, though they bore the weight his fallen comrades and the destined purpose to eliminate and survive, seemed delicate under the rough calluses of combat. But his eyes. Those damn grey eyes. They pierced right through me whenever you got the chance to see them yourself. All of the things they saw, and the feelings kept behind them like a locked door. There is so much pain rage behind those you wonder when the last time Levi got to see something outside the realm of horror outside and within the walls.

           Y/N: Levi?

           Levi: Yeah Y/N?

Y/N: When was the last time you’ve ever had a chance to relax and just lay low for awhile?

Levi: Can’t say. I don’t think I’ve given myself a damn break but I can’t afford to. I don’t exactly have anything else to do.

Y/N: Hmmm. Let’s change that. Make sure you make yourself available tomorrow at sundown. Come back to the shop and dress casual. I know somewhere we can go. I’ll even grab an extra book so you can out those hands to work other than killing Titans and jotting down whatever it is you do write for your paperwork.

Levi: B-but I c-can’t just abandon my po-

Y/N: Shush. In case you haven’t noticed you don’t have any missions scheduled for at least another week. Plus business around here is slow. We could both use a little time for ourselves. Even if its just a moment.

Levi: *blushing even more* uh- ok. I guess it wouldn’t hurt. You didn’t have to act like such a brat about it.

Y/N: If you weren’t Levi I would throw this lukewarm teapot of tea all over you

Levi: *Smiling ever so slightly* hmp I uh… I guess I could see you doing something like that. Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up. I’m curious as to where this place is anyway.

Y/N: Alrighty then it’s a date! No ifs ands or buts. You got that Levi?

Levi: Loud and clear.

You’re leaning over the table to make sure Levi knows where he needs to be. You’re close enough to him you can smell the scent of the tea you made him mixed with just the scent of him. You’d kiss him right then and there if you really wanted to. Looks like he had the same idea but you pull away because you weren’t in that much of a rush. His lips were parted as they awaited your lips to meet his. It was thrilling seeing him even a little desperate for you but making him wait was even better. As much as Levi felt he couldn’t abandon his post, he couldn’t say no to you. He’d been working up the courage to talk to you for as long as he has been coming to your shop. Though he wasn’t the one to ask, Levi appreciated that you were the one to take the lead in making plans to accompany each other on a date. You’d been waiting for the opportunity to even be in this position. Now that it’s here, you make plans to make the date an enjoyable one that Levi would also like. Good first impressions are still pretty important. Especially if you want to make a good impression for Levi.

           Levi: Tsk, its almost sundown. Id better get back to the brats at HQ.

You grab his hands and ask him to wait just a little while longer.

Y/N:  Well if you’re going to be leaving, at least let me give you some extra tea and a meal to take back with you. It’s the least I can do for agreeing to going on a date with me on such short notice.

Levi: Tsk make it quick please.

Y/N: Don’t rush me. I’m being nice to you. I usually don’t just give out free tea and meals to anyone you know.

Levi: I’m sorry. Thank you. I- I uh really appreciate your generosity.

You hand Levi the tea and meal you made just for him. You touch hands for a moment and get goosebumps for the first time in a long time. You blush just enough that Levi notices as well and gives a small smirk. You exchange that smirk with one of your own.

           Levi: Thank you again Y/N. I guess I’ll see you soon.

           Y/N: You guess?

           Levi: I will see you soon.

Y/N: Much better. And by the way, you have a very charming smile. I wish I could see it more often. It suits you almost as much as that cold gaze you’ve always got equipped.

Levi: I never really gave it much thought what that looked like. I’ll pick you tomorrow. I promise.

Y/N: You’d better if you know what’s good for ya hahaha! I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.

END

Comment if you’d like a Pt. 2!

[arandompostarchive]

Inure - Ch. 1

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

***

The man ran through the hall, his footsteps echoing throughout his house. He tried to navigate the dark halls, too scared to turn on lights or stop and think. He turned every so often, hoping your figure wasn’t behind him anymore. But it always was. He was panicking, you could tell. He could feel sweat stick to the inside of his white button down and the creases of the dress pants he had yet to take off.

He tried to avoid the small side tables and expensive foreign vases that lined his hall. He had managed to trip over a few tables though, knocking the glass onto his floor, shattering it. Each time he’d whisper a soft curse. There was glass beneath your shoes that probably cost millions of dollars. You found it funny. Even now, running for his life, money was still at the back of his mind.

He ran into the next room he saw, his office. A closed off space with nowhere to run. He turned around, looking at each wall. You could hear a string of curses fall from his mouth before he turned to you.

His small study still had a lamp on, the room dimly lit with the yellow-tinted light.

“Please, what do you want? Money? I can do that. Hell, I can get you your own house! I’ve got connections. I can find people for you! Other people! Please, don’t.”

Now, most people would feel bad about this. Chasing a man through his own home with certain ill intention. But you had seen his life. You’d seen what he does to people. He’d tear apart families, kidnapping people and selling any drug he could find. His hands were soaked in blood, something you could understand. But while you had killed, you picked your victims well. They were the most guilty people you could find. Murderers, kidnappers, kingpins, anyone who managed to escape justice.

Some called you a serial killer, a term that wasn’t exactly incorrect. Some thought you were a vigilante, which also wasn’t wrong. But no matter what, everyone was silently grateful for everything you did.

You always found a new target. From whispers on the street, other criminals, cops who needed a break, sometimes Nick Fury himself would send you a case file or two. You had seen it all, people with souls blacker than night. And this man was no different.

“I don’t want money, Laurence. You’ve killed innocents. You’ve let people die. You’ve heard them beg for mercy and have granted none. Why would I give you a luxury you haven’t given any of your victims?”

The man stuttered. His eyes darted around, frantically trying to find something. Maybe a weapon or just an idea of how to get out of this mess. He suddenly spoke, his voice shaking and cracking. “Because I have information! There’s this man who’s building some huge weapon. Probably wants to take New York out. He could start wars with this thing, yeah? It’ll kill millions in a heartbeat. I know what he’s got! I know what he’s doing, I’ve met the guy! I’ll tell you everything.” He spoke quickly, hoping to finish before you decided to end him. “But not if I’m dead.”

You scoffed. “Tell me, why on Earth would I accept the pleas of a dead man?” You asked. It was a real question, despite your sarcastic tone.

“I’ve got the info! He was chatting with some friends of mine, gave ‘em a whole file about it.” He reached toward the desk and pulled a file off of it, showing it to you. It read “SPECTR2” on the front in small, black script. Your eyes widened and you grabbed the file from him.

He watched as you read over it and confirmed his theory. He was right. Whoever this man was, he had the real thing.

“Alright, fine.” You said, accepting his offer.

“Oh thank god! I knew you’d be reasonable, you’re all about ‘the greater good’, yeah? I’ll tell you whatever you want, lady.” He said, relief washing over his features.

You smiled. “Yeah.” You held the file at your side. “Thing is, I know all about this project already. I don’t need you.”

The panic quickly spread across his face again and he racked his brain for something else. “C’mon, don’t I get something here?” He said, glancing at the walls to find some kind of weapon.

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll make your death quick.” You said, taking out one of your swords. He only had a minute to react before he was already dead. You had gotten used to the sight of death, though it wasn’t your favorite thing, there was something satisfying about knowing you had avenged people in some way.

His blood had already stained the carpet he had surrounding his desk and leaked along the cracks of the wooden floor. You groaned at the thought of cleaning your shoes after this and sat down at his desk chair, looking for any other info on the man starting up Project SPECTR again.

***

“So you want us to team up with some psycho killer?” Tony said, leaning back in his usual chair. The meeting room was packed, each member of the team, and some newer additions, crowded together at one table with Steve stationed at the front.

“She has information, Tony. She says lives are in danger.” Tony looked at him ridiculously.

“I’ve got my share of psycho’s on this team and now we’re working with another?” Tony gestured to Bucky and Loki’s side of the table. He got a glare from Nat and he only shrugged his shoulders in response. “Her terms are insane! She wants immunity for every crime she’s done or ever will do. That doesn’t sound insane to you? What if she’s got some master plan and we won’t be able to arrest her for it?”

Nat looked between Steve and Tony. It was obvious they weren’t getting anywhere.

“She’s got info we need. If she wanted to enact some ‘master plan’ she’d just use whatever death machine she’s got, not tell us about it. If she’s serious, we’ll hold up our end. If she’s messing with us, we won’t and we’ll lock her up on site. But if she’s really found plans for what could be the world’s next terrorist attack, we at least need to see her proof.”

Tony looked to Nat, “She’s basically holding the world hostage! Either she gets to do whatever the fuck she wants or everyone dies. We’re really letting that slide?”

This time Steve spoke, though he glared at Tony a bit for his cursing. “I didn’t say I liked it. She’s put us in a tough situation. And Nat’s right. If she’s lying in any way, we’ll lock her up. We’ve got to living lie detectors at this table.” He gestured to Loki on one side of the table and Wanda on the other. Tony only rolled his eyes, silently accepting the argument.

“Are we sure about this? I mean, if she’s telling the truth, then we’ve got some sociopath with a death ray somewhere. But what if she’s lying? She’ll be in the compound. Even if we can lock her up, what if we aren’t able to before she accomplishes whatever task she’s trying to?” Sam said as soon as the room had quieted a bit. A few team members nodded along, considering the possibility.

“We have to take that risk.” Steve said.

***

You strode into the Avengers’ compound, appreciating the space. It was larger than what you were used to. You had jumped from house to house, staying away from law enforcement. If all went well though, you wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.

There were a few Avengers there to greet you. You had recognized them from the news and you were interested in seeing Natasha here. Among them, you saw Tony Stark. You’d recognize him a mile away. He looked different from his father, though he had the same sarcastic look on his face. You considered punching him now, maybe giving him a serious injury. But, sadly, there really were lives at stake.

Captain America stepped closer to you, holding out his hand. You took it hesitantly, the gloves of your suit meeting his hands. You appreciated the hood of your outfit now with the light reflecting off of windows and into your eyes. It was at least a little bit of protection.

“Specter. Good to meet you. I’m Captain Rogers, just call me Steve.” The other Avengers stepped to his side, making you slightly uncomfortable with how close they were. You couldn’t show it though. You had to be steeled, show no fear. Especially since you were in the lion’s den.

“This is Natasha, Tony, and Thor. We’ve got a meeting room just this way.” He got straight to business and began leading you away. You were careful to let the four Avengers go in front of you, and you were certain at least Natasha had noticed this action. Tony kept glancing back to you, slightly nervous. You could accept that. You felt nervous too, though you had gotten good at concealing your nerves, even before you had ‘died’.

You entered the room which had all of the other Avengers in it as well as five empty chairs. You were seated at the end, directly next to Natasha. Steve settled himself in the end chair right next to you. You looked at the rest of the group who were all doing a terrible job of pretending not to stare at you.

“Alright, Specter. Should we call you Specter?” You nodded, letting Steve continue. “Your conditions are questionable to say the least. We need to figure out if you’re actually telling the truth about this weapon first.”

“That’s fine,” you began, “I’d do the same.” You opened up your file, noting how there was a small camera above you, casting a picture of the file onto a board at the front of the room. You smiled at the innovation, curious about how exactly it worked. It had been a while since you’d gotten to appreciate technology, and where better than the home of a Stark.

“This is a real file. I worked on this project years ago. It was meant to help heal people. Stitch them back together, even when they were on the brink of death. But it malfunctioned. I can tell you this is real. Check any references you like, though it’ll be hard to get your hands on. We never made digital copies, this is our original paper.”

Tony squinted at the paper, seeming confused by it.

“And by we, you mean…?” Another man trailed off. You recognized him as Hawkeye, though you hadn’t memorized their actual names.

“Me and Howard Stark. We worked on it back during the war, it was like our pet project.” Tony seemed less confused now.

“That was over half a century ago. How exactly are you standing here?” You sighed at Hawkeye’s question.

“It’s a rather long and annoying story. Let’s keep it simple and say I’ve effectively scared off death.”

“Guys,” Tony said, still looking at the projection of the file. The room turned to him and you were thankful for whatever subject change he had to offer. “I’d love to say she’s full of it, but I know my father’s handwriting. That’s his signature too at the bottom.” As he pointed the small camera zoomed in. You’d have to ask him about the technology’s design later. Assuming this actually went well. You slightly cringed at the thought of speaking to a Stark again, but you’d manage for the sake of a new discovery. “Hey, Friday?”

“Yes Boss?”

You heard a woman’s voice in the room that didn’t belong to anyone present. You quickly figured out it was an AI system Stark had made.

“How well does that match Howard’s handwriting?”

There was a beat of silence before the AI, Friday, spoke again.

“It’s a perfect match.”

The team didn’t seem to know if that was good or bad.

“So there’s really someone set on ending humanity?” A man said across the table. You remembered his moniker being something bird themed, like Hawkeye’s, but it wasn’t coming to you.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near this place unless absolutely necessary,” You said. The Captain glanced around the table and the group seemed to silently make their decision.

“Alright. We’ll meet your terms, but understand that you must stay here through his whole process. No ‘missions’ of your own.” You thought over his offer. It was slightly tempting. Though you’d miss your little hunt for criminals, it would be nice to have a house for longer than a week.

“Fine. But you can’t bind my powers or spy on me or some bullshit.” The Captain nodded, agreeing.

Suddenly, you were a temporary Avenger.

***

“I don’t like her. She’s too calm. We’re facing a giant death machine and she’s completely stone faced.” You could overhear the conversation from where you stood outside the Avengers common area. Natasha had offered to show you around and you had denied, instead accepting a map and list of locations you’d be interested in.

They were sitting around in a circle of couches, all facing each other. Some of the members seemed distracted. Like one with long hair who was slowly stroking the spine of a book he carried in his hands and another with a striking metal arm. You had to admit, the team was certainly good-looking.

You continued to listen to the conversation, though you had lost a bit of the argument when you retreated into your thoughts.

“What can we do? I’m hardly happy about this, but she’s holding the world hostage, like you said. Millions might die if he didn’t have that info.”

“And what, we’re trusting a serial killer? She’s murdered who know’s how many people and we’re supposed to just sit here and fucking sing Kumbaya?!” Tony said. You could see his point. You wouldn’t trust you either.

“Many of us have killed.” Loki said, offering some perspective and hoping someone else would continue his point. He was still on ‘house-arrest’ and was hardly considered trustworthy. Stark wouldn’t listen no matter how silver his tongue was. But the others seemed to at least consider his words with the exception of Hawkeye who seemed upset that he even had to hear Loki’s voice.

“He’s right Stark. I’d hardly say my hands are clear, but here I am.” Natasha added, taking up Loki’s silent offer to continue his argument.

“I’m not okay with this. She’s absolutely mental. I can’t find anything on her besides media speculation. SHIELD didn’t have anything on her, despite the fact that she’s a well-known criminal and she’s got no history. No names attached, nothing. Just media speculation which is all made up. I checked.”

You took this time to walk out from the hall, the click of your shoes making the group look up. “It’s because you have the spelling wrong.” The entire team looked nervous at being caught. “Don’t feel bad. Of course you’d talk about me, I’m a stranger in your midst.” That seemed to calm some of them down, though they still looked wary of you. Stark was the first to speak.

“We’ve got the spelling wrong?” He asked.

“I’d expect so. You’re spelling my name as ‘Specter’, a ghost, like the media does. Try S-P-E-C-T-R, you’ll find a little more.” You before turning and walking out of the room. While you weren’t excited about opening up your backstory, it’d make this whole ‘trust’ thing a lot quicker. And if you were going to get anywhere, there’d need to be some sort of trust.

***

Project SPECTR - August, 1940

Howard Stark and Dr. Y/n L/n began SPECTR in August of 1940 and have been working on it for three years now.

It’s expected to help Allies win the war, though Dr. L/n believes it could— and should— be used for other purposes. There have been several malfunctions so far and I am unsure how they will continue. Stark has been promoting the idea among generals and strategists, despite the lack of finished product. Dr. L/n suspects it will not be finished by the time Stark suggests, in two weeks. She has told various generals not to expect anything in two weeks, though all generals seem to unfortunately favor Stark’s estimates. They plan to run a test run in one week and fully activate the machine. Both Stark and Dr. L/n hope it will be completely stable for at least ten minutes.

There was a messy signature at the bottom, though Steve identified it quickly as ‘Margaret Carter’.

They read through a few other files, and learned more about the original project. Reportedly, there was a severe malfunction, resulting in Dr. L/n’s death. Peggy had shut down the project immediately after, despite Howard’s begging that it would still work. There had apparently been a rift in their friendship over Dr. L/n’s death.

It also said that the Doctor’s body had disappeared in 1992, only weeks after Howard’s death, which had sparked a few conspiracy theories for those aware of her connection to Stark and Carter, two famous names. She was a leading scientist and was making seriously impressive strides. Stark was disappointed she had died so soon. He couldn’t help but wonder what she would’ve done.

“Is that Specter?” Sam asked about the Doctor working on the project. Though the team seemed unsure of the answer, Steve responded.

“It must be. Why else would she draw our attention to this. She’s got personal experience with whoever is trying to restart the project, though I’m not entirely certain why a machine to heal people will be turned into a new weapon.”

The team tossed theories back and forth and you listened in, smiling when a few of them guessed right. You slipped away soon after though, heading down the hall to the training room.

[nerdypanda3126]

City of Love – Ch. 2

Here’s the second chapter of my work for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers secret admirer exchange! (Hey, @crescent-woods if I haven’t said it before, I uh... went a little overboard cause your prompt was so amazing!) 

Read on Ao3 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Luka was lying down on his bed with his notebook splayed across his thighs as he blared white noise in his headphones and stared at his bedroom ceiling. There was a cobweb in the corner blowing softly in the breeze from their open windows and instead of focusing on writing music he found himself thinking that he’d never even seen the spider that made that web. A shiver ran through him. Blech. Spiders. Missing spiders, especially. 

He was supposed to be working on an original song for his composition class. The professor had given them the assignment over the summer, “to get an idea of where you’re at,” the assignment had read, and for weeks Luka had stared at the blank sheet music and… absolutely nothing came to him. 

Creating wasn’t really the problem; he’d always been creative. He’d always been fond of letting things come to him while his guitar was in his hands, but he’d never tried to write it down. He’d never cared if it was good or not. He’d never tried to create for a grade. He groaned and ripped his earbuds out to toss everything aside and sat up. 

And found Sass leaning into the doorway with his eyebrows raised incredulously. 

“What?” Luka snapped. 

He wasn’t even sure he could call Sass his roommate. He’d barely even seen him for the week he’d been there. Although what he could’ve been doing was beyond Luka. He didn’t know the city, he hadn’t started classes yet, there was nowhere for him to go and nothing for him to do except see his girlfriend. And as far as Luka knew, they hadn’t managed to meet up yet. 

“Rough day?” Sass smirked and walked over to sit down on his flimsy foldaway bed across from Luka. 

Luka wiped a hand over his face and cursed in French under his breath. “What do you want?” 

“Want? Why do I have to want anything? Can’t I ask you how your day is going?” 

“You’ve hardly spoken to me since I picked you up at the airport.” Luka rolled his eyes and flopped back on his bed. “So I doubt you actually care.” 

Sass hummed, in agreement or in thought Luka couldn’t tell. “You need to get out of here.” 

Luka turned his head to look at Sass and quirked an eyebrow. 

“I’m serious, staring at four blank walls, that’s your problem right there. You need to get out, get some air, meet some people.” 

“You’re worse than Juleka,” Luka muttered darkly. “You don’t even know what my problem is.” 

“I know boiling in self-loathing won’t get you anywhere. Lucky for you I have the solution. A night out with me and two amazing women.” He made a wide “voilà” motion with his arms, like he had just finished a stunning magic trick. 

Luka scowled at him, his suspicion growing. “What do you need me for? Two amazing women, just keep them for yourself.” 

“Well, one is for me, but the other…” he raised his eyebrows suggestively. When Luka kept scowling, Sass sighed in defeat. “Okay, fine. Tikki is refusing to meet me unless her host is with her. And she’s insisting I invite you, too.” 

Luka’s scowl split into a smirk. “Oh, so you need a favor, that’s what this is about.” 

“Yes, I need a favor.” When Sass was annoyed, his sibilants drew out into hisses, which amused Luka to no end. Sass rolled his eyes. “So will you come?” 

“What happened to ‘I don’t need you, I don’t need your country, I’m too cool for this shit’?” Luka said, mimicking Sass’s subtle lyrical accent. 

“You don’t have to be an ass about it. Will you come or not?” 

“I absolutely do have to be an ass about it.” Luka grinned and sat up, savoring the way Sass’s scales were getting all ruffled. He could practically see the irritation roiling off his shoulders. ��What if I don’t go? What happens then?” 

“Then I tell your sister you’re being an awful host.” Sass’s dark eyes flashed as he bared his teeth in a wicked grin. “And she might decide to come along and make sure you make it up to me.”

Luka’s scowl returned. Sass had him pinned, and he knew it. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go. But I’m picking the place. If I’m being forced out of the house, I’m at least going somewhere I’ll have fun.”

Sass shrugged and smiled down at his phone as he shot off a text, before he stood and stretched. “It’s settled, then. Let’s go.” 

“What, now?” 

“Yeah, now, what other time would we go?” Sass undid his ponytail and kept the band in his mouth as he redid it, recapturing the strands that had fallen out to frame his face. Now that Luka was looking at him, he was wearing a form-fitting olive green henley that set off his dark features well, along with dark wash jeans and black converse. Not exactly dressed to go out, but definitely dressed for an admiring female gaze. 

He looked down at himself, at the ratty blue hoodie with chewed on strings, pit-stained white band shirt, and knee-less black skinny jeans he was wearing. For the hole in the wall he had in mind, it wouldn’t be out of place, but for meeting “two amazing women,” maybe not the best option. He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his cheek and through his hair he hadn’t even run a brush through today. 

Sass rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll meet you out by your bike. 20 minutes, yeah?” He stood and offered his phone to Luka. “Wanna plug in the address?” 

Luka took the phone from him, noting the contact picture of a young woman with a black and red pixie haircut blowing a kiss. Must be Tikki. He shrugged and typed in the name of the club he frequented and the address before he spun it on his palm to hand it back to Sass. 

Sass left without another word and Luka pulled himself up to see if he could figure out what to wear. Not that it mattered; the club would be loud enough that he wouldn’t have to talk to whoever came along anyways. Which made it absolutely perfect. 

***

“He said yes!” Tikki cried as she burst into Marinette’s room and flopped down next to her on the bed, triumphantly shoving her phone into Marinette’s hands. 

“Your boyfriend? Of course he did.” Marinette was smiling as Tikki started chattering away, but her smile disappeared as she scrolled through the text chain. The text chain about meeting up tonight, but only if Marinette came along. Tikki’s insistence that it should be a group outing, that her boyfriend’s host should come along, too, so Marinette wasn’t left alone. 

She gaped at Tikki. “You set me up with someone?” 

“No, no, no,” Tikki rushed to reassure her, taking her phone back and clutching it to her chest, “not a set up! Just… someone to talk to in case I kinda disappear.” 

“Isn’t the point of me coming so that you don’t disappear?” Marinette lifted an eyebrow. 

Tikki’s phone pinged with an incoming message and Tikki’s face scrunched in concentration as she checked it. “He sent me an address and said 20 minutes. Do you know this place?” 

She showed her screen again and Marinette couldn’t help but groan. Not only at the concept of getting ready to go out in 20 minutes, but also at the club name. 

“I’ve been there before. Once. On a date.” 

A date that went horribly wrong. He hadn't said anything about being a famous model, or that the press might be following him, or that he had a fiancée that might see him dancing with her in the papers the next day and might decide to stalk Marinette for the next few months. And when the paparazzi had swarmed the tiny club, he’d gotten startled and spilled her entire bright pink cocktail down the front of her white dress. One of her favorites, too. She frowned at the memory of the fiasco. She hadn’t been back since, and she'd sworn off dating to boot. 

“We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.” Tikki’s enthusiastic glow visibly dimmed. 

She’d told Marinette a little about the guy she’d been seeing. They’d been long-distance for so long and Paris was halfway for both of them, so they figured they’d meet up, see how it went. Of course that wasn’t the only reason she was there, Tikki had assured Marinette, she’d always wanted to go to Paris. But meeting her boyfriend was definitely part of the plan and Marinette did worry about Tikki being safe. She said she knew him, that they’d been talking forever and she knew what he looked like and he would never hurt her. But it also never hurt to have a backup plan in situations like this. 

Marinette sighed. “Of course we’re going.” She glanced over Tikki’s loose staying-home outfit for the day and smirked. “But not in that. Hang on.” 

Marinette hopped up and ran over to her closet. “I was saving this for a rainy day.” She flicked through her hangers to find it. The perfect little black dress. A deep v-neck that plunged to where the fabric nipped in at the waist, a flirty skirt that floated away and landed gently just above the knee. Tikki would kill in it with her adorable pixie frame. Marinette showed it to her and delighted in the way her eyes lit up. 

“But what about you?” Tikki asked. 

Marinette shrugged. “It’s not really about me, is it?” She grinned and tossed the dress at Tikki before turning back to select a light pink tank top, a gray leather jacket and a pair of distressed skinny jeans. She shrugged as she laid them out on the bed and Tikki frowned. 

“What if you like this guy?” 

Marinette rolled her eyes and bent down to grab a pair of strappy black heels. She raised her eyebrows at Tikki as she added them to the pile. “Et voilà.” 

This time, Tikki grinned and ran off to her room, clutching the dress to her chest. Marinette shook her head. As long as it was a one-time thing, she didn’t mind coming along for the night. Whoever this mysterious guy was, one thing was for sure. He was in the same boat she was. So she’d make nice, for Tikki’s sake, and hope for the best. If she hated him, she’d never have to see him again. If she liked him… 

Well, that was maybe assuming too much.

Translations:

Et voilà: And there it is

[calpops]

falling facade | c.h.

part three: falling fears

part one: falling flowers || part two: falling freedom

5k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

<< >> 

“This is why I don’t visit.”

Arden’s voice brought Calum back to the moment. They sat in his car, parked just off from a coffee shop he and Ashton frequented for paparazzi walks. Calum turned to look at her; she kept her eyes straight ahead, staring at the two paparazzi that lingered on the sidewalk, ready and waiting to snap some photos for press. Calum swallowed down a lump in his throat. She’d just given him an answer to a question that drifted through his thoughts from time to time; unprompted and said with annoyance evident in her tone. She was stoic, a facade of calm covering her features as she lapsed into silence, offering no further explanation to her statement.

“You don’t visit Michael because of paparazzi?” Calum asked, trying to make sense of her reasoning.

“Among other reasons,” she said and turned to him. “There’s no privacy out here. It’s like they’re everywhere.”

Calum tapped his fingers on the wheel, still gripping it, even still buckled in although they parked minutes ago. Neither seemed in a rush to live their first contractual agreement. He contemplated her words and thought how best to respond. He understood where she was coming from, especially when cameras were ready to capture their every move lingering just in front of them. But there was more to it than that; a different side she didn’t know and hadn’t seen.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked and released his grip on the wheel, hand rubbing at his jaw then settling on his lap as she nodded; eyes interested and waiting. “Paparazzi rarely ever find us. It’s almost always set up. Called in and tipped off. Prearranged, just like this. They don’t get to have all of us. Not all of the time.”

Arden pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side, deep in thought at the shared secret. Calum waited with bated breath to know her thoughts. To see if she understood the implications he was trying to lay before her.

“I guess that’s true,” she said but then shook her head, deciding against it. “Except, if it isn’t paparazzi then its fans and if it isn’t fans then it’s management and social media and interviews and social climbers and everything is so invasive. Even when it’s all constructed and contrived. There’s always someone or something that’s in your face, using your name, controlling your life.”

Calum didn’t have a response for that. He frowned. Her words settled under his skin and spun his thoughts, bringing them to places he hardly ever ventured to. He had always done his best to live authentically past the glistening temptations of fame and the control that management hung over his head and heart. She was right in some aspects. But he didn’t want her to go into this situation feeling like she was already losing herself before even starting the game. He wanted to redefine it all; play by their own rules and stay themselves in the face of something fake. He blew out a breath and unbuckled his seat but Arden made no move to do the same. Her eyes just flitted up and down Calum, still waiting for his response to her truth.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he finally replied, the seatbelt sliding up and away from him, his hand reaching for the door handle.

“I’m pretty sure we just learned the hard way it is exactly that way.”

Calum watched her right hand settle on her left to twist the fake engagement ring around. It was a new nervous habit and a pointed reminder that her words were valid and they were living under a state of control. Her nose twitched and a sigh escaped her lips and for just a second Calum allowed himself to remember the sweetness he knew they tasted of. They hadn’t talked about that yet, or the fact they woke in the same bed with only underclothes on and no memories to speak of how they ended up that way. There was so much to contend with already it didn’t feel right to arouse new troubles and complications. Calum didn’t know how to get her out of the car but he could see the paparazzi were getting bored waiting; they’d stick around for the money shot of the ring, being the first to capture it would be considered an accomplishment in their world. But the longer they waited the worse the shots would be, the more invasive and irritated they’d get.

“Then let’s not let them have all of us,” Calum suggested and slipped her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. “Show the ring, give them that much. Let’s keep whatever’s real for just the two of us.”

That was the closest Calum had come to admitting there might be something more than a fake engagement in his thoughts. That only two nights ago he had felt like he was falling in ways he probably shouldn’t. That one friendly date and a fleeting kiss had worked their ways into his mind in unrelenting ways. He couldn’t tell her that, not when he wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, and not when they were supposed to be pretending. Not when he didn’t know where she was; if she was okay or not as okay. He could ask her but her ability to evade time and questions and circumstances was daunting. He caught the slight smile she gave him and although her eyes were blocked by the dark lenses of the sunglasses he could imagine they were softening. That the inhibitions she had might be calmed by his efforts.

She finally reached for her door handle and Calum took it as a statement of being ready to face it all. They exited the car and Calum didn’t just reach his hand out for hers this time; not like he did at the wedding. He slung an arm over her shoulders, pulled her close and kept her as hidden from the cameras as he could manage. Her hand came up to hold his, showing off the diamond in the afternoon sun. They wanted the ring, and they could have it. But they couldn’t have her.

They heard the snaps of the cameras, the distant calls of the paparazzi making mild remarks about their sudden engagement. They asked a few probing questions they knew they wouldn’t get answers to. Why haven’t we seen you together before? How long has this been going on? What does Michael think of it? Those were questions they would have to answer eventually. But conversing with paparazzi was never a good idea. Management would likely have them answered in a controlled environment and in any case he didn’t have the answers they wanted. Somehow, answering with it was a drunken accident didn’t seem like it would go over well in any sense. Calum could see the two men on the sidewalk, spared them one glance for a good face shot and tried to drown them and any remarks out as they entered the coffee house. Arden stayed tucked into his side and he hoped the cameras hadn’t gotten much of her face and that she was able to let their words fall away from her.

The line to order was long but it gave them a chance to step away from the cameras and find some semblance of privacy. Venetian blinds covered the windows to keep outside eyes from peering into the establishment. Even though they were out of the way of cameras Calum kept his arm around Arden and she kept herself glued to his side. They moved along slowly and Calum looked down at her and maybe she could feel his gaze and that’s why she looked up, or maybe she was looking up to find him just as he had looked down to find her. She was blushing and biting her lip.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” she whispered, going on tiptoes to better whisper in his ear. To a passerby it might have come off as affectionate. To Calum, with the way her lips nearly brushed his cheek again, it felt intimate. “It’s like… a game.”

He smirked but also felt a pull of remorse in his chest. He was glad it wasn’t so bad for her; it possibly even being in the okay category. But how quickly she was suckered into the game and picked up on it was disheartening. He refused to let them be pawns in a wider scheme more than was necessary. He had fleeting thoughts of shaking the groundwork of public relation stunts. He wanted to play exclusively by their rules while staying within the lines of the contract and meeting all the obligations. When listening ears were no longer around he’d mention it; among other things that needed to be brought up.

“We don’t have to play it their way, we can play it our way,” he suggested in an equally as soft whisper, pretending he was just placing a kiss on her temple.

All of these new forms of contact were coming quickly and winding Calum. His arm around her, hands held, lips brushing soft skin leaving him a bit breathless. The juxtaposition between such intimate embraces coming so quickly and two nights ago of such languid movements guiding them through uncertain territories was astounding. Arden nodded and tipped her sunglasses down, questioning him with an inquisitive look in her eyes. Calum didn’t have time to answer as the line moved along and they were suddenly at the front placing their orders.

With drinks in hand and the exit ahead of them Calum slowed his pace and brought Arden back into his side, knowing the paparazzi would be waiting outside for more. He knew damn well what they had given them so far was enough for a headline; something about the ring being in bold. But the photos were less than expected with her hidden face and his general lack of interest and enthusiasm. The pictures would likely zero in on the ring to catch interest and garner clicks. The walk back to the car came with a bit more vigor from the paparazzi as they realized the lackluster photos they got on the way in. They said things to try and rile Calum up, to get reactions and turn faces. But they remained calm and collected, trying not to make the obligatory event a spectacle. Calum was content to keep it that way until a fear struck through him and stopped him dead in his tracks.

“We need to give them something more,” he blurted out in a hushed tone and it was enough to have Arden pulling away from his hold. “They’ll spin this into something bad.” And they’ll make it your fault sat on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t dare say that.

He could already see the photos of his indifference—towards the paparazzi—being pegged as indifference to Arden. And she’d be dubbed as clingy for sticking to his side though that had been of Calum’s doing. They never showed the whole story, they rarely ever knew the whole story, much more content to run wild with wrong perceptions and lies veiled by half truths. Arden seemed to pick up on what he was implying and gave a small nod to show she was okay with whatever needed to be done. Calum didn’t want to give them too much, still wanting the power in their hands, determined to afford Arden at least a small margin of privacy. Her back was to the cameras when Calum gazed down at her, trying to convey love and admiration, and maybe not finding it all that hard to be convincing, as one snapped more photos and the other began filming the exchange. He pushed hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. Fingertips tingled at the contact.

In a quick and bold movement Calum tilted her face up, pressed his lips to her forehead and nearly forgot about the cameras on them. Playing and pretending was much easier than the nerves at the meeting predicted it would be. It almost felt real. If it weren’t for the incessant clicks of the camera and the blinding flashes he was met with when his eyes opened, he may have been able to convince himself it was just for them. That it was another moment where he could feel the wind at his back and know he was falling. He put another kiss to her cheek and was tempted to give her another real kiss, one more brief moment of sugar sweet bliss, but stole himself and backed away from that want.

“That should be enough,” he whispered and wished dark lenses didn’t guard her eyes. He would bet they would be glistening in the sunlight.

He took her back into his side and finished the walk to the car, helped her into the passenger seat and got himself behind the wheel. An eerie trepidation made way through him. He wondered if it would be enough. Surely, they would use the photos and video of the kisses. Rarely did he show affection in public with past girlfriends. The media would eat it up. The fans would react. Management would be satisfied and unable to turn words and views against her; for now. A new thought struck him, one born of the need to have something other than pretending between them. One that might afford them a chance to speak of all those things that felt unmentionable.

“You wanna go somewhere? Do something real?” He asked as he turned the key in the ignition and the paparazzi began to back off, noting it was time to pack up and head home.

“What did you have in mind?” Arden asked as she pulled her sunglasses up to rest on her head and Calum was met with sparkling and curious eyes.

“Can show you where I go when I wanna get away from everything,” he offered, he had never shared this place with anyone. It was a tiny solace and getaway; a secret offering of peace and quiet. He was inclined to share it with her, to show the pieces of himself that no one else was allowed.

“If all of this is going to last a year I think I’ll need a place like that.”

Calum lost his breath for just a moment at that statement. He had grappled with most of the arrangement in the moment and that night as he laid awake in bed. A year of publicity for him seemed minimal. He was used to the ebb and flow of press and stunts. Arden wasn’t. It was a sudden realization that she would have to put the rest of her life on pause for this. She wouldn’t be able to keep chasing her wanderlust and travel, he wasn’t sure where she stood with a job and education. But those would likely take a backseat. He asked her to do this and now he wasn’t sure if he was okay with all of those stipulations. And for a moment he wondered where she would stay, thought that maybe it should be with him to make things easier until he remembered Michael and the fact he would never be okay with it.

“We can share it,” Calum offered and hoped she would be able to find some semblance of peace and solace too.

“I’d hope my fiancé would share with me,” she joked with a touch of a smirk on her lips and a wave of her hand to flash her ring.

Calum laughed, feeling just a bit of the pressure for her life altering changes lifting from his chest. Making light of it felt good. Mocking it made it even faker than it already was. There was truth in jest but the facade of those truths made words easier and realities a bit less to handle. They went back and forth as he peeled out of the parking spot and headed for privacy.

“So you’ll take my last name when we get married, right?” He asked around a grin that hurt his cheeks.

They were pretending and joking and making each other feel better.

“Oh I don’t know, isn’t that a little old fashioned?” Arden said with a tilt of her head. “And it would ruin my perfect initials.”

Arden Brooke Clifford. Miss ABC. Calum shook his head through laughter as memories flooded his mind. He had forgotten of the times he teased her for it, melodies rolling off his tongue to get a rise out of her. He didn’t know how he could forget and he didn’t know why she reminded him; clearly, he was going to use that in the future. For now he just smiled and turned into his piece of heaven on earth. It wasn’t much by any means but he had a feeling Arden might appreciate it anyway. One of few reasons he never shared it was because he didn’t think anyone would make much of it. But with Arden’s outlook on all that LA was and entailed he knew her perspective would be different than people from his past. It wouldn’t be much compared to the places she’d travelled and everything she had experienced in those adventures but he knew it could hold its own—especially when she was seeking something real.

A run down diner with the best food Calum could find sat before them. He found it charming with its slightly crooked windows and doors that said push though they needed to be pulled. He could usually find a seat within the always nearly empty establishment. He typically picked one in the back where windows left the city behind him. He couldn’t hear past brick walls and the din of radio noise with patches of static. It helped drown out everything and bring him back to a time when a place like this was all he could afford; chump change in his pocket and notebooks with dreams written in lyrics in his hands. Arden was smiling fondly in the passenger seat and that told Calum his hunch was right.

This time she didn’t hesitate to get out of the car and Calum had to race to keep up with her. She made her way to the very last booth at the back and slid into the seat that viewed the wall and not the windows on the opposite side. It was exactly where Calum sat his first time stumbling into the diner. He settled for the other side where the window was in his line of sight and found it to not be so bad when Arden was backlit by a starting sunset. Afternoon had come and gone quickly and evening replaced it in soft glows. Their coffee was left behind in the car and menus placated their now realized hunger.

“I like it here,” Arden said after the waiter took their orders. “Reminds me of my first semester in university.”

Calum loved to learn more about her in way of her offhanded comments. He was learning the less he asked the more he could find out. It was as if the pieces of her puzzle fell together on their own. It was more experience and less questions that prompted her to share. He recalled she was dating Brett, the groom from the wedding, during that time. A silent jealousy simmered under the surface.

“You and Brett went to places like this a lot?” He asked and knew it was selfish that his place—now their place—could feel like it might be tainted by the thought of it. But he was such a Brett and it was hard not to hate the guy, especially when finding out he’d dumped Arden. Typical Brett behavior.

Her eyes shot up at the question and she shrank back in her seat as she shook her head in minute bursts. Calum didn’t expect such a visceral reaction to the question; felt a little guilty about causing it but it was swept away in the blink of hazel eyes.

“No. I went to places like this to not be around him, actually. Sometimes I just needed to get away,” she said as she looked up at him from under her lashes with knowing eyes. “I’d just find some hole in the wall away from campus to sit and sketch.”

New waves of memories came back to Calum and he was beginning to realize he did know her from the past better than he thought. He could picture the drawings hanging on the fridge and as time passed and her art grew it moved from magnets to frames in the hallway. He never saw her working on them, they merely appeared from visit to visit, a collection of colors dominating space in the house. The only way he knew they were hers was the tiny signature hidden within the shapes. There was one in particular that jumped to the forefront of his mind. Sunset on the beach; or that was what he took away from it. It was more on the abstract and impressionist side. But the warm colors came back in swirls of memories and made him smile. Her art was a pivotal piece of her and her heart. Rediscovering her made him warm, getting to know her now filled him with something unknown yet somehow familiar.

“When the band was first taking off it was places like this that I’d come to to write,” Calum said, enjoying the fact that even though their pasts were separated and distant they felt connected and intertwined.

“If you hadn’t brought me here, I’d find that hard to believe.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s just surprising. I thought you would’ve been partying or… something.”

Calum huffed out a breath and shook his head. Those days came later and at times he wished they hadn’t come at all. He licked his lips and let his teeth sink into his lower lip as he tried to figure out what to say. Those days were plastered online and in tabloids, he couldn’t exactly hide from them but he felt so removed from it; as if that person wasn’t him. He didn’t know how to answer.

“I guess I was wrong,” she said and gave him an easy out from where the conversation could head.

Calum appreciated her ability to pick up on when to ease up. There were people that came in and out of his life that didn’t understand that sometimes the past needed to stay in the past. Arden’s peg of social climbers clung to his past. He’d gotten rid of those people, cut back on partying and focused more on himself. It wasn’t a time he loved revisiting. He supposed Arden being so hard of opening up made her understand his outlook on that perspective.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Arden’s gaze never breaking from his. His fingers tapped the table. Paper placemats with advertisements and crossword puzzles sat in front of them, a small pile of multicolored crayons were deserted on the far corner of the table. Arden flipped her placemat to the blank side and reached for a crayon, giving Calum a smile before dipping her head down to concentrate on drawing. Her arm came up to block Calum’s view.

“Keeping secrets?” He asked, thankful for the sudden shift but couldn’t help but feel the double entendre of the simple question directed back to him and the silence they had lapsed into.

She nodded but didn’t look up at him; kept her eyes on her work. Her eyebrows furrowed and nose slightly twitched in her concentration. He asked if she would at least tell him what she was drawing.

“You,” she admitted nonchalantly and left Calum winded and grinning and wanting more than ever to take a sneak peek. “Sit still, no peeking.”

Calum went still as a statue at her command. A relaxed smile formed on his face as he watched her work. He couldn’t see the drawing but the red crayon in her grip was an interesting choice. Though the few different shades of blue and yellow still laying on the table would have been just as bold. It didn’t take her long to finish and look up with bashful eyes and blushing cheeks. He knew she was modest about it but her unrelenting hold of eye contact as she pulled her arm away to reveal the piece mimicked confidence so well he nearly bought it.

With just the couple of minutes she had taken to draw him she managed to make him recognizable and interesting. It was sharp and quick lines, angular connections and somehow soft eyes. Calum’s hand came up and hovered over it, eyes asking if it was okay for him to take. She gave her permission in the form of another nod and pulled the abandoned crayon off the paper. Just as Calum was bringing it to himself their waiter came out with their meals and broke the moment of awe he found himself in. He wordlessly and carefully folded it to fit in his wallet and tucked it away so it’d be safe from the food.

“Have you told your parents yet?” Arden asked as they started to eat. Her expression was guarded and her voice shook through the syllables. “About… us?”

“Not yet,” Calum answered quickly. “I didn’t know what to say when my mum called so I said I’d call her back. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with however we tell them. Maybe we should do it together.”

“Tell them about our drunken escapades together?” She asked with an incredulous arch to her brow as she shook her head. “I don’t want to disappoint my parents anymore than I already have.”

That statement caught Calum’s attention tenfold but much like Arden hadn’t pressed him, he wouldn’t pry; noting the restless fidget of her fingers bouncing her fork up and down. He figured she would tell him when she was ready. Just like at the wedding and in the car and even sat here at the booth. She was no open book but her pages could be read in small bursts of allowance.

“We can tell them whatever you’re okay with,” Calum offered.

“I’m not sure what I’m okay with.”

The contracts they signed included non disclosure agreements; to keep the facade from being known. In most cases Calum disregarded those when it came to family and the band if it ever didn’t concern the rest, knowing they wouldn’t share secrets. But if it was a secret Arden wasn’t comfortable sharing then he needed to consider her reasons. Michael knew but Calum didn’t know the circumstances between Michael and Arden and any discussions that may have taken place with them. Ashton and Luke had questions; enough to flood Calum’s phone with dozens of texts and voice memos. He hadn’t replied yet; once again wanting to be sure Arden was okay with the secrets being shared. He wouldn’t mind family and the band knowing. The contemplative expression on her face told him it wasn’t as cut and dry for her; he wondered why she didn’t want to tell the whole truth but in an effort to preserve the light mood and getaway they had found he changed the subject.

“We can figure it out later,” he suggested and the downtrodden mood suddenly dispersed as she broke from a haze of thoughts he didn’t understand. “Right now let's just enjoy some time away.”

She agreed to that with a timid smile and a whispered thank you. They spent the rest of the meal with idle chit chat and a determination to keep conversation away from the fears and troubles their situation plagued them with. They left when the sun was nearly set and the sky was dark purple, the air crisp and cool. Calum, without thinking, offered his jacket to her—never knowing how she could run around in tank tops and shorts when the temperature made him shiver past leather. With a blush and a shrug she accepted as they made their way back to the car.

“It was nice to do something real with you,” she said as they cruised down the highway, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

Calum couldn’t help but think of how real it had been and felt. His arm wrapped around her, lips brushing her face, sharing secrets and a special place, red lines on a placemat and tumbling fears shooting through both of them. It was calm and exhilarating. A perfect balance between the charade they put on for the paparazzi and the authenticity the diner brought them. Calum wanted to do something real in place of anything staged; wanted to find their own path to walk while simultaneously fulfilling written requirements. The next would be a social media post and thoughts of how to keep themselves real in the face of something so tailored and constructed were already surfacing in Calum’s mind.

Michael was outside when they pulled into his driveway and Arden slipped Calum’s jacket off. She gave it back with a bashful smile and leaned over for just a moment, another gratitude brushing across his cheek in a split second. He didn’t know why she was thanking him but he appreciated the feel of her words against his skin and the warm scent of honey and peaches that infiltrated his senses. He watched her leave, saw Michael lead her past the door and waited until it shut before peeling out. The quick drive to his place was silent aside from the hum of the engine. A hundred thoughts consumed him, some confusing and some that felt okay. The chance that something real—something more than a contract could control and define—might be blooming between them left Calum’s falling fears in a warm and airy embrace.

<< >>

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[makeste]

There's been a lot of talk about Mina's optimistic line about how they'll all be fine and back to class is a death flag, but if anything I think it's a desth flag for U.A. They'll be fine, but they won't be back to class as normal, because there won't BE a class to attend(RIP Shinsou)

seems like everyone in the fandom is talking about death flags and kids dying and society falling to pieces these days lol. fwiw, as I’m sure most people have seen by now, Viz’s translation showed that Mina was actually talking about Midnight, so if this really is a “famous last words” situation, it would apply to her rather than the kids.

but it seems like the speculation hasn’t really died down despite that! so since the whole “kids dying” thing keeps coming up, I’m gonna go ahead and weigh in on it again here and say that I don’t think it’s going to happen. so far I’ve mostly been trying to keep my reasoning short and sweet and leaving it at “it would be too dark”, but in truth, the real reason why I don’t see it happening is because I don’t think it would serve any purpose.

here’s the thing about character deaths: assuming that the writing is any good (which I would argue that it is, in BnHA’s case, although you are free to disagree!), they should always serve a purpose. and in most cases, that’s going to mean one of four things:

it serves as a way to write the character out of the story for whatever reason (for instance if the character is getting in the way of letting a plot be resolved, or if the actor is leaving, which of course doesn’t apply to BnHA but is a huge factor in a lot of other media). an example here would be Twice, who was written out of the story because his quirk would have prevented the heroes from having any chance at all of winning.

it sets the stakes and takes away the audience’s sense of security by establishing that No One Is Safe, and that People Can And Will Die. this is important in that it builds suspense and makes the audience more invested than they might otherwise be, because they can’t be 100% certain that their fave is going to make it out alive. a good example of this would be the recent massacre at Jakku, which showed in no uncertain terms how powerful Tomura has become, and also demonstrated that Horikoshi has no qualms whatsoever about killing off any number of pro hero characters in this arc.

it completes that character’s arc and serves as a fitting (if depressing) end to their story. this is probably the most controversial as far as “reasons for killing someone off” go, because it’s so easy to fuck up, and because someone will almost always argue that there were other, better ways for a character’s story to end. most “redemption” deaths fall under this category, as do the “character makes the ultimate sacrifice to protect their loved one” deaths. if Endeavor ends up dying there’s a good chance it will fall under this category. so far though, BnHA has been pretty light on these types of deaths, which tbh suits me just fine. ideally this sort of death is supposed to provide some sort of closure, but in practice it doesn’t always work out that way.

lastly, the death furthers the story in some way. it galvanizes another character into action, or serves as a motivation for them. or maybe the death shifts the political landscape of the story and sets new plots into motion. most tragic backstory deaths fall under this category; for example, pretty much the entire Shimura family (r.i.p.). this is another potentially controversial area though on account of there being many other ways to move the plot forward without resorting to killing someone off. not to mention that “fridging” deaths also fall under this category -- deaths where one character is used as a plot device to move another character’s development forward. Nana, unfortunately, is an example of this, but that’s another rant for another day.

anyway, so these are the four biggest reasons to kill off a character in a story. there are others as well, including simply adding some more tragedy and emotion to the story, but IMO that doesn’t really apply to this particular genre. BnHA isn’t a tragedy, nor is it the kind of bleak, grimdark narrative where killing off characters more frequently would make sense. this isn’t the kind of series where gratuitous character deaths are necessary to add shock value or realism. making the shift into that kind of writing this late in the game wouldn’t make much sense, and IMO would do a lot more harm than good.

so as far as I’m concerned, this means that if Horikoshi is going to kill someone off in this arc, that death needs to come under one of these four categories. oh, and something I forgot to mention before -- it should be necessary, as well. in other words, it accomplishes one of these four things, and is the only way that said thing can be accomplished. those are basically my criteria for a “good” character death.

and as far as I can see, none of the kids’ deaths would currently fall into that “necessary” category, or meet any of those other four criteria. none of the kids are so powerful that they need to be written out of the story (and even if they were, there are other ways to do that with AFO and the quirk-be-gone bullets now in play). they don’t need to be killed off in order to raise the stakes; clearly, fandom is already very convinced on that front already, or people wouldn’t constantly be freaking out over death flags and such in the first place. and none of the kids is anywhere near the completion of their respective story arcs. maybe if one or more of them had been featured more often recently, and there was some actual buildup, like we saw with Mirio right before he lost his quirk, or with Nighteye before he was killed. but we haven’t seen anything like that recently for any of the kids, with the possible exception of Bakugou (hence why I’m still pretty certain that he’s currently heading towards what Aizawa would call a “death”, with quotation marks, i.e. the loss of his quirk).

so that just leaves us with “their death would further the narrative in some way”, which is probably the most open to interpretation of the four. but for the life of me I just can’t think of any way that the death of a kid would advance the plot in a way that couldn’t be achieved by other means. want society to freak out about children being involved in a war? just injure a bunch of them, or have one of them lose their quirk on live TV with the world watching. want to traumatize the other child soldier characters for some reason? kill off one of the teachers, then. or, again, take away one of their friends’ quirks, and have them feel some misplaced guilt over not being able to stop it. this was the winning formula for the Basement arc, so I don’t see why it wouldn’t work here as well.

tbh a lot of this does depend on what exactly Horikoshi’s goals for this arc are, which still aren’t 100% clear even this late in the game. I’m not sure right now what he’s planning for the aftermath of this thing. will it be like Kamino and Fukuoka, where society is shaken up but still rallying behind the heroes and giving them their support? or are we instead building up towards a scenario where society’s faith in heroes finally crumbles and people are left totally demoralized in the wake of yet another brutal attack, and the total decimation of the Billboard Top 10? the latter outcome is seeming more and more likely to me, but an awful lot of it depends on how the next few chapters play out.

my best guess is that we end up with a scenario where the heroes succeed in staving off total disaster, but at a heavy cost. a lot of the pros are either dead or out of commission, Tomura and the League are still at large, and everyone is basically just sitting around trying to process what just happened and figure out what to do next while they wait for the other shoe to drop. word gets out that the kids were pretty much the only reason the battle didn’t end in even greater disaster, and as a result they get swept up in the ensuing political drama. the HPSC tries to parade them around as the next big thing; humanity’s hope for the future. but meanwhile a growing faction of the general public is furious at the government getting children involved in a war, and start arguing that the hero program should be shut down and U.A. should close its doors. and in the midst of all this, the kids try to lick their wounds and deal with the aftermath, and enter their second year very much unsure of what the future will hold.

anyway, so this all got very long-winded and out of hand as usual, but to sum up, I don’t think any of the kids is going to die here, and I think there will still be a year two of U.A., but that it’s going to feel very different from the U.A. we’ve known up to this point. if the threat of Tomura is still looming over everyone’s heads I very much doubt the kids will be able to focus much on their studies. but it may also be a case of them trying to cling to what little semblance of normalcy they have left. the teachers might decide to press on simply because it’s the only thing they can do. basically I’m anticipating something very similar to the aftermath of Kamino, but with the tension ramped up to 11, and with the adults fighting a losing battle to keep the kids from getting caught up in the middle of it all.

in other words, I don't think it’s an actual death-death we need to worry about here. rather, it’s going to be a much slower and much more subtle death by a thousand cuts. but it’ll be the kind of angst the characters can still work under; the kind that, rather than suffocating them, instead makes them grit their teeth and find a way to push forward. so yeah! anyways though, now that I’ve said all this, watch as Horikoshi goes and fucking decapitates Aoyama next week or some shit. lol maybe I should knock on wood just in case.

[andaxay]

Preservation of Self

My entry for February’s @telltalemonthlychallenge. February’s theme: Black History Month.

Hyperion has been cutthroat since the day she accepted the offer of employment. Yvette does what she thinks she needs to. To thrive. To survive.

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

One last coffee before they left.

Secreted away in a quiet room, away from prying eyes that would question why Vaughn the mild-mannered accountant had an important looking Hyperion briefcase chained to his arm. Best to avoid such questions.

"You're really doing this?" Yvette wrapped one slender leg around the other as she sat, sipping a latte, looking from one best friend to another with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"Oh, we are doing this," Rhys leaned forward with a smug smile and raised eyebrow. Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck as he stared, wide-eyed, at the table in front of them, perhaps questioning every life decision he'd ever made that had led him to this point. "We are doing this so much. Who else is going to screw over Vasquez?"

"Vasquez is more than capable of screwing himself over, given enough time," Yvette said dryly, folding her arms.

"And how long will that take? Are you willing to wait for years for that to happen?"

"He might get eaten by a skag the second he sets foot on Pandora," Vaughn chimed in, wearing an expression that said 'and the same could happen to us'.

"And he might not," Rhys countered, "in which case, enjoy being middle management saps for the next ten to fifteen years. I, however, am not willing to clean up Vasquez's damn trash three times a day, just so he can drink in how much power he has."

"Fair point," Vaughn conceded and Yvette nodded solemnly.

"Well, then," she said after taking the last sip of her latte, "you have everything you need." She paused, looking at both of them. A twist in her gut. "Good luck. Try not to die - there's an awful lot of paperwork to fill out if you do."

"We'll miss you, too."

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

Vasquez's furious shouting reached Yvette's ears before the man himself stormed into her office. She steeled herself, remaining cool and calm, tapping away at her keyboard as he stalked up to her desk.

"Mr. Vasquez?" Polite, despite her gut curling at the sight of him. Slimeball.

"Yvette!" Vasquez glared down at her, breathing heavily, before he appeared to relax slightly, stepping into the persona he often reserved for buttering up management. "Yvette. Just the lady I was looking for." He stepped around her desk and sat on the edge of it, looming over her. "Urgent business. Confidential, of course. Management... I, need to meet with Rhys. Only he, ah, seems to be difficult to pin down." Vasquez stared down at her, his eyes burning. She stared right back, innocently, collected. "You had lunch together, shared plans for the afternoon..."

"As far as I'm aware, he's working," Yvette offered coolly. "I haven't seen him, or spoken to him, since lunch."

"Oh? Working on his next eridium mining contract? Or, maybe, stealing ten million dollars of Hyperion's money and taking it to a Pandoran named August to buy a Vault Key?" Vasquez folded his arms as he leaned in slightly. Trying to intimidate her. Yvette had dealt with much worse in her time at Hyperion.

"I have never heard of August and, like I said, I assumed Rhys had gone back to work after lunch," Yvette said firmly, "so, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Trying to cover for him? Or, have you washed your hands of him already?" Vasquez leered down at her. "He'll be so happy to hear it when we pick him up and drag his soon-to-be-dead ass into a cell for stealing Hyperion property." He smiled, an ugly, sinister curve of a thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Speaking of which, exactly how did he get hold of the money? He isn't an accountant, doesn't have access to funds. Unless... he had help. If I recall, you're both good friends with the man who just happens to manage valuable Hyperion funds and assets. What was his name again? Vinny? Vance?"

Yvette remained poker-faced, raising her eyebrows slightly, questioningly. A vein in Vasquez's temple was twitching.

"I won't deny that I'm friends with them," she said calmly, sitting back into her chair and folding her arms, "but that's all I can tell you. Whatever this is? You're asking the wrong person."

"Mmm-hmm," Vasquez fixed her with a firm glare. "So, that's how it's going to be. Alright, then." He stood and turned to leave, but paused. "I would think about where your loyalties lie, Yvette. Hyperion can set you up for life." He turned again to face her. She remained impassive. "And it can also end it. We can trace everything. Think about that, while you decide your future."

She only allowed herself to exhale once the heavy blast doors closed behind him. Some chewing of her thumbnail, the only show of anxiety she would allow herself.

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

Rhys and Vaughn had lost the money. They were as good as dead.

Hyperion didn't yet know. It didn't matter. They would.

Rhys and Vaughn would either die on Pandora, or die the minute they stepped foot on Helios.

Climbing the ranks of Hyperion was a colossal challenge that very, very few could ever hope to rise to. The toxic culture, knives in so many backs - sometimes literally. Yvette had dared to hope, when she and Rhys and Vaughn had become friends. One person alone couldn't even begin to chip away at the Hyperion machine, but the three of them, working together?

It was over. It had been silly to think it could have happened in the first place.

Her office phone rang. The caller ID read 'Hugo Vasquez'.

She sighed heavily, then answered it.

"The situation has changed. Meet me in my office. Ten minutes." He hung up before she'd even said a word.

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

"Your involvement in the stealing of ten million dollars can be... erased, Yvette. Nobody higher up needs to know. ID logs can be manipulated. Traces erased."

She folded her arms. "... If?"

Vasquez was the most serious-looking she'd ever seen him.

"I'll be honest. We need the data in Rhys's systems far more than ten million dollars."

Systems. Like Rhys wasn't a walking, living human being.

"Let's just say that Hyperion is willing to pay a lot to recover this data. To the person, or people, responsible for recovering it" Vasquez folded his arms as he leaned against his desk. Behind him, Pandora was framed nicely within the window of his office. What had once been Henderson's office, before he'd been... terminated.

Henderson had been a racist prick, she didn't miss him, mourn him or even feel sorry for him, but it was a nice reminder about what Vasquez was capable of.

"So," Vasquez continued, "you help me, I help you. You track Rhys, keep tabs on his location and give me all of the information you know. And I'll make sure you're not implicated in anything... unsavoury. And, give you a cut of the reward."

Yvette stood, calm on the outside and reeling on the inside.

Her best friends.

Her best friends who were likely dead regardless.

Likely. Ha. They were toast.

Could she live with being an active part in their demise, though?

Vasquez glared, impatient.

"You make a very compelling argument, Vasquez," Yvette plastered a snakelike smile on her face and part of her died within. "You have a deal."

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

She gasped as the cold water she'd scooped and thrown into her face hit her skin. The swanky bathroom of her cushy Helios apartment was dimly lit, but she could still see every feature of her face in the mirror. Every line of the troubled expression marring her features.

Vasquez had gone down to Pandora to find Rhys and Vaughn. On the back of information that she had given to him.

Rhys and Vaughn were going to die anyway.

Assuming Vasquez was successful and brought Rhys, or whatever remained of him, back to Helios. The next steps were glaringly obvious. Vasquez would claim all of the reward for himself. Yvette would be exposed, her role in the disappearance of ten million dollars and two intrepid, naïve Hyperion employees with it, one of whom was hiding some incredibly important program in his head, apparently.

She'd be thrown out of an airlock the second Vasquez stepped back onto Helios.

This was about survival, now.

Yvette had quietly been gathering evidence on Vasquez's involvement in this mess. Bribery, incompetence. She was ready to strike. Ready to claim the reward for herself, to survive something else that Hyperion had to throw at her.

But she had to play along, for now.

Which meant leading Vasquez right to Rhys and Vaughn.

Maybe Vasquez would lose. Maybe her best friends would outsmart him, work their way out and escape into the sunset. Yvette couldn't see it happening. Much as she loved them, they'd be hopeless in any kind of fight-or-flight response.

As much as she had loved them.

Because now she'd struck a deal with the devil and anyone who truly cared for their friends wouldn't serve them to their deaths on a silver platter.

It was them, or her.

Welcome to Hyperion.

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

Vasquez had rolled up in some old, hulking build-it-yourself spaceship that would have looked more at home in a scrapyard and, what was more, had failed to bring Rhys, or any part of him, back with him.

To say Yvette was furious would be an understatement.

She'd stormed into his office, her office, ready to blast him to hell for failing to uphold his part of the deal. Shafting them both, not that she cared about what would happen to him, following his unauthorised trip to Pandora. Without the data in Rhys' system, he was as good as dead anyway.

Something was missing. Vasquez had been unreachable for weeks after landing on Pandora, which had driven her mad. She'd been feeding him information in all that time and he couldn't even be bothered to send her a 'thank you'. But now he was back, something was... off.

Not... not in a bad way, honestly. The malice she normally associated with him was lacking. It was disarming, but Yvette didn't have time or resources to worry about such a thing. What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things?

"You had one job," she spat out, glaring daggers at him. He was... strangely vulnerable?

"I'm on it," he said quietly. "I just need more time."

"Time's up, Vasquez. It's over. I'm calling management."

"Don't," he said, desperate yet calm, collected. "It will only end badly, and not just for me. You think I don't have evidence to back myself up? And so, so much of it points to you, Yvette." Hurt. What a strange thing to witness in his expression.

"Then I guess we're at an impasse." She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I can fix this. I know what to do. To save both our asses."

Yvette remained silent. Like Vasquez cared about what happened to her.

Still, they were stuck. Play along for now, then shaft him later, once she knew what this plan of his was.

"You have the rest of the working day to fix this," Yvette snapped, "and then I'm handing you in. Consequences be damned."

"I don't think you mean that," he said, voice low, almost deadly.

"You don't know anything about me," she countered, equally as deadly. "Get out of my office."

To her enormous surprise, he left.

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

The escape pod rattled unsettlingly as it plummeted to Pandora. Yvette stared, dully, out at the rapidly approaching planet.

She should be dead. Maybe that would have been the better alternative.

Rhys' face as she'd gone for the escape pod... As he'd told her to go to the escape pod.

She'd sold him out and he'd repaid her by saving her life. Essentially sealing his own death warrant as he'd done so. Even after her pathetic attempts at an explanation and apology while she'd been locked in the cell.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists until the nails drew blood. Helios was breaking apart behind her. There was no way he'd survive.

Ha. Hadn't she written him off, anyway?

She didn't deserve a friend like him. She didn't deserve friends at all. Because, as it had become blindly obvious throughout the last few weeks, she was more than willing to sell them out to save her own skin.

Maybe the pod would crash with such a force that she'd be torn apart upon impact.

At least it would put an end to the burning, lead guilt that weighed down every cell in her body.

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

"Thanks, Vaughn."

"Don't mention it."

The emergency blanket felt scratchy against her skin. The soup in the bowl in her lap could barely qualify as 'warm'. It was more than she deserved.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

Vaughn stopped in his tracks, turned to face her. Exhausted. Dark circles underlined his eyes and aged him well beyond his twenty-seven years.

"You went through hell, too. I just... want to help."

She didn't know what she could say. Apologies were worthless.

"Eat the soup, Yvette, it will help."

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

"To... surviving."

"I'll drink to that."

"Mmm-hmm."

Three glasses clinked together in the candlelit room, one of the more... intact ones that had mostly survived the fall from orbit.

"I'm so glad you're both ok," Rhys said quietly, staring into his chipped glass filled with an unspecified alcohol.

Yvette stared into her own glass. Both. Even after everything.

"Rhys-"

His head snapped up and mismatched eyes met her own. Alarmed, almost. He knew what was coming.

"Yvette, you don't have to-"

"I do," she said firmly. Vaughn glanced between the two of them. "I'm sorry. I really am." She sighed heavily. "I guess... I was just trying to survive. I was scared." She scratched at the side of her head. A small scar had formed there, a remnant of her crash-landing into Pandora. She felt the smooth texture underneath her finger. "It was a shitty way of doing it. You guys were - are - the best friends I've ever had. I should have done better."

They were both silent for a moment, exchanging glances.

"We've all experienced Hyperion," Vaughn finally chimed in solemnly. "'Surviving' was about all we could do."

Rhys made a noise of agreement. "You think we didn't do terrible things, too?"

"Still..."

"Yvette, it's ok," Rhys smiled at her. "It hurt, at the time. I won't lie. But I also know what it's like to be in fear for your life."

"Yeah. Who at Hyperion didn't do something shitty at some point? It was practically in the job description." Vaughn also smiled.

"I guess we all learned something," Rhys continued quietly and Vaughn nodded in agreement. "But, that's what it's all about, I guess. I think as long as we acknowledge where we go wrong, and do something to be better... No reason we can't be ok, right?"

A weight, a terrible, oppressive weight that she'd carried for so long, now. Some of it eased.

"I'll drink to that," she offered, smiling, and the three clinked their glasses together again.

[peterparkrr]

Father & Son

By @peterparkrr for @ephemeralstark (I loved all of your prompts! I tried to combine them! I really hope you enjoy <3)

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, James Rhodes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: James Rhodes, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, other Avengers briefly

Summary: Rhodey’s certain about two things. The kid is definitely Tony’s son. The kid is also Spider-Man OR Rhodey meets Peter and tries to become the best uncle that he can be.

ao3 link

There’s a boy standing in front of Tony’s couch.

Rhodey stares at him, narrowing his eyes a little. The kid’s frozen in an almost comical position, legs spread wide, one hand swung in front of his body like he knew that someone was coming and tried to make an unsuccessful quick escape.

“Who are you?” Rhodey asks.

The boy blinks once and then lowers his arms slowly until they are hanging limp at his sides. He turns and cranes his neck to try to look down the hallway. When he faces Rhodey again, there’s an uneasy smile on his face—not unkind or shifty, just unsure.

“Er, hi, Colonel Rhodes.” He taps his foot a few times, then glances over his shoulder again. “How are you?”

Rhodey tilts his head to the side. The boy’s voice is familiar. He’s definitely heard it before, but can’t quite place it.

“I’m doing well.” He leaves a pause between each word as he takes a few equally slow steps across the room. “Who—”

“That’s good. Really good. I’m good, too, but actually—” The kid starts shoving the assortment of notebooks, pencils, and loose paper scattered on the table in front of the couch into his backpack and then points toward the hallway. “I should go. So you can, you know, use the room.”

He’s from New York, that much Rhodey can tell. The accent isn’t obnoxious, but it’s definitely clear. Tony probably bumped into him at a scholarship event, or even just on the street outside, and decided to recruit him into his little collection.

It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s one in Tennessee that gets a ridiculous amount of presents on Christmas and some time in the Spring (when Rhodey assumes is his birthday). Then there’s the kid-genius at MIT that Tony waved through a bit of legal trouble after she got caught in an Iron Man-type suit of her own design. Rhodey’s met her a few times, when visiting the campus with Tony. There’s also the spandex-clad wonder who helped out at the airport last year. And that was definitely a kid, no matter how many times Tony dances around Spider-Man’s age. Rhodey knows the difference between a child’s and a man’s voice. It was far too high, almost squeaky at times, enthusiastic and—Rhodey glances at the kid in front of him now—an unmistakable New York accent.

A hand comes down on the kid’s shoulder and he jumps, just a little bit too high.

“Woah there, just me,” Tony says, squeezing once before looking across the room at Rhodey and quirking an eyebrow. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to drop in.”

“I have to work, Tones. I have a real job. Not everyone has a multi-billion dollar company to pawn off on their girlfriend.”

“That’s—not exactly accurate. Pepper likes responsibilities. It’s a gift.” Tony looks Rhodey up and down, analytical, like he always does these days. He stops at his legs and clicks his tongue. “Braces. Any adjustments? I’ve got a new set downstairs. Should be even more intuitive.”

The kid’s staring at them, too. There’s a very specific combination of interest and guilt etched into his features that Rhodey usually finds on Tony’s face. In fact, it’s also there now, albeit a little more concealed.

“You don’t have to keep doing this. They’ve been perfect for months.”

“Functional, yes. Awesome, maybe. Nowhere near perfect yet. But they will be soon. I’ve got an assistant now.”

Tony sticks his hand in the boy’s hair and smooshes it down, almost absentmindedly, before shoving his whole head to the side. The kid’s reaction is delayed, as if he forces his head to move rather than naturally rocking with the impact of Tony’s hand.

“Well, part-time assistant. Glorified coffee-fetcher.” Tony waves a hand at the kid, who only seems mildly affronted by the ‘coffee-fetcher’ thing. “This is Peter, by the way. I’m glad you’re here, Rhodes. Been meaning to introduce you two.”

Rhodey’s eyes linger on Tony’s hand. It settles on Peter’s shoulder and stays there. The whole thing is natural, like that’s a typical place for it to be. As if this boy—Peter—is comfortable with it there. But it’s more than comfortable, because Peter’s looking at Tony like he’s maybe the most important person in the world. It’s not the usual idolization that Tony tends to get either. This is deeper, like they know each other, really know each other. They’ve both got matching lop-sided grins and if Rhodey squints, that’s not where the similarities end.

Every person Rhodey knows has a story—or fifty—of when Tony has said or done something that has rendered a whole room silent. He has a knack for it. Just like he has a knack for getting on people’s nerves and creating some, admittedly, cool gadgets.

It doesn’t happen to Rhodey as often these days. You know a guy for thirty plus years and it becomes hard for them to shock you.

But now, all Rhodey can do is gape, eyes shifting back and forth between the pair in front of him.

Tony’s smile fades into something more concerned, a by-product of whatever he must be reading from the surprise on Rhodey’s face.

Then the elevator door opens. This time, Peter isn’t the only one to jump, they all startle and turn towards it at once, like they'd been caught at the scene of a crime rather than merely standing in Tony's living room.

Sam and Steve walk out of the elevator, engrossed in conversation. It stops short when they realize that the room isn’t empty.

“Tony, James.” Steve nods, then his eyes widen when they reach Peter. “Oh, hello.”

Sam squints at them. “Who’s the child?”

From the look on his face, Peter takes more offense to that than anything Tony said about his role in the lab.

Tony sniffs and shrugs, shifting his body an almost imperceptible amount so that he’s a half a step in front of Peter. His stance is pseudo-relaxed, something clearly defensive in the tension in his shoulders. Rhodey takes it as a cue and also moves, just a little bit, to try to obscure Peter as much as possible.

Things are better now than they were last year. The team’s back together—no hard feelings, for the most parts, but trust is hard to regain.

“This is Peter. Intern.” Tony elbows him. “Look, it’s Captain America and the Falcon. Aren’t you starstruck?”

“Oh! Yeah—so cool.” Peter starts to salute then winces and crosses his arms. “Mr. Falcon, Mr. America. It’s an honor.”

Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed in that particular way—’constipated puppy’, Tony likes to call it. Rhodey has to agree. Although, he thinks Tony finds it sort of charming, which is where Rhodey draws the line. It would be cute on a toddler, not so much on a grown man. “Why is an intern in your penthouse, Tony?”

“I missed the part where that was any of your business.”

“That’s not—I was just curious—”

“Well, don’t be.”

Peter starts to squirm uncomfortably. When Rhodey makes eye contact with him, he averts his gaze to the ground.

“Oh, okay. I get it,” Sam says, rubbing a hand over his chin. “He’s not really an intern, huh?”

Both Tony and Peter tense even further. Rhodey finds himself doing the same.

“Jesus, Stark, how old is he? Sixteen? Did you just meet him?”

“W-what?” Tony splutters.

“He’s your kid, right?”

Tony looks lost for a moment, then one of his bright, press smiles drifts onto his face. It always shows up when he's about to tell a lie, and suddenly the pieces all click into place in Rhodey's head.

Before Tony can speak, he steps forward, shoving Sam good-naturedly and shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous and you know it. No one would wait sixteen years to slap Tony Stark with a custody case.”

Peter peaks out from around Tony. "I'm seventeen!"

"Strengthens my argument," Rhodey says.

Sam snorts. “Then how do you explain Stark hanging out with a small child?”

“Small child,” Peter repeats in a murmur, lines creasing his forehead.

“He hangs out with quite a few small children,” Rhodey says.

Steve starts to look at Rhodey like he’s wandered into an alternate dimension, which isn’t too far of a leap given their particular line of work.

Sam just shrugs. “Somehow, that’s worse. Very strange.”

Tony frowns. “No—it’s—I’m a good mentor, right Pete?”

Peter beams up at him, smile so wide that Rhodey’s sure it must hurt. “Right.”

Rhodey’s certain about two things. The kid is definitely Tony’s son. The kid is also Spider-Man. How Tony managed to get himself a souped up child is beyond him (and he prays that it’s not Tony's own doing, a lab-experiment gone awry or even more terrifyingly gone right), but he hopes that he’ll learn the story one day. He’s an uncle now, after all.

~~~

Rhodey’s phone starts to ring, a picture of Tony flashing on the screen. Or, it’s a picture of a picture, really—an old one from college that’s framed at his mom’s house.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and admires the image for a few seconds, reminiscing about simpler times, before picking up.

“H—”

“Rhodey! You haven’t heard from Happy recently, have you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Hello, Tony.”

“That’s my name. Heard from Happy? I can’t get a hold of him.”

Rhodey leans back in his bed, crossing one leg over the other. “Nope. You’re the mutual friend in this situation, you know. Happy and I don’t really hang out without you.”

Tony hums. There are muffled footsteps and Rhodey envisions him pacing.

“Why do you need Happy?”

“He’s supposed to drive Peter home.”

“What, are you—afraid of his mom or something?”

“Aunt,” Tony corrects.

“Aunt,” Rhodey echoes.

That’s something he didn’t see coming. He wonders if the poor kid lost his mom before knowing that his dad was Tony Stark. He wonders how Tony even found out about him. He almost asks, but bites his tongue. It seems like something that Tony should bring up when he’s ready.

“Aunt,” Tony confirms again.

“Alright, so just drive him to the aunt’s place. It can’t be that bad.”

There’s a long pause. “That’s not really what we do.”

“Oh come on, how scary can she—”

“And besides, the kid’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Okay.” Rhodey tries to keep his voice calm and void of annoyance, because his Tony may be a genius, but he’s also the biggest idiot on the planet. And sometimes idiots need patience. It's his duty, both as a best friend, and a newly realized uncle, to provide that patience. “Then tell his aunt that he fell asleep and that he’s staying over for the night.”

The pause that follows is even longer than the last. There are more scuffling footsteps and then he whispers, “but he’s asleep in the lab. Laying on the desk.”

It shouldn’t be this difficult. Rhodey holds the phone away from him so that Tony won’t hear him sigh. “Then wake him up and tell him to head up to his room. Or put a suit on and carry him if you’re that worried about waking him up.”

“What?”

Rhodey counts to three. “Then wake him up and tell him to head up to his room. Or—”

“Room—he doesn’t have a room,” Tony interjects.

It’s Rhodey’s turn to hesitate. “Peter doesn’t have a room at the tower?”

“No,” Tony replies slowly. “Do you—you think he should have a room at the tower?”

Rhodey tries to come up with any possible reason that Tony would think that his son shouldn’t have a room at his place of residence. The only thing that comes to mind is daddy issues. He’s not even sure if that covers it.

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes?” Tony asks

If he needs logic and numbers, Rhodey will give him logic and numbers. Whatever it takes to spell it out to him.

“How many days does Peter spend at the tower?”

“Two—sometimes three. It depends.”

“Okay. Does he stay late often?”

“Yes. I told you, Happy drives him home.”

Rhodey rests his head in his free hand. The kid can’t have been in Tony’s life for much more than a year—either that or Rhodey’s severely lacking in the observation department—and somehow Tony’s managed to twist their relationship into something that defies any sense. Peter clearly adores him based on what Rhodey saw at the tower, and yet Happy’s carting him between his houses and he doesn’t even have a room at his dad’s place.

“I bet this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep while over at yours, right?”

Tony hums in agreement.

“So don’t you think it would be easier to have a room for him to crash in? And then it won’t be so much travel back and forth for the kid. It’s probably weird enough without all of that. He has a lot going on.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. “You’re absolutely right. Okay. Room. FRIDAY? Jot that down. What would I do without you, Rhodey? You’re the light of my life. Have I told you that recently? Best thing to ever happen to me. I love you.”

Rhodey jabs at the end call button.

A text pops up a moment later. Rude of you to hang up when I’m being sentimental.

Rhodey pulls up the contact picture of the dorky little boy he used to share a dorm room with before typing back. I love you, idiot.

He receives a string of hearts a minute later.

~~~

Tony’s voice filters into Rhodey’s earpiece. “It’s not moving.”

Steve’s follows. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Tony answers. “I’m going closer.”

Rhodey watches him approach the metal orb. He looks like nothing more than a red dash from here, shooting across the New York skyline.

He glances to his left, where Spider-Man is standing, hands alternating between fiddling in front of his stomach and swinging at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He hasn’t been his usual chatterbox-self since Tony flew off to scout the sphere from up close.

Rhodey shakes his head. “Be careful. You’re making Spidey nervous.”

The red mask turns to him, eyes on it even wider than usual. “I’m not nervous!”

“Don’t get too close to it, Tony. We don’t know what it can do,” Steve adds.

The words are barely through the comms before the sphere shifts, a flash of green light shooting off its surface. Tony dives and rolls out of the way.

“Oops,” he says. “Made it angry.”

“It’s hostile,” Steve says.

“It’s impressive.” The red blur twists around and then flies closer to the orb again. “Unknown metal, FRIDAY can’t find a match. Dense, too. Shouldn’t be able to float like this with no propulsion. And smooth, laser came right off the surface, no—shit.”

Rhodey takes a step closer, even though it doesn’t do much to shorten the distance between him and Tony. “Shit?”

“It’s a diversion. You guys have to get to Manhattan. Something’s landed. Accounts say it appeared out of nowhere.”

A video pops up on Rhodey’s HUD. There’s a giant metal ship, the outside smooth like the orb, but it’s not spherical. There’s pavement torn up around either side of it and at least one car crushed beneath it, headlights sticking out from the debris. There are civilians running on the outskirts of the disturbance.

“We’re on it,” Steve says. “Tony, stay with the orb. Send for help if it tries anything funny.”

“Fine,” Tony replies after a few seconds. “Leave Underoos here, too.”

“Done. Everyone else, let’s go.”

“What? You guys wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t told you about the sphere!” Peter protests.

“Exactly,” Tony replies. “The sphere’s yours, so stay here and help me watch it. From the ground.”

“But Mr. Stark, that’s basically telling me to do nothing!”

“Bingo. Keeping you out of trouble.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest, huffing in indignation.

Rhodey shoots Peter a sympathetic look. Then the full extent of the opportunity to gain Peter's favor dawns on him. “Sorry, kid. If it were up to me, I would let you come with us. Remember that, okay?”

"What," Peter says.

"Just, remember that." Rhodey turns to take off. "See you."

By the time they get to Manhattan, the scene has changed drastically from the footage. The ship has opened up, revealing countless robots in different shapes and sizes, all with the same smooth surfaces as the orb and the ship.

They get to work. It’s harder than it should be. Most of the guns on Rhodey's suit do nothing to the metal—only the strongest blasters inflict any damage. It’s nearly indestructible.

“Er—guys?” Peter’s voice breaks through the chaos. “Something’s—oh my god. Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark?”

Rhodey looks up. The orb is alight, a green haze surrounding it. Tony’s suit is nowhere near it. Rhodey scans the rest of the sky, catching a glimpse of it just before it disappears below the tops of buildings.

“Tony?” Rhodey tries.

There’s no response.

Someone curses over the airwaves.

“Spider-Man?” Steves says. “Do you have eyes on him?”

“It happened so fast,” Peter mumbles. “I saw where he fell. I’ll—I’ll get to him.”

Rhodey exchanges a glance with Steve. He bites his lip and glances back up at the sky, doing a double take when he realizes that the orb has disappeared.

“Hey, Steve.” Rhodey points. “It’s gone.”

“Spider-Man,” Steve says. “Where’d the orb go?”

When Peter's feed crackles into Rhodey’s ears, it’s filled with the staticky sounds of fast movement and heavy impacts.

“What’s up? Did someone say my name?” The kid asks, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I’m a little busy.”

Steve looks at Rhodey, eyes wide through his mask. “What does that mean?”

There’s a sharp thwip over the comm’s and more scuffling, then silence. Rhodey can’t see Steve’s eyebrows under the mask, but he’s pretty sure if he could, they would be up to his hairline.

“I’m on it.” Before waiting for a response, Rhodey takes off. There’s no angry Steve voice on the comms, so he assumes that it’s the right move.

It takes him less than five minutes to find Peter. He’s tipped off by a trail of webs, hanging from buildings, leading him to an alley.

He lands a few feet away from it, peering inside. There are about a dozen orbs, like the giant one in the sky had split into pieces. Each is varying degrees of shattered or plastered to the wall by web lines that stretch across the alleyway like streamers. Rhodey swivels his head back and forth a few times before forcing himself to tear his eyes away.

Tony’s down—suit collapsed in an unceremonious pile. Peter’s pacing in front of him, clearly agitated, leaning over every few steps and murmuring something that Rhodey can’t quite make out.

He takes a step forward, ducking under one of the webs. “Hey. Alright over there?”

Peter’s head jerks to the side. His shoulders rise in a shrug and he looks back at Tony. “He isn’t moving. I hear his heartbeat though.”

Rhodey’s own heart clenches. He makes the rest of the way into the alley and crouches down next to Tony. He mutters a call for medical as quietly as he can, in an effort to keep Peter calm. It’s probably useless seeing as the kid just told him he can hear heartbeats.

Peter settles down next to him, brushing one hand over Tony’s suit.

“I also meant you,” Rhodey clarifies. “Are you alright? Looks like you had a handful here.”

Peter looks up at him, brow furrowed, until the state of the alley seems to sink in. He shrugs again. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m—er—pretty strong.”

Rhodey laughs. “Yeah. I got that.”

“I’m more worried about Mr. Stark.” Peter looks back down at him.

Rhodey double-checks that his comm’s are off and then brings his faceplate down. “You don’t have to do that, kid, I know.”

He freezes. “You—know—?”

“All of it,” Rhodey says carefully, before adding, “Peter.”

The kid flinches and scoots away. “Did Mr. Stark tell you?”

“Not exactly. It was just sort of—” ‘Obvious’ isn’t the right thing to say judging by the way Peter’s eyes are blinking rapidly, like a skittish, caged animal. “I figured it out. Look, I won’t tell anyone. But you can drop the whole ‘Mr. Stark’ thing in front of me.”

The nerves seep out of Peter, replaced by confusion. “What? I always call him ‘Mr. Stark’.”

Really, nothing about Tony’s handling of this situation should surprise Rhodey at this point. Somehow it still does. Tony always seems to defy expectations.

“He makes you call him ‘Mr. Stark?’” Rhodey tries to keep his voice as even and nonjudgemental as possible in case Tony decides to wake up, or Peter tells him about it later.

“Oh, no. He always tries to get me to call him something else. It just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

“Ah,” Rhodey says. It’s a relief. One less piece of sense that he’ll have to talk Tony into. “Yeah, I understand that. I bet it’s an adjustment—all of this.”

“A lot has changed in the last year and a half, Colonel Rhodes, let me tell you. Sometimes I think it’s a dream but—” Peter gestures up at the pattern of webs and then down at Tony.

“I bet.” Rhodey bites his lip, trying to decide whether to say more. “I’ve known him for a long time. He’s made some mistakes. And he’ll probably make a couple more, but he’s a good guy. You can trust him.”

“I know that.” Peter’s response is automatic and sure. Rhodey can’t help but smile.

It’s possible that Tony’s doing just fine at the parenting thing. Even if he didn’t think to give his kid a room in his building.

~~~

“Look at this footage, seriously, do you see that?” Tony has FRIDAY pause it and then rewind a few seconds. “Watch.”

The video plays for the third time—Peter swinging around the alley, webs flying in every direction so fast that Rhodey can barely track where his hands are. He watches him grab one of the orbs and smash it between his fists.

“Do you know how durable those things are? I’ve been running tests. They’re stronger than any metal on earth. Make my suit look like aluminum fucking foil.”

Rhodey turns to Pepper. “How many times have you had to watch this?”

“Lost count around thirty.”

Tony scoffs, and then proceeds to replay the video once again

“Proud dad,” Rhodey says, smirking when Tony throws one of his middle fingers over his shoulder.

“It’s not a bad look.” Pepper leans over to wind her arms around Tony’s neck.

“Both of you, quiet. Maybe if I get the impression that you’re paying attention, I won’t have to play it again.”

Rhodey chuckles and tilts his head so he can get a clear view of the screen.

~~~

“Upgrades.” Tony moves his arms in a certain way and the wall slides aside to reveal a new version of the War Machine armor. “More fire-power, since I know you’re into that sort of thing. Also implemented a stealth mode. Peter helped me out.”

Rhodey smiles over at the kid. He’s met with a forced grimace. Peter'll warm up to him eventually. Rhodey will make sure of it. If Tony can manage to shape himself into a dad on such short notice, then Rhodey can definitely get a handle on being an uncle—ideally a cool uncle.

“He helped me with a new set of braces, too,” Tony continues. “Speaking of, those are—”

“I told you to quit with the braces.”

“And I believe I told you that I wouldn’t—doesn't matter, we’ll get to those later. Pete, do you want to do the honors, show him what we’ve done?”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark.” Peter doesn’t move from his position—sort of slumped against the wall adjacent to the case that the new armor is in. “You can show him.”

Tony glances at Peter and then shrugs, turning back to the display. “If you say so.”

He launches into an explanation, gesturing wildly as the suit fires an impressive sequence of advanced weaponry. Despite the demonstration, Rhodey finds his attention divided, focusing on Peter more often than not. The kid closed his eyes as soon as Tony turned away from him, leaned his head back against the wall. He looks pale, but somehow flushed at the same time—his skin is a deep red high on his cheeks, but almost gray everywhere else. It could be the lighting, but—

Rhodey grabs Tony’s shoulder and yanks him closer, cutting him off mid-sentence. He points at Peter, who doesn’t seem to have noticed the lull in conversation.

Is he okay? Rhodey mouths, because even though Peter seems out of it, he still has freaky super hearing.

Why wouldn’t he be? Tony mouths back.

His eyes are closed.  

Well maybe he’s— Tony makes a pillow with his hands and mimes sleeping on it. Tired.

Why would he be so tired?

Tony’s lips form a string of words too long for Rhodey to decipher. What?

He tries again. No difference, except Rhodey thinks he sees the word 'spider'. He shakes his head.

Tony huffs and starts over. Rhodey grabs his shoulders and shakes them. Slow down. Less words.

He rolls his eyes and starts moving his mouth in exaggerated slow motions.

Nope.

He wipes his hand over his face and tries again.

Not getting it.

“Oh, come on,” he hisses. “He’s a vigilante at night, a student during the day, and his metabolism matches, if not exceeds Rogers’!”

“Hey.” Peter cracks his eyes open and lifts his head off the wall, voice croaky and rough. “Are you guys talking about me?”

“Nah, some other super-kid,” Tony says.

Peter chuckles, and lets his head fall back. “Don’t let ‘em replace me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, would we, Rhodes?”

“Nope,” Rhodey says quickly. “Never.”

“Good,” Peter whispers, eyes drifting shut.

Tony glances at Rhodey, as if looking for an answer. He doesn’t have one, tries to convey that with a pointed look.

“You look kind of tired, bud,” Tony ventures, throwing up a confused hand in Rhodey’s direction. “You hungry?”

“No,” Peter mumbles. “M’good.”

“You, Peter Parker, are not hungry?”

“Nope.”

Tony’s face fades into something akin to horror. “You were right, Rhodey. He’s broken.”

“Oh my god. He’s not ‘broken’, you big drama queen.” Rhodey hits Tony lightly on the back of the head. “Just, go over there and do something.”

“Do something,” Tony repeats. “Helpful. What exactly should I do?”

“I don’t know? Feel his forehead?”

The state of horror increases. “I’m calling his aunt.”

Tony tries to dart past Rhodey, but he catches his arm on the way. “You can’t always call the aunt when things get tough!”

Tony yanks his arm away. “Why not!?”

Rhodey hesitates. “I mean, you can. Actually, you probably should—”

“Exactly!”

“But you also need to—” He moves his head in Peter’s direction. “You know.”

“I do not know!” Tony runs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up at all angles. It matches the wild glint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Actually, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “Do you mind if I sit down for a minute? Sorry.”

He sinks down the wall, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his forehead on his kneecaps.

“Oh—what? What's happening right now?" Tony walks over and hovers above the kid. “Did you get hit by anything on patrol last night?”

Peter’s head shakes ever so slightly.

“Tones, I think he’s just sick,” Rhodey says.

“He heals broken bones overnight, he doesn’t get sick.” Tony kneels next to him, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder and then taking it right off. “Right?”

“Don’t get sick,” Peter agrees. “At least, I don’t think so. Haven’t since I got bit.”

“It's been less than two years, hasn’t it?”

Tony nods. Peter’s head gives a pathetic little lurch.

“This is probably just the first bug that’s gotten to him since it happened,” Rhodey says. “I think you’re just sick, Peter. What’s bothering you?”

The kid raises his head. He looks worse than he had when he’d been standing—beads of sweat on his hair-line dampening the strands into messy curls stuck to his skin.

“Not sick,” he says. “I just have a headache. It’s not that bad.”

Tony brings his hand up to Peter’s forehead with more confidence than he exhibited at the prospect a few minutes ago. A surge of pride goes through Rhodey—it’s simple, but it’s good. More proof that his best friend will be great at this eventually. “You feel hot, kiddo. At least by your standards. FRIDAY, check him over. Look for anything funky.”

The scan completes a few minutes later, coming back with nothing but a fever.

“Well,” Tony says after he reads the results aloud. “Working theory is that you are a little bit sick, Pete.”

Peter shakes his hanging head. “Not sick.”

Tony smiles. “Sure thing. Like I said, only a theory. We can always improve it later.”

That seems to mollify the kid. He nods a little and sighs, resting his head back on his knees.

“Why don’t we get you up to your room? Bed’s gotta be better than the floor. And a pillow’s gotta be a whole lot better than those bony knees.”

A grin tugs at Rhodey’s lips as he watches Tony help Peter to his feet. He follows them into the elevator and then down a few hallways.

He stays at the edge of the room, leaning on the door frame, content to watch. Tony walks with Peter over to the bed and waits there as he settles into it.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food? Water?” he asks.

Peter’s head shakes, barely visible to Rhodey over the sheets that are pulled up above his chin.

“Rest up, then. Get better soon. I’ve gotten used to having a lab assistant, so don’t ruin that for me.”

“I won’t. I’m not even sick!”

“Uh huh. Yup. Definitely. Go to sleep anyway.”

Tony shakes his head, fondly, and walks back out of the room past Rhodey.

“You’re good with him,” he says as he eases the door shut.

Tony twitches a little, a slight stutter in his stride, before he goes back to walking. “Well, I do try to be a decent human being occasionally.”

He’s pleased by the compliment, Rhodey can tell. But, he’s never been good at accepting that sort of thing. Sometimes it’s better to let it be, but others times, Rhodey likes to press it.

“I’m proud of you, man.”

“Alright. Weird, but alright.”

“I’m serious, look at you! Even got him the room. It looked nice.”

Tony stops in his tracks, spins around slowly, and then looks up at the ceiling and over at each wall. “What’s going on? Is this a prank?”

“This would be a pretty awful prank,” Rhodey points out. “Listen, I’m just saying that I know this can’t have been easy—finding out about the kid, making the decision to meet him, taking up an active role in his life. I’m impressed. You’ve changed a lot since college, Tones. For the better.”

“You lost me. I’m just teaching a high schooler some lab stuff, some superhero stuff. It’s not a big deal.”

Rhodey throws his hands up. “It is a big deal! He’s your son, that’s a big deal!”

Tony’s mouth falls open. He closes it as his eyebrows knit together, and then it drops open once again. “I don’t get it. You don’t sound like you’re joking.”

“Joking? I’m just trying to pay you a compliment, man. Take it so we can move on.”

Tony starts massaging his temples. “I’m sorry, you think Peter’s my biological son?”

“What? He—he is. He is your son.”

A grin rises slowly on Tony’s face and then he’s laughing, full body, doubled over, one of his arms strewn across his stomach as if he’s trying to contain it.

Rhodey crosses his arms over his chest. It’s not hard to infer why Tony’s laughing. It is hard to rationalize how he read the situation so horribly wrong. He runs through the last couple months, scrambling to put the memories in a new perspective. It's hard to separate anything about Tony and Peter from father and son.

“I don’t understand,” Rhodey says. “I called you a ‘Proud Dad’ a few weeks ago.”

“I thought it was a joke! The whole team jokes about Spider-Man being my kid.”

“But, I told Peter I knew everything!”

“He thought you meant his identity.”

Rhodey rubs his hands over his head. “I asked him why he calls you ‘Mr. Stark’”.

Tony frowns. “He didn’t mention that part.”

“I—you got him his own room! In your tower!”

“You told me to! Pepper thought it was weird when I told her how much you pressed about it—should I take away the room? Is it too much?”

“Take away the room—“ Rhodey mumbles. “No, dumbass. He’s sleeping in it right now."

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” Tony points at him. “Hilarious, but ridiculous.”

“It’s not just me! Those ‘jokes’ the team has been making—” Rhodey puts air quotes around the word and shakes his head. “Not jokes. Do you know how much work I’ve put in trying to get them to dial it down because I didn’t think you and Peter were ready for everyone to know?”

“They think—wait, Peter or Spider-Man?”

“Both? Mostly Spider-Man.”

“Oh my god.” Tony stares off to the side, as if he can’t quite comprehend the conversation. “Why?”

“Well it’s an easy mistake to make! You’re really protective—“

“Because he’s a child!” Tony interrupts.

“And the way he looks at you. It’s obvious, even through the mask. It’s like—“ Rhodey trails off, unsure if it’s what Tony wants to hear.

He narrows his eyes. “Like what?”

“I don’t know—“

“You clearly do. Just say it.”

“Like he looks up to you, man.” Rhodey shrugs. “Like you mean a lot to him.”

Tony’s silent for a moment, goes back to staring at the spot just to Rhodey’s right. He sniffs once and then wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Right. That’s—nice. A little sappy for my taste.” There is the smallest trace of a smile, but he sniffs again and it disappears. “Well I’m going to go call his aunt, then call Bruce and see if we can whip up some kind of painkiller for him. Do you mind hanging out by his room, in case he needs anything?”

Rhodey looks at him, deadpan. “You hear that, right? You hear what you sound like.”

“Shut up!” Tony calls without looking back.

Rhodey laughs and walks back down the hallway. As soon as he gets close to the the room, he starts to hear Peter’s voice from inside.

He pulls the door open a crack.

The mound of sheets shifts slightly on the bed. “Mr. Stark?”

“Nope,” Rhodey says. “It’s me.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t miss the disappointment in Peter’s voice. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Rhodey walks in until he can see some of Peter’s head sticking out from under the sheets—he’s curled up on his side, face tense and twisted in pain. “Anything I can get for you?”

“I don’t know.” He burrows a little deeper. “Do you think Mr. Stark is going to come back soon?”

“Yeah, he’s just trying to make something to help with the pain. And call your aunt. She’ll be here soon, too.”

“Good. I, uh, I can’t sleep. Everything hurts,” Peter confesses. “I think I might be sick.”

Rhodey sits on the edge of the bed, chuckling a little. “Oh, really?”

“Don’t tell Tony or May, okay?”

Rhodey perks up. “Your secret’s safe with me, Spidey. I’m cool, you can trust me.”

Peter blinks a few times. He meets Rhodey’s eyes and then nods. “You are pretty cool, Colonel Rhodes.”

Rhodey bites the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling. He waits until Peter's eyes are closed before breaking into an all-out grin and pumping a fist.

Peter might not be Tony’s biological son, but Tony’s not Rhodey’s biological brother either. That's never stopped them before.  He can still be Peter’s uncle. In fact, he thinks he might have just cinched the coveted cool uncle position he was trying to get.

[memoriashell]

the luck of the draw ( surely is not in her favor )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru ( focused ), ft. ( some of ) Class 78

crossposted on ao3

Notes: day two of @tokomaruweek, i'm combining the killing game and talentswap prompts!! it’s still before midnight i’m totally not late at all here,

featuring my totally not original talent / roleswap luck student komaru au. because creativity is dead and i think komaru being stuck in a killing game is ??? when you think about the fact that komaru canonically sees ghosts. you KNOW she ends up possessed by one of the dead students in the last trial bc someone wants to say fuck you to the mastermind :/ also the fact that syo remembers shit but just never says anything feels like great potential!! they just want to love their partner but toko won’t let them front this is homphobia /j

anyways this au just lives in my wips rent free bc i keep changing my mind on how i want things to play out anyways. so this is more of a concept and not canon to that au if i ever finish it and that's also why this takes place in ch1 so i don't gotta think too hard on the details <3 any talents brought up are the ones i'm for sure sticking with.

tws for touko's general paranoia / anxiety / etc, mentions of murder bc kg au, and also since i usually depict syo as nonbinary with they/them pronouns, komaru’s technically accidentally misgendering them from her pov bc she doesn’t/can’t tell that syo is fronting, in case that bothers you!!

Summary: for being chosen on the basis of luck, it doesn't feel like she's ever going to catch a break here.

It’s quiet, this morning.

Not that she really knows any better— they’ve only been trapped in the school with the murder bear for a few days, after all. So maybe Komaru’s focusing on the wrong part.

It’s less that it’s quiet, there’s a few faces missing that she’d have expected to get there before her. Especially since she’d managed to sleep through her alarm again and had been kind of late; she had fully expected to be greeted with a lecture as soon as she’d gotten to the dining hall. Alright, one person specifically that stands out in her mind, but it hasn’t gone unnoticed by her that Fukawa’s not there yet. Weird, given the moral compass had lectured her for being tardy to meet up with everyone on their first day, and then for sleeping in the first morning, but...given the videos that bear had shown them the previous day, she supposes she can’t blame some people to feel reluctant to show up. Maybe that’s where she is? Going around to check on people? She had seemed a little paranoid that people were skipping out on gathering in the morning on purpose...

( Because she really, really doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Fukawa, or any of her other classmates might possibly be dead. That someone would have actually gone through with trying to kill one another? So she simply won’t think about that fact. It feels kind of like a Pavlovian...no, wait, that’s the wrong person. Uh. Freudian theory? Ah! Schrödinger’s cat. Yeah, that kind of scenario )

Okay, that settles it! She should probably have breakfast first, and if Fukawa hasn’t shown up by the time she finishes, she’ll go see if she can find her. Besides, she’s sure they aren’t the only ones who are concerned about the ones that haven’t shown up. Maizono seemed super nice ( unsurprisingly ), so maybe if she’s still hanging out in the dining hall, Komaru can convince her to help her in her search! Now that she thinks about it, she can probably ask anyone that comes by the dining hall for any leads.

...But why does she care so much in the first place? It’s not like she doesn’t care about the others: even the ones already dead— she can’t place why exactly she feels attached to people she barely knew, but she’s always been pretty sentimental. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the way Fukawa seems to try so hard to be close to people in one moment, and then so distant in the next.

In any case, standing in front of the fridge and spacing out is probably far from a good idea, besides the obvious fact that she’s in the way— she doesn’t even notice that someone has decided to take advantage of her distracted state to pull the wool over her eyes. Er, the hoodie of her jacket, technically.

She’s hardly gotten a chance to push the hood back before a hand comes down on her head to ruffle her hair. Or, well, she presumes that is his intention, even if the gesture comes off as more of a light noogie. She puffs her cheeks out in a pout, glaring up while the other smirks down at her. “‘Sup, squirt? Falling asleep on yer feet, or is there another reason yer zoning out in the middle of the kitchen?” The baseball star tosses an apple in his hand like one would with a ball, and she considers lightly kicking Oowada’s ankles in retaliation.

“Just thinking. You probably shouldn’t play with your food like that though.” She responds, and he makes a face at her.

“Ah, so ya do still got something still rattlin’ in that tiny head of yours, good. Worried I knocked everything outta ya.” He teases, reaching past her to open the fridge door. “An’ why would you do that to yerself? It’s still too early in the mornin’ fer that shit.”

“Well...I’m just a little worried. There are fewer people hanging out in the dining hall this morning.” She admits.

He scowls. “Pretty sure they’re just antsy ‘cause of that damn bear ‘nd if any of them have a lick of sense in ‘em they’ll be busy looking fer a way out or somethin’. Don’t worry yer pretty lil’ head about it.”

“...Yeah, I guess.” She can’t help but worry, but her concern isn’t exactly going to help right now, at any rate. Maybe she’ll just find something that she can take with her to eat. “Oh! But speaking of that, did you happen to see Fukawa-san on your way here? I would’ve thought she would have stayed around here this morning, honestly.”

“Her? Mm, yeah, heard her and Ishimaru goin’ at it in the halls earlier—”

“They were what?” Before he can finish his sentence, Asahina’s voice cuts in from behind her, pitch breaking midspeech.

“Fighin’! They were jus’ yelling at each other! N...Not anything weird!” Oowada backtracks in a panic when he realizes how poorly his wording could be misconstrued, even if such a thought never occurred to her. “Jeeze, ya think the Public Morals chick would engage in that shit? Not that I don’t think she might be a bit hypocritical with her rules ‘nd shit but—”

“No! No, I don’t! That’s why I was asking!” Asahina retorts with a huff, and while they bicker, Komaru takes this as an opportunity to slink out of the kitchen with a slice of toast. Unfortunately, Maizono seems to have left in that span of time, but the Clairvoyant happens to be sitting alone, so she figures she might see if she has anything interesting to contribute.

Enoshima opens an eye to stare at her upon hearing her footsteps, presumably, and before Komaru can even greet her, she speaks, monotone. “Four.”

Whatever question you’d planned to say dies in your throat, instead sputtering out a bewildered, “H-Huh?”

“It’s your lucky number for the day.” She sounds bored, as if she’d been stating the obvious, instead of some cryptic statement.

“...Isn’t that the number of death?” She is less certain of herself than she wants to be, ignoring the shiver that runs down her back upon realizing this.

Enoshima grins at that, for reasons she doesn’t understand; cheery voice a total 180 from what it’d been moments ago. “Well, perhaps it means you’ll be having a meeting with death today? Probably about time someone kicked the bucket, someone was bound to snap sooner or later... I’m sure your luck will kick in though, right? But I’ll wish you good luck anyways!”

“Thank you...?” Is that the appropriate response here? She’s not sure, but it’s probably not worth lingering on any longer than she already has, and decides with a rising urgency that maybe she should find Fukawa.

Although, recounting the conversation in the kitchen, she wonders if she should check on Ishimaru as well. Neither of them really struck Komaru as the kind to fight ( with their fists, at least, Fukawa’s mouth seemed set on picking a fight half the time ), so to say she was a little concerned might be an understatement. Given the writer had a tendency to be more openly friendly she could probably get a straight...well, an honest answer from him as to what had happened.

But she wanders for what feels like ages, and doesn’t have any luck ( haha, the irony ) in finding any hint as to where either of them might have gone, and decides to stick to her efforts to find Fukawa first. Ishimaru seemed like the type to be more resilient, so maybe she can catch him around their next meal time. If he didn’t lose track of time again, at least...

Ugh, she’d kill to honestly run into anyone around here. Not literally kill, obviously, but for reasons she’s been trying to keep quiet on, she really hates wandering the halls alone: or most places that they can access right now, to be honest. She keeps seeing this one ghost this one ghost in particular ( or at least Komaru is pretty sure she’s a ghost ), but she refuses to acknowledge her hanging around because that would be weird, and she would like to seem normal and if someone saw that it’d be a hassle to explain.

Fortunately, her search finally turns up fruitful when she finds Fukawa spacing out in the A/V room.

...Unfortunately for her, finding Fukawa earns her a pretty close brush with death. In the blink of an eye, a pair of scissors are thrust against her throat, pinning her back against the moment she steps into the room.

Oh. Uh. Oh god? Was Enoshima actually right about that? Her breath catches in her throat and for a moment, she wonders who would find her if she was killed here. Would they care? What about her parents— Makoto?

Would they sigh and just ponder if she’d ever been lucky at all?

And just as quick, the cold metal is pulled away from where it rests against her neck. “Oh. It’s just you.” The words are spoken with more warmth than she can ever recall hearing Fukawa speak with, which is really weird considering what just went down.

Ever so smartly, Komaru doesn’t actually process what is said to her, and responds with, “Isn’t that technically against the rules?”

A thin eyebrow is raised at her, scissors being tucked away under her shirt. Uh. “No? That’s what they want, right? Or are you so naive that you think that everyone would really follow the rules?”

Well. She’s probably not entirely wrong in thinking that she’s naive, but... “Isn’t, uhm. Isn’t that your thing, though? The rules?”

Fukawa looks startled to have this pointed out to her, for some reason. “Oh, hahaha, yeah. T-Totally! I was just...uh, testing you.”

Okay, now she’s just downright acting strange? Komaru’s willing to give her the benefit of the doubt that maybe she’s just acting odd because the videos are weighing on her mind. They are in the AV room, after all. Something doesn’t add up though, but she can’t quite place what it is...

Komaru opens her mouth to ask the other a question, but when she looks back over at Fukawa, her expression has gone kind of...distant? Hazy? She doesn’t quite know how to describe it, and begins to ask if she’s feeling okay when the other girl sort of...collapses into her, arms going around her loosely. She panics a little because that can’t be a sign of anything good, right? Is she feeling dizzy? She’s not passed out, and at least she’s breathing normally. She’s surprisingly pretty light, so it’s not like it’s really an issue to just help support her until she feels better.

The only warning that she gets is the feeling of the other girl tensing up before Fukawa suddenly bolts upright and shoves herself away. Komaru frowns a little, not because of the sudden change in attitude ( if anything, she finds that strangely reliving ), but moreso out of concern, attempting to reach her hands out to help steady her on her feet, but gets her hands slapped away before she can do so. “Don’t touch me.” She hisses.

Okay she’d be lying if she said that didn’t sting, but she can’t help but laugh for a moment. “Ahaha— sorry, I’m not laughing at you. For a moment there, you seemed like a completely different person! I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Fukawa-san.” If she were more aware of the situation, she might feel more guilty for being unintentionally insensitive: but as she doesn't, she simply misses the way the other looks nervous for a moment while she wonders what that had been all about ( but can’t quite gather the nerve to actually ask ).

“Y-Yeah, real likely story. You just...just came to l-laugh at me in a moment of weakness, r-r-right?” She glares, hands clenched. “I know your type! No one is...is actually that nice w-without some kind of ulterior motive.”

Is that what she actually thinks about me?

“No! I really am glad to see you’re feeling better. You really had me scared there for a minute.” She says sincerely, offering her a reassuring smile. “If you want, I’ll listen to whatever’s bothering you. It’ll stay between us.”

Fukawa scowls, watching her for a long minute with a guarded expression. “There w-was something on the, uh, disc that Monokuma gave you, right? Just like— like everyone else?”

Huh? Well, if this is what it takes to get her trust, then she supposes she can talk about it... “Yeah. It was my parents and my older brother. It’s...kinda scary to think about, honestly. What about you, Fukawa-san? Was it also your family?”

“No. M-M-Mine was blank. Because...because there was no one to choose. Or so he says.” Her jaw is clenched. “Of course, I had to— I acted like I was the same as everyone else, b-because it’d be strange if I didn’t, right? You’d think I was, was working with them or something...everyone would really hate me after th-yhat.”

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure Togami-san didn’t even blink an eye...?” She tries to bring up as a counterpoint, but apparently she has more to say.

“A-A-And before you ask, it’s not like they’re wrong about that, so...so it didn’t surprise me to here it. But everyone got s...something similar, right? All these personal th-things about us...just how much do they really know? How are we supposed to act like, like this is all normal when they’ve got that kind of leverage over us...!”

Oh. She’s shaking— she’s scared. She’s been putting up a front? Komaru puts two and two together after a moment, gently taking the other girl’s hands in her own. This time, she doesn’t get pushed away.

“I’m scared too.” She admits. “Thinking about it like that is scary. But that’s what they want from us, right? To make us scared, so we act the way he wants us to, right?”

Fukawa remains silent, but the conflicted look on her face at least indicated that she was paying attention to her and not ignoring her like she might’ve feared. Komaru squeezes her hands in an attempt to be reassuring. “But you think we’ll all get out alive, right? So no matter what, as long as you believe that, no matter what they might know we’ll be okay. And if you don’t think you can do that on your own, I’ll be right here to support you. So we’ll definitely get out alive, it’s a promise...!”

“You...You really don’t know wh-wh-what you’re saying.” She mutters under her breath, but Komaru takes it in stride with a grin.

“That’s not a no!” It’s not a yes either, but Fukawa doesn’t humor her in further acknowledging the subject: it doesn’t really mater, because Komaru sees a hint of what might be called a smile in her gentle expression.

Yes, at least with one of your peers, you are sure you’ve grown a little closer with today ( and for today, that is a good enough start ).

[kurlyfrasier]

Spaghetti Girl (Part 2/3)

Dean x Reader

Synopsis: Ok so I had a really good description but lost it so.....yeah. Can’t think of words right now. Will add synopsis later...This is one of my favorite SPN fanfics I’ve written, so please read!

Word Count: 1790

Warnings: none

You had no idea Dean had a tender smile playing on his lips as he watched you dance. If one could really call it dancing. But it was good exercise and ten times more fun than your everyday workout routine your doctor had you on in an attempt to keep your symptoms down. 

Speaking of which, you would have to tell the boys you needed to split for a couple of weeks to go for your check-up, refill your meds, and probably get your yearly MRI done. The thought had you unknowingly stop dancing mid-song, a frown marred your features. How would you go about telling Dean you suddenly had to leave? You had no family, none who were blood related, anyway. They were the only hunters you really knew, so you couldn’t claim you were visiting another hunter. Maybe you could tell him you found a simple case. No need for them to come along. Maybe you could slip away. It’s not like Dean would really notice. He had made it clear he doesn’t like you anyway. 

Snapping your fingers, you strode out of the room, deciding that you’d tell Sam you would be gone for a couple of weeks and slip away that night with Dean none the wiser. Perfect! Then Sam could tell Dean you had to leave for whatever reason. That was, if he even noticed you were gone. For now, you would pack and find Sam.

Packing took less than ten minutes. You had decided to only take the essentials, a couple of books, and your trusty weapons duffell that barely left your side, just in case. You decided not to worry about your missing Nicholas Sparks book. You could always buy another one anyway. Sam, on the other hand, took a few minutes to find. When you did find him, you were surprised to see him in the kitchen. Alone.

“I thought Dean was making dinner?” You asked, slowly stepping into the room, eyes roaming for Dean, worried he would pop out any second and ask questions you didn’t want to answer. There was no way you could lie through one of his interrogations. The mouthwatering aroma of beef and red sauce didn’t even penetrate your senses, you were so nervous.

“Uh, he was,” Sam looked over his shoulder and continued when he didn’t see Dean with you. “He is, really. He had to step out for a sec. Looks like he made our famous Winchester Pasta Sauce too,” he smiled. Maybe he could help his brother out a little. He did seem a bit desperate earlier.

“Oh good. About him stepping out, I mean. And the sauce. Sounds delicious,” you babbled. Taking a deep breath, you continued. “Anyway, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta leave tonight. I, uh, have someplace I have to be. Is it okay if I leave most of my stuff here?”

“Yeah that’s fine. Y/n, you know you’re welcome anytime and that room will always be yours, right? You’ve been here for a few months now. I was hoping you were thinking of this place as your home.”

“Yeah, yeah. It is. I just wanted to make sure, thanks.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions as you awkwardly stood there, rubbing your hands up and down your hips. A sad attempt at wiping the sweat off your clammy palms. That happened when you were nervous… or lying. Or anytime you felt distressed, really.

“So, where are you going?”

“Denver,” you lied. You were actually going to St. Louis, but you didn’t want Sam to have to lie to Dean. This way if he asks or goes looking for you -which would happen with your luck- Dean won’t find out what’s really going on. Then he’ll never know about your neuromuscular problem and you’ll be able to continue hunting with them. You knew it was stupid, really. You knew hunting wasn’t the smartest thing to be doing with your disease. Not smart at all actually, but you felt like you were really helping people and that felt good. Nothing was going to keep you from ganking creeps and killers if you had any say in the matter. Not even the Winchesters. Luckily you caught the disease early on, so for now, your symptoms haven’t completely disabled you. Make things difficult? Yes. But you haven’t gotten to the point where your limbs don’t listen at all.

“So, why Denver?” 

“Change of scenery,” you shrugged. “I like the Rockies. It’ll be a nice vacation and Dean won’t have to be on his toes around me all the time.”

“I don’t think Dean minds having you around, y/n.”

“It’s okay, Sam, really. Some people just don’t click, ya know?” Even though you had wished that Dean would notice you. Or at least talk to you. Or that you would grow on him over time, like asparagus. Nobody really likes asparagus the first few times they try them.

“You gonna leave after dinner?”

“Yeah, tonight. After you guys go to bed.”

“No goodbye, huh?” Sam chuckled.

“This is my goodbye, Tallboy,” you smacked him playfully on the arm. “I just figured Dean isn’t going to care one way or the other. So instead of making him wish me luck and say goodbye, I’ll just slip out.” You smiled sadly. You think Dean and yourself would get along well if he gave you the chance. You both love classic rock and you’re both great hunters. He always makes you laugh when he deigns to tell jokes in front of you. Not that he ever tells you the jokes. “Besides,” you continued, “I’ll only be gone a couple of weeks.”

Around the corner in the hallway, Dean’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. You were leaving. You were leaving that night and you weren’t going to tell him goodbye. Had he really made you think that little of him?

He had followed you to your room earlier, watched you pack and wondered what for. Now he knew. 

Without warning he walked into the kitchen as if he had no clue about the conversation. “Hey.”

“You’re back,” Sam stated the obvious, noticing immediately something was wrong, but kept silent about it as he moved away from the stove. “Uh, I went ahead and added the sauce.”

“Yeah, thanks man.” Dean was furious with you. Not that he had any right to be and he knew it. Which only made it worse. He wanted a nickname. He wanted you to tell him goodbye, for you tell him about your medical stuff. He wanted you to talk to him about books and movies and music and- well, everything. Yet all he had done was make everything worse and now, when he finally decides to show you he wants you- needs you, really- you’re leaving. For two whole weeks. He was going to lose his mind without you around. It was hard enough making you partner with Sam on hunts. At least in those situations he would be within hearing distance. But Denver?

“Spaghetti will be done soon, y/n, if you wanted some,” Dean said, unable to face you. 

If you wanted some? Of course you wanted some. There was no way even Dean didn’t know spaghetti was your favorite food of all time. Actually, maybe there was a chance he didn’t know. Considering he always seemed to go out of his way to ignore you.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll go clean up real quick,” you said, slipping out of the kitchen. Sometimes Dean could seriously be frustrating. Maybe it was time you started thinking about leaving the Winchester’s bunker permanently. Obviously only one brother wanted you there, as much as you wished it wasn’t so, and it wasn’t the one in charge.

“That was-”

“A disaster, Sam. A complete and total disaster.”

“Well, as long as you-”

“Know? Yeah, I know. I heard every freakin’ word, Sam. Every. Word.”

“Oh. It’s only for a couple of weeks, Dean.”

“Only!? I’ve already wasted three months! Possibly ruined any chance I have.”

“I doubt that. Y/n’s naturally forgiving. We can come up with a plan while she’s gone. A whole new Dean.” Sam moved his hand in front of him as if he was reading the words in the air.

“Or we could follow her and make up a plan on the way.” Dean poured the sauce in with the noodles and started mixing aggressively.

“Follow her?”

“Yeah. To Denver.”

“You mean St. Louis.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “I mean Denver. That’s what she said.”

“Yeah, but she was lying. You’d know that if you were in the room with us earlier. There’s no way she’s going to Denver.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Dean whisper-hissed as he heard you walking their direction from down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~

Both Winchesters were sleeping as you tiptoed through the halls. You had put your bags in your old Wrangler while Dean finished up the spaghetti. And by bags, you meant all of them. You were leaving the Winchesters for good. Never to return. You were sad about not telling Sam to his face, but a letter would have to suffice. There was no way you were going to go one more day in Dean’s presence. You have no idea what you ever did to him, but that man really didn’t like you. He only tolerated you because you and Sam got along so well and you knew it. But now you had to get to your check-up with Doc.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, shaking his brother awake. They had decided after dinner to head out after you in the morning. Sam had put a tracking device in your phone the first week you stayed at the bunker. So following you would be easy. “Dean! Wake up! She’s gone. Like gone gone.”

“Gone?” He shot up, clothes still on from yesterday. He didn’t want to waste even a second when they were to head after you.

“Yeah, she left a letter. Dude, she really thinks you hate her.”

“Give me that,” he snatched the paper out of Sam’s hand and sat up to read.

Sam,

I’m sorry, but this is a permanent goodbye. I know we get along splendidly and you make me feel very welcome, but Dean can’t stand me. I’m done making him feel uncomfortable in his own home. For that’s exactly what the bunker is for you guys.

I’ll miss you Tallboy. I hope you both live long lives like you’re meant to because the world would be nothing without you guys. Be careful out there. Maybe someday we’ll meet up again. 

Thanks for everything,

Y/n

P.S. Let me know if you find my book

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

Part 3

[muertawrites]

Could you please do 19/33/44 from the kiss prompts for Sokka? :) You could pick one or do more than that whatever you want, thank you!

Good Love (Sokka x Reader)

Prompt

Word Count: 1,400

Author's Note: Someone else also asked for 33, so I’m going to write that one separately. I was listening to “Good Love” by Aly & AJ today while I was out driving (their comeback has been phenomenal) and I felt these two prompts really fit the song. I've also seen a lot of fics about relationships being strained because of the war - not wanting to get too attached in case one of them dies - and I figured that marrying the two concepts would be perfect; the song and subject are both bittersweet, which is a mood I love. Characters are intended to be aged up, with a longer timeline than is canon (a few years as opposed to several months).

~ Muerta

44. Tentative kisses given in the dark. 

Some nights, you sleep in Sokka’s tent.

You try to remind yourself that your feelings for him aren't serious - you just cling to him because he's nice to you, makes you feel safe, and is a good place to leave your emotions and fears when you need a little validation. You don't love him. You can't love him; you don't have the strength to. But sleeping beside him every few nights is blissful, comforting - exactly what you need to ease the pain that settles in your chest when you find yourself alone with your thoughts. 

Sokka welcomes you with his arms open, rolling over to face you as you lay down in the empty space on his bed roll. He drapes his blanket over you, pulling you closer to share his warmth. You nestle into the crook of his neck, his face burrowed into the sleep-disheveled knots of your hair. 

“Nightmare?” he asks. His voice is low, barely above a whisper, and vibrates through his chest into yours. 

“No,” you answer. “I just needed some company.” 

He hums, understanding. “Needed some company” is your excuse whenever you can't sleep - you slept better when he held you, and he much more peacefully with you in his arms. There were many mornings following nights around an open campfire when your friends found you cuddled together, but nobody dared ask about it; it was too sensitive a subject after everything you’d both been through. 

"I was thinking about you," Sokka mumbles, his voice dreary with exhaustion. "About after the war."

"What about it?" you wonder. You whisper into the naked skin of his collarbones.

"I don't want to split up," he replies. "I don't want us to go home and lose touch. I want to stay with you."

You turn away from him, shutting your eyes tightly. His arm remains draped at your waist, your back still pressed to his chest.

"We talked about this," you murmur. "It's easiest not to make plans."

"I know."

He reaches for your hand; you tentatively, weakly allow him to take it.

"I just... haven't felt this way since Yue," he reveals. "I haven't... loved anyone, like I loved her. Like I love you. I don't want to survive the worst and still end up losing you."

His words bring you to tears. You can't bear to face him, so instead bring his hand to your chest, clinging to his arm like a child to a blanket. He uses the leverage to pull you closer, his arm pressed firmly to your chest so he can feel your heartbeat.

"We might not survive the worst, though," you whimper. "And even then..."

"No matter when I die, I want to die beside you," Sokka proclaims. His tone is stony, resolute - entirely different from the man you fell in love with. You decide that the shift makes you love him that much more.

"If that happens... I don't want to regret never being with you," he continues, "even if it's just for whatever time we have left. Good love like this is too hard to find."

You lay in silence for a long moment, pondering how he can be so brave. You know losing Yue left its mark on him, seeing it in every attentive action he takes towards you - you wonder how he can be so fearless to love again when the thought of doing so shakes you to the bone. Perhaps it's easier for him because Yue didn't inflict the blow with the intent to harm him.

You roll once more to face him, seeking out the curves of his features in the darkness. You catch only the glimmer of his eyes as they meet yours.

"I love you, Sokka," you confess. "But I can't do it when I know I could lose you."

He nods. Even in the pitch black, you sense his disappointment.

"I'll find you," he whispers. "After the war - no matter if we live or die - I'll find you. I promise, you'll never be without me."

He reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his palm lingering on your cheek; his thumb settles on your lips. He delicately strokes the tender flesh, tentatively leaning his face closer to yours - when your mouths connect, they barely touch, but the breath he exhales fills your lungs with oxygen.

When he pulls away, you pull him back. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him once more, pressing your lips flush to his. His arms curl firmly around your waist, holding you in an almost crushing grip. You stay in the position for ages, savoring the taste of each other's skin, memorizing each other's pulses.

You wonder why good love must be so hard to find.

19. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss. 

The world is finally calm.

You sit on the porch of your temporary apartment in the Fire Nation palace, basking in the gentle late summer breeze and the light, empty feeling of having nothing to worry about.

There are no more battles to fight. There are no more armies to outwit. There is no more death looming in the back of your mind.

Sokka trudges out from his bedroom - where he's been in and out of sleep for the past few days - groggily rubbing his eyes and blearily taking in his surroundings. His lips curl into a faint smile as his eyes fall on you, and he crosses the few steps from the door to share the porch swing you've lazily been swaying on. He sinks into the cushions beside you, leaning back against the head rest with a contented sigh.

"We lived," he states.

You grin, reaching to pull his hair out of his face; he's left it down, clearly having just woken up and not given any effort to tidying his appearance.

"We lived," you echo. "How'd you sleep?"

"Heavily," he answers. "But I still noticed you never joined me."

"I didn't need to," you admit. "I'm so exhausted that I've had no trouble falling asleep; waking up is the problem now."

Sokka chuckles softly. His hand finds yours and lifts it from your lap, tucking it safely within his.

"... Will you ever sleep with me again?" he wonders after a pause.

You turn to face him; his brow is creased and his eyes are vulnerable, his mouth drawn down into an uneasy pout.

You recall the way those lips felt against yours, the heat of his body intwined so easily with your own; the weight of the memory is no longer heavy. You wonder what it will be like to kiss him now that you no longer fear the affection.

"I think so," you murmur.

Sokka lifts his free hand, raising it to the side of your cheek. His thumb grazes over the high point under your skin, his crystalline blue eyes capturing every mark and imperfection that dots your features as if committing them to memory. Much without any thought, your own fingers find the sharp curve of his jaw, savoring the scratch of his stubble as it braces against your skin. He exhales, the breath sweeping over your cheeks and tickling your nose; you only truly notice the closeness when his lips meet yours.

The kiss doesn't last long. Sokka pulls away a mere moment after it begins, matching your gaze with drooping, concerned eyes.

"Do you want this?" he whispers.

You don't have to think about it - your gut lurches, your body seizing and shivering as only one thought richochets in your head; yes.

You want nights asleep beside him. You want every day in his company. You want his laughter to accompany as much of your life's soundtrack as it can; you want the pure joy his humor brings to you. You want him to shield you when you feel weak; to let him lean against you when he feels vulnerable.

You want the simplicity of the words "needed some company" with the intricacy and intimacy of everything you feel for him.

Your hands clasp at either side of his face, pulling him back into the kiss; your lips crash into his with a confidence you've never known, but an assurance that your faith isn't in vain.

Sokka's arms twine at the small of your back, pressing your chest into his. You stay that way for either minutes or hours, connected as tightly as you've ever been.

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[stillchaoticlogic]

Stumbling: Chapter 1

Pairing: Raihan X Reader X Leon

Your life hadn't gone exactly as you planned...

Which is why when an old rival walks into the coffee shop you work at he gives you an offer you just can't refuse. Finally, a chance at the League. Suddenly you are thrust into the spot light and a world you thought you had left behind. Dreams aren't always what they are cracked up to be though, especially when you find yourself the tangled up with the champion and a certain gym leader.

Has all your dreams come true?

Or is this your worst nightmare?

Unexpected Visitors

You gaze out into the rainy afternoon, your eyes are only half open as you fight back a yawn. It ends up winning anyway and you shake your head to clear it of the drowsiness that has encompassed you. You heave a sigh as you pull yourself from the counter only to gaze around the empty and immaculate cafe. You can only wipe a counter so many times before you essentially give up on life itself. 

With a rattle, the door opens allowing a gust of chilly wind to follow the man that rushes into the cafe. A chill runs up your spine destroying the cosy atmosphere that had once surrounded you. A soft scowl mars your features as you recognize the male standing in the doorway before he even has a chance to turn around. The cape, cascading with logos, is a dead giveaway that “The Unbeatable Champion” is standing in the door and you do not want to deal with him.

You watch in slight annoyance as he turns around and flashes you a dazzling smile. You are quite sure many a female has fallen to their knees upon being graced with that smile, and yet you could care less. You decided long ago that if you ever saw Leon again it would be too soon. 

Are you being petty? 

Probably. 

And yet you cannot be bothered to care. 

“Sorry about the entrance! I’m a little lost and I wasn’t expecting such a bad storm!” He rubs the back of his neck with a bright smile and shameless laugh. 

“It’s fine… Where are you trying to go?” you ask pointedly, attempting to keep the snark out of your voice; you may or may not have succeeded. 

“I was trying to get to Blottsberg to meet up with a friend there!”

“You…” you pause unsure how to tell him it’s in the opposite direction, “went the wrong way… It’s on the other side of Bleary.”

He winces before he sends you another dashing smile.

“Right! Well, I’ll head that way when the storm clears!”

You blink a few times at the blinding smile before you and just shrug your shoulders, “Suit yourself.”

He walks over to the counter and you cringe internally as water drips from his cape and onto the floor. You feel a bad mood creep up on you as you look up at the tall man before you. 

You watch for a moment in annoyed silence as he studies the menu. After far too long at gazing at the menu, he sends you a sheepish and yet dazzling smile. 

“I’m sorry… I’m not sure what to get…” he adjusts the cap on his head and you roll your eyes before out turn dutifully to the espresso machine. You hold up a hand to silence the male and you’re almost amused at the kicked puppy expression that adorns his features. 

After a few moments, you hand him the drink and shoo him from your counter, “Go sit over there while I clean up.”

Wordlessly he nods and walks to where you indicated, taking a seat in the chair. A moment later, you hear a content sigh and you chance a glance at him out of the corner of your eye as you struggle with the mop and bucket. He looks almost peaceful as he gazes out the window.  The cup of hot chocolate in his hand used as a makeshift warmer.

“How did you know I don’t like coffee?” the question breaks the quiet atmosphere and you look up at him. 

You fix him with an unreadable expression before you shrug, “You don’t seem like the coffee type.”

“You put spices in it to make it spicy, how did you know that’s how I like my drink?”

It’s almost accusatory. 

Once again you just shrug at him before you go back to cleaning up the mess, casually you drag the mop across the floor to seep up the wetness. 

You hear a sigh, “That’s not an answer (Name).”

You let out a humorless laugh, “Ah… so The Unbeatable Champion still remembers a peasant such as myself? How… kind.”

You voice is dripping with derision and you don’t miss the frown on his face or the way his eyes harden. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing… That was mean of me… I’m sorry its just been a long day.”

You hear him huff before you hear the scraping of a chair. 

“What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be some great trainer or professor? Why aren’t you running a gym or tearing up the league?” He says this as he plucks the mop from your hands and completes the job himself. A look of annoyed confusion maring his face as he concentrates on the task at hand. It looks wrong on a face that you are so used to seeing happy. 

You take a step back, lean back against the counter and cross your arms over your chest, “No one wanted to sponsor me for the league and I didn’t have the money for college to do research.”

“What do you mean no one wanted to sponsor you?! You were one of the best in our class! You were the only one who gave me a run for my money! Do you know how confused I was to not see you in the finals that year? Or the year after? I spent years thinking I would see you as the finalist. Instead you just gave up?!”

“Don’t you lecture me Leon! You had sponsors begging to endorse you for the league! You know what they told me? That I wasn’t pretty enough. That I wasn’t cute enough. That I wasn’t sexy enough. That I didn’t have the right look. That I don’t have the right vibe. That I am too smart. Male fans don’t like smart trainers, they like pretty ones! And without connections you’re fucked if you can’t get a sponsor. I was fourteen and the world told me I wasn’t good enough and they destroyed my dream, Leon.”

You gaze up at the ceiling and blink hard attempting to get rid of the tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. It’s been ten years and the feelings of rejection still stings like the day they happened.

“That’s bullshit…” You look into angry eyes.

You feel your own harden in defense, “That’s the truth!”

“No! No… that’s not what I meant… What I mean is you’re an amazing trainer… You should be one of the most acclaimed trainers in all of Galar right now… You were my first rival after all.”

You roll eyes as an almost fond smile breaks through the feelings you have long since buried. 

“You should be grateful… you wouldn’t be the “Unbeatable Champion” if I had been sponsored.”

“That’s pretty big words for a barista.”

You fix him with a look before you snatch the mop from his hands, “Whatever.”

Walking into the back room you dump the bucket and mop in a corner and head back out to the front. Leon is gazing intently at the pastries in the case but look up when you walk back out. He flashes you smile and point to the brownie. You roll your eyes and walk over to the case before you grab the paper and pull a brownie out. A moment later, there is a pop and standing before you is Charizard. 

“Hey bud…” You murmur with a soft smile, “How are you doing?”

Charizard lets out a purr and ducks his head long enough for you pet him. Nuzzling your cheek before he backs away and awaits his treat patiently. 

“Ah… I see you’ve grown some patience…” 

He just huffs, smoke blowing out of his nostrils. 

You smile and shake your head before you hand the treat to the overgrown lizard and watch in amusement as he eats it all in one bite and then pouts that it’s all gone. 

“I’m going to sponsor you.”

“What?”

‘You heard me… I’m going to sponsor you.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to be in the league. You’re one of the best at battling I’ve ever seen-”

“Umm… you haven’t even watched me battle since we were fourteen…”

“If you were that good at fourteen just think of how good you are now!”

“Leon… I have a life… I can’t just pick it up and go on an adventure. I have responsibilities!”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“That’s not a reason, it’s an excuse.”

You just gape at him as your words from years before come back to haunt you, “Damn… I was an annoying kid…”

“You were kinda badass too so it made up for it,” he says as he sends you a wink. 

“Did you just wink at me? What is going on?”

Leon rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, you just take a step back, happy the counter is separating the two of you.

“Look,” he says with a sigh, “I want to endorse you for the upcoming league, and I have the confidence that the top student in our class will crush everyone and meet me for a Champion battle.”

“Please stop using ‘champion’ like it’s an adjective.”

He fixes you with a blank look, “Just… think about it… you don’t have to give me an answer now.”

“I’ve already thought about it… It’s just not who I am anymore.”

“Well if you change your mind…” he pulls a napkin from the dispenser and a marker from his pocket and you watch in annoyed awe as he scribbles his number onto it and and leaves it for you on the counter. 

“I won’t.”

“Sure… Well I have to go! It’s been a champion time catching up with you and I hope you’ll consider my offer! However, Raihan is waiting for me!”

You roll your eyes as The Unbeatable Champion walks out the door, the personality you’ve seen countless times on the news and league television snapping into place. You gaze down at the napkin on the table before you grab it and go to throw it into the trash. Just as you’re about to let go you stuff your fist into your apron pocket and let out a sigh of annoyance. 

“He’s still cute…” you grumble to yourself as you glance out the window and watch him fade from sight. 

The rest of your shift goes by in a blur and before you know it you are on your way home. The sound of Pokemon in the distance being the only thing that disrupt your nightly walk home. You can feel the napkin wadded up in your hoodie pocket and you glare ahead of you. Once in your tiny apartment you throw the abused napkin on the table before you stripe yourself of your uniform the scent of coffee, bleach and spoiled milk assaulting your senses as you do so. Ignoring your coffee table you walk into your kitchen and heat up a frozen meal to eat before you walk over to your couch and plop down on it flicking on your TV. Instantly, the screen is flooded with the news of the upcoming league tournament along with highlights from last year’s tournament. You quickly change the channel, this one showing the battle between Leon and Raihan from the last tournament. You change the channel again, and it’s an interview with Leon. Another channel is interviewing Chairman Rose about the upcoming League. You heave a sigh of defeat and turn the TV off. 

“This is ridiculous…” you groan to yourself before your Hatenna, Serenity, runs across the floor. 

Glancing down you feel a wave of shame come over you, knowing that every time you dwell on old memories and grieve the life you thought you were going to have you hurt her. 

“I’m sorry...I’m trying to do better… some days it’s just harder than others…” 

She chirps sorrowfully at you before she hops up onto the couch beside you and nuzzle into your side. After a few moments of wallowing you pick up the empty container and wad the napkin up before you drop it into the mess left behind. 

“You know better than to dream…” you mutter to yourself before you throw it and the container away.

*~**~**~**~*

Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Let me know if you would like to be tagged for the next chapter! Also, tell me what you think your next pokemon should be! This is going to be fun!