#ive been sitting watching as literally everywhere lights red

[jelreth]

minnesota confirmed blue. god. christ. at least theres fucking minnesota

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

[sahbibabe]

A Mission For One

A Mission For One

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

You are given the details of your mission. It wasn't your intention to be crippling the last of the previous AVALANCHE's funding, nor was it to face the risk of seeing Hojo ever again.

RENO, JUST LIKE RUFUS had said, showed up the very next day, just shy of seven in the morning. He didn't have Rude with him, which was unusual, and instead had a lowly grunt with him. He had a briefcase in one hand and his weapon in the other, shooting you a grin when you opened the door.

     "Ready to get started?" He asked, pushing past you to set up on one of the tables. He opened the briefcase with a flourish. "Might wanna sit down because I have a lot of stuff to tell you and not a whole lot of time."

       You locked the shop door and sat down across from him, eyeing the grunt who positioned his back to it with a rifle in hand. "Was it necessary to bring the gun inside?"

      "Him? Nah." Reno pulled out a file as thick as your fingers put together and set it aside. "Right, first thing I have to tell you is to hold out your arm."

        You did so obediently. "What for?"

      "This." Reno gave you no warning other than a smirk, and plunged what looked like a five gauge needle into your wrist. He injected a clear substance into you and, before you had time to jerk away, was done. "There. Your Shinra access chip. After the fiasco with keycards and AVALANCHE last year, we decided on these bad boys to secure the system. As long as you're alive, calm, and healthy, you can get anywhere you want to. I think the boss gave you B-Level clearance until you pass your physicals, then will up it to A-Level after that."

       You felt dread settle in the pit of your gut. You had never owned anything as much as D-Level access in your entire life, and that was just to attend a small court session to set up your tea shop and legally sell tea from Shinra suppliers. B-Level was a high jump, and giving you A-Level access after? Those were the same permissions that only Rufus's seconds in command got, only less to Rufus himself.

      "Reno," you asked slowly,"what the hell am I going to be doing that requires A-Level access?"

      "A lot of things," he whistled, thumbing through a plastic card case and pulling out an ID card with your face plastered on it. "Assassination, murder, espionage, sabotage, take your pick. The things we Turks can't do and get away with easily."

       The bad feeling in your stomach told you it was a bit more than that. You let it slide when he handed you the ID, noting the fluorescent finish on it and the expensive plastic it was made of, as well as the giant Shinra logo printed beside your head with a script reading 'VIP: DO NOT ENGAGE' along with your VIP permissions underneath, which extended to free hotel stays, you noticed.

       "What's this?" You asked, watching it shine in the light. "I already have an ID."

      "Yeah, but not one that's special like that." Reno then pulled out a manilla file almost as thick as the one he had brought out before, except this one had giant red confidential stamps all over it and was sealed with Rufus's personal seal. "It can get you anywhere and everywhere, just like the Turks, and more. Flash that thing and anyone will think twice about stopping you. Murder is easy with a card like that."

      "I'd imagine," you said, a little choked. You had, quite literally, just gotten federal permission to commit murder. Freely. In an effort to distract yourself from the fact that you'd just been given a 'free for all' card, you tapped the first file he'd pulled out. "And these?"

      "Paperwork for the doctor who does the exam." Reno shrugged when you gawked at the sheer size of it. "I know. It's a lot. But it only takes an hour. Drug tests and blood tests and all that. Even STD tests."

      You placed it aside in favor of the packet he now held. "I'm guessing those are my mission details?"

      "More like your trial targets," Reno supplied vaguely. "You won't officially start them until next week. You'll have a month to finish all of them. You can read up on them and memorize them until then."

      In Reno's hands laid the lives of the people you were about to take forever. Permanently. And it wasn't even what you were being recruited for; they were tests. That was it.

      He handed it to you and you broke the seal, pulling out one of the targets. A photo had been blown up to visible proportions, blurry and grainy, but you could make out the face well enough, recognized it even: one of AVALANCHE's older benefactors, a man by the name of Michael Dallien.

       He had donated a total of three million gil to the cause shortly after the mako reactor went down, you read, and had been funneling smaller sums to them ever since under the guise of fundraisers. At the bottom, stamped in blue, was the price of his bounty: four million gil, plus a bonus for delivering visceral proof.

       Which meant Rufus wanted his head. Literally.

       "As you can see, you'll get paid more than the three million gil for whoever you kill," Reno explained, pointing to a section near the bottom. "There will be others competing with you, though, but they aren't doing it with the accesses that you have. They work for other corporations wanting to overthrow Shinra. If you get to them first, the other corporations won't be able to nab their resources and bam, you get paid and you move on to the next one."

       The more people you found in the packet, the higher the bounties became, until you came upon a bounty on Rufus Shinra himself, priced right around one million gil.

      "What the hell?" You breathed, showing Reno the picture. "What does this mean?"

      "That leads me to your official assignment." The redhead plucked the paper from your hands and pointed to the list of mercs slated for the job; you weren't on it. "Our little Public Relations guy, Heidegger, put this up a few weeks ago. I doubt he knew we bugged his personal computer, but he's enlisted several attempts on the boss's life in the next couple of months. Now, the Turks aren't invincible, some are bound to slip through the cracks. That's where you will come in."

       "You want me to protect Rufus Shinra," you deadpanned,"because the Turks can't."

       "Hey, it isn't for lack of trying. He has so many enemies it's hard to keep track of. We keep eyes on the outside, you keep eyes on the internals. Simple."

      "You mean people like Heidegger and Scarlet," you supplied, realization dawning on you. "It's not because you can't, it's because you can't do it without everyone knowing who did it."

      Reno winked and pointed a finger at you. "Bingo. I knew you'd put it together. Rude owes me fifty gil."

      "That explains the ID," you sighed, waving the card around flimsily. You tucked everything into a neat pile in front of you. "Anything else?"

      "Yep. I took the liberty of pulling some strings and getting you a female doctor to perform your physical." Reno leaned back and crossed his arms, the grunt shifting nervously behind you. "Figured you wouldn't want Hojo snooping around in your insides again."

       The sudden horror you felt had you speechless. Hojo was supposed to do your physical? Hojo had none of the specifications for that, last you had heard, and that was when he was injecting your eyeballs with some dark fluid. To have him examining you from head to toe, even for the gynecology exam because it had to be on there too, made you want to throw up at the idea.

      "Other than that, though, all you have to do is get your Shinra tech fitted and your uniform. It's all unbranded so no one will be able to trace us if you get caught, and made with synthetic material that also can't be traced. You'll have to check with the boss about your weapons. Can't go to Scarlet." Reno seemed to be checking off some list and nodded to himself. "That's it, I think. Rude will drop by later and give you your rental keys."

      You were still caught up on Hojo doing your physical exam, even after Reno dismissed himself and headed out of the shop. It disgusted you on so many levels that as soon as you tucked your files away into your floorboards and put your ID in your wallet, you went to the bathroom to hurl up your breakfast.

      None of what Hojo did to you was memorable after the initial injection, but you recalled him speaking of something like,"Let Her see through your eyes," but it was muffled behind the wall of pain you felt. You remembered the pinch of an IV, trying to open your eyes and only feeling your eyelids as swollen as golf balls, and feeling nurses walk in and out to switch your dressing gown.

      Hojo would check, occasionally, prying your swollen lids apart and testing the tears and occasional pus that would stream out, ignoring your crying and screaming indignantly. He pressed the swelling, irritated them, scraped samples from your waterline, and then fed tubes into them to drain the pus out. It never ended well, because it would soon grow clogged with that black material he had put in, like a coagulated gummy pile of rot. You never bled, but the sheer amount of tears you produced left you dehydrated and desperate for water.

      You were one hundred percent certain he had also done something to your reproductive system, because after that, your cycles just became nightmares, even more so towards you leaving after he deemed you a failure. You never checked, though, too scared and poor to afford an exam, even when you now had the money and means to do so.

     But now you had to because of the stupid physical exam. Hojo had ruined you in more ways than you could say, and it was no wonder you lied to everyone in your life. You were petrified of trust because you, once upon a time, had trusted him to help you. That had been a mistake.

       Never again.

[mandadoration]

hound - iv.

summary: While Mando is refuelling the Razor Crest and looking for information about your quarry, you decide to venture into the markets to quell your boredom. Caught up in admiring the trinkets, you end up coming back to the hangar much later than when Mando told you to be back by. He expresses some concerns to you.

word count: 1,646

pairing: mandalorian x mandalorian!reader

warnings: swearing

chapters: i | ii | iii | iv

“Time frame?” you ask him quietly. Talking has become… somewhat easier around Mando, but you try to keep your voice down so that only he can hear you. 

“Mechanic said around three hours. Says my hyperdrive is, in her words, “bad as three week old banthu milk”,” he answers dryly. You snort and nod to say, Sounds about right. There have been instances where you have nearly dropped out of hyperspace mid-flight, which did make you anxious. You did not want to end up halfway in some random planet or planetoid. 

You and Mando had stopped at some scavenging planet to refuel and tune up the wonky hyperdrive before honing in to the bounty. He collects some of his things as you stand up from your seat. It’s hot on this planet, and you feel like you’re cooking under all your armor. “I’m gonna have a look around, ask about our other bounties,” he says, slinging his rifle on. “You can come if you want, or just come back here in three hours. Up to you.” You consider it, but ultimately motion for him to go ahead without you. He nods and heads down the ramp to scout while you think about what you can do. 

You did spot a market a mile away when you were flying down. Maybe you’d have a look around.

--

Mando knows that he looks crazy as he speedwalks through the town calling out your nickname. But the sun has already gone low in the sky, and you haven’t returned. In fact, it’s been nearly an hour since the time he told you to be back by. It’s unbecoming of you; you’re usually a stickler for keeping a tight schedule, and it worries him. 

Two elderly ladies stop him and ask if he’s lost his pet when he calls you by your moniker, but Mando just shakes his head and keep darting through the streets looking for the glint of you beskar armor. His mind runs through all the possible situations you could be in. 

A) You have been indisposed by another hunter because you had a bounty on you.

B) Someone had taken off your helmet, and you had fled the planet already. 

C) Someone decided to exact revenge on you for something he didn’t know and were currently being held hostage. 

Or D) You were standing at a stall quietly conversing with a vendor and paying her a few credits for some kind of bauble. 

Mando clenches his jaw and marches up to you, grabbing your arm. “Where have you been?” he hisses. You awkwardly motion with the hand that was holding the little trinket to the market around you. He sighs, and he swears he feels a headache coming on. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The vendor, a little Zeltron elder, skin a washed out red, smiles knowingly. 

“Is this your husband?” she asks delightedly, accent slipping through. She claps her hands together. “Yes! Very well! Tall, strong, no doubt.” She reaches across her booth to peer closer at Mando, searching for something before she nods approvingly. “Matching armor sets,” she continues gleefully. Mando is taken aback, but you just roll your eyes. 

“Not my husband,” you say gruffly. You tuck away the rest of your credits. The expression on the vendor doesn’t fade, but instead, her smile widens even more. 

“Ah, so your boyfriend! Do not worry, I have something just for you,” she said firmly. She ducks under the table and rummages around before pulling out an amulet and shoving it into your hands. “Take this!”

“I don’t have the credits,” you say gently, trying to put it back in her hands, but she wraps your fingers around it and draws back out of your reach. 

“Free of charge,” she insists. She looks pleased when you finally nod and slip it into your bag. 

“What’s it for?” Mando asks. You hope that means that he isn’t going to be mad at you, but you know he’s just making sure it was safe and not some sort of explosive or tracking device. 

“Virility! To make sure you make strong, healthy babies!” You choke and glance at Mando, who, you’re sure, looks equally surprised under his helmet. She leans in close so that only you can hear. “And to strengthen your bond. Very old magic,” she adds, pointing the amulet. When you look at it, it appears to be two lovers in a winding embrace, wrapped around each other so tightly that you can’t distinguish who’s limb is who’s. It’s tarnished, but there are spots that appears to have been rubbed so that it’s shiny. Before you can say anything, Mando pulls you away and she winks knowingly at you and turns to address a bewildered customer who had been watching the whole ordeal.

On your trek back, Mando doesn’t say anything to you, and being the “talker” that you are, you don’t say anything either. Which made for a very awkward and tense walk. At the hangar, Mando tosses the mechanic their credits and stomps up the ramp. 

“What’s his problem?” the mechanic asks. You just sigh and shrug before trailing after him, hoping that he’s cooled off.

But at the console, Mando isn’t any better. He practically punches the buttons and jerks the ship up, forcing you to take a seat lest you want to roll backwards out of the cockpit. When you’re stable in the air, you clear your throat and pointedly look at him. He ignores you in favor of putting in the coordinates for your bounty. You clear your throat again. 

“If you wanna say something, use your words,” he spits out. You scowl. So he’s gonna play it like that, huh? He’s counting on you not wanting to talk, but if he’s acting like a child, you have to be mature--. “Oh wait, you can’t,” he says. Low blow. You’re fuming at his cold shoulder. Just because you had lost track of time doesn’t mean that he had to treat you so harshly. You were his equal- not a child. You get up and dig into your bag, and toss the item you purchased at him, a different amulet, priding in the metallic clank as it hits his helmet. Mando turns in his seat, snatches it up, and prepares to throw it back at you in retaliation until he realizes what it is. His breath catches in his throat as he holds it to the light. 

It’s a mythosaur skull necklace. The mark of the Mandalores. Made of solid beskar. Why did the old woman have this?

“For you,” you snarl at him. “But it seems like I wasted my money.” You turn and leave the cockpit. He hear him follow after you, boots clanking as you descend into the lower hull, tossing your bag and weapons on your makeshift cot. 

“Dog,” Mando says. You ignore him and go about fumbling with your equipment. You hadn’t actually expected him to follow you, so you have to make yourself busy. You turn to escape into the refresher, but you walk straight into his chestplate. 

“Move,” you order, but he stays put. He calls your nickname again, and your clench your fists. “Move.”

“Udesii,” he says, and you think he is actually socially inept because that’s what Mandalores use to tell their literal hounds to calm down. You throw a punch at his helmet and knock him down, ignoring how your knuckles throb. 

“Make no mistake: I’m not a fucking dog,” you say to him, voice low. “You can call me that all you want, but I am not here to be at your beck and call, and certainly not something that you can control.” He sits up. You raise a finger at him to continue your yelling, but instead he grabs your hand and pulls you down on top of him. You have half a mind to shoot him. “Hey--!” 

He murmurs your name. Your real name, and you freeze. Sure, you’ve told him your name some nights ago in this very ship, but he hasn’t actually said it outloud. You draw back wait with bated breath for Mando to say something, staring into the visor of his helmet. You know he’s doing that same. He swallows. 

“Thank you,” he says. You flick your eyes down at the mythosaur amulet sitting on top of his armor. “I was just… worried.” If you hadn’t been travelling with him for weeks now, it would’ve sounded forced, but you know he’s being sincere. “You’re usually on time. For everything.” You sigh. It’s true, but you just haven’t really had any time to yourself since working with Mando. While you don’t have much free time since you’re chasing down your next paycheck, you had become accustomed to being alone. Having someone worry about you was… new. Not unwelcome, though. You get up and Mando follows your movement, helmet trained on yours. You hold out a hand for him to grasp, and he hauls himself up. When he gets up, he jostles you, and something falls out of your pocket. 

It’s the amulet of the two lovers that the old woman gave to you. Mando bends down to pick it up and turns it in his hands. He hums. 

“This thing is old,” he notes. “Looks like it’s been passed down through many hands, judging by the looks of it.” He hands it back to you and tilts his head. “What did that lady say to you? Back at the market?” 

“Just that it was valuable,” you lie. Mando accepts your answer and goes back up to the cockpit. You don’t know why you lied to him. 

And to strengthen your bond, her voice whispers in your mind. Very old magic. 

You tuck the amulet back into your pocket and go up the ladder to join him. 

--

Hound Tag List: @knockbeforeyouspeak​

[agrestenoir]

ml au where lila has the black cat miraculous

lies and trying times (chat noir!lila au)

i.

There’s a girl in a hotel lobby sitting on a plush sofa, watching raindrops trail down the glass pane of the window. Paris storms have overtaken the seemingly quiet morning, and on her first day in the city, Lila Rossi wants nothing more than to leave the stuffy hotel room her father has booked. 

It’s supposed to be for three days, a business trip to impress a few French officials, but her father has already warned her that it might stretch out a bit. However, “a bit” in the Rossi family, is code for “three months to a year, depending on work”. He hasn’t decided whether they’re staying or leaving, which means she can’t decide whether to plan for permanence or establish an escape. The whole thing, like most other relocations throughout her entire life, is exhausting and messy. It’s the whole reason her mother decided to take a vacation to Barcelona three years ago… and hasn’t come back yet. 

Outside, the rain pours hard. Lila can only watch. 

She’s tired of waiting—for her father, for her mother, for her life to start. 

She pushes herself off the sofa, gets up on her feet, and heads towards the front entrance of the Bourgeois hotel. Outside, there’s a bustling and busy city, full of ancient history and secrets—a whimsical world she so desperately wants to throw herself into but has never had a chance. Lila rushes out onto the wet pavement, wedge heels clacking through puddles as she pushes past people. 

The rain pours. Lila leaves. 

She’s tired of waiting.

*

ii.

 The story starts like this: Lila lies. 

It’s something she’s done in every situation. The lies are a quick and easy way to meld in with the new crowd of new people with new faces in a new place; she just wants to be liked and have friends. That’s the crux of the matter: Lila is always lonely. 

In a way, she doesn’t care if everything is built on lies because nothing in her life is permanent—not her parents, not her home, not herself. Consequences are lost on her. She does what she can to process, to fit in, but something’s different this time. 

You see, there’s something about those Paris rainstorms that leave her feeling light and new, where the rain washes away all her sins, like she has a clean slate with no problems. 

In the Paris rain, Lila is born again. 

(In the Paris rain, an evil burns with a new rage.)

In one world, a tottery old man named Master Fu finds a baker’s daughter and a famed son, giving them the tools to save the world from one man’s unquenchable dreams. In this world, he finds a lost little girl who lurks in the shadow of self-created chaos and dreams of doing better. 

Potential, Master Fu thinks, is stronger than nature. 

When he falls waiting for a train, cane clattering across the cement, Lila Rossi stares for a moment before extending her hand to help him up. Rainwater drips in rivets from her tangled hair and sopping clothes, but she still has those sad eyes and soft smile. He tucks the Black Cat Miraculous into her purse as she turns to jump onto the train, walking away with a surety even in the face of risk. 

It’s a gamble, he thinks, but one who can create chaos knows how to control it. 

The story starts like this: Lila lies. 

But it ends like this: Lila can be better.

 *

   iii.

 The first akuma is hard and rigid, his heart a rocky range of every reason he cannot find to love 

Plagg calls him Stoneheart. Lila calls him hurting. 

In a way, a part of Lila can understand where Stoneheart’s dark feelings originated from. Her life is a constant cycle of coming and going, having and hurting, and loving and losing. The geography of her own heart is full of high mountains and wide, open oceans, barriers to block her core from complete destruction, but each day in a new place leads to more bits being chipped away and crumbling to dust. Each place she goes, every person she meets: it’s the same story over and over again 

Paris is different. It leaves her breathless and free in a way everything else has failed to do. 

It doesn’t make her life easier, but it sure does make her believe in the impossible.

“Rock monster,” she murmurs to herself, staring at the akuma as he stalks through the streets. He leaves footsteps of cracked pavement, handprints of crumbled brick on buildings, and his roar echoes like thunder through the city. “I have… to beat a rock monster with a baton.” 

“Hey,” a voice says beside her, startling her from her strategizing. “I’ve got a fucking yo-yo. I think you’re the one who’s better off here.” 

Lila whips around, coming face-to-face with glittering green eyes and a bright smile. A boy stands beside her, all red and black-spotted with a mask to match. His blonde hair is wind-tamed and tousled, as if he’s been dashing across rooftops and flying through the city too. He looks every bit the partner that Plagg told her about. 

“You must be my partner,” she says needlessly. 

“Ladybug,” he introduces and holds out his hand. “You can call me Ladybug, pretty kitty.” 

“Chat Noir.” Lila holds his hand in a strong grip and tugs him forward, until their foreheads are nearly touching. She levels him with a sharp smirk, eyes burning something fierce. “And I am so out of your league.” 

Shoulders shaking, Ladybug laughs and laughs and laughs. “Oh,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m so going to love being your partner.” 

In another world, a charismatic cat falls in love with a blue-eyed wonder. In this world, the cat finds a friend. 

A little bit more of her heart crumbles to dust, leaving her more open to all that life has to bring her.

What do you know? In Paris, impossibilities are possible after all.

 *

  iv.

 “Listen,” her father tells her, three weeks after they arrived in Paris. “Something came up.” 

Lila enrolls in school the next day. She can’t say she didn’t see it coming. 

Francis-Duponte is full of nameless faces and numerous questions, things she’d once rejoice in, but it’s her sixth school in three years, and she just wants a break. Madame Bustier introduces her to the class, and she sulks to the back row, slipping into a seat with hunched shoulders and tired eyes. Interactions are quite exhausting when nothing ever sticks. 

The day passes in slow lunges, no sudden leaps or stumbling stops. The teachers are knowledgeable, the kids are loud, and the world is a kaleidoscope of everything she can’t handle. It’s during lunch, though, that a student accosts her in the hallway. 

“You’re new, right? Lila Rossi?” A girl with bright blue eyes stands in front of her, holding a tablet against her chest. For the first time, Lila is at a loss for words. “Someone told me you were from Milan.”

“I am,” Lila acknowledges, and her mind is spinning away with lies built on threads of promise and purpose, whispering friend friend friend. She vehemently tries to deny it, swallowing back a lump and trying to pretend that old urges aren’t scratching at her heels. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the girl says. She shifts her weight, gaze skittering everywhere else; she’s nervous, but Lila doesn’t know why. “Do you want to sit with me at lunch? I’m working on some designs, and I was wondering if you could tell me about some of the fashion in Milan.” 

I have my own fashion line.

My father owns half of the fashion industry in Milan. 

I came to Paris because I’m personal friends with Gabriel Agreste. 

I’m— 

Lila doesn’t lie. Lila tries. 

The question hits her in a whoosh, air jumping from her lungs as if a wrecking ball had slammed into her ribcage, and she can’t catch her breath. “I…” Lila swallows again, shaking her head. “Yes, actually, I can do that. I’m probably the best person to ask actually; I know a lot about Milan fashion.” 

Marinette smiles.

*

 v.

 Paris at night is beautiful. 

Lila stares at the dark sky above her, which twinkles with clusters of stars and the soft glow of the pale moon, and she can’t help but think there’s something ethereal about this city. Ladybug sits above her, leaning against one of the struts of the Eiffel Tower, but he’s not staring at the view. 

He’s staring at her. 

She quirks a brow high, a smile slipping onto her face. “Distracted tonight, bug?” 

“Why won’t you tell me your name?” He crosses his arms against his chest and levels her with a quizzical stare. “We’ve been partners for over two months now. Don’t you think that at least puts us on a first name basis?” 

“Colleagues.” 

Ladybug jumps down from his perch above, landing softly on his toes, and settles back on his haunches with a small, cautious smile. “I’m pretty sure we’re way past coworkers, kitten.” 

Lila can’t help the laugh that falls from her lips. “Then what the hell would we be?” 

He flashes her a quick, blinding smile—teeth and all. “Friends, obviously.” 

Lila pauses, trying to make sense of her suddenly slippery world. With a quiet sigh, she drops down and parks herself alongside him. Their thighs brush against each other as they kick their feet back and forth, falling in sync like a pendulum swinging in time with a clock. Slowly but surely, her life in Paris ticks away, seconds slipping past without her notice, and she wonders when the day will come that her father will pick up and move to another city, another country, another continent. 

It goes like this: Lila doesn’t form attachments. 

It goes like this: Lila lies to push people away. 

It goes like this: Lila is tired of being lonely. 

“Friends,” she echoes. 

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “Haven’t you ever had a friend before?” 

Lila toys with her fingers, needing to be doing anything to take her mind off of the situation, but the words still leave her lips. “No, I haven’t actually.” Something tells her that she needs to be open and honest with him. That’s what friends do, right? 

“Oh,” he says. A quick pause and then, “I understand that feeling pretty well myself.” 

There’s silence—thick and heavy like fog before a storm—but she pushes past it and forces herself to admit the truth. “I’ve moved around a lot literally my entire life. I never really had a chance to sit down and… talk to people, I guess. I really don’t know how to have friends.” 

Ladybug bites his lip, pondering the problem for a moment before suggesting, “Well, I think you’re doing a pretty good job right now.” 

She snorts, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. “You’re lucky I like you, Ladybug.” 

“See?” He pokes her nose with his index finger. “You’re great at this.” 

Lila can’t stop laughing. 

She really, really loves Paris.

 *

 vi.

 It’s been months and months, but if it’s one thing that Lila Rossi knows, it’s that life is only temporary. 

There’s no such thing as permanence when it comes to a home, people, or even friends. 

What a fool I’ve been, she thinks.

*

 vii.

 “You’re a real asshole, you know that, Agreste?” Lila tells Adrien Agreste one morning after Marinette leaves the room, all stammer and stutter, muttering something about the restroom so she can try to drown herself in the sink to quench her raging embarrassment. Alya, the last of their trio, follows at her heels in effort to revive the former if needed be. 

The perky blonde with the green eyes simply blinks up at her, too taken back that Lila erupted out of the blue. It’s obvious he’s confused, but Lila is tired of watching her friend make a fool of herself over a stupid boy who won’t give her the time of day.

“Excuse me?” Adrien asks. 

“I said you’re an asshole,” she continues, crossing her arms against her chest. She leans forward, brown eyes burning with a fierce fire, her smile so sharp it could cut class. “And you’re going to start treating her better, or you’re going to have to deal with me.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he tells her, and she just rolls her head. Stupid boy, stupid boy. “Marinette’s a good friend—”

Lila snorts. “Like you don’t see the way she looks at you, or how she can’t even speak a complete sentence the minute you walk into a room.” She flicks her wrist in his direction, poking the bridge of Adrien’s nose with her index finger. “Marinette’s my best friend, and I will not let you drag her along like she’s your latest toy.” 

Adrien flounders, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry, Lila, but I really don’t know what you mean.”

His answer makes her blood boil because how can he not see what he does to her? There’s an itch under her skin, because people who are too oblivious are hurt too easily, just like those who fall too fast and hard. Instead of a healthy relationship between two people, you just get a mess of pain and hurt, and there’s no hope of relief. It’s not a happy situation to get involved with. 

How does he not know? And if he does, how can he let it go on? 

“Marinette’s in love with you,” Lila says in a rush and laughs, something bitter and hard. “And you don’t care.” 

There’s silence—a long pause—and then the voice that speaks is certainly not Adrien. “Lila?” Marinette asks, shaky and feeble from the doorway to the classroom. 

Adrien turns to Marinette, eyes softening. “Marinette…?” 

The other girl can’t even form a coherent response—in fact, she doesn’t even try—and instead bolts out of the room before either Lila, Alya, or even Adrien can stop her. 

Something settles in Lila’s chest, like the pieces of her heart are clicking back together just to get broken again. The looming horror of the situation haunts her, a reaper coming to bring death to the tentative peace she’s carefully crafted. Ever since she came to Paris, lessons of love have been the only things she’s learned: how to love a friend, how to love a partner, how to love a city. 

This is her first lesson in heartbreak.

*

 viii.

 “That akuma was my fault!” Lila thunders at Ladybug, their Miraculous beeping insistently as she paces the rooftop.   

“In what way?” He turns to face her, eyes burning into her own. “You know that it’s never the akuma’s fault, so it’s certainly not yours. Hawkmoth—” 

“Because I hurt her!” Chat Noir’s power thrumming through her, Lila can’t stop the hiss that falls from her lips. She grits her teeth, fists her long brown mane, keeps moving because coming to a standstill makes the world weigh heavier on her shoulders. 

“That doesn’t make this your fault,” he says. “They’re vulnerable, and Hawkmoth sends his butterflies when you’re hurt, purposely because you’re at your lowest, when you’re the most vulnerable and easily manipulated. It’s his doing, not yours, chaton.” 

“You don’t get it,” Lila interjects. “I betrayed her, and I put her in that position. Hawkmoth wouldn’t have gotten to her if I hadn’t hurt her in the first place. She’s my friend, and I did that to her!” 

There’s quiet, a stillness that settles over, thick and heavy. “You know Marinette then?” 

Lila snaps her gaze away from her partner, staring at her hands clasped into tight fists. Her ring is still beeping, as is Ladybug’s, but none of them seem to care at this point. “Yeah, I do.” She wonders how much she’s just given away. 

“Are you Lila then?” he asks, and there it is. 

Like an arrow has pierced through her heart, she grasps at the front of her chest as if to smother it’s fire, but nothing helps. Suddenly her world is crashing down around her, and the peaceful bubble she’s spent the last five months inside has burst. 

Lila’s already lost one friend today—is she about to lost another? 

“How do you…?” But she can’t voice the question quick enough as the magic gives away, and both Ladybug and Chat Noir disappear in a kaleidoscope of color. 

It’s Adrien Agreste.

“Oh.” Everything turns slippery, and she struggles to find an anchor to keep her from falling. “Oh god.” 

“Lila,” Adrien says, expression softening as he catches sight of the fear and worry lining her face. “It still wasn’t your fault. You were only trying to protect your friend.” 

“No, you still don’t get it, Agreste. I hurt her.”

The name silences him, and shame washes over her like the high tide against the shore. Adrien Agreste has never been someone Lila gets along with, just for the sole way he turns her friend into a mess and continues on like it doesn’t matter. Lila knows people who string others along without a care—has done it herself for most of her life—because people are not important, and they truly don’t matter to her. 

(Because she doesn’t matter to them—she never has, and never will. So many names and faces, all in different places, who promise to call or write even after she leaves, but no one has ever reached out to her after she’s gone. It’s the crux of her pain, and it makes her realize that she’s never been wanted, she’s never been first choice, and she’s never been someone worth having.) 

“We’re only human, Lila,” he tells her after a long while. The words echo through her head, louder than she wants them to be, but they still speak volumes. He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. 

“Do you know how hard it is to tell the truth?” Lila takes a deep, shuddering breath and pushes on. “Telling the truth is like… giving a part of you to someone, and today I did that. I told you how Marinette felt, and that was a part of me—a part of her that she willingly shared—and… I took it, and I told you. She will never trust me again, won’t even look at me, and I lost one of my only friends. So don’t try to tell me you understand because you don’t get it.” 

“I’m sure Marinette will forgive you. You just have to apologize—” 

Lila shakes her head. “No, no. You still don’t get it, Adrien, and you never will. I don’t tell the truth because the truth fucking hurts. It’s so much easier to lie. It’s the only thing I’m good at.” She laughs, bitter and broken. “I should’ve just kept lying.” 

Right now, with everything she cares about broken on the floor, it’s the only truth she knows: Lila Rossi is so good at lying, it hurts.

 *

  ix.

 It goes like this: Lila lies. 

It’s easy on most days, just a couple of words strung together to capture the ear of whoever’s listening, to make them linger on her voice, their eyes following hers like a lifeline. In a way, it makes them navigators as they track her across the sky, using a star to find their way. Empowered, she feels infinite, where she can be the impossible and they just pray in her wake, but it’s been a long time since she’s longed for that. 

Paris has changed her. Being Chat Noir has changed her. Friends have changed her. 

Telling the truth has changed her. 

Truth is a faith that Lila has never believed in. It’s a metamorphosis of chance: you have faith in the ones you love, you have faith in the city you protect, you have faith in your partner—but there’s no guarantee that the truth will make things better. Truth, like any form of human nature, just like the lies she used to spin, has the capability to hurt. But like the first time she donned the mask, she curls herself up into a cocoon, the truth a hard shell against the rest of the world, and waits and prays to become a butterfly. 

In the best turnout, Lila flies. In the worst possibility, she falls. 

Lila didn’t realize just how truth could be a weapon. Lies are a two-way street: one who benefits, and those who suffer if they’re stupid enough to believe it. Truth can be wielded to render someone raw and bleeding, until lies seem like the better option, to the point where they can even heal. 

Lila wishes she remembered how to lie. 

Marinette stands in the deserted hallway, arms crossed against her chest, and she refuses to meet Lila’s inquisitive eyes. “I just wanted… to talk about yesterday.” It’s like she’s steeling herself against a stronger power before she presses on. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Lila shrugs and tries to pretend like it doesn’t matter but it does it does it does. “You went full akuma and tried to destroy the city. It’s just a typical Tuesday.” She swallows thickly, dropped her chin to her chest. “At least Ladybug and Chat Noir were there to save you.” 

Marinette laughs, something soft and quiet. “At least there was one bright side.” 

“Obviously,” Lila says. “Chat Noir is pretty damn amazing. I know her actually, did you know that?” 

“Lila.”

“I’m also on a first name basis with Ladybug, but he’s pretty cute, you know? I could totally introduce you guys—” 

“Lila.” The sound of Marinette’s voice freezes her in motion. It feels like she’s trapped in orbit and just waiting for gravity to take hold and bring her down, like a meteor due for impact. 

Lila closes her eyes and spits out a quick, “I’m sorry!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s my fault you were akumatized. It’s my fault you and Adrien aren’t talking.” There’s a burning sensation in the corner of her eyes, and Lila desperately tries not to cry. 

“I…” Marinette presses her lips into a thin line, shaking her head. “First off, I forgive you.” 

There’s a stunned silence. “What?” Lila asks, too afraid to have her repeat it.

“I said I forgive you,” Marinette tells her. “We have a lot more to talk about, but that’s the most important thing for you to know right now.” 

The shake of Lila’s hands amplifies for she’s been shown love and doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s not something she gets from her father and her mother is more distant than the miles away from her last home. Ladyb—Adrien is perhaps the closest thing she’s ever had to someone she cares for, and it’s clear now that Marinette (and perhaps some others) have gotten that close too.

“You forgive me?” 

“Come on.” Marinette grabs a hold of Lila’s shoulder and pushes her forward down the hall, out towards the courtyard where the rest of their class is taking lunch. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, and you can tell me exactly how you know Ladybug and Chat Noir.” 

There’s a pause, and then, “You think I’m lying, don’t you?” 

“Please,” Marinette snorts. “You think I honestly believe that you know Ladybug and Chat Noir personally?” 

“I do.”

“Sure.” 

The two friends go on, much like life does. 

It’s the way of the world. 

It starts like this: Lila lies.

But it ends like this: Lila is better because of it.

 * 

 x.

 “So,” Adrien says from his perch on the edge of the rooftop, his Ladybug mask practically glowing in the afternoon sunlight. “Marinette asked me out this morning.” 

“Huh,” Lila remarks, cocking her head to the side. “You sure you heard her right?” 

Snorting back a laugh, he nudges her side with his elbow. “Please, you know I’d never—” 

“We all know you don’t have the balls to handle that girl.” She stands up and takes a couple steps back from the ledge, unclipping her baton from her waist. “Just like we all know she is the best thing to ever happen to you, and if you don’t her as such, I’m going to break you.” 

“Lila!” he snipes back, cheeks burning red. 

All she can do is laugh as she runs towards the edge of the rooftop, leaping off into open air. “Try to keep up, bugaboo!” 

“Don’t call me that!” Adrien calls after her as the two fly through the streets, past the meandering civilians and through silver sunlight that streaks through buildings and trees. 

The city sings. Lila laughs. 

She’s living.

Oh god, is she living.

[aleapoffaithfiction]

IV.

I hope that you're the one. If not, you are the prototype - Andre 3000

“What do you think about this lipstick? I’m about to take it off and just stick with a lip gloss. I can never seem to get red lipstick to work on me. Meanwhile, every single shade that exists works on you.” In the midst of listening to Taylor’s commentary about a Dose of Colors lipstick that is absolutely perfect on her, I continued to nod my head along to “Too Deep for The Intro” from J. Cole’s “Friday Night Lights” mixtape. Despite it being released damn near seven years ago, it still feels and sounds better than anything that’s out right about now so it shall always remain in rotation alongside some of my all-time favorite Hip-Hop musical masterpieces. It also sounds damn good as we continue this journey down I-95 S to Pennsylvania. It’s been quite some time since I’ve actually driven a distance longer than twenty minutes and I can admit that I’m actually enjoying this. Traffic is clear, the sun is shining brighter than ever, and the weather hasn’t quite reached the brutally chilly temperatures that are on the way. I’m enjoying the wind smacking me in the face and blowing my hair all over the place. It’s damn near ninety degrees, why wouldn’t I?

“That red lipstick looks fucking good on you. You’re overthinking it. Also, my black ass cannot wear every shade ever. I just figure out ways to make them work on me and usually, lip liner is the trick. I think I have really deep berry liner in that bag. Try it and see if it works for you. If not, take it off and do the gloss.” To avoid having to stop and use the bathroom, I skipped out on grabbing a bite to eat from Wendy’s like Taylor did and now I regret it because my stomach is growling like hell. Given that the car is new, I don’t have any snacks in here but I’ll be damned if I don’t stop and grab some from a Quick Check on the way back.

“You’re talking about this one here?” I quickly glanced over and nodded my head to confirm.

“How was your time with Jesse when he came to Atlanta?”

“Pleasant. I can admit that he enjoyed it. He’s the first guy that I’ve ever had sleep in my apartment there and it was a different vibe but it felt nice. While it’s no sign that I’m ready to cohabitate with anyone just yet, I did like it for that time being.”

“So, you enjoyed finally sexing in your bed? That’s what you’re saying?” Her laughter filled our space as I called her out on such a discrete way of saying things. We both knew that’s exactly what she was alluding to.

“Well, I won’t deny that. It was damn good to be able to go at it multiple times between the night and the next morning, and then get up for a cup of coffee in my own kitchen. Hotel sex is only exciting the first couple of times. After that, it’s one big ass whatever. Do you know what it’s like to fuck in your own bed and then turn on your TV to watch one of your favorite shows while naked as the day you were born next to your fine as man? Heaven.”

“Oh, so you’re finally calling him your man now?” She refuses to label what they have as anything more than their “thing”. I understand the hesitance given the tough space he’s in when it comes to his children and divorce, but overall, he seems to have really taken a liking to her that comes with everything that a relationship is.

“I suppose so. We spoke about it and figured ah, what the hell, why not?”

“That’s nice to hear. I like you two together. He’s a good fit for you in a sense that he’s educated, sophisticated in certain ways, and he’s super mellow. That’s all you.” I always call Taylor my goody two shoes friend with the potty mouth, despite her quickly saying that it’s a label that I should be giving myself. If Jesse isn’t her perfect match, then I don’t know who is. If they don’t work out, she’ll still end up with some super educated business man or book writer of some sort. I feel like she likes them eclectic.

“And what exactly is your type? I’ve been trying to figure the shit out for the longest and it’s like I’m looking for lost treasure on some deserted island. Every single time I try and hook you up with someone, you avoid it like a plague. You’re not a lesbian. It was easy to rule that out because you didn’t want me.” I had to laugh with her, because I know she said that nonsense on purpose. She’s never been arrogant and easily becomes irritable whenever she encounters a person who is. We’ve had a ton of conversations about interviews that we’ve wanted to cut short due to some athlete thinking that he’s above being proper and approachable when speaking with us. If anything, we get it far worse than male reporters do.

“I don’t know what my type is. I feel like we all craft this dreamy guy in our heads with everything that we assume is our type, but ultimately, it’s unrealistic. There’s fantasy and reality, and in reality, there’s a lot that we’re willing to compromise about when it comes to finding love.”

“So why do you avoid hook ups? You won’t know until you get out there and try it out.”

“My sister ruined that for me. She’s the one who hooked me up with my ex and I’ve already opened up to you about how that turned out.” A moment of silence fell between us as she reflected on my past words about Shamel, while I did my best to avoid thinking about the man. It’s not very often that I do think of him because he’s an ink stain in my past that I’m working damn hard to erase.

“Well, that was then and this is now. It’s been four years since him and you’ve yet to really allow yourself to get out there. I’m pretty damn good with the vetting process, so you know I’m not bring anyone your way who I don’t believe is worthy, so what’s up? What you think of Michael B. Jordan? I know his best friend Sterling. I can hook something up. You know Black Panther is about to come out in a couple of months. He’s on fire right now.”

“Just because you have an actor in your bed doesn’t mean that I want one in mine. He’s probably running through every becky in Hollywood.”

“Oh my gosh. Shut up. You don’t know that.”

“You don’t either but it’s likely that he is. I’m not sure if I could ever get involved with a known guy. I’m sure there’s a brutal headache that comes with that. I certainly salute the wives of the players because I’ve heard more than enough stories for me to wonder why some of those women have yet to snap. The perks of being financially taken care of wouldn’t be anywhere near enough for me not to lose it. The disrespect is real.”

The manner in which those men cheat is unbelievable. I’ve heard about scenarios where the wife is in the arena sitting in the WAGs section and the mistress is only a couple of rows up amongst the spectators. Many of them have apartments in different cities that their spouses either do or do not know about. The manner in which these women flock to their hotels is shameful. And All-Star Weekend? Or even the Pro Bowl Weekend? Forget it. These are events literally created for the sake of the players being able to relax and have some fun while having their families be in the midst of it and yet they still have women all over whichever city is hosting it, fucking and sucking on them. I consider myself to be a pretty composed woman, but I don’t know how long I’d be able to keep it together if I were dealing with that. I’d probably end up on an episode of Snapped.

“Well, I can’t argue with you there, but not all of them are like that. I doubt Grant Hill has ever cheated on Tamia. What about Tim Duncan? That man isn’t cheating. Look at Ray Allen. Does he look like a cheater to you?”

“Uh, can you at least talk to me about players who are under thirty-five?”

“I doubt Steph is cheating on Ayesha.”

“The most vanilla couple in the league. Next?”

“You think Isaiah Thomas cheats?”

“Yo, T, shut up. You don’t even know what to say right now. You’re avoiding the big names because you know the deal.” I’d already been giggling, but it worsened as she side eyed me.

“All of them aren’t cheaters. What about the NFL? Look at Russell Wilson.”  

“NBA, NFL, MBL, ATP, WBA, EFL, and everything else. They’re all loosely slinging dick. Spare me.”

“And you think business men aren’t? What about the gym teachers? You think they don’t fuck around too? Doctors, lawyers, judges, scientists, you name it. There are shitty men everywhere and within every professional sector. Shit, the Starbucks barista is probably slipping in numbers while handing over caramel lattes and slinging dick too.”

“You’re right. And that’s exactly why I’m single.”

“Not everyone is the same.”

“I know that.”

“So then give yourself a chance to at least meet someone. What’s the big deal? Live a little.”

“Why are you always assuming that I’m not allowing myself to meet anyone? Have you ever thought about how I’ve yet to encounter a man who has peaked my interests? That’s truly what it is.”

“Seriously? That’s what it is?” 
“Yes.”

“I suppose I can believe that. You’re such a home body, so it’s not like you’re going to meet anyone there. You work around a bunch of old men up there at ESPN, so he won’t be there either.”

“There are some young guys behind the scenes but I’m not into the dating a co-worker thing. It just sounds like a nightmare filled with endless awkwardness.”

“That just means that I have to get you out more. That’s all.”

“You can try.”

And I’m sure she will. I most likely won’t mind it either. For as long as the environment isn’t one that’ll make me uncomfortable, I’m alright with being out on the scene. What I won’t be is “mixxy”. I’ve never been the one to feel compelled to fit into a bunch of circles in order to feel worthy of sitting at the cool table. I will always sit at my own table, whether I’m by myself or not.

“Thank you so much.” As I slipped Taylor her pass, I handed over my keys. Who the hell knew that this stadium has valet parking? Either way, I’m beyond appreciative because I can only imagine the chaos it is to find a parking space within anyone of the parking lots.

“I have two questions.”

“What?” As I slipped the lanyard around my neck, my eyes panned in her direction. Her eyebrows were already raised.

“One, what kind of Benz is that? It’s sexy.”

“It’s a 2018 E-Class Coupe.” I’d gotten it in Diamond White Metallic and didn’t even have to pay the extra fifteen hundred dollars for it. The exterior came with the night package including gloss accents and AMG body styling. The interior? Macchiato beige seats with red accents. I was able to have the heated and cooling ventilated seats, arm rests, and steering wheel that I wanted for the winter and summer time, and as far as everything else? Well it’s nice. I tuned him out because I’m not obsessed with cars enough to care about every single specific detail that doesn’t involve my safety. After going over the specifics, he was able to locate the exact make and design I wanted on Route 22 West in Union, New Jersey. As Beckham promised me, Phil Campbell certainly came through, not only with the car, but also with a damn good deal for it too.

“And who the hell are you fucking on the Eagles? I thought we were coming here with your ESPN credentials.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not fucking anyone within the sports world and you know this. Also, the Eagles? Please.”  

“Wait. O invited you to a game during that interview, right? Is this the game?” I figured she should have known. I had the jersey he gave me laying across the backseat in the car and it’s in my hand right now. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy going to sporting events, especially when it’s not work related, but I most likely wouldn’t have made the trip out here knowing that I have to work in the morning, if it weren’t for his invitation of thanks.  

“Can you come on?” We would have remained standing there had I not taken off before her.

“No, I want the details of how this all happened. O’s going to be so happy that you’re here. The man is obsessed with you.”

“Why do over exaggerate everything? Is that a Gemini trait or something?”

“But I’m not over exaggerating anything. He really does adore you. He asks about you whenever I see him.”

“You’ve told me that and as I said to you before, I’m flattered that he enjoys my work.”

“Look at you thinking it’s that simple. How cute.”

“Can you cut the shit and come on? Did you have anything to drink before we left the house?”

“No, no drinks yet but I’m going to have a mojito or something while I’m here. That’s for certain.”

I’ve never experienced the perks that comes with being a VIP or an athlete’s special guest but now I understand why everyone enjoys it. It opens the doors to just about every single access point within the stadium, except the locker rooms and with my ESPN credentials, I could easily get into both locker rooms after the game if was here for that purpose. In the midst of making our way upstairs, we were given an escort who explained everything that we’re welcome to, places that we’re entitled to be, and the free merchandise that comes with the passes. I’d almost forgotten about the food and drinks Beckham mentioned as I walked past all of the concession stands. I can never pass up a good ol’ chicken tender and fries’ basket while sitting at a game.

“And here is where you’ll be. I’ll be around to accommodate anything you may need Ms. Nazaire.”

“Oh, thank you. I appreciate that.”

“No problem.”

He opened the door to allow us to step inside what I’m sure is far more than necessary in terms of accommodations and I was certainly right as my eyes swiftly glanced over the posh interior and paused on the single person already enjoying all of it; Ms. Heather Van Norman. In no way, shape, or form did he mentioned that his mother would be around and though I don’t mind whatsoever, it does not negate my nervousness.

If he didn’t tell me, I for sure hope that he informed her because I’d hate to be the person to oddly intrude on her time and privacy as she watches her son play. Oh God. What if she thinks I used the man for all of this? It’s one thing for him to give me a thank you that I don’t even believe I deserve and it’s another for the thanks to come with perks that I’m sure no other analyst can say they’ve been given. Sure, there are some kind hearted athletes who will slip you an invitation to an event of theirs or embrace you with a hug and good conversation upon seeing you out of respect and appreciation but this? Nah, I don’t think so. This is about on the same caliber of myself being invited to the man’s house. I should have declined like I originally intended to.

“Heather! Oh my gosh. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Taylor stepped around my suddenly reluctant frame and immediately went into the beautiful woman’s awaiting arms.

“I’ve been in town for two weeks now. I head back tomorrow, but I figured I’d come out here and watch my boy play before I do. It’s so good to see you Taylor. I didn’t know you were coming with Sarai.”

“I’m crashing at her house while in town for some work with the Bleacher Report. So, she dragged me out. I’m glad she did though.”

“You knew I was coming?” I’d finally spoken up. I had to ask.

“Of course. Odell told me. How are you Sarai?” Once again, she opened her arms and she awaited my presence. How could I turn her down? The embrace was not only warm and welcoming, but it felt very maternal. It’s been quite some time since I embraced my own mother, so I appreciated it along with the kiss she planted on my cheek. I’ve always heard about how pleasant she is and she has lived up to that since our first meeting in Bristol.

“I’m well. Thank you for having me.”

“Oh no, thank you for coming. O will be thrilled. He was very adamant about me making sure you’re well taken care of while here, so I intend to do that so that you can give him a good report when you leave.” Both she and Taylor chuckled and yet Taylors came with widened eyes and eventually a smirk that I wish I never saw. With Heather standing alongside her, I was the only one who could see her teasing facial expressions and if I weren’t respectful enough to watch my mouth in front of Beckham’s mother, I’d tell her about herself.

“Are more people coming?”

“His friends are here, but they’re out there in the midst of the madness. That’s where they like to be. I was down there for a bit while he was running a couple of drills but I came back up here.”

“So, it’s just us in here?” He could have gotten us regular ol’ seats. Seriously Beckham?

“Yes. Just us. There will be food and drinks. They also have lounges where you can go and have drinks and hang out if you’re interested. You don’t have to be in here with this old gal if you don’t want.”

“Old gal? Don’t be silly! You look incredible.” I nodded in agreement with Taylor. I hope to look just as incredible as she does when I’m somewhere around her age.

“You do. I’d rather stick around so that I can get tips on how to remain so great looking.”

“My tip is to remain as stress free as possible and to keep doing whatever the both of you are doing, because you’re both absolutely stunning women. I always say that the both of you are a breath of fresh air amongst the men within your field. I also give a ton of credit to Jemele Hill, Pam Oliver, Lisa Salters, Cari Champion, Josina Anderson, Erin Andrews, Sage Steele, and Kim Jones. She’s such a good one when it comes to O. I’m sorry if I’m a bit biased to the reporters who actually take the time out to understand him.”

“No, no. I get it. And you’ve named so many women that I look up to.” I’ve gotten the opportunity to meet every single woman she listed and I chose to just sit and soak up all of the advice and gems they were willing to offer so that I can transition into my sportscaster role in a knowledgeable space. It’s even more incredible that the majority of the women that she named are black faces. While there aren’t many of us, the ones that are around cannot be missed or mistaken.

“And now you have so many who look up to you, like my Jazzy. It’s full circle.”

“Aww, thank you. Is she here too?”

“No. She’s home. She’ll be up here soon enough and she’d love to meet you. She and Taylor are already homegirls, according to her.” 
“That is my homegirl. I love her.” I wouldn’t be able to escape this one and with the expression on Taylor’s face as she grabs a bottle of water off of the table, I better not even try.

“Of course. We’ll set something up.” Yet again, I’ve done something to further my connection to the Beckham Family. It’s all starting to feel like one long running coincidence at this point.

I threw the somewhat of a diet that I’m following right out of the window as I sat with a plate filled with the chicken tenders and fries that I wanted so badly. I’d been putting it off to the side, since I was so tapped into the game, but it could and probably will be finished before I leave out of here. Beckham didn’t lie when he spoke about the intensity of the games versus the Eagles and despite being inside of the suite, I could feel the energy of the nearly seventy thousand spectators in attendance. Though I came into this with a plan not to cheer for any team, I couldn’t help but to become a temporary Giants fan as I threw the Beckham jersey over my head and joined in with both Heather and Taylor’s frustration as the Giants went scoreless in first, second, and third quarters.

“Ugh! Come on.” I had to move the plate out of the way. We were already two minutes into the fourth quarter and nothing was on the board. That just about ruined my appetite.

“Come on Eli. Throw something good!”

“We have to score something. Come on Beckham!” All three of us were damn near pressed into the stainless glass windows and aching in anticipation. It was as if the man heard my plea, because within seconds after it, he received a ten-yard catch from Eli Manning and went zipping down the field to give the Giants their first touchdown of the game. The piercing scream that spilled out of my mouth damn near caused me to frighten myself as I jumped up and down with excitement. Now the shit talking could begin. Sure, were still down by seven and we nowhere near any Eagles fans, but still. Shit talking is always fun.

“Alright, we have to tie this. We can do it. That just gave us a bit of momentum.” My loud claps filled the room as I paced back and forth in hopes of a miracle from my chosen team for today.

“We got this. We got this.” Heather’s hands met my shoulders and she gave them an encouraging squeeze as her own excitement ripped through her body. It has to be beyond awesome to have such an explosive player as her kid, but then there’s the pressure. Gosh, I’d be the worst sports mom ever and would need a lifetime supply of aspirin.

“You’re going to be hoarse by the time we get out of here.” Taylor laughed while shaking her head at my antics. A shrug was my response.

“So what! We have to win this thing!”

In less than two minutes later, Eli threw a four-yard pass to Beckham that resulted in yet another touchdown for him. We’d officially tied the game and I just about lost my mind. I could literally feel his energy within the suite as he celebrated his touchdown in the showboating manner that he always does and yet I loved it. In the midst of watching them online, I could understand why people tossed the arrogant title on him and hated his celebration dances. Now, while here, looking at it live, it’s the best shit ever. How can you not celebrate after making the game tying touchdown? Shit, I’m dancing with him.

“Let’s go!”

Eli’s seventy-seven-yard pass to Sterling Shepard to give us a touchdown to take the lead made our suite sound like it was filled with more than just three people as we screamed in thrill. The Eagles tied the game once more and a field goal put us in the lead once again with just a little over two and a half minutes left on the clock. What we all thought would be the game to finally give the Giants a win after being down two games was short lived by two field goals that resulted in the Eagles again tying the game and then finally beating us by three.

I don’t think I’ve felt disappointment like this in quite a while. While the other two women within the room with me took the loss with good hearts and applauded the team for a solid effort and comeback within the fourth quarter, I sat in silence because I felt like we were robbed. We were supposed to win that game. How could we lose after those three touchdowns and that field goal attempt? That’s bullshit.

“It’s alright Sarai. They’ll get a win in when they play in Tampa Bay next week. They gained some momentum today. They just have to apply that same energy every single time.” It sounds good, but I would have liked to win today!

“Yeah, I know.”

“You sound like a kid who lost their little league game. You didn’t even play and you’re sulking more than they are.”

“Because, we could have gotten that one T.” And we should have.

“I know. It was looking good in the fourth. I thought we had it too, but it is what it is. They’ll get them next time. They play the Eagles again this season and we’ll come back to see them have their revenge.” I’m holding Taylor to that. We’re coming back for that game.

“I guess that’s fair.”

“I’m sad that it’s over. I really enjoyed your company ladies. I’m so glad that you came out.” I can admit that I enjoyed myself too. Usually, I’d be curled up on my couch right now, eating dinner, and mentally preparing myself for the week head and instead, I was able to let loose and go crazy over some football. I’d pick that every single time, if I could.

“Thank you for having us. I had a blast. I’m pissed we lost, but I still enjoyed it so much.” It was my turn to draw her in for a hug and I did it with no hesitation.

“And was everything to your liking? My son’s going to want a report.”

“Of course, of course.” We all laughed at how much she emphasized the reality that he absolutely will ask her about how things went today. Well, he has nothing to worry about. He fulfilled his thank you beyond what I could have ever imagined and I’m appreciative of it. He never owed me anything in the first place and after this, he’s more than repaid me. If anything, I owe him.

“I’m sure we’ll be doing this again at some point.”

“I think so too.” Taylor swiftly agreed with her before I could get a word in. Gosh, she better sleep with one eye open when she goes to bed tonight, because I’m going to whack the shit out of her with a pillow as soon as I get an opportunity to do so. She’s been on a roll tonight with the slickness and I’ve let it slide because it’s been jokes in-between she and I, more so coming from her alone, but now she’s involved someone else in it and she’s putting false hopes on the table that I have no capability of fulfilling. This is supposed to be and is going to be a one-time thing.

“Sounds good. Give me another hug before you two get out of here. Also, drive back to Jersey safe. Taylor, text me when you two get there.”

After those hugs, we ended up spending an addition fifteen minutes talking and I’d even exchanged numbers with her so that we could set up that meeting between Jazzy and myself. It would be my thank you to Beckham for the fun filled day here in Philly.

Despite our rush down to my car, the traffic to get out of the stadium wasn’t as beatable as we wished it would have been. We were bumper to bumper for over a half an hour and that continued as we hit the highway to head back to Edgewater.

Phenomenal game, Beckham. Nine receptions, seventy-nine yards, and two touchdowns. You and Shepard balled out. You won in my book. Keep that energy going. I know it feels a bit discouraging to not have gotten a win yet, but you’re only three games in. There’s plenty of time to turn things around and I know that you will. Rest up. And thank you for the invitation. I enjoyed myself.

I know it’s against the law to text and drive, but I’m barely driving. I’m not sure if it’s just general traffic or if there’s some sort of accident further ahead but if God is on my side, he’ll work with my impatience and get things moving along. This is what I didn’t miss about driving.

Thank you, Sarai. I wish I could’ve gotten a chance to see you after the game. I saw the picture you took with momma. You look better than me in that jersey.

I really hate that I blushed. I had to roll my eyes at myself more so than him. Get it the fuck together Sarai.

I doubt that. I’m sure the world will disagree with you as well.

And every single woman that lusts over him and his every move, daily. It’s no secret that he is probably the most sought-after bachelor in the NFL. He’s one of the youngest guys playing and the cherry on top is his lack of children. I’ve heard the chatter, simply because it’s quite hard not to. Even in my field, where he is technically forbidden fruit, he’s still a hot commodity off the field. I’d like to think that aspect of things is why he has so much media attention around him even when he isn’t playing. No one gives a damn about what Eli Manning and Abby McGrew Manning have going on within their home, but the hot, young, and black receiver? They’d much rather stalk him.

My boy Shep has this little bowling alley in the apartment building that he lives in. We’re all going to meet up over there for a bit. You should come through so that I can sign that jersey for you. I texted Taylor about it too.

Immediately, my eyes shifted in Taylor’s direction and her own playfully rolled in the direction of the window as she dropped her phone into her lap.

“Really, Taylor?”

“What? What’s the big deal? It’s a little kickback. O’s cool people. I think you know that at this point.”

“You do realize that you’re taking things a bit too far now?”

“How the hell am I taking things too far when the man has your number, invited you to a football game of his, and is now texting you about coming to hang out? You allowed him into your space, not me. I didn’t push him in your direction.”

“I’m starting to think that you probably told him that I’d be at the Bleacher Report party.”

“And so what if I did? He wanted to meet you, so I told him that you’d be around. I didn’t know what would come of it and I still don’t see what the big deal is now.”

“You know exactly what the big deal is.”

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” Despite my tone, she annoyingly batted her eyes while whistling in anticipation for what I would say. I shouldn’t have to say it and I’m not going to, because she already knows. If anyone knows about the boundaries that we shouldn’t be crossing in any capacity, it’s her.

“You can be such an ass.”

“Or you’re arguing with me because deep down, you want to go. We can just stop by.”

“You do realize that I have to be at work first thing tomorrow morning, right?”

“I just said that we can just stop by.”

The internal battle intensified more than I expected it to as I pondered about what would come of this. It’s been quite some time since I’ve surrounded myself with a bunch of testosterones beyond ESPN and I have never in all of the years that I’ve been a sports journalist, deliberately hung out amongst athletes of any sport or circle. Though I’ve been to a ton of events where I’ve mingled among them for the sake of networking and people polite, there have never been instances of privacy or secrecy.

I’ve never been to their homes, their family events outside of charitable ones, or any other possible shindig. I’ve declined many invitations, whether they were extended to me out of flirtation or respect, and Beckham’s should be of no difference and yet here I am contemplating what could possibly be the big deal about it if I do stop by. Taylor’s advice about me needing to live my life always plays in the back of my mind whenever I’m reluctant to extend myself beyond my profession, but tonight shouldn’t be a factor within that. Nothing about him or involving him should be a fucking factor.

“Thirty minutes tops.”

“Fine.” And just like that, I’m taking the plunge. Whatever happens, happens. Actually no. Thirty minutes and all of this is all said and done.

Send me the address.

It took us an extended hour and fifteen minutes longer than the typical driving time to get us back to my place from Philly. Taylor forced me to wait in the car as she changed her footwear from sandals to Vans and minutes later, we were taking the fifteen-minute drive to Weehawken. I didn’t know Sterling lived so close to me. I remember Chanel mentioning something about him living in Hudson County when we were working on a Nike ad campaign together, but the exact city slipped my mind.

“I’m glad that ya’ll could make it out. We just bowling over some wings and non-alcoholic drinks. That game kind of did us all in, so the turn up is super tamed and lame tonight.” I suppose because we’re at his residence, it made sense for Sterling to step outside to greet us and properly direct where I’d be able to park my car.

“Sounds like Sarai’s kind of party.” And with that, I elbowed her in her side.

“Fuck you.”

“Sarai, you’re the turn down queen? I would have never thought. You stay checking the shit out of your co-hosts on that show. Both you and Chad are funny as fuck.” His laughter held an innocence that I’ve always gotten from him ever since he was a Goner at the University of Oklahoma. Sterling’s one of those guys who you can’t help but to cheer for. He has such a genuine spirit and he comes from a great family.

“I’m not the turn down queen. I’m just more on the chill side.”

“I can respect it.” Music blared from the miniature bowling alley as we walked through the lobby and eventually stepped inside, but the scene didn’t contain too many. As I expected, there was Chanel Iman, Sterling’s girlfriend, and two guys that I’m not quite familiar with. No Odell in sight. I guess Sterling was being truthful about the tamed vibe.

“Aw shit. If it isn’t the Most Wanted by Every Ballplaying Nigga number one and number two.” His loudness made his statement funnier than it should have been. It’s not the first time either one us have heard it and it won’t be the last.

“Ignore Ben’s stupid ass. Oh, and O’s coming. He ran upstairs to the crib.”

His introduction was just as amusing as his opening statement and he didn’t let up as he continued to speak about the never-ending lust for the “young thangs” that he described both Taylor and I to be. He introduced his friend as Kav. Chanel, I’ve known for a while now. I dabbling in modeling for the sake of branding, so we’ve crossed paths enough to be acquaintances.

“I left those kicks upstairs on the dining room table for you. Both colorways.” My heart thrashed against my chest cavity as the baritone of his sometimes-raspy voice resounded through my bones. It’s so low and soft, and yet powerful enough to command the attention of everyone in the room as their eyes shifted in his direction. His casual entrance felt like something grandeur as he halted in his steps and locked eyes with me. Staring became our form of communication, as his deep and intoxicating eyes expressed things to me that I don’t want or need to know. Though I couldn’t break the glaring, it was him who decided to do so by washing his eyes over my entire frame. I could have turned into a pillar of dust idly lying in the middle of the floor as Taylor touched my arm and suddenly pulled her hand in response to the endless number of goosebumps trickling along my skin and the lump in my throat? If I suffocate, then fine. At least this moment will cease.

“Sarai Nazaire.” My name flowed from his rosy lips so slickly and yet with a disbelief that I couldn’t quite understand. He invited me here.

“And Taylor Rooks.” Ben immediately interjected. I’m going to assume he’s to Beckham what T is to me.

“I see my homie. What’s up T?”

“Odell! My favorite guy!” Their embrace was first and I was glad of it. It allowed me some time to gain maybe ten percent of the composure I once had when I was sitting in front of my house and debating with myself on whether I should call it a night or not. I haven’t had much of it since then.

“Your favorite guy? O ain’t shit.”

“Never took you to be the jealous type brother.” He and Sterling shared a laugh in the midst of he and T’s embrace and then it was my turn. He hesitated just as much as I did.

“I’m so glad that you made it here. I thought you were going to stand me up.” Despite the extension of my arms, it was his large palms that drew me closer by my waist, and he eventually tightened his body around my own and slightly rocked the both of us from side to side.

“How are you?” I was going to stand him up. I should have stood him up.

“I’m well. You?” 
“Good. Can’t complain.”

“I’m mad that I didn’t see ya’ll at the game. I started to come and sit up there with Heather, but I was with Tweedledee and Tweedledum the whole time. I didn’t even know ya’ll were there.” Chanel’s side eye to Beckham earned my laughter.

“I didn’t know you were there either, but I should have known. You’re always supporting the boo.” As she affectionately wrapped her arms around Sterling’s waist, she nodded to confirm my observation. They’re adorable together. The last guy she dated was Jordan Clarkson and despite their cuteness, I believe Sterling is the one. There’s something about their chemistry that just connects and has bonded into the strongest mold.

“Aye, we have drinks over here. Strawberry Lemonade. And there’s some hot wings, barbecue wings, and some odd flavored mango wing shits that Kav ordered. Ya’ll can help yourselves to it. We started two games. O’s whooping my ass because I’m letting him.”

“Nah, I’m whooping your ass because it’s what I do.”

“Anyway, as I said, I’m letting bleach boy win. We gon’ restart, so that we all can play. Since we’re in an odd number, we won’t do teams. We can all put twenty in for shits and giggles, and because I’m cheap as hell. Winner takes all.”

Though I hadn’t announced it, bowling has always been a side activity of mine. Both of my parents were apart of some neighborhood bowling club or whatever the hell it was back in the day and I’d always be there with them learning their techniques and observing all of the older couples and their decades old love for one another. Even with the warnings to “stay out of grown folks’ business” I was still able to be in the midst of the fun per my dad’s permission because he took me just about everywhere with him. Though slightly rusty, it didn’t stop me from winning a hundred and forty dollars tonight.

“Aye, Sarai and Taylor, let me ask ya’ll some real shit. No judgement. Ya’ll ever dated athletes?” It was Ben’s millionth question of the night and much like all of them, his curiosity always peaked in personal areas.

“One, a few years ago. I haven’t dated another since.” Kendall Marshall. I’m not surprised that she didn’t say his name, though.

“Sarai?”

“None, ever.”

“No one?”

“No.” The rumors are out there, but they’re all false. I’ve just never felt compelled to clear anything up because if I start, I’ll never be able to stop doing so.

“But wouldn’t that be an issue though?” Kav asked the anticipated follow up question.

“I mean, it all depends on the circumstances. If you’re an NFL reporter and you’re dating an NBA player, there isn’t much they can do to you in terms of firing you, though you may be frowned at about it. That’s not a conflict of interest. Some networks are stricter than others when it comes to that. Turner isn’t fond of it. The Bleacher Report doesn’t give a shit about who I involve myself with because they’re a bit more progressive, I suppose.” She half-assed the response which then caused it all to be left up to me to finish up.

“My show covers all major sporting news, mostly within the United States. Our most important coverage is always going to be the NBA and NFL, but it doesn’t mean that we don’t touch base on baseball, tennis, and a few of the others every now and then. So, as far as myself, it’s a conflict of interest no matter which way you look at it.” Yet again, our eyes locked with one another but he didn’t flinch in the manner that I urged for him to. I aimed to set up disappointment and he didn’t bite the bait. If anything, my words flowed into one of his caramel toned ears and right out of the other.

“I think when the heart wants what it wants, none of that other shit matters. It’ll figure itself out. Right?” His tongue lightly ran over his lips in unison with his nonchalant shrug and Chanel bid him a high-five in appreciation for his words. 
“For someone so passionate about the sport that you play, I can’t ever imagine you doing anything to jeopardize your ability to be able to play it.” How or why would he ever? Love is great, but is having it in risky manners ever worth it? That always comes with sacrifice and adjustments that are life altering. Is it really love when you have to let go of so many different aspects of who you are to have it?

“Football is a major part of my life, but it isn’t my life. I’m starting to learn that a lot nowadays. I find myself praying for more time for myself, my family, and my life beyond that field. I’m not going to be playing forever. An empty ass house means that I don’t have much to show for what I worked so hard for. How does all of this even matter if I’m not sharing it? As far as the jeopardize part, I’m willing to fight for and alongside anyone who is going to do the same for me.”

“Why have people in your life that you have to fight for?”

“Because love, no matter which way it comes, isn’t always easy. It’s not supposed to be. I’m going to always fight for those that I love. You’ve never had anyone fight for you?”

He rendered me to speechlessness and a silence discomfort that I may not have masked with my facial expression. I had no answer to give or rather, I didn’t have one that I wanted to give him.

“Alright Sojourner Truth and Martin Luther King, there’s no need to be all deep about this shit. Damn. Ya’ll making me think and it’s too late for all of that.” Ben lightened the moment as Odell stood to his feet and he stepped away from the booth, but halted…for me.

“Sarai. I want to see your new ride before ya’ll go.” How the hell did he know that I was getting ready to throw in the towel and tell Taylor to come on?

“Go and I’ll meet you outside. I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Or she’s creating yet another awkward moment for me.

What was once ninety degree whether nicely calmed down to the high seventies and the cool breeze coming from the Hudson River soothed me as we walked along the exterior of the building. Beckham chose to leave his hands dug into the pockets of his windbreaker style shorts while my eyes panned down and remained focused on his crimson red Nike sneakers.

“Is that it?” I followed his finger and immediately nodded.

“Whew! That thang is on point. And you got the white too? Ain’t nothing like a clean pearly white car. I have to see the guts.” The guts?

It only took one press of a button to unlock the doors and just like that, he was sitting inside on the passenger side taking in the interior like a kid in a candy store. It’s pretty nice but I wasn’t anywhere near as impressed as he is.

“You doing it with this one. Nice pick Sarai.” I scoffed at his modesty. As if he isn’t the one who chose it.

“Shouldn’t you be complimenting yourself?”

“Not really. I gave you the advice, but I never picked out the specifics. This is better than I envisioned it, honestly. I figured you’d go for black or blue.” Black was the original choice until I saw the white one. It stood amongst all of the choices of its kind.

“It is pretty cool, huh?” As I slipped in on the driver’s side, I gave the car a start so that he’d be able to see the beauty of the interior illuminating in its nighttime mode.

“For sure. You look good in here. This fits you well.” For just that moment, he stared at the side of my head while I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel in an anxiousness for Taylor’s presence. Like the most dominant magnet, his aura drew my glare to him.

I’d always believed that perfection doesn’t exist, especially within men, and grandma Lèilin would immediately beg to differ. She informed me that there comes a time when a woman does lay her eyes on a man who is perfect for her in every single sense, flaws and all. He’ll be the most beautiful man she’s laid her eyes on. Grandpa Lesly was that for her.

I’ve never been so at a loss for words until being within this man’s presence. The symmetry of his face is sculpted to an unfair perfection and it impeccably compliments his narrow eyes. There’s no wild bushiness to his eyebrows; they’re tamed and follow the arches of his smiles and frowns. His nose is not too small and yet not too vast. It’s literally made to fit his face. His lips. Dear God. Small and yet supple. A perfect hue of rose. The full beard oozes confident masculinity and yet the bright platinum blonde mane of curls on top of head has this playful and unique sexiness that’s solely for him alone, no matter how many people try to replicate it. He’s beyond handsome; beautiful is more like it. I can see what makes them all go crazy, whether female or male. I understand why all eyes are on him. I’m drowning in the intrigue and yet seeking a lifeboat to get me the hell out of here.

“Eh. It’s a car.” That’s really all it is.

“I’m ready.” The sound of her dragging out the last word startled the both of us as she approached the passenger side and she playfully shooed the man out of my passenger seat and slipped inside after a brief hug with him.

“We enjoyed it O. Thanks for the invite.”

“It ain’t nothing. I’m just glad ya’ll came.”

“We’ll do it again for sure. I’ll catch up with you soon.” Their fists bumped and she closed the door behind herself. I figured that would have been the goodbye necessary for me to drive off into the night and yet his boldness continued as he stepped around to the driver’s side of the car and opened my door.

“Step out for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Just for one minute.” He awaited my hand to latch onto his own and it did within a couple of seconds. As soon as I was secured on my feet, he immediately drew me in for a tight hug and a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Thank you so much Sarai.”

“You’re welcome, Beckham.” The deep chuckle that rattled from his frame weakened mine.

“Am I always going to be Beckham? If you like the last name, I’m willing to share it.” And with that I drew away from him and lightheartedly mushed him out of the way. We’re not going there. Not now or ever, though I’m well aware that it’s a joke.

“Turn around. I have to sign your jersey.”

I did as he asked and stood still as he moved his marker from number to number along the back of it.

“What does it say?”  

“Read it when you get home.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight Sarai Nazaire.”

“What is it with you and the saying my whole name thing?”

“It’s sexy, very sexy.”

“Flirting comes natural to you, I see.”

“I’m not flirting. Flirting is filled with jokes. I’ve yet to joke with you.”

I slipped inside of the car to avoid the urge to look into his eyes once more. Closing the door create the barrier that I so badly needed. Yet again, my heart was thrashing against my chest and if I don’t get the hell away from him, I don’t think I’ll be good to drive us anywhere.

“Hit me when ya’ll get in so I’ll know you made it safe. No speeding Sarai.”

“We’ll text you.” Taylor answered for me as she messed with the radio to find a station of her liking. As I pulled away from the parking space, he stood there and watched. In my rearview window, I could see a final wave from him before he turned to walk away.

I couldn’t be bothered with my nightly shower as I began stripping out of everything covering my body. I’ll need it in the morning when I’m dragging out of bed to prepare for work. It’ll also work with the strong ass cup of coffee I’m certainly going to need.

“Goodnight!”

“Night!” Though I closed the door minutes ago, I’m sure she heard me.

As I tossed everything into the dirty clothing basket near my closet, I decided to take a peek at the signature on the back of the jersey. With the way he moved the marker, there had to be more than just his first and last name back there.

“Sarai Nazaire. There aren’t enough words to describe how thankful I am for you. Thank you for everything that you are and all that you do. You Are The Prototype.” And along the bottom was his notorious signature.

Rather than tossing it inside of the basket, I put it on a hanger and hung it up inside of the closet. My next move was to grab my phone.

Goodnight Beckham.

That’s enough for him to know that we made it in safely.

Goodnight Sarai Nazaire.

Sleep is the last thing that I’ll be able to do tonight. Whether my eyes are open or closed, all that I can see is him.  

[bluerosesburnblue]

A Kingdom Hearts III Secret Movie Theory/Kingdom Hearts IV Speculation

Everybody seems to think that the Yozora we see in the KH3 Secret Ending is exactly the same character as depicted in the Verum Rex game in Toy Box, but what if it’s... not?

Spoiler Warning for: Kingdom Hearts III, The World Ends With You (main game), The World Ends With You (A New Day)

I mean, what do we actually see Yozora do in the Secret Movie? He sits there, ominously, and watches Riku. But at no point does he show any of the skills or abilities of the game!Yozora from Toy Box. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have his crossbow weapon, either. Or any weapon, for that matter. So here’s what I propose: the Yozora we see in the Secret Ending isn’t exactly the same as the Yozora we see in Verum Rex. Rather, it’s a coincidence, much like Riku’s resemblance to Yozora. The Yozora we see in the Secret Ending is a real person. The one we see in Verum Rex is just a metaphorical representation of that person

Let’s put a few theories I’ve seen around Tumblr together. alloutassassin made the interesting observation that Yozora’s heterochromia (specifically the one red eye) could be a reference to a central plot element from Final Fantasy vs.XIII that was scrapped in the transition to Final Fantasy XV: “Eyes that can see the Light of Expiring Souls.” It’s a really interesting plot point, especially since we can tell from the Verum Rex trailer that Nomura is using some old ideas from vs.XIII that didn’t make it into XV for the game. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he brought back the eyes that can see death at some point. alloutassassin makes a lot of interesting observations (and I do recommend checking out their post), though since they admit that they don’t know anything about The World Ends With You, there is one big inaccuracy that I’m going to address, simply because of how important it is in TWEWY right now

alloutassassin says that Riku’s in Shibuya, and it just looks different because he arrived at a different time than Sora did. He didn’t. Riku’s actually in Shinjuku, as proven by vixro in this post here. To summarize their observations, Riku very deliberately walks directly in front of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, a real-world building in the Shinjuku district of Tokyo, and Shinjuku is right next to Shibuya. Now why is Riku being in Shinjuku and not Shibuya significant? Because TWEWY’s Shinjuku no longer exists

Nomura explicitly recommended that people play TWEWY Final Remix while they wait for KH3. Final Remix adds a new scenario called “A New Day,” where Neku is occasionally subjected to visions of a lone girl walking through an empty city, and at the very end it’s revealed that Shinjuku has been erased, and that that girl is the only survivor.

Back to the “Eyes that can See the Light of Expiring Souls” thing, there is a character in TWEWY who was able to see dead people playing the game while he was alive: Mr. Composer of Shibuya himself, Yoshiya Kiryu, aka Joshua. For the sake of anyone reading this who hasn’t played TWEWY and doesn’t care about spoiling it, Joshua, Neku’s partner for Week 2 of the game, is the Composer of Shibuya. He’s essentially the person who runs the entire Reaper’s Game, and the highest ranking Reaper in Shibuya. During Week 2, he illegally partners with Neku while assuming a more human appearance due to hiding out in the real-world of Shibuya, so none of the Reapers recognize him. During the week it’s revealed that he could see the dead while he was alive, and it’s that ability that caused him to get interested in and eventually join in on the Reaper’s Game. From there it can be inferred that he entered by choice in the past and worked his way up to the position of Composer prior to the events of TWEWY. The entire point of this, though, is to prove that being able to see the dead while you are alive is a rare, but not unheard of ability to have in the TWEWY universe

One last important detail about TWEWY that many people overlook is this: the rules of Shibuya’s Reaper’s Game are not universal. The Composer makes the rules, and for everywhere that a Reaper’s Game exists, that Composer is free to make their own rules. We only know the rules of Shibuya’s Game. We don’t know anything about how the Game is run in Shinjuku, so it’s possible that some elements of it could be quite a bit closer to Verum Rex than TWEWY

So here’s what I propose: the Yozora we see in the Secret Ending shows no signs of having the abilities of the Yozora from Verum Rex, but could easily still have the ability to see the dead that being a vs.XIII Noctis-expy would imply that he has. This ability canonically has a counterpart in the TWEWY universe, which means that the Yozora from the Secret Ending could potentially exist within the confines of the TWEWY universe. The only other TWEWY character we know who has this ability was driven to play the Reaper’s Game and rise through the ranks to become the highest ranking Reaper because of that ability

Our Secret Ending Yozora could be someone involved in the Shinjuku Reaper’s Game. Given that Shinjuku... exists, I think Riku could have arrived either just before Shinjuku was erased (unlikely, as the TWEWY cast in KH3D are all implied to be their selves from after the TWEWY Reaper’s Game has finished, or at the very least from very late in the game) or after Shinjuku potentially gets restored. So now I’m torn between a few possibilities:

Yozora could be the Composer of Shinjuku, either the old one restored along with Shinjuku or a new one who we’ll see rise to the position over the course of the events A New Day implies will happen

Yozora is a Player in the Shinjuku Reaper’s game. Riku is either incapable of seeing him because Riku is alive while Yozora is not, or Riku totally could see him and is in the Shinjuku Reaper’s Game as well

Yozora is totally alive and is watching the events of Shinjuku’s Game from the real world

Either way, I’m not totally convinced that the world of Verum Rex actually exists within the Kingdom Hearts universe. What we see of Verum Rex in Toy Box could be teasers for Yozora’s role in whatever game the Secret Movie eventually becomes, but meant more as symbolical representations of things that will happen, rather than being literal events. Riku and Yozora’s appearance in Shinjuku during a cinematic that blatantly shows Sora in TWEWY’s Shibuya, all while Nomura encourages people to play TWEWY Final Remix, seems very deliberate and suspicious to me.

[lovebunnie]

all of them :))) ✨🌟

oh dear lord mads

Crimson - What was an event that’s shaped you to be who you are today? - i would probably say when i took my speech classes, as it really grew my love of public speaking and speech writing :>

Light Pink - Do you have stuffed animals? - yeah! i have a plush elephant, a green dinosaur, a small lamb, and a plush tweek doll from south park. they all chill with me and i love them

Blush - Are you single? - indeed i am!

Amaranth - What’s your favourite emotion? - im fond of :3 and :p

Cherry Blossom - How are you feeling right now? - kind of nervous for camp but overall really excited! and sleepy but thats unrelated

Hollywood Cerise - What are your ambitions? - i want to become a speech teacher or an english teacher and teach people how to find their voice in public speaking

Razzmatazz - Favourite TV Show? - …hannibal…

Rose - Where do you feel most comfortable? - in my room, with a laptop on my bed and my cat next to me, just fuckin Chillin

French Rose - What is your favourite flavour? - lemon!!

Cameo Pink - Favourite movie? - dead poets society, all day every day

Buff Orange - Would you consider yourself athletic? - not at fucking all. i used to be but not anymore :[

Burnt Sienna - Favourite smell? - roses and peaches. hell fucking yeah.

Melon - Do you like to dance? - sure! when i get ready in the morning and at night i dance to random music in my pajamas 

Carrot - Do you bake? - i make shit from boxed things, but from scratch no

Copper - What is your favourite kind of day? - a rainy day but not a thunderstorm and its saturday and i just got out of work and i have lots of money from it :3

 Orangeade - When do you feel alive? - gonna keep it real with u, i cant really remember the last time i felt really alive. im just kinda here exisiting 

Gamboge - Where do you want to travel? - id love to go to europe or back to san francisco or new york city!!

Peach - Favourite texture/s? - lace…

Vermillion - How brave are you? - not brave at all! im such a coward!

Bittersweet Shimmer - What is your favourite memory? - when my best friend visited from maryland and we hung out all day. thats the first that comes to mind.

Flax - Do you like going to the beach? - i fucking hate the beach

Wheat - Who can you trust the most? - i have a lot of trust issues but i really honestly can trust my best friend irl, @sarkisianns, and @g0bbleb0ners. i luv dem.

Laser Lemon - What kind of phone do you have? - an iphone 6

Gold - Are you high maintenance? - i cant really say for sure but like, probably yeah im a mess

Mellow Yellow - How calm are you? - im never calm literally ever i have an anxiety disorder

Unmellow Yellow - How high energy are you? - i used to be super high energy but recently ive been tired all the time :[

Papaya Whip - How honest are you? - i try to be as honest as humanly possible. i see honesty as the best way to go always, no matter what.

Transparent Yellow - Would you consider yourself to be special? - id like to imagine i am but honestly probably not

Canary - Favourite song? - atm its souk eye by gorillaz, but in the past its been ‘american pie’ and ‘viva la vida’

Reed Yellow - Do you play an instrument? - used to play drums, but not anymore! so no

Pear - Where do you feel rested? - in bed

Olive - What is your favourite food? - sushi is mmy fav its yummy

Fern - Favourite plant? - roses!!!!!!!

Moss - Are you quiet or loud? - depends on who you are. if i know u, i never shut up. if we dont know each other, im really silent. 

Tea green - How do you relax? - i try to sleep or i watch drew gooden on youtube

Celadon - Dream job? - in a perfect world? speech writer or professional public speaker 

Harlequin - Can you act? - im not really a theatre kid, but i am taking theatre next year so like who knows maybe ill find my calling

Malachite - Do you speak more than one language? - god i WISH but no

Mantis - Favourite animal? - kitties or sloths :3

Seafoam Green - Do you like water? - i fucking love it so much if i didnt have it, id LITERALLY die

Sky Blue - Would you ever want to fly? - sure! then id never have to drive which is ideal

Periwinkle - Would you want to breathe underwater? - yeah why not

Powder Blue - Or control the weather? - prob not i wouldnt know what is best for all the plants so i might kill them. but maybe to move all the hurricanes so no one dies……… yeah lets do that

Liberty - Become the president/prime minister? - id rather be shot in the chest

Space Cadet - Become an astronaut? - even tho i was known as ‘space kid’, space is terrifying so no thank u

Celeste (lol it me) - Have perfect pitch? - nah i like singing badly

Eton Blue - Become invisible? - YES PLEASE!!!!

Indigo - Become immortal? - no thanks, i dont want to see my mom die ever

Iris - Grow plants at will? - ROSES EVERYWHERE!!!!! THATS THE DREAM!!!!!!

Whispering Blue - Or teleport? - HELL YES!!!

Lilac - Would you want kids? - no way no how

Lavender - What is your favourite time of day? - early morning with the soft sunrise!!

Mulberry - Could you betray someone? - this is ominous as fuck but probably…. not… i mean, id like to think i couldnt

Eminence - Favourite sounds? - music and my kitty purring and making my friends laugh :3

Palatinate - Do you think you’ll make it to 100 years old? - probably not lbr

Prune - Do you ever think about dying? - everytime i enter a car or a movie theatre or walk alone i think about dying

Fandango - Do you spontaneously start singing sometimes? - YES. ITS MAGICAL

Thistle - If you could become wise, rich, or intelligent, which would you rather? - rich so i could give money to people who need it since rich people refuse to fucking do it

Mauve - What would you name your kids/pets? - id name a cat neil and a ferret either milo or bilbo

Royal Purple - What’s your favourite emotion? - …happiness…?

Cream - If you had 1 day left to live, what would you do? - probably sit in my bed and sob uncontrollably

 Silver - Are you a good person? - i dont think so, no

Ecru - How do you feel about the world today? - i think its in a very scary place rn and sometimes its hard to see good but if u look or it, it will always be there

Auburn - Favourite colour? - pink or red :p

White - Do you own lots of makeup? - i wish i owned more but im terrible at makeup so not really no 

Black - What is the greatest success of your life so far? - probably getting my blackbelt

Bronze - Would you follow my blog? - u silly goose….. i already AM!!! :DPink Nectar - What’s your aesthetic? - roses and peaches and softness and angels and sunshine and heart shaped objects and kitties and everything girly and delicate 

Sepia - Do you like photography? - sure! but im bad at it but i like looking at it

[mistajsqueen-blog]

Childish Recovery

anonymous asked:

Can we have a joker (Jared Leto) x reader where J got hurt really bad during a mission reader got very worried. Like he been in a coma but woke up eventually. She took care of him even though he's acting very childish during his recovery. Fluff pls

literally I hate thinking of titles for imagines because like i want them to be edgy and angsty and meaningful and all that but usually it’s just a fuckin word pulled from the request i hate maself

warnings: fluff, swearing, childish ass joker

word count: 1,195

masterlist

You were sitting alone in the large, overly priced penthouse you and the Joker lived at. He was out on some mission with Frost and a few other henchmen. He wouldn’t tell you exactly what is was, but you knew it wasn’t something dangerous, so you didn’t mind too much. 

He had left really early in the morning, so you hadn’t gotten to tell him goodbye. Waking up in a cold, empty bed was your least favorite thing. He did leave a red rose on your bedside table, a small note attached to it.

Good morning, kitten. Daddy will be home soon.

Much love, J

You smiled and went about your day, watching TV, eating so much you could hardly walk, the usual. It was about 5 pm now, and you were expecting J to walk in any minute. He had been gone a long time. 

You continued flipping through channels, trying to find something other than the news, but something caught your attention; J’s distinctive purple Lamborghini. The entire front part of the vehicle had been ripped off, including the driver’s and passenger seat. It looked like it had been T-boned by an eighteen wheeler, which was now in the side of a building. You panicked, knowing that an accident like that was surely fatal. 

The camera panned to helicopters flying through the air, their spotlights shining down onto the street where the wreck happened. The shiny exterior of J’s car that was now ripped into two shined, but nobody was seen in the car. He must have fled somehow.

Just as you stand to grab your phone and call Frost, he busts through the door with another henchman. They’re both carrying an unconscious Joker into your home. They lay him down onto the couch, and Frost is yelling something into his phone about a doctor. There was no way they could take him to the hospital, he would be thrown into Arkham in a heartbeat.

You rush over to J’s side and brush his disheveled hair out of his face. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is hanging slightly open. He’s breathing, but barely. His face and chest are covered with bruises and scrapes, but his limbs seem to be in tact, but that doesn’t take away from the possibility of some kind of life threatening internal bleeding. Tears swell in your eyes at the thought of losing him.

Someone barrels in through your front door, medical tools in hand and a few assistants trailing behind him. You assume this is the doctor Frost was talking about. You quickly move out of the way and let them work on your J.

You sit perched in front of the large fireplace, on the other side of the living room. Everyone is mumbling, so you can’t hear what’s going on with your boyfriend. You bite at your nails while the anxiety continues to flood through your system. Frost walks over to you and sits at your side.

“They think he’s in a coma. He hit his head pretty hard when we wrecked.”

You breath hitches in your throat at the word ‘coma’. What if he doesn’t ever wake up?

“He’s going to stay in the bedroom you two share, and you and I will have to look after him.”

You nod and Frost rubs your back. He stands to help the doctor and nurses carry J’s limp body to the bedroom. Trailing quickly behind, you say a quick prayer to the heavens, in hopes that someone will hear you and keep your J safe.

They lay J down onto the bed and remove his nice suit, now stained with blood. You go to his closet and pull out his favorite sweatpants. Frost helps you put them on him. The doctor attaches an IV to J’s right arm. The IV is to keep his vital signs up until he wakes up.

When the medical people have done their job, they give you and Frost a look of sympathy before heading out the door.

It’s been a week since the accident, and J has shown no signs of waking up. You spend your days sat in the bedroom with him, making sure every five minutes that he’s still breathing and checking his pulse like the doctor told you to do. You sleep beside him every night, curled up to his side. Frost checks on him every now and again. You still talk to him like he’s not in a coma, hoping that maybe your voice will reach him and wake him up.

One night, you were getting ready for bed. You quickly took a shower and threw your pajamas on, not wanting to leave J unattended for too long. You hopped into bed, and curled up next to him as usual. You sighed and shut your eyes, but sat straight up when you heard J mumble something. Hurriedly you turn on the lights and turn to face him.

“J?” You shake his shoulder and watch his mouth move and his eyes flutter. You hold your breath, waiting for him to open his eyes or say something again. He lets out a low groan as his eyes open just a bit. Your eyes widen as he smiles.

“Did I ever tell you how stunning you are?” He drawls. He reaches his right hand up to stroke your cheek, but stops when he notices the IV stuck in his arm. “What do we have here?” He begins to tug at it forcefully with his other hand.

“J don’t, let me.” You reach towards it to remove it for him, but he swats your hand away.

“I can do it myself.” He rips it loose from his arm, laughing when blood starts to squirt from the hole punctured in his vein from the needle. 

“J!” You sprint to the bathroom and find the bandages. You grab his arm and wrap it up to stop the blood from getting everywhere. He’s still cackling as you walk him over to the bathtub to clean up. You begin to run the water, making sure it isn’t too hot or too cold. Just then, you see J out of the corner of your eye begin to pour an entire bottle of bath bubble solution into the water. Immediately, large bubbles begin to form in the tub and spill over the side and onto the floor.

You turn to face him, ready to shame him, but the only thing you see is his ass jiggling as he runs out of the bathroom, completely nude. You call out his name, chasing after him. You follow his laughs into the kitchen, once your foot passes over the threshold into the kitchen, you slip and bust your ass.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, seeing J stand above you with a bottle of cooking oil in hand. You try to stand, but to no avail, you fall right back onto your ass again. This just causes him to laugh even harder.

In that moment, you wish he was still in a coma. He’s way more peaceful that way.

wowza that’s a rude ending 

not much fluff, but he was definitely being a childish bastard!

[excujimin]

for a flame as bright as you - jungkook scenario

when they’re 5, it’s a sticker. 

jungkook childhood friends!au

i.

when they’re 5, it’s a sticker.

a vibrant orange charizard that spit fire when tilted this way and that. it was part of a set but the dragon had always been her favorite so she asked her mom to cut it out for her to bring because it’s the specialest one.

her beloved pokémon didn’t get as much recognition as she was so certain it would, however. at least, not until she brought the image to life with a flick of her wrist. even then the most she got was one or two awed expressions, while the rest ‘ooh-ed’ and 'aww-ed’ albeit half heartedly, attention having long since wandered back to their brand new toy trucks and barbie dolls.

still, what she got was a lot better than the rambunctious laughter one wide-eyed boy’s five little fingers received because it was show-and-tell, but all he really did was tell.

it’s during the last few minutes of recess that she finds him sitting underneath the old metal slide (everyone liked the new playset much better), a broken “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” pencil sitting in his hands.

he eyes her wearily, but she smiles so big and bright he has to squint, and she’s talking so fast he almost doesn’t understand her. he barely makes out how five is cool cause it’s one whole hand, and how she’s only four and three quarters still, when suddenly there’s a blue eyed charizard in one of his hands and small fingers laced through the other as he’s dragged back across the playground and into the school.

“you take good care of him, ok?”

ii.

when they’re 10, she’s at a loss.

because that’s two digits. one digit above her own that he will never let her live down. it’s gotta be a good one, a big one, because you only ever turn ten once.

he doesn’t fail to make her life any harder, switching subjects faster than he switches gears on his new car game when she asks him what he’d like. it’s only when she threatens him with tears that he gives her something.

“what?”

“yeah. mom’s always going on about how I need to be more responsible like hyung and blah, blah, blah. so.”

“you want me to get you responsibility?”

he shrugs, tossing her a playstation controller.

she spends the week leading up to september 1st wandering around town with a pocket full of her life savings in hopes of stumbling across The Gift (silently praying for it to be within her embarrassingly low price range). but it’s on the day before his birthday, sprinting around town radiating all her panic, that she sees it. something that looks a lot like responsibility.

jungkook is ecstatic when his present opens on its own, a scruffy little ball of white fur popping out of the very loosely wrapped box.

he has her under his arm in less than a second (it’s easier now that he’s taller), ruffling her hair as he holds both best friend and new pet to his chest. his mom’s already going on about the big R-word and how he’d need a lot of it to be able to keep the thing, but the obvious gleam in her eye says she, along with the rest of the family, has completely fallen for the literal fluffy ball of sunshine rolling about the floor.

iii.

when they’re 15, it’s a video call.

because he’s got a brand new laptop (courtesy to her persuasion of his very reluctant parents), and because he’s a little too far from home. she has her own positioned in a way he could see out her window, where the stars were. he said he missed seeing those.

she stifles a yawn, knowing for a fact he’s infinitely more tired than her. it’s some ungodly hour of the night, because that’s all the time he seems to have to himself now, and because she still wanted to be the first one to greet him, even if they were miles and miles apart.

“you’re tired.” he chuckles, shaking his fringe from his eyes as he shifts the laptop from his lap to the space beside him.

she shakes her head, sitting up so fast she cracks her back.

“not as tired as you.” she points out, and it’s true.

there are blue-ish rings under his eyes (“nice bags, gucci?” “shut up.”) and she can see pain relief patches on his shoulders through the thin cotton of his t-shirt and (she tuts at) the poorly concealed bruise on his arm. still, his eyes are as bright as ever, even paired with his sleepy, burnt out little smile.

“lay down with me.”

she makes a face at his choice of words, thanking every deity out there that her camera quality paled in comparison to his, because her cheeks were on fire.

“way to be a creep, kookie.”

he grimaces at the old nickname for a second, but laughs as she makes herself comfortable, pulling the sheets so far up all he could see were her eyes.

“I miss you.”

she crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him in mock disgust, but is quick to whisper those same three words, plus a little extra, when she’s absolutely sure he’s fallen asleep.

(he hasn’t).

iv.

she tugs nervously at her ponytail, brushing back long strands that stubbornly frame her face, fixing the bow that doesn’t need to be fixed. he’ll understand right? I’m sure he will.

she’s been hidden away for the time being, in an empty practice room the trainees used.

she wonders if he used this room once upon a time, and she sees him. all graceful movements, rough movements, smooth movements. he’s everywhere. scattered across the floor, heaving against the wall, glaring at the mirror. she sees the passion he claims he’d be dead without, because he’s nothing without it.

(but he’s so, so much more.)

the bangtan members are sweet, checking up on her from time to time, updating her on the maknae’s seemingly sour mood that they just know is due to the one birthday greeting he still hasn’t gotten. typical baby jungkook. it only makes their Grand Plan all the more exciting. (she knows they’re hoping he cries).

jimin visits the most and stays the longest, and she quickly understands why he’s secretly jungkook’s favorite hyung. they’re all very kind, but maybe it’s the familiarity between them that adds that extra bit of comfort within him. she thinks maybe jimin reminds jungkook a little bit of home.

“jungkook gets homesick sometimes too, y'know.”

“yeah?”

“well.. sorta.”

she looks at the boy questioningly, and he suddenly looks a bit too sheepish, as if he’s said too much.

“it’s more like… for one particular person.”

he can’t elaborate any further, and she can’t force him to, because hoseok’s all but broken through the door in his excitement, an eternally sleepy yoongi in tow - dainty custom-ordered cake in hand.

“it’s time.”

she’s not the first thing he notices, too busy watching amusedly at all his hyungs antics as they enter the room with extra bright smiles and extra loud cheers, but when he does, she’s all he sees. and as cheesy, and overused as that may sound, it’s true.

someone turned off the lights and she was holding the cake, shy smile illuminated by all his seventeen candles.

it takes him a while to blow out all the candles without spitting all over the nicely decorated cake, and when the lights come on again it’s just the two of them.

“you sure went all out this year,” he chuckles, eyeing the pretty red ribbon tied neatly around her hair.

she hums, setting down the cake to pull a party hat over his head with a gentle snap. her hands are kind of shaking but if he notices (he does), he doesn’t say anything.

“you get what you wished for?”

he’s beaming now and all at once he’s five, ten, fifteen, and seventeen. fingers laced through fingers (he feels like he’s running), warm bodies pressed tight against his chest (it might explode), whispered confessions in the dead of night (but he’s so alive) - he tugs lightly on the almost pristine little bow.

“think so.”

(when they’re 17, it’s a promise).

something I wrote for jungkook’s birthday two years back, reposted from my previous writing blog (ji-moji) ♡